#calcali

[saythenametotheworld]

A Christmas Proposal | c.vn

You told one tiny lie about being engaged to Vernon. Now you’re spending Christmas with his entire family. Faking it should be a walk in the park, except Vernon is playing the perfect boyfriend a little too well, and it’s throwing you off your game.

Genre: fake dating, smut Pairing: SEVENTEEN Vernon x afab!reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) MDNI Notes: 22k words. Loosely based on the movie The Proposal. Happy Holidays everyone! I hope you like this one <3 Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life behave the way they were portrayed in this fic. If you see the same exact fic in a different blog, for ENHYPEN, that is me. I did not plagiarize myself. Otherwise, pls let me know.

You were halfway through a phone call when the elevator doors opened, one hand clutching your handbag as you rattled off reminders about deadlines, inventory counts, and the very real need to restock supplies before the holiday rush. 

“Yes, by next week,” you said, already walking. “No, I don’t care if it’s ‘usually fine,’ I want the warehouse well-stocked and ready—”

You stepped onto the floor and kept moving, heels clicking, bag swinging. You didn’t notice the way the floor fell quiet the moment you stepped in. People scrambled back to their desks, suddenly invested in their screens, shuffling papers that did not need shuffling, answering phones that were not ringing. A few heads ducked. A few shoulders squared. No one made eye contact with the icy, headstrong, amazonian boss who had clearly woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

You.

Still mid-call, you marched straight toward your office, listening to your warehouse officer explain that the warehouse was well-stocked and ready for the holiday rush and that everything would be fine. “I’m not asking for some words of affirmation, Joe. Show me that this confidence is not unfounded. I need updated numbers by lunchtime.”

It wasn’t until you pushed open the glass door that you finally ended the call, pinching the bridge of your nose for half a second before refocusing.

“Morning!” Becca said brightly, already there, already holding out your iced coffee like an offering.

You took it without slowing down. She fell into step beside you, launching into your schedule like she always did—meetings, contracts, things that needed signing before lunch, and ones that could wait until after. You dropped into your chair, skimmed the first page of the file she handed you. 

You were halfway through skimming the file when you noticed something in your periphery. You looked up and saw that there was a man standing just behind Becca. Tall. Good-looking. Broad-shouldered. Hands in his pockets. He was staring around your office like he had time to admire the view, eyes flicking over the shelves, the windows, the framed awards.

For a second, you wondered if you’d forgotten you were supposed to have a meeting with some model for your brand’s campaign.

You frowned. “Who’s your friend, Becca?”

“Oh—right! Sorry. This is—” She paused, then quickly nudged the man with her elbow

“I’m Vernon,” he said, smiling at you before Becca could finish. He gave a lazy little wave. “The intern.”

You blinked. The intern. He said it like this was a college club meeting. Or orientation. Or literally anywhere but here, where interns usually tried desperately not to be noticed. You stared at him. Then back at Becca. “Why is the intern in my office?”

Becca cleared her throat. “He’s the temp I told you about. He’ll be covering for me while I’m on maternity leave. Assisting you directly.”

You glanced back at him, unimpressed. “Is he ready for that?” you asked Becca.

“Yes. I walked him through everything,” she said quickly. “He’s picked it up really fast.”

 “So he knows this isn’t a light workload? Long hours, hectic schedules, all that?”

Before you could respond, Vernon leaned forward slightly.

“You can ask me, you know,” he said. “I’m right here.”

The room went very still.

You stared at him, more surprised than offended. Most interns shrank under eye contact. Apologized. Overexplained. This one had the audacity to interrupt you, like he wasn’t face-to-face with the person everyone else avoided before coffee. For a second, you couldn’t tell if he was clueless or if he just didn’t scare easily.

You didn’t like either option. “I won’t be needing you yet,” you said flatly. “You can go.”

Vernon didn’t argue. He simply nodded once, hands dropping from his pockets as he turned toward the door. “Alright.”

And then he left. The door clicked shut behind him. You and Becca stared at it for a moment.

You exhaled through your nose and picked up your pen. “What kind of temp did you get me?”

“He’s very competent. Just a little tactless at times. And he was once…” She hesitated. “…reported to HR for insubordination.”

“Insubordination?”

“Yeah, he was. But it was all a misunderstanding.” She paused for a second and then added, “Apparently, the way he talks pissed some people off. Which was why I thought he’d be perfect for this role.”

You slowly looked up from your paperwork. “What’s that supposed to mean?

Becca grimaced, then covered her mouth. “Okay. That—yeah. That was supposed to be an inside thought.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you went back to signing. “You’ve been working for me too long.”

She cleared her throat, tapping her tablet like she needed something to do with her hands. “Mr. Zhou just stepped into the lobby. Should we… um… go wait for him in the conference room?” she asked, already smiling.

“Fine,” you said, signing your name a little harder on the last paperwork. “But we’re unpacking that later.”

You were puzzled to see Vernon waiting by the car as soon as you stepped out of your office at noon. He looked out of place there, standing in a crisp set of suit and coat, looking like he was shooting an ad for Ralph Lauren. You were realizing in real time that he was unnecessarily too good-looking and too well-dressed to be someone’s errand boy.

He was holding Becca’s work tablet and the leather briefcase she’d usually brought to meetings.

“Where’s Becca?” you asked, not slowing down as you watched him open the car door for you.

“She’s gone,” he said, watching you settle onto the backseat. “Told me my secretary duties start today.”

“What do you mean she’s gone?”

Vernon blinked, confused. “Oh, you didn’t know? I thought she discussed this with you beforehand.”

You sighed, waved him off, and leaned back on the seat. As Vernon closed the door and rounded the car, you took your phone out and typed out an urgent message to Becca.

You: I’m docking your pay.

Vernon took the driver’s seat without ceremony, adjusted the mirror, and pulled into traffic. 

“Read the documents carefully,” you said without looking up. “And pay attention during the meeting.”

“I will,” he said. “To both.”

The car ride was quiet. You reviewed the agenda on your tablet while the city slid past the windows, aware of him in your periphery—too relaxed, but not sloppy. 

Your phone rang not even ten minutes into the ride and you sighed when you saw the caller ID. But answered anyway. “Hi, Grandma.”

“I just wanna remind you that you have a date this evening,” she said immediately. “You’re going, aren’t you?”

“No,” you replied. “I’m working.”

“You said that last week.”

“I was working last week too. I’m busy, Grandma. Right now, I’m heading out for a lunch meeting with suppliers.”

She clicked her tongue. “You’re always working. You can’t keep postponing your life like this. Why do you always put that damn company first?”

You pressed your lips together. “Grandma, this was your company. You put me here.”

“Excuses. When will you have a husband?” she shot back. “Or children? I’m old and dying. Do you think time is gonna wait for me? I just want to see you settle down and be happy. Is that too much to ask?”

You looked out the window. “You’re healthy. You’re strong. You’re not going anywhere.”

You heard her exhale sharply on the other line, clearly annoyed now. “If you don’t come tonight, I’ll erase your name from my will. You won’t get a single penny from me.”

“You’ve been saying that for years,” you said evenly. “Need I remind you that you only have one living relative and it’s me?”

She huffed. “Don’t test me. I might just donate my whole fortune to charity. You must go this time. I swear this one is better than the previous dates. His name is Pa—”

“I love you,” you said, cutting her off. “I’ll call you later.”

You ended the call before she could respond.

For a moment, the only sound in the car was the hum of the engine and the soft click of the turn signal. You slipped your phone back into your bag and leaned farther into the seat, already compartmentalizing the conversation the way you always did.

You caught movement in the rearview mirror. Vernon was looking at you. “Persistent grandma?” he asked when your gazes met.

You sighed, unimpressed. “Eyes on the road.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, tone mild enough to be irritating.

You let the silence stretch after that, your attention returning to the tablet in your hands. You scrolled through the agenda, noting the points you wanted addressed, the concessions you were willing to make, and the ones you absolutely were not. Vernon drove without comment, smooth and calm, like he wasn’t ferrying someone who could fire him on a whim.

You glanced up again, studying his reflection this time with intention. The angle of his jaw. The familiarity you hadn’t been able to put a finger on ever since you saw his face.

“Have we met before?” you asked.

“Yes,” he replied immediately. “We went to the same university. And met once at a freshman party.”

That checked out. You’d seen enough of him around campus for his face to register, even now. You hummed, “Knew you looked familiar. You have an unforgettable face.”

That slipped out unintentionally, making you pause. You considered taking it back, but you ultimately just decided to roll with it. You cleared your throat. “I mean—well… Have you seen yourself?”

“Sorry, what?” he asked, glancing briefly at you. “I didn’t catch that.”

But the slight smirk on his lips told you that was a lie. You rolled your eyes, then watched him for another second. “If we went to uni at the same time,” you asked, “how are you still interning? At this age?”

He grinned. “Are you discriminating?"

“I’m just asking.”

“As my boss or as someone who knew me from college?”

You exhaled through your nose, realizing now that Becca wasn’t exaggerating when she said Vernon can be annoying for some. “Forget it,” you said.

He just smiled, focusing on driving. But a few moments later, he said, “I just got out of a slave contract with my previous employer.”

You looked up. “I assume that’s an exaggeration.”

“It could be,” he replied, shrugging. 

You didn’t comment. Some jobs did feel like that. You knew it, even if you’d never experienced it firsthand. You’d never been employed under someone, except when you interned for your Grandma, but even that was hardly employment. You’d always been your own boss.

The car slowed as the restaurant came into view. Vernon found a parking space easily. “We’re here,” he said as soon as the engine stopped.

You straightened, already stepping out of the vehicle. “They’re gonna give us the revised version of the contract from last time. Remember to go over it very, very carefully.”

“Got it,” he replied, gathering his things and fixing his coat as he stepped out of the car.

You paused, looked at him once with furrowed brows, then said, “Lose the coat.”

He blinked. “What? Why?”

“Just lose it,” you said, waving your hand dismissively. “You’re gonna make these people think I brought a date to this meeting.”

The realization hit him a second later. “Oh.”

His ears turned red almost immediately, the color creeping up fast enough that it caught you off guard. He looked away, cleared his throat, and shrugged out of the coat with noticeably less confidence than he’d had five seconds ago.

“Right,” he said. “Okay.”

You didn’t respond. You were already walking.

He followed a step behind. You noticed the way he kept tugging at his sleeves, the way his shoulders squared like he was suddenly conscious about his posture. It didn’t slow him down, but it made him seem less casual and more shy.

You filed that thought in the far back of your mind and pushed open the restaurant door.

Vernon settled into his role faster than you’d anticipated. He learned your schedule within days, memorizing the gaps between meetings, the calls you always took walking, the ones you preferred, seated and uninterrupted. By the first week, he stopped asking what you needed and started having it ready before you spoke. Coffee appeared when you’d skipped breakfast. Documents were summarized and tabbed—never highlighted, because you hated highlights.

He remembered dates without reminders. Flagged clauses you would’ve circled anyway. Anticipated questions before clients finished asking them. He spoke only when necessary in meetings, and when he did, it was concise enough that no one dared interrupt him. 

“Your two o’clock wanted to move to three,” he said one morning, falling into step beside you as you walked down the hall. “Mr. Lee begged. Said something about traffic and divine intervention.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That divine intervention doesn’t outrank your calendar.”

You didn’t break stride. “Good.”

By the end of the second week, you—and everyone around you—had realized that you now have a second Becca, a more merciless one at that. People stopped going to you first. They went to Vernon. He filtered what mattered and killed what didn’t. When he brought you something, it was because it deserved your time. He filtered your calls ruthlessly. If something reached you, it mattered. If it didn’t, it never existed. People learned quickly that arguing with him was pointless; if Vernon said you were unavailable, then you were.

Occasionally, he tested his boundaries. Not in ways that interfered with work, but in tone.

“Do you always look like this when you’re thinking?” he asked once, watching you review a document.

You didn’t look up. “Like what.”

“Like you’re about to ruin someone’s life.”

You slid the folder toward him. “Page twelve.”

He glanced down, eyes scanning. “Ah,” he said. “There it is. I knew something was odd with this.”

In meetings, he was quiet, efficient, present without being intrusive. He passed notes when necessary, caught errors before they reached the table, and never spoke unless spoken to or unless you were about to walk into something avoidable.

“Clause eighteen,” he murmured once, sliding you a note.

You corrected the issue mid-sentence and moved on. Afterward, in the elevator, you said, “Good catch.”

His brows lifted in surprise. “Was that praise?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t,” he said, grinning. “But I will cherish it.”

By the third week, he stopped flinching when you corrected him. By the fourth, he started correcting other people before you had to. He learned quickly what earned silence versus what earned a look. Silence meant he was safe. The look meant he had exactly one more word before his internship became a cautionary tale.

He respected that. Mostly.

“So,” he said once, handing you a folder, “do you want the bad news first or the worse news?”

You took the folder. “If you ever phrase it like that again, you’re fired.”

“Noted,” he said calmly. “Then I’ll just say this contract is trash.”

You looked up slowly. He met your gaze without flinching. “Respectfully.”

You skimmed the page. Then the next. Then the clause he’d marked with a single tab. It was, in fact, trash.

You closed the folder. “Schedule a call.”

“I already did.”

He had an irritating habit of leaning where he wasn’t supposed to. Doorframes. Desks. The back of chairs that did not belong to him. He never slouched in meetings, never interrupted, but outside of them, he carried himself like he wasn’t intimidated by anyone in the building.

Including you. Especially you.

“Do you actually read all of these,” he asked once, eyeing the stack of reports on your desk.

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

He paused. “I guess you’re not like those other nepo babies who—um… nevermind.”

You lifted your pen. “Finish that sentence, Secretary Chwe.”

“Nope,” he said, chuckling nervously and retreating a step. “I’m quite attached to my paycheck, you see.”

You rolled your eyes, but Vernon kept his grin. “When will you call me by my first name?”

Your brows furrowed. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, there’s Becca. You address her not only by her first name but by her nickname.”

You tutted, shaking your head and deciding to ignore his question entirely. “Go. I don’t need you right now,” you said, waving him away. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he chimed, walking away. You returned to your screen. You didn’t fire him.By the end of the month, Vernon no longer felt like a temporary replacement to your intuitive and reliable Becca. He felt like his own fixture. An irritating, unnecessarily good-looking, deeply unserious, but very competent fixture.

“Is that Armani?” you asked, just as Vernon turned the engine off. 

He glanced back at you, then at his coat. “I think so? I got this as a gift for my birthday.”

You chuckled, reaching for the door. “Your clothes are too expensive for an intern.”

You stepped out of the car, eyes blinking at the blinding building right in front of you. Vernon fell into step beside you not 30 seconds later, and you noticed that he’d taken off his coat.

“You should keep it on,” you said.

He tilted his head. “But wouldn’t it make them think you brought a date to the meeting?”

You shrugged. “Maybe, but these people are worth impressing. I’m heading inside first. You go get your coat and make yourself look good.”

You were inside the building for less than two minutes when you ran into someone that made your eyes twitch. He called your name from across the lobby, his voice ringing out annoyingly.

“Is that you?” he asked when he approached you. “Well, damn. It is you.”

“Carlo,” you acknowledged, offering a curt smile.

“Oh, so you remember me,” he grinned, his eyes roving from your head to your foot, then back up to your face again, not without pausing briefly on your chest. “It’s been a while, huh?”

You nodded once, polite and brief, already angling your body toward the other direction. “It has. If you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way to a meeting.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re always busy,” he said, waving it off. “But who isn’t?” he added, laughing out loud.

He then launched into a recap of his life since the last time you’d seen him—his job, his connections, the people he knew, the Dubai prince he was chummy with, the places he’d been. It was all very impressive, apparently. You tried to interject twice. Both attempts failed. He spoke over you like it was muscle memory.

You remembered, dimly, the disastrous blind date your Grandmother had set you up on last year. Apparently Carlo was a friend’s son who was intelligent and sweet. You gave it a chance because you’d run out of excuses to decline. But Carlo was downright obnoxious. He was preposterous, talked only about himself, and after the date, he told every mutual acquaintance you both had that you were the reason why it never worked out after the first date—as if he didn’t blow up your phone asking for another chance after you refused to go on another date with him. He’d framed your refusal like a misunderstanding, and acted like persistence was a charm.

“So anyway,” he said, finally pausing just long enough to inhale, “I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner sometime. Catch up properly.”

You spotted Vernon a few steps away. “There you are, my love,” you called out with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

Vernon looked up at the sound of your voice, just as you crossed the distance and slipped your arm around his without asking, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve. For a moment, you thought he might ask what was happening. But he looked at you and at the puzzled Carlo just nearby and seemed to understand the situation right away.

“Sorry,” you said, turning back to Carlo with an apologetic smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “What were you saying?”

Carlo took a step back, posture stiffening, his grin faltering as his eyes moved from Vernon’s face to his tailored clothes, then back to you. Whatever confidence he’d walked into the lobby with seemed to deflate all at once.

“Oh, by the way,” you began, turning to Vernon. “Have you met Carlo? He’s in the export business. And the son of Grandmama’s friend.”

Vernon didn’t miss a beat. He offered his hand. “Vernon,” he said pleasantly.

Carlo stared, shaking his hand. You smiled and said, “My fiancee.”

“Oh,” Carlo said. “Fiancée.”

“Yes,” you replied simply. You could already imagine how this little lie would spread among your mutual acquaintances and business spaces you shared with Carlo, given how loose-lipped he was. But all you could care about right now was getting him to leave you alone.

“Well—uh,” Carlo said, shaking Vernon’s hand a little too quickly. “Nice to meet you. You two look… great.” He stepped back, already glancing at his phone. “I should get going. Busy day. You know how it is.”

You watched him retreat without comment, hurrying through the lobby until he disappeared entirely. Only then did you exhale.

You loosened your grip on Vernon’s arm, turning toward him. “Thank you,” you began.

“Your fiancée?” said someone from behind you.

You immediately froze, recognizing the timbre, the authority, and the unmistakable tone of your Grandmother’s voice. 

You turned slowly and found her standing a few feet away, handbag tucked neatly under her arm, eyes sharp and clearly amused.

“Did I hear that right,” she said, her smile widening as her gaze flicked between you and Vernon, “or am I finally losing my hearing?”

Vernon, to his credit, didn’t move. Neither did you. And somewhere between the impulsive little lie and her grin, you realized that things were about to blow out of proportion.

“OMG, Grammy. You heard that? I’m sorry. This is my assistant. I only said he was my fiancée to get that obnoxious Carlo off my back.” 

You could have said that and gotten it over with. But you couldn’t. The delight on your grandmother’s face was too precious for you to shatter with the truth.  So here you were, sitting across from her for an impromptu family dinner, Vernon holding your hand beside you. 

You were usually the most intimidating person in any room you walked into. Boardrooms, negotiations, crowded halls full of people waiting for you to speak—none of it ever rattled you. But at that dinner table, you were painfully aware of your posture, your hands, the way your expression changed with every interaction.

Your grandmother had that effect on you. She was the only person who could ever make you nervous, especially when it involved major life decisions like this.

It didn’t help that she was beaming like she’d just won the lottery. Vernon, as it turned out, was the grandson of an old friend of hers.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew my Grandma?” you had discreetly asked him earlier during the meeting with an investor, while your Grandmother watched from a few tables away.

She had insisted she’d wait until you finished the business meeting, and that was how you found yourselves trapped in this ‘family’ dinner.

“So,” she said, eyes bright as she looked between you and Vernon, “how did the two of you meet?”

You stiffened slightly, already bracing yourself. Vernon answered easily. “Oh, we met in college,” he said, reaching for his water. “We reconnected only recently when I started working for her.”

Your grandmother’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? And when did you start dating?”

You kept your gaze on your plate, listening. “About a month ago,” Vernon replied smoothly.

A month ago. You did the math immediately, your mind racing ahead of your body. That was the exact week he’d started working as your temporary assistant.

“And engaged already?” your grandmother said, delighted rather than suspicious.

Vernon nodded. “We didn’t see the point in waiting.”

She laughed, clapping her hands softly. “Oh, I love that. Life is too short to hesitate.” She turned to you then, eyes sharp and delighted. “So you mean to tell me you got engaged without telling me you were dating my best friend’s grandson?”

You opened your mouth, only to just close it again. Vernon cleared his throat. “It all happened rather quickly.”

“That’s what I love about it,” she said, waving a hand. “Destiny waits for no one,” she added, laughing.

You laughed too—awkwardly enough that you were sure you’d given it all away. You stared at the food on the table, suddenly finding your favorite dish from the best chef in the city unappetizing and dry.

“Does your family know?” she asked Vernon again.

Vernon hesitated, glancing at you for an answer. You had absolutely nothing to offer him. Not even a lie half-formed. So you lifted one shoulder, the smallest shrug you could manage.

He turned back to her and smiled. “Not yet. We wanted to keep it quiet for a while,” he said, shrugging lightly. “It hasn’t been very long. But I guess the secret’s out now that you know.”

Your grandmother looked like she might burst from excitement. “Oh, this is wonderful,” she said, already reaching for her phone. “They’ll be thrilled.”

You sat up straighter. “Grandma—”

“Wait,” Vernon said at the same time.

She waved both of you off, already dialing. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll just tell them quickly.”

You watched in horror as she put the phone to her ear. “Hello?” she said brightly. “Yes, yes, it’s me. You’ll never guess what I just found out.”

You sank back into your chair, heart thudding.

She spoke excitedly, voice warm and loud enough that you caught pieces of the conversation—laughter, delighted exclaims, repeated congratulations. You could hear someone else speaking on the other end, just as excited.

You didn’t catch the names, but you didn’t need to. Whoever was on the other end was laughing too. Your grandmother kept nodding along, with soft mm-hmms and delighted sighs.

“I know. I couldn’t believe it either.” She glanced at the two of you, eyes shining. “They’re here with me right now.”

Vernon didn’t move. His hand was still resting near yours on the table, close enough but not quite touching. He looked composed, if a little too still, like he’d decided that reacting would only make things worse.

Your grandmother laughed again. “Oh, don’t be dramatic. Of course it makes sense. Haven’t you always said fate has terrible timing?”

She listened for a moment, then hummed approvingly. “Yes. I’ll tell them.”

She ended the call with a satisfied tap of her finger against the screen and set her phone down carefully, as if savoring the moment. “There,” she said, pleased. “They are over the moon.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose. “Grandma—”

“You never even told them that you were seeing someone, Vernon,” she added. “They’re insisting on dinner soon. All of us.”

“That might be difficult,” he said carefully. “With work and—”

“Oh, nonsense,” she interrupted. “You’ll make time. You always do for family.”

She smiled at you then, softer and fonder. “And you,” she said, “I’m gonna excuse the fact that you kept this a secret from me.”

You pressed your lips together, offering something that might have passed for a smile.

Across the table, your grandmother reached for her glass, perfectly satisfied. Beside you, Vernon shifted just enough that his knee brushed yours under the table. Neither of you commented on it. But you both understood the same thing at the exact same time.

This had officially gone too far to undo politely.

By the time you finally parted with your grandmother outside the restaurant, you were exhausted. Not the kind of tired you felt after negotiations or long meetings, but the slow, creeping kind that sank into your bones and stayed there.

You slid into the backseat as soon as Vernon opened the door for you, barely waiting for it to close before sinking back against the leather. The city lights blurred past the windows as the car pulled away from the curb.

“That,” you said, staring at the ceiling, “went so wrong so fast.”

Vernon huffed a small laugh from the driver’s seat. “That’s one way to put it.”

You dragged a hand down your face. “I just wanted Carlo to leave me alone. I didn’t plan on my grandmother calling half the city to announce my engagement.”

“She seemed… enthusiastic.”

“Oh, trust me. That was her being restrained,” you muttered. You straightened slightly, folding your arms. “You’ve been with me long enough to know how she takes my love life very, very seriously.”

The car stopped at a red light. Vernon glanced at you through the rearview mirror. “You could let her have it for a few days,” he said casually. “Then tell her it didn’t work out. People break up all the time. We haven’t been dating long anyway. It’ll be believable.”

You sighed, nodding. “That’s the plan.”

The light turned green, and he eased back into traffic. You watched the city slide past again, your reflection faint in the glass.

“I’m sorry,” you said after a moment. “For dragging you into this. For the phone call with your folks. For—” You waved a hand vaguely. “All of it.”

Vernon shrugged, eyes on the road. “It’s fine.”

You looked at him. “You don’t have to say that.”

“No really,” he replied. “I don’t mind. I’ll just consider it part of the job.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’d hate the job if I were you.”

He tilted his head, considering. “Well,” he said, “it’s not the strangest thing I’ve been dragged into for work.”

You snorted despite yourself. The car slowed in front of your apartment building. Vernon parked and turned the engine off. You stepped out of the car, the night air cool against your skin. Behind you, Vernon followed, just another assistant at your side.

That was all it was supposed to be.

“See you in the morning, boss,” he said, handing you your bag as you both stopped in front of the elevator.

You nodded. “See you in the morning, Secretary Chwe.”

He nodded back, then stepped closer—so suddenly that you barely had time to register it before he was right there, warmth and presence crowding your space. 

You froze, surprised by the proximity. For a split-second your mind was racing to process so many things at once—the closeness, the clean scent of his cologne, his steady breathing, and the way you’d been holding yours without realizing it.

Then his arm lifted past your shoulder. The elevator button clicked softly behind you.

“Oh,” you breathed, the sound escaping before you could stop it.

Vernon pulled back, his expression unreadable for a second, before his mouth curved into a smile—one that made you pause. You’d seen that smile every day for the last few weeks, but this was the first time you’d found yourself completely disarmed by it.

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open, and air rushed back into your lungs like you’d been underwater. You looked away first, stepping inside without a word. 

Vernon remained outside, one hand lifting in a wave. “Good night,” he said.

The doors closed between you, sealing him out, and the last thing you saw was that damn smile.

The very next morning, you woke up to the sound of your phone ringing on the nightstand. You squinted at the screen. Grandma.

“Oh my god, what now?” you grumbled, sitting up before answering. “Good morning,” you croaked, rubbing your eyes.

“Pack your bags,” she said immediately, skipping any niceties. “We’re going away for the holidays.”

“It’s still two weeks before Christmas, Grandmama.”

“Oh, honey,” she gushed. “We’ll be spending the holidays with Vernon’s family.”

You straightened up, swiping at the alarm that had somehow joined the chaos. “Excuse me?”

“Yes. For a week. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“A WEEK?!” you echoed loudly, standing up on your bed now, clutching a fistful of your hair. “Grandma, what do you mean a week? What… Where—WITH WHOM?”

“Okay, young lady. Calm down. I can’t understand you when you’re rambling like this.”

“Grandma, I can’t—I have work. There’s the holiday promos, the rush, meetings and deals. I literally can’t even disappear for a day, let alone a whole week.”

“You have competent employees for that. I’m sure they can handle it,” she said casually. “Besides, I checked your calendar and you don’t have anything major that requires your immediate attention. Surely you can pause your micromanaging for a few days?”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed, offended. “I don’t micromanage—ugh. Not the point,” you muttered, more to yourself.

You took a deep breath and sat back on the bed. “Listen, Grandma. I haven’t met his family yet. I haven’t even been introduced as his girlfriend yet. I can’t just show up as his fiancee out of nowhere.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said, waving the thought away like dust. “But this is exactly the right moment. It’s the holidays.”

You paused, genuinely bewildered. “How did this even happen?”

“Oh, my dear, this wasn’t my idea,” she replied, her voice lighting up. “Vernon’s grandmother insisted.”

You let out a long, shaky breath. “Grandma—”

“Pack your bags,” she said cheerfully. “Don’t argue with me. I’ve already told them you’re coming and I already took care of everything.”

Now here you were, sitting in your office, heels tapping impatiently on the marble floor, fingers drumming against the wood of your desk. Every five seconds, you checked the clock, willing Vernon to appear.

Finally, the office door slid open, and there he was, smiling so calmly like things hadn’t blown out of proportion already. “Oh, there you are!” You exhaled sharply. “I need you to act as my fiancée. Again.”

His brows furrowed, confused. “Why?”

“Surely your family’s told you by now that I am to spend the holidays with you?” you snapped, exasperation leaking into your tone.

He shrugged. “I’ve been told. But… you don’t have to. I can get you out of it if you really hate the idea.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “I don’t like the idea. But you know as well as I do that dissuading my grandmother is impossible.”

He chuckled lightly. “You’ve never let anyone tell you what to do.”

You snorted, leaning forward. “I’ll have you know that my grandmother can—and will—tell me what to do. Ghosting blind dates is a walk in the park, but things like this? Yeah. No way.”

Vernon hummed in acknowledgment. “She does seem like the formidable type.”

There was a moment of silence between you, one so comical you could hear the crickets in your head. “So?” you prompted. “Will you do it, or not?”

Vernon just shrugged, eyes still playful. “Do I get a raise?”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated, but also relieved. “I’ll even make you a regular while I’m at it, Intern Chwe.”

Being the meticulous person you were, you drafted a contract days before the trip. Not a legal one, of course, but a set of rules you and Vernon both agreed to follow while pretending to be engaged. You and Vernon made it together and agreed to both of your conditions, especially involving physical intimacy.

You made a point to make sure holding hands and displays of affection were strictly in front of the family only. And of course no hugging unless absolutely necessary. There were clauses about sticking to an agreed context and backstory, and never answering major or intrusive questions without the other.

“How do you feel about sharing a bedroom?” he asked.

“Do we have to? Can’t I get my own guest room?”

Vernon shook his head. “You clearly don’t know my family at all. An engaged couple staying in separate bedrooms? They’re gonna be suspicious.”

That made sense. “Alright. But I’m taking the bed. You can have the couch. Or the floor. Whatever works.”

“Come on,” he said, mock-protesting. “It’s my house. I should get the bed.”

“And I’m your boss,” you countered. “Rule number five will be, I always win.”

“Now you’re just power tripping.”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Fifth clause. Very important.”

Vernon raised an eyebrow at said clause about ‘no kissing or hugging’. “Exceptions?” he asked casually. “Christmas games, dances, mistletoe… maybe a moment of festive goodwill?”

“Absolutely not,” you said firmly. “Exceptions are only if the world is literally ending. Or someone dies. Or—” You stopped yourself, realizing you were overexplaining. “Just don’t ask for exceptions.”

Vernon nodded, taking that in stride. “But the situation could call for a hug, you know?”

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just not.”

“Fine. But I’m telling you, my family will notice.”

“Just what kind of family do you have?”

Apparently, the kind who were affectionate and close, and took Christmas very seriously.

Days later, you boarded a plane with your grandmother practically vibrating with excitement beside you. She chatted the entire time—about the food, about the weather, about how nice it was that you were finally dating and thinking of marriage—while you nodded along, occasionally exchanging looks with Vernon over the divider between your seats. Thankfully, first class gave you just enough privacy that you didn’t have to perform more than absolutely necessary.

When you landed, the cold winter air hit you first, stinging your cheek. You’d barely stepped outside the terminal when a pickup truck rolled to a stop in front of you, horn honking cheerfully.

A jolly older man hopped out, grinning wide. “You must be exhausted,” he said warmly, eyes immediately landing on your grandmother. “It’s been too long.”

Her face lit up in a way you didn’t see very often these days. “Look at you,” she said, holding his arm affectionately. “All grown up.”

They hugged like no time had passed at all. Behind you, Vernon carefully placed a coat over your shoulder, its warmth engulfing you almost immediately. Then he leaned in slightly, one hand still on your shoulder. “That’s my uncle.”

Vernon introduced you and you offered a hand for a shake. “Lovely to meet you.”

The entire drive into town was filled with laughter and reminiscing, stories bouncing back and forth like they’d only seen each other yesterday instead of decades ago. Apparently, his uncle had spent a good portion of his childhood around your grandmother, running around while the adults talked business and dreams and things far too big for children to understand.

You watched your grandmother from the backseat, her smile so soft and sweet, and felt something warm settle in your chest.

“Just how long have you known this family?” you asked her, half-teasing.

Vernon’s uncle laughed before she could answer. “Oh, longer than me,” he said easily. “Her and my Ma go way back. Back when I wasn’t even born yet.”

She nodded fondly. “We were already friends when we both had nothing,” she said. “We used to talk about what we’d do one day, when life finally got easier. Now, we have money. But we’re both too busy to see each other.”

You hummed, thoughtful, eyes drifting out the window. A moment later, curiosity got the better of you. You turned slightly toward Vernon. “I don’t think you’ve told me what your family does?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Merchandising.”

That was vague. You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could press further, his uncle laughed and pointed ahead, where a tall building rose proudly in the middle of the city square. It stretched for blocks, glass gleaming even under the sky.

“That,” he said, clearly pleased, “is what my dear mother—Vernon’s grandma—built from the ground up.”

Your breath caught. It was a shopping mall. Not just any mall, either. You recognized the name immediately. You’d seen more than a few of them back home, even had business with them!

Slowly, you turned to look at Vernon, scanning him from head to toe like you were seeing him for the first time.

He noticed. “What?”

“Merchandising?” you said flatly.

He shrugged again, entirely unapologetic. You leaned back in your seat, stunned, eyes flicking back to the building as it disappeared behind you.

Great. Of course you’d accidentally gotten fake-engaged into another powerful family.

When the truck finally came to a stop, you stepped down onto solid ground and immediately turned to Vernon, catching him by the sleeve before he could move too far ahead.

“Wait,” you said under your breath. “Why didn’t you tell me you were rich?”

He blinked, genuinely taken aback. “What?”

“That mall,” you said flatly. “The one your family runs. You don’t just forget to mention that, not when you know we’re retail partners with them.”

Vernon huffed a laugh. “You never asked. And besides, I’m not rich. My family is.”

You stared at him. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is,” he said mildly. “Just not one you like.”

You scoffed, lowering your voice even further. “Then why are you working as an intern? In my company. For—” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, “minimum pay and maximum suffering?”

His mouth opened, like he was about to say something but his uncle’s voice came booming from a few steps away. “Vernon!”

He looked over his shoulder. “Coming,” he replied easily, then glanced back at you. “Come on.”

You followed them down the pier, heels clicking against weathered wood as the sea air wrapped around you. Only when you reached the edge did you finally understand why everyone had stopped.

A sailboat waited at the dock, white and pristine, bobbing gently against the water. You slowed to a stop. “Why are we getting on a boat?”

Vernon glanced at the sailboat, then back at you, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “My family thinks we’re better than everyone else,” he said, “so they bought a whole island and decided to live far away from the commoners.”

You stopped walking altogether. “I’m sorry—what?”

His uncle let out a bark of laughter, clapping a hand on Vernon’s shoulder. “That’s not true at all,” he said. “We didn’t move there. It’s just for family gatherings. Holidays. Reunions. That sort of thing.”

“And no, we don’t own the whole island,” his uncle added, looking out into the horizon, one hand on his hip. “Only half of it.”

Like that made it less unreasonable.

You’d spent years thinking your grandmother was extravagant—buying properties she rarely stayed in, collecting things simply because she could. But apparently, somewhere two thousand miles away, another woman had been doing the exact same thing.

No wonder they’re friends.

Vernon hovered beside you now, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence without looking at him. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

You opened your eyes. “I’m fine.”

He smiled at that, then held a hand out toward you. You hesitated for half a second, narrowing your eyes at him, then just as quickly, remembered the whole happily in love act had officially begun. So you took his hand and let him help you aboard the boat. 

You had a feeling this week is going to be a lot harder than you’d anticipated.

The ride out to the island was mercifully short. The boat cut smoothly across the water, cold wind biting at your cheeks until your eyes watered. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, breath fogging faintly in front of you.

Someone was already waiting there. A girl stood at the edge of the dock, bundled in a thick coat and scarf, waving with both arms like she didn’t feel the cold at all.

“That’s my sister,” Vernon said beside you. “Sofia.”

The moment your feet hit the dock, Sofia made a beeline for him, throwing her arms around his neck without hesitation. “You’re alive,” she said dramatically. “I was starting to think you’d fallen off the face of the earth.”

Vernon laughed, hugging her back. “You facetimed me three days ago.”

“Three days is a long time,” she shot back, then said something else under her breath that made him groan and flick her forehead lightly. You didn’t catch the words, but the sight of their teasing and laughter made your chest feel oddly warm.

Then Vernon turned slightly and gestured toward you. “This is—” He paused for half a second, then continued smoothly. “My girlfriend.”

Sofia’s eyes snapped to you, sharp and curious, then widened with unmistakable delight. “Girlfriend,” she said slowly, grinning mischievously. “That’s not what I heard,” she added in a sing-song.

Vernon sighed. “Please be normal. Don’t embarrass me.”

“Welcome,” Sofia said cheerfully, offering a hug which you returned awkwardly. Then she pulled back just enough to study your face. “Wow. You’re very pretty. Why would you wanna marry that guy?”

“Alright,” Vernon interjected, tugging Sofia  from behind by her jacket collar. “That’s enough. Go away.”

“What? I think she’s too good for you.” She turned to you. “You sure you don’t wanna change your mind?”

“Stop,” he chided softly, chuckling, “Don’t discourage her. She might just change her mind. Nothing’s decided yet.”

“Oh, what nonsense.”

The voice came from behind Sofia—calm, amused, unmistakably unimpressed. A woman stepped forward, elegant in every sense of the word, eyes narrowing playfully as she looked Vernon over.

“You left a perfectly good position in the family business saying you wanted to fend for yourself,” she continued, “and now you come home with a fiancée?” Her lips curved into a smile. “You didn’t even wait a year before crawling back.”

You were taken aback, instinctively scooting closer to Vernon after what you heard. In your mind, you were wondering who this was and why she seemed to dislike him.

But beside you, Vernon merely sighed, shook his head in exasperation, and told you, “This is my mom.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off-guard. Then it immediately clicked that this might be how they normally talked to each other, and all in good fun, you assumed.

His mother didn’t give you much time to dwell on it. Her attention shifted to you immediately, her expression softening as she stepped closer and pulled you into a hug before you could react.

“Oh,” you exclaimed. Behind her, you mouthed to Vernon, ’Is this normal?’

He just shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. “Welcome,” she said warmly. “We’re so happy you’re here.”

You laughed softly, a little breathless, returning the hug despite the nerves curling in your stomach. And then everything moved at once.

You were ushered forward, names thrown at you faster than you could catch them—aunts, cousins, someone’s partner, someone else’s child—smiles and greetings blurring together as you were guided further into the property. The words ‘Vernon’s fiancee’ kept echoing in your ears, and you felt a little lightheaded as you realized that lie felt bigger by the second, ballooning with every new face and every fond look directed your way.

Warm air hit you the moment you stepped inside the house, carrying the smell of food and something sweet. It was massive, but you barely had time to take it in before you heard someone call out your grandmother’s nickname.

“Oh my goodness,” a voice exclaimed, followed by hurried footsteps.

An elderly woman appeared with her arms already open, and your grandmother’s face lit up like a sunrise. They met in the middle of the room, hugging tightly, laughing, talking over each other all at once.

You watched them fondly, feeling warm all over and knowing it wasn’t because of the central heating. Then the noise swelled again around you, and you were being pulled into a hug by Vernon’s grandmother who had affectionately asked you to call her ‘Nana’.

Eventually—somehow—you and Vernon finally escaped everybody’s attention and you found yourself trailing behind him aas he led you down a quieter hallway. You passed through wide corridors, went up several flights of staircases, before he finally stopped in front of a wooden door that looked like every other one in the hall.

“Come on in,” he said, pushing the door open and letting you step inside first.

The room was spacious, sunlight spilling through tall windowsr. A queen-sized bed sat at the center, dressed in crisp white linens under fluffy navy blue duvets. A thick rug covered the hardwood floor, and a small writing desk sat neatly in the corner. A fireplace along one wall had a few framed family photos on its mantle. There was also a couch just in front of the fireplace, and you noticed a subtle scent of pine and cinnamon lingering faintly in the room.

“How big is your family?” you asked, your gaze drifting around, taking in the comfort and scale of the space.

“Not very,” he said, hauling the last of your luggage over to the corner and setting it down with ease. “Nana has five kids, all married with kids. And most of my older cousins are married too, so I’ve got eight nieces and nephews.”

“Wow. Are there like, thirty of you?”

“Almost thirty,” he said, shrugging, a small smile tugging at his lips. “If everyone comes home for the holidays this year, you’re looking at twenty-eight Chwes under one roof.”

“That’s a lot of people,” you murmured, scanning the room.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Well, my dad was an only child who had only one kid,” you replied, leaning slightly against the desk. “So, no aunts and uncles for me. No horde of cousins either.”

Vernon glanced at you from the doorway, tilting his head slightly. “Right, why didn’t your parents come here with you? I assume they’re thrilled that their only child is engaged.”

You froze, realizing in that moment that you’d never actually told him your parents had passed. Before you could answer, a sharp knock came at the door, swinging open just as quickly without really waiting for anyone to respond.

“Hello! I hope I’m not disturbing anything,” a warm, lively voice called out. Vernon’s mother stepped inside, carrying a tray laden with small snacks and a thermos of tea.

“No. We were just settling in,” you answered, trying to sound normal.

“I figured you’d be hungry after that long journey,” she said brightly, setting the tray down. She turned her gaze on you, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “How are you feeling? You’ve traveled so far! Are you comfortable? Did you eat enough on the plane? Oh, do you like sweets?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, blinking at the rapid-fire questions, completely overwhelmed.

“Oh, and I’m so sorry about the chaos,” she said, smiling as she poured tea into the teacup. “Our family tends to overreact. Especially with Vernon being the only man in the family who hasn’t married yet. Everyone’s just excited to meet you.”

You felt a genuine warmth spread through your chest. “Thank you,” you said softly, taking a small step closer to accept the cup she was offering.

“And how is my son? Is he good to you? Does he treat you well?”

“Oh, he’s… wonderful. He takes care of everything for me,” you replied, and in a way, what you said was true.

“As he should,” she chimed, looking proud. “He must have been really good to you for you to decide to get married shortly after dating. OH!” She exclaimed, practically jumping in her seat. “You haven’t shown us your engagement ring yet!”

You froze, eyes flitting to Vernon across the room. He too looked surprised. You were both realizing in real-time that you had forgotten one, if not the most important thing about this whole engagement thing.

The damn ring!

“Is this it?” his mother asked, reaching for your hand where your default favorite ring to wear wrapped daintily on your finger.

You glanced sideways at Vernon, your expression screaming Help me.

“Alright, Mom, we’re tired. We need some rest. Please give us some space,” said Vernon, walking over and gently tugging her mom away from you.

“Oh, fine,” she said, still beaming as her son dragged her all the way out of the door. “But you need to tell me everything later!”

“Okay, bye-bye,” Vernon said before closing the door to her face.

The silence that followed was like a breath of fresh air. You slumped onto the couch, exhaling a long, tired breath. “I can’t believe you forgot about the ring.”

“Nah, I think that’s on you,” he said casually, sitting on the edge of the bed. “This whole thing was your idea. You should have known getting engaged includes getting a ring.”

“Are you saying you didn’t know that?”

Vernon paused, head tilting, deep in thought. You sighed and waved a hand dismissively. “Forget it. Where’s the contract? Let’s go over it one more time.”

Vernon laid it out on the desk and went through the rules you’d carefully set up—holding hands only in front of family, no hugging, no kissing, agreed backstory, a clear understanding of what questions could be answered and which ones required a unanimous decision, and most importantly, telling everyone after the holidays that things didn’t work out and you had to break up.

You came to the clause about the bed, and after a short discussion, agreed to alternate each night between the bed and the couch. 

“Alright, get some rest,” he said after, standing up and walking toward the door. “maybe a shower if you’d like.”

You raised a hand. “Wait, where are you going? You’re not allowed to leave me alone. It’s in the contract. Rule number eight.”

His brows furrowed. “You okay about me being in the room while you shower and get dressed?”

Your cheeks heat up instantly. “Okay. You can go,” you said calmly.

He chuckled softly, hands in his pockets, turning to the door again. “I’ll just check out the field, see what’s there to expect. Don’t worry. I won’t be long,” he beamed, giving a small wave before closing the door.

By the end of that night, the engagement ring situation had been settled. You’d stared down at the ring already on your finger and said, “We can just say this is it.”

Vernon had squinted at it, thoughtful. “It doesn’t look like an engagement ring.”

You lifted your chin. “It does. The rock is a diamond. Just smaller than what engagement rings usually have. Do you have a better idea?” you shot back.

He didn’t. So that was that. The ring was promoted on the spot, its significance upgraded without its consent, and you both agreed never to question it again unless absolutely necessary. Preferably never.

And then the week began and nothing could have prepared you for what the holidays looked like in his family.

It was loud. Doors were always opening, someone was always calling out from another room, laughter echoing down hallways. There were meals that turned into three-hour affairs, dishes clattering, voices overlapping, debates breaking out over the most insignificant things. Someone was always touching someone else—an arm around a shoulder, fingers laced together, hair ruffled in passing. Affection here wasn’t saved for special moments. It was everywhere.

It was nothing like the holidays you knew.

Christmas, to you, had always been quiet. A peaceful dinner with your grandmother. Soft music playing in the background. Catching up, exchanging gifts, sitting side by side on the couch with wine glasses until you both got sleepy and called it a night.

Here, Christmas started days early and showed no signs of slowing down.

You were fed constantly. Asked questions constantly. Complimented, hugged, pulled into conversations you barely understood, handed drinks you didn’t ask for. At some point, someone insisted you had to try a dessert because it was “Vernon’s favorite growing up,” and suddenly he was there beside you, watching your reaction.

That was another problem entirely. Vernon was a little too good at this.

He held your hand casually, like it was second nature. Thumb brushing over your knuckles without thinking. He leaned in when people spoke to you, an arm slipping around your waist like muscle memory. He remembered to pull out your chair, to pass you food first, to check if you were cold before grabbing you a sweater.

None of it felt forced. If anything, you were the awkward one. “How are you so good at this?”

He glanced at you, amused. “Good at what?”

“This,” you said vaguely, gesturing between the two of you. “The loving boyfriend thing. It’s weird!”

His mouth twitched. “Would you rather I be awkward and obvious like you?”

You scoffed. “I am not obvious.”

“You flinch every time I touch you.”

“That’s because you don’t give me a heads up,” you hissed.

He just smiled, infuriatingly smug, and reached for your hand again as someone walked past. “Real couples don’t need a heads up for something like this,” he said, lifting your joined hands, then pressing a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

“What are you doing?” you deadpanned, but the smile on his lips remained.

“Nana and your grandma are looking right at us,” he said.

You turned your head to said direction, and found that they were, in fact, not looking. You scoffed, pulled your hand back and glared at him. “I’m docking your pay for this month.”

“You really think I need it?” he asked smugly, spreading his arms in a grand gesture.

You grimaced, taken aback by an arrogance you’d never seen in him before. “Stop. It’s your family’s, not yours.”

“Well, I’m part of this family, so…” he replied, shrugging arrogantly. You snorted, rolling your eyes but not denying your laugh.

Vernon has always been popular in your company. You noticed that much after weeks of having him beside you everyday. People were always ogling him, heads turned whenever he passed by, followed by giggles and dreamy sighs. It was different from when it was just you. Most of the time, people tried to avoid eye contact with you and turned the other way when they saw you coming.

Of course you knew why he was popular—it has all to do with his good-looks. You tried, but you could never deny that his appearance was, in fact, out of this world. Not to mention he’s tall, has good genes, and is intelligent. But other than that, there wasn’t much you could say about him as a person. You didn’t really know what he was like outside of work, after all. You never paid him that much attention unless he was giving you a rundown of the day’s agenda.

But here, in his home, surrounded by his family, you started noticing him more—not as your assistant, not even as your fake fiancée—but as someone in his own world. You saw the way he laughed freely here, all toothy and loud. The way he let his nieces climb all over him, how he listened when his grandmother spoke, how his mother scolded him and kissed his cheek in the same breath.

He was warm here. Soft and gentle in a way you’d never seen at work. And he was always close to you. His hand would find the small of your back in crowded rooms. He’d tuck you in beside him on couches, offer you food before himself, glance at you like he was checking if you were still okay. Sometimes you caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking, his eyes gentle and unreadable.

You told yourself it was part of the act. But as the days passed, surrounded by noise and laughter and far too much affection, you started feeling like you were the one pretending the hardest.

“You ready?” he asked on the morning of the 23rd.

You’d just finished touching up your makeup. “Yes.”

“Okay good. Let’s go. Everyone’s waiting.”

You hesitated, retracting your hand when he reached for it. Vernon looked at you like he was over it. “Well? Come on then.”

“It’s just…” you huffed, gesturing vaguely. “It’s a family pictorial. I’m not exactly… family.”

Vernon chuckled, reaching for your hand again. “We’ve talked about this. It’s not that deep.”

Except it was. You couldn’t fathom how Vernon could be so calm about this whole thing. Not just the family pictorial, but the whole sham of an engagement you two were in. 

“I can hear you thinking. Stop that,” he prompted, tugging you by the hand, all the way out of the bedroom.

The house was full. Not metaphorically—literally full. Every bedroom was occupied, couches were claimed, extra chairs pulled out from storage, voices overlapping in every corner of the house. The entire family had arrived, cousins and partners and children. You’d naturally been absorbed into it, everyone’s basically been treating you like family.

They had a tradition, apparently. A family photo every Christmas. Same spot, same arrangement, different years. It was said to always happen every morning of the 23rd, two days before Christmas. And everyone took it seriously, dressing up with intent and looking their best.

“You can’t not join,” Vernon reminded you, steering you toward the center of the room. “That’d be weird. Am I supposed to tell everyone, ‘this is a fake engagement so she’s skipping out’?”

You lowered your voice as people shuffled around you, calling names, arguing about height order. “That’s the thing. This is fake and temporary, but the photo we’re taking is gonna live forever in your family albums. Immortalized and revisited every year.”

He laughed softly, like it hadn’t even occurred to him that this could be a problem. “If you really feel that bad about it,” he said, shrugging, “you could always marry me for real. Clear your conscience.”

You gave him a deadpan look. He simply grinned, completely unrepentant, then gently nudged you forward as someone called his name again. 

By then, it was too late to back out. You let yourself be placed beside him, his arm slipping easily around your back like it belonged there.

The camera flashed.And just like that, this Christmas was immortalized as the year Vernon brought home a girl. If you didn’t get caught in the lie, then it would be the year he brought home a fiancée and things didn’t work out. If you did get caught, then it would still be the year he brought home a fiancée, but a fake one.Either way. It would be humiliating for him.

You thought that would be the end of it. But later, after breakfast, when the living room had devolved into noise and laughter and people sprawled across every available surface, Sofia pulled out a Polaroid camera.

“Oh, we’re doing couples,” she announced. “This is non-negotiable.”

Groans followed, and some cheers. You felt Vernon’s hand find yours before you’d even fully processed what was happening, his fingers lacing with yours like muscle memory.

“You weren’t kidding,” you muttered under your breath. “Your family really does love each other.”

“You love us too,” he murmured back, grinning.

“I’ve known you people for a week,” you retorted, scoffing. But then, looking around, you added, “But yeah. You guys are cool.”

You were herded onto the couch together, shoulders pressed close. Sofia crouched in front of you, aiming the camera. She looked into the camera, then at the two of you, brows furrowed.

“Are you guys really dating?” she asked, and you felt your heart drop to the floor. For a second, you wondered if you got caught, but then she added, “Scoot closer. This isn’t the 1800s.”

You chuckled and it came out strained. Vernon’s arm snaked around your waist, making you stiffen and glance at him. He gave it a gentle squeeze, urging you to relax. So you tried.

“Kiss!” someone shouted from behind, followed by a chorus of hoots and whistles.

“That’s enough,” Vernon said lightly, but firmly. “You’re not getting a show.”

There were groans. Booing. Someone yelled that he was no fun. He just shrugged like none of it bothered him.

“Smile!” Sofia prompted.

You smiled without thinking. Then the camera clicked, and the photo slid out with a soft whirr.

Vernon didn’t move right away. Neither did you. When you glanced at him, he was already looking at you. You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, eyes gleaming, a smile playing on his lips. You stared back, brows furrowing, confused at the attention he was giving you.

You waited a second. Then another. The smile on his lips didn’t change, it just stayed there, sweet and knowing, like he was in on something you weren’t.

Heat crept up your neck. You shifted slightly on the couch, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting, of his arm still resting behind you. “Why are you staring at me?”

He hummed softly, like he was thinking about it. But he still didn’t answer. So you stopped looking away. If he was going to stare, then fine. You could stare too.

But that was a bad idea. The noise around you slowly faded while you held his gaze, your heart thudding louder and louder with every passing second. His expression changed then, and you couldn’t tell what it meant. It was something between amusement and surprise.

Click!

You both broke at the sound, turning toward his sister.

“Oh,” Sofia said, already sprinting toward the tree just across the room. “This one’s going on the tree!”

Everyone eventually drifted off to do their own thing. The kids bundled themselves up and tore out into the snow, their shrieks of laughter muffled by scarves and knit hats. You stayed inside, lounging on one of the couches near the wide living room windows, a warm mug cradled between your palms as you watched them tumble and recover and tumble again.

Nana sat beside you with a knitted blanket over her lap, while your grandma sat across from you, glasses perched low on her nose.

“They used to do that too,” your grandma said fondly, nodding toward the window. “Run around like little monsters until we had to drag them back inside.”

You smiled. “Who?”

“Your father,” Nana replied with a smile. “And my kids. Every summer, without fail. They’d come stay here for weeks. This place was a rental at the time. We didn’t have enough money yet to purchase it.”

Your attention sharpened. You hadn’t heard much about that time—just fragments, half-remembered anecdotes your grandmother would mention in passing.

“Oh yes,” your grandmother chimed in. “We saved up a few months of salary just to rent this out for summer,” she added, laughing heartily.

Nana nodded, looking outside. “They were inseparable. Always muddy, always hungry. Your father was so polite, though. Even as a boy.”

Grandma chuckled. “Polite until he got comfortable.”

You laughed softly, the sound surprising you. “That sounds like him.”

“They were happy summers,” Nana continued, her voice warm with memory. “Those were good days. This place witnessed those kids grow up. Your mom and dad got engaged here.”

The room fell into a gentle hush, that subtle heaviness creeping in. You knew it all too well. It always happened whenever your parents were brought into the conversation. Nana reached out and patted your knee, her touch gentle and affectionate.

“You must miss them very much,” she said softly.

You swallowed, then nodded. “I do. But it’s okay. Really.” You managed a small smile. “I was young. I barely remember some things.”

That wasn’t entirely true—but it was the version you’d learned to give people, the one that made them stop looking at you like you might shatter.

Nana studied you for a moment, eyes kind but knowing. “Still,” she said, “we’re glad you’re here. You’re family too, you know.”

You blinked, throat tightening unexpectedly. “Thank you,” you said, meaning it more than you could explain.

Then, as if sensing the mood had sunk too low, your grandma straightened a little and clapped her hands together lightly. “Well! Speaking of family,” she said brightly, “have you two thought about where you’ll get married?”

“I—what?” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” your grandma laughed. “This is not an unexpected subject.”

You chuckled awkwardly. “No. No, it’s not. I just—we… Vernon and I haven’t discussed it yet.”

“But you’re gonna get married anyway, aren’t you?” Nana asked, placing a hand on your arm. “Why wait? You could do it here. After Christmas. The snow would be beautiful.”

“Oh, I love winter weddings,” your grandma gushed.

“I do too!” Nana agreed, also gushing. “My youngest had one and it was majestic!”

Your mind scrambled, panic blooming fast. After Christmas? Here? You could practically feel the lie ballooning again, threatening to burst.

“I think that might be a little—” you started, glancing desperately around the room, looking for Vernon.

“Oh, of course we’ll leave that up to you two,” said Nana, giggling. “But think about it and let us know. I know a good organizer who can give us an amazing event in short notice.”

Right on cue, the front door opened. Cold air rushed in along with laughter, Vernon’s uncle stomping snow off his boots as Vernon followed behind him, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Perfect conditions out there,” his uncle announced cheerfully. “Snow uphill is just right. We can go sledding today!”

The kids immediately erupted, cheers echoing through the house. Vernon’s gaze flicked to you, taking you in—your posture, your pallid face and horrified expression—and quickly understood that you needed him.

“Hello, ladies,” he greeted, kissing his Nana on the cheek and your grandma too. “I hope you’re not bullying my fiancee.”

They both chuckled, waving their hands. “Oh, we’re just talking,” Nana said, smiling. 

Vernon turned to you. “Wanna go sledding?”

“Yes,” you exclaimed with enthusiasm, not because you wanted to go but because you couldn’t wait to get out of there. “I love sledding.”

“Then we should go before they destroy the hill,” he smiled, offering a hand.

Nana laughed, waving a hand. “Go on, go. We’ll talk weddings later.”

You nearly tripped over your own feet standing up. Vernon fell into step beside you as you walked toward the main door, leaning in just enough to murmur, “You okay?”

“Pretty sure I was this close to spontaneously combusting,” you whispered back. “But yeah. I’m okay.”

Outside, the cold bit through your coat immediately. The sky was pale and endless, the snow untouched and glittering. Laughter was echoing from the hill as kids dragged sleds uphill.

Vernon handed you a pair of gloves without comment. You took them automatically, slipping them on. “Our grandmas suggested we get married here, just after Christmas. Apparently they both love winter weddings.”

“Oh, wow. What did you say to that?” he asked, walking over to fix your bonnet.

You scoffed, then rolled your eyes, letting him tie the laces of your bonnet under your chin. “What do you think? Couldn’t even get a word in. They were taking a mile a minute.”

He chuckled softly, patting your head after he was done with the laces. “Don’t mind them. Ultimately, the decision would be up to us. They can’t force us to do anything.”

You hummed to that, agreeing. Then you looked up at his hand, still sitting on your head. “You’re getting comfortable, Secretary Chwe.”

He grinned, defiant, not moving his hand away as he leaned down to say, “Except I’m not Secretary Chwe right now. I’m your baby.”

You grimaced, swatting his hand away. “Ew. As if.”

“Ah, it wasn’t ‘baby’. What was it, again?” he teased, walking backward. “My love, was it?”

You scowled, running after him to hit him. But he dodged easily. “You’re so annoying. I’m firing you first thing when we get back.”

“No, you won’t,” he grinned, holding out a hand. “You’re not gonna find a secretary who can do better than me.”

You scoffed, but you knew he was right. “Only for now,” you retorted. “As soon as Becca’s back, you’re out,” you added, then took his hand and followed him into the snow.

Sledding, apparently, was a two-person activity. You found that out only after everyone had already scattered across the hill, pairs forming naturally.

“Oh, I’m good,” you said quickly, hanging back near the fence. “I’ll just… watch.”

Vernon turned toward you, breath fogging in the cold. “You don’t wanna try?”

“I’m perfectly content being moral support,” you replied, hands tucked into your coat sleeves. “Very enthusiastic moral support.”

“Come on. It’s fun. You’re gonna love it,” he offered, smiling. Then he held a hand out to you, palm up.

“C’mon,” he said again. “One ride.”

You hesitated. You really did. You even glanced back toward the house, like the contract might physically manifest and slap his hand away for you. But then he tilted his head slightly, arm still extended, that stupid smile on his lips, and you sighed.

“Fine,” you muttered, stepping forward. “But hands around me is against the rules.”

He lifted a brow. “We’re sledding. I have to hold you.”

You considered that for a second, then nodded. “Alright. Compromise.”

You followed him, letting him guide you toward one of the sleds waiting at the top of the hill. The snow was packed down from use. You sat down first, legs tucked in, bracing yourself.

Vernon climbed on behind you and you stiffened immediately as his knees bracketed your hips, your back pressing flush against his chest through layers of winter coats.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice too close to your ear that it made the hair on your neck rise.

“I am relaxed,” you blurted, which was a blatant lie.

His hands hovered for a second, like he was giving you time to object. When you didn’t, he placed them carefully at your sides instead of fully around you, fingers gripping the edge of the sled.

“See?” he whispered in your ear, and you felt that in the way your heart started racing. “No rules broken.”

Your heart was already pounding like you were halfway down the hill. “Just… don’t move them,” you warned.

“I won’t.”

The sled jerked forward. Snow rushed past in a blur as gravity took over, the world tilting, the cold air biting at your cheeks. You gasped, half-laughing, half-panicking as the speed picked up.

Behind you, Vernon laughed too, his breath warm where it brushed your ear. The sled hit a small bump, and you jolted back instinctively. His arm tightened at your side—not wrapping, but close enough that you felt it anyway.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah!” you replied, grinning so hard as the wind whipped against your face.

When the sled finally slowed at the bottom of the hill, snow spraying up around you, you were both still laughing, breathless, a little unsteady.

Then the laughter faded. You looked up at him at the same time he looked down at you, and suddenly the space between your faces felt too small. Small enough that you could feel his warm breath against your cheek.

You blinked a few times, surprised and frozen in place. Vernon’s gaze dropped to your mouth, just for a second. When it lifted again, he swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing once. Seeing that and the intent in his eyes made your heart kick painfully against your ribs, like it was trying to escape.

Laughter and cheering exploded behind you as another sled barreled to a stop nearby.

You moved instantly, standing too fast, stepping away before your body could do something stupid. Cold air rushed back in like a shock as you brushed snow from your coat, cheeks burning despite the winter air.

Vernon cleared his throat. “That was fun,” he said, smiling like nothing happened.

You swallowed, looking away. “Yeah.”

Behind you, you could feel his gaze linger. You told yourself it was just adrenaline. Still, when he reached for the sled again and asked, “One more?” you didn’t say no.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. You drifted between rooms, between conversations—helping in the kitchen, sitting in on half-finished card games, watching kids chase each other until someone inevitably cried over a stolen candy cane. 

Somewhere in the middle of it all, you realized you’d stopped keeping track of where Vernon was at all times. Not because you didn’t care, but because you didn’t need to.

He was there when you glanced up from a conversation, leaning against a doorway, already looking at you. He was there beside you when someone handed out mugs of something warm, your shoulders brushing as you accepted yours. There were looks shared across the room, quick whispered comments that made you laugh under your breath, inside jokes forming without effort.

For once since you got here, there was no pressure to perform. No constant mental checklist. No fear that you’d look too distant for two people who were supposedly engaged. You were just genuinely enjoying yourself.

By nightfall, after a movie that half the room slept through, you found yourself walking back down the hall beside him, the house was quieter now, voices fading behind closed doors.

You were still laughing about a scene from the movie neither of you could take seriously. Your steps slowed naturally as you reached the door to the bedroom.

Vernon lingered in the hallway, hands in his pockets, watching you with a thoughtful expression. “You know,” he said casually, “you’re a really good person.”

You snorted, already turning toward the door. “Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

That made you pause. You glanced back at him, brows lifting. “Right. Sure you are.”

He rolled his eyes. “No, really. People at work call you Medusa, but I think they’re wrong about you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Oh, I don’t call you that,” he added quickly. “It’s just them.” 

You stared at him, genuinely caught off guard. “Medusa?”

“Like I said, they’re wrong. Please forgive them,” he said, smiling. “It’s just that they’ve never met someone so hardworking and intelligent. So sharp. So… wonderful. I think they figured there’s no way a real person could be that amazing, so they called you Medusa.”

Your stomach fluttered, completely against your will. But then you scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “Or,” you said, recovering, “it’s because people freeze when they see me. Like Medusa turns them into stone.”

He laughed. “That too.”

You laughed too, the sound echoing softly down the quiet hallway. And then for a moment, neither of you said anything. You were just staring at each other. When he leaned on the wall adjacent to the door, you mirrored him by leaning on his bedroom door.

Crossing your arms, you said, “It’s my turn on the bed tonight.”

Vernon chuckled softly, eyes glimmering, shaking his head. “No, it’s not.”

“It’s not?” you asked, feigning ignorance.

He opened his mouth—probably to argue, like always—then stopped. His gaze was still on you, that soft glow in his eyes was still there.

“…Fine,” he sighed, pushing himself away from the wall and walking toward you. He stopped just a breath away. “You can have it.”

You frowned, caught off guard. “That was too easy.”

He shrugged, reaching for the door knob behind you, leaning in so close. “Don’t get used to it,” he murmured, still not moving away even after he had pushed the door open.

You smiled, shaking your head lightly, and walked in. You took your cardigan off, reached the bed, arranged the blanket—you counted the steps in your head, not because you needed to, but because your chest was doing this ridiculous fluttering thing.

Vernon followed quietly, the ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips, and you watched as he picked up his blanket and headed to the couch. Then he gave you a small wave before disappearing behind the backrest. 

You lay down, smiling to yourself, staring up at the ceiling, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest.

This is bad, you whispered in your thoughts. This is so bad. You were smiling like an idiot. Because of Vernon Chwe! 

You exhaled through your nose. Okay. So maybe you were enjoying this holiday. A little too much. And yes. Fine. Vernon likes you. You weren’t imagining that. You’d spent your entire career reading people; you weren’t about to pretend you couldn’t read this.

But the more troubling realization was: you might be starting to like him back.

And that was bad because you had no idea how to tread this territory. This wasn’t in the agreement. There was no clause for catching feelings, no protocol for what to do if that ever happened.

“Hey,” Vernon’s voice carried from across the room, making your head snap that way, quieting your thoughts.

“Hey…” you murmured back.

“Goodnight,” he said softly.

You didn’t answer right away. You let yourself breathe. Then you exhaled softly, trying to get some control back, and making a decision right then and there. “Goodnight, Secretary Chwe,” you murmured.

You knew what it meant to call him that, knew how that sounded. But the words weren’t exactly for him. Not really. They were for you—a reminder to draw a line, to keep your head straight and not get distracted.

Because it turns out that the most dangerous thing about fake dating is not getting caught; it’s when things start to feel real.

The house was already awake when you stirred the next morning. You could tell before you even opened the door—voices overlapping downstairs, footsteps on the stairs, laughter that was louder than usual. Vernon noticed it too the second he stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp, sleeves rolled as he buttoned his shirt.

“Is it just me or is the house noisier than usual?” he asked, voice light.

You huffed a laugh. “Maybe your family multiplied in their sleep.”

You didn’t get far down the stairs before his mother intercepted the both of you, beaming, hands clasped together like she’d been waiting all morning for this exact moment.

“Surprise!” she said brightly.

Behind her, the living room was packed. Not just relatives—new faces. Older couples you didn’t recognize, younger people clustered near the windows, a few men Vernon vaguely waved at in recognition. Someone had already put music on. Someone else had brought food. There were flowers on the table that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday.

Vernon blinked once. “Mom, what’s going on?”

His mother laughed, waving him off. “Oh, we thought it would be nice to surprise you with an engagement party and invite our family friends, and your friends of course.”

“Your friends?” you asked, looking at Vernon.

“Yes, dear,” his mom answered. “Kids he grew up with and went to school with.”

She looped an arm through yours before you could take a step back. “I know it’s a lot, and you two have a penchant for keeping things lowkey. But don’t worry, this is just a small function. We won’t put you in too much spotlight, so no pressure.”

“Hah,” you exclaimed, then chuckled awkwardly. “Of course. No pressure,” you echoed, glancing sideways at Vernon.

“Mom,” he said, “you really didn’t have to—”

“Oh hush,” she said, already steering you further into the hall. “Everyone’s been dying to meet you properly.”

And just like that, the lie wasn’t a snowball anymore. It’s an avalanche.

You endured. That was the only way to describe it. Endurance. You smiled when people congratulated you. You nodded when they said you were beautiful together. You accepted hugs from women who smelled like perfume and winter coats and cinnamon.

Someone pressed a drink into your hand. Someone else asked how you met. You answered automatically, muscle memory carrying you through a story you’d told often enough that it no longer snagged.

Vernon stayed close. A hand at your back, a glance across the room when the noise spiked. Every so often, he’d hold your hand and give it a light squeeze, as if he was apologizing and asking you to power through.

His friends were easier than you expected. They were polite, warm, and a little teasing, the kind that only comes from a long shared history.

One of them clapped Vernon on the shoulder. “Good for you man. Moving away, starting over, meeting someone you wanted to marry.”

“Jealous, Gyu?” another guy scoffed. “Maybe if you stopped sleeping around like a menace—”

“Oh, shut up, Seungcheol,” Mingyu shot back. “You’re the one flirting with sad married women.”

“For the last time,” Seungcheol sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like this argument had worn him thin, “she’s not married. She’s divorced.”

You watched Vernon through it all—relaxed, carefree, amused, completely at ease in the presence of friends who knew him best.

“So,” Wonwoo cut in, eyes flicking between the two of you. “What are you doing these days, Vernon?”

“Yeah,” someone else added. “What happened after you left the company?”

That caught your attention. You glanced at Vernon. “The slave contract you were talking about,” you said slowly, “that was with your family?”

He grinned, entirely unapologetic. You scowled. “The hell? So you were a nepo baby too. How dare you call me one.”

Vernon laughed, head lolling back. You just stared at him, unimpressed. His friends too, apparently. They were just staring like they had no idea what was so funny. 

Vernon eventually noticed it, so he stopped, cleared his throat, and straightened up. “I’m working as a secretary,” he said, and then, with visible pride, slid an arm around your shoulder. “In her cosmetics company.”

The pause was immediate. “…Wait,” Seungcheol said. “You work for her?”

“She’s the CEO?” Mingyu asked, and Vernon nodded again.

“So you’re—” Wonwoo pointed at you, then back at Vernon. “—his boss?”

“Yeah,” Vernon said proudly. “She’s very cool.”

There was a second where you braced yourself, afraid they might judge him for it. But then Mingyu barked out a laugh. Then suddenly, everyone else was laughing.

“No way,” Seungcheol said, shaking his head. “You? Taking orders?”

Mingyu followed, grinning wide. “Do you have any idea how insane that is? This man has never worked under anyone.”

“Ever,” Wonwoo added. “He used to boss entire departments around like it was a sport.”

Vernon rolled his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“That’s extremely true,” Mingyu shot back. He turned to you, “He’s so annoying. And he doesn’t even realize it. He once made a manager wait because he ‘wasn’t done talking.’”

You blinked, surprised, then laughed before you could stop yourself. Nodding, you said, “He is kinda annoying. And tactless sometimes.”

Seungcheol pointed at you, delighted. “See? Imagine that kind of guy working under someone?”

Mingyu asked you, “Bet you’re always on the verge of firing him every day, huh?”

You shrugged. “Not really. He is annoying but I can keep him in line. And he’s pretty good at his job. There are only two people who can keep up with me, and he’s one of them.”

“Figures,” Wonwoo said, nodding like it all made sense now. “Leaves the family business, ends up working for someone smarter than him.”

“And marries her,” Mingyu added, grinning. “How poetic.”

Vernon didn’t deny it. If anything, he looked pleased, standing there beside you like this arrangement wasn’t something to be embarrassed about, but something he’d chosen.

You felt something warm settle in your chest at that. 

“So,” Mingyu said, dragging a chair closer and plopping down like he was settling in for a story. “I gotta ask. How did this happen?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You two,” Mingyu clarified, gesturing between you. “From boss and secretary to engaged and getting married soon.”

Seungcheol leaned forward, eyes bright. “Yeah. Did he seduce you with his wiles while pretending to work as your secretary?”

Vernon scoffed. “I did not seduce her.”

“You absolutely did,” Mingyu said. “Look at him. That’s a man who knows how to weaponize his good looks.”

You snorted. “That’s slander.”

“Oh, come on,” Seungcheol said. “You’re telling me he didn’t pull the whole competent, always-there, remembers-your-coffee-order routine?”

Vernon opened his mouth to protest again, but you beat him to it. “It’s not hard to fall for Vernon,” you said.

The table went quiet. You hadn’t planned to say that. It just slipped out.

You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of the way Vernon had turned fully toward you. “I mean—he is,” you continued. “He’s thoughtful. He pays attention. He notices things most people don’t bother with. He anticipates what needs to be done without making a show of it.”

Vernon didn’t interrupt. He just watched you, expression unreadable, eyes steady.

“He’s… considerate. And patient. And surprisingly kind. Of course, he’s sarcastic and all but even that is excusable because those little arguments are fun and makes every day less dull,” you added, smiling absently. “And he’s the sweetest. Which is annoying, actually, because it makes it hard to stay mad at him.”

You finally looked at Vernon.

He was smiling—but not the smug one, not the teasing one. This was softer, the same smile he had been giving you these last few days. The kind that looked like he was grateful for the existence of you. He looked like he hadn’t expected to hear all that, but he was holding it carefully now that it existed.

You gave him the same smile. Or as best as you could reflect it, hoping, and knowing, that he knew exactly what it meant. And you realized now that you had just crossed a line. 

Straight up just stepped over it without hesitation, after telling yourself very clearly the night before where it was.

Mingyu stood abruptly. “Okay. Nope. I’m too single for this.” He waved a hand between the two of you. “You’re both being disgustingly in love. Kissing in front of me would’ve been less damaging.”

Wonwoo laughed. “Agreed. Let’s move on before I start believing in love again.”

You huffed a laugh, but it came out weaker than you meant it to. Your chest was heavy with warmth and feelings and… and love.

But you had no time to dwell on it. Someone suggested games. Someone else brought snacks. Chairs were pulled, conversations restarted, the day rolling forward like nothing had almost happened.

But when Vernon held your hand under the table later, not for show because no one would’ve seen it, you didn’t move away. And for the rest of the day, you didn’t bring up the line you’d drawn. You just quietly stood on the other side of it.

The engagement party thing was over by noon. Guests left one by one, and the family resumed preparations for Christmas Eve dinner. You were gathered in the kitchen with the adults, helping out with the cookies.

Vernon was sitting in a chair beside you, casually chatting with you and his mom about holiday traditions.

“Your parents actually used to host the winter bonfires,” said Vernon’s mom, smiling fondly at you. 

“They did?” you asked, delighted to hear another anecdote about your parents.

She nodded. “Yes. Every year. And then your mom got pregnant with you, so they skipped a year. After that, the whole tradition just stopped,” she added, sighing. “They’d always made it so magical. We simply could not recreate it.”

Vernon leaned forward, gesturing with his mug. “I remember when I met her parents. Incredible people. And her mom’s so beautiful.”

The room froze. Adults exchanged sharp glances, eyebrows raised. His mom looked at him, brows furrowed. “You met her parents?”

“Yeah. I—” You nudged Vernon’s leg under the table, stopping him.

“But that’s impossible, dear,” Nana said, her voice laced with sympathy, “you couldn’t have. Her parents passed away a long time ago.”

You felt Vernon freeze beside you. Quick on your feet, you leaned slightly toward him, your tone casual as if nothing unusual had happened, as if your heart didn’t just sink to your stomach. 

“Oh, I took him to their graves,” you said smoothly. “He met them there.”

Vernon blinked at you, clearly realizing he’d made a mistake.

“I wanted to introduce him to them first,” you added, smiling, channeling your best acting yet. “I didn’t know our connection yet at the time, but they were probably thrilled to know I’m marrying their close friend’s son.”

“Aw,” Vernon’s mom sighed. “That’s very thoughtful of you, isn’t it?”

The tension in the room melted almost instantly, replaced by murmurs and soft chuckles from the other adults. Conversation resumed around you, with only a few glances exchanged—reminders of the near slip, and of just how good you were at thinking on your feet.

Vernon reached for your hand, so you glanced at him. He looked apologetic, and you could tell it wasn’t because he nearly revealed that you weren’t in a real relationship. You smiled at him, patting his hand and mouthing, ‘It’s okay.’

By the time dinner preparations were done, you were exhausted. Exhausted from the engagement party, from socializing with people who were basically strangers to you, and exhausted from helping out in the kitchen.

“This is nice and all, but I think I prefer our boring Christmas dinners, Grandma,” you told your Grandma while getting dressed for dinner.

She chuckled heartily, sitting in front of her vanity and trying on a different shade of lipstick. “Being surrounded by people you love on Christmas is how it’s supposed to be, my dear. It’s a shame I couldn’t give you this kind of warmth growing up.”

“Hey,” you chided, walking toward her and wrapping your arms around her shoulder. “I have no complaints, so you shouldn’t talk like that. You raised me as best as you can and taught me everything I know.”

Your Grandma melted in your embrace, sighing as she put the lipstick down. “Yeah, you’re a wonderful kid, alright. I just wished you were a little sweeter.”

“Please,” you chuckled, pulling away. “My lack of sweetness and my attitude in general is thanks to you, as well.”

“I know that, but couldn’t you be more affectionate? Or expressive?” she sighed, gaze following you across the room. “Learn a thing or two about expressing yourself from Vernon.”

“Too late for that,” you quipped, checking your reflection in the mirror once more.

Your Grandma sighed in defeat. “I guess I should be glad you’re marrying him then. He can express affection for both of you.”

Then came a series of knocks on the door. You quickly walked toward it, yanking it open knowing Vernon would be on the other side. 

“Hi,” he beamed, taking you in with his eyes. “You look amazing.”

You shrugged. “You don’t look so bad yourself, my love,” you replied, using your endearment, not because your grandma was there, but because… just because.

“Shall we?”

The dining room was warm, the scent of roasted meat and cinnamon filling the air. Dinner was loud like always in this house—chairs scraping, someone always talking over someone else, Nana shushing nobody in particular.

You ended up seated beside Vernon, mostly because every time you tried to move, someone asked you to stay. He passed you food without asking. You corrected his grip on the serving spoon once. He fixed it without comment.

At some point, his Nana leaned over.  “Is now the best time to talk weddings?”

Vernon chuckled lightly. “Nana, it’s Christmas eve. We’ll have time for that later.”

Nana tried to insist, but eventually gave up when you both refused adamantly. Later, when some cousins got up to chase the kids outside for an impromptu snowball fight, Vernon leaned closer. 

After dishes were cleared and the family settled around the living room for a low-volume carol playlist, you both slipped out to the balcony, leaving the laughter and chatter behind. The night was cold, and snowflakes drifted lazily downward, coating the garden below in soft white. Vernon wrapped a blanket around himself, then stood behind you.

“Is this okay?” he asked, wrapping his arms and the blanket around you.

You chuckled, feeling the warmth seep in immediately. “Are people watching?”

“Yeah. About a dozen of them,” he replied briskly. “I think I need to hold you closer. Make it more believable, you know?” he added, already tightening his arms around you.

You could tell he was lying, but you didn’t bother confirming. “You should, or we’d get caught,” you said, leaning your head against his chest.

“Your family has a lot of stamina,” you said after a pause. “I would’ve tapped out after day one.”

“You did better than I expected,” he replied, chuckling. “Everyone likes you. Nana adores you.”

“That’s terrifying,” you said, looking up at him. “She’s very perceptive.”

Vernon smiled, shifting a little and pressing his chin on top of your head. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Day.”

“I know. One more day and this is all over,” you replied, taking a long relieved breath. “We can finally go back to how things were.”

You felt him stiffen behind you, recovering almost as quickly. He laughed slowly. “I was actually thinking the same thing. When this is over, we could go back to our hectic, caffeinated daily routine, closing deals like champs, terrorizing the marketing head, pressuring manufacturers, calling the lab day in and day out for new and improved formulas.”

“You’re making us sound like bad capitalists,” you quipped, grinning. “I mean we’re capitalists but we're not that bad.”

Vernon chuckled, his chest vibrating against your back. “And I was also thinking…” he paused, loosened his arms, and turned you around so you could face him fully.

He braced his hands on the railing, caging you in as he stared into your eyes. You held your breath and looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

“I was thinking maybe we could go out on nice dinners sometimes. After work,” he continued. “Go on a road trip on weekends. Maybe catch a movie if you’re into that.”

“Like bosses and secretaries do?”

He huffed a laugh. “I’m pretty sure they don’t do that.”

You shrugged, still looking anywhere but his eyes. “They might. If they’re… dating.”

The word lingered between you, more meaningful than you meant it to be. Vernon stayed quiet for a few moments, then, softly, carefully, he said your name, the word rolling beautifully on his tongue.

You looked up, finally meeting his gaze. “Yes? Vernon?”

Something changed in his expression. Like you’d tapped something only he could feel. “That’s three times,” he said softly.

“What?”

“Three times you’ve called me by my name since we met.”

You blinked, surprised he’d even noticed. “You’re counting?”

He shrugged. “If you’re Secretary Chwe every minute of the day, you just can’t help but keep count.”

Neither of you moved. He didn’t step closer, diidn’t touch you, he just stayed there, giving you space and somehow still holding you in place.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, almost in a whisper.

“That would be breaking the rules,” you said, automatically. Not because you actually cared about the rules, but because  you were too nervous. Your heart was kicking hard against your ribs. Your breathing was getting unsteady. And your skin was pricking not from the cold, but from anticipation.

“I knew you’d say that,” he chuckled, already leaning in.

You met him halfway. In a kiss that was soft and careful, growing firmer with every breath. His hand found your waist, warm through the layers, steadying you as your lips pressed back with more certainty.

For a moment, you couldn’t hear or see anything. You could only feel. Feel his hand around you, his lips against yours, his warmth, your warmth, his heartbeat against your own. Snow fell. Laughter drifted faintly from inside. The world continued on, unaware. Or maybe they were aware. You didn’t care. Right now, nothing else mattered but this moment right here.

Even after you pulled away, you stayed close, foreheads touching, breaths fogging, cheeks flushed, and grinning. Vernon’s hands lingered at your waist, firm but gentle, the warmth through the layers of your coats seeping into you like it was meant to.

“God, it’s freezing out here,” he murmured, voice low.

“You don’t say,” you whispered back, and the words were a laugh and a shiver at the same time.

He tilted his head slightly, nudging yours so your noses brushed. “I—” He stopped, exhaling sharply.

You tilted your chin up, meeting his eyes. “I know,” you said softly.

He let out a small laugh, almost a sigh, pressing a little closer. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Neither do I,” you admitted, and it came out softer than you expected, a confession you hadn’t planned to give aloud.

There was a pause, long enough that you could feel your heart hammering against your ribs, long enough that the wind seemed to hush around you. Your hands found his neck, and he leaned into your touch, eyes closing for just a fraction of a second before reopening, searching yours.

“I can’t pretend anymore.”

“Then let’s not,” you replied softly, and before you knew it, Vernon was scooping you up again for another kiss.

You were used to being in control.

Boardrooms fell silent whenever you walked in. People listened when you spoke. Decisions were set the moment you made them. Even now, in Vernon’s bedroom with the door closed and the city humming somewhere across the sea, you expected that familiar balance to tilt in your favor.

But it didn’t.

“What are you doing?” you asked, eyes wide and brows furrowed at Vernon who just stopped kissing you out of nowhere.

He shrugged, infuriatingly nonchalant and relaxed. “We need to slow down.”

“What?” you demanded, thoroughly confused. “What do you mean? This was your idea.”

“It is, but I need to know we’re on the same page here,” he said, smiling casually, but the firm grip of his hands on your hips told you he was restraining himself hard.

“I thought we made that clear?”

“No. What we did was stare into each other’s eyes and use vague words,” he said, gesturing vaguely.

You rolled your eyes, frustration bubbling over. “Vernon Chwe, I swear to God if you don’t kiss me right no—”

He crashed his lips into yours, shutting you up completely. Your body reacted immediately, heat and need shooting up through your core. Vernon’s long fingers tangled into your hair, tugging firmly until a moan escaped from your lips. He took this chance to shove his tongue into your open mouth. You pulled him even closer, breasts pressing against his broad chest.

His kisses trailed to your jaw, one hand slipping under your shirt to touch the skin of your waist. You gasped when his mouth latched to your neck, sucking and nipping.

“Vernon,” you said, tapping his shoulders. “Take me to the bed.”

Vernon pulled away just enough to press his forehead against you, smirking. “Is that an order?” he rasped, his hand underneath your shirt now moving to slip past your bra.

“No?” you breathed, holding back a moan when he gave your nipple a gentle squeeze. “Is it?”

“It better not be,” he whispered into your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin. He took your wrists  “I’ll allow that at work, but don’t think for one second that I’m gonna let you tell me what to do in my room…”

He kissed your neck, making your skin shiver in the best way. “Or on my bed,” he added, licking your throat.

You moaned out his name, but he was quick to press a finger on your lips. “Shush, love. This may be a big house, but the walls here are thin.”

“Vernon…” you purred, and he cupped your cheek gently, then pressed a long, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Be quiet, alright?” he said, smiling before disappearing from your line of sight.

You were confused for a fraction of a second. Then you felt your skirt being lifted, followed by something pressing on your clothed cunt without warning.

You gasped, realizing belatedly that it was Vernon’s nose. You felt him take a long sniff, hand wrapping around your thigh. You grabbed a fistful of his hair and he let out a growl the likes of which you’d never heard before.

A second later, he was devouring you, relentless and insatiable, leaving you trembling under his touch. Your grip on his hair tightened, your knees were threatening to give out with every lick. If it wasn’t for his tight hold around your legs, you would have collapsed on the floor already.

Vernon slipped a finger into you, without warning, making you gasp. He rose to his feet, finger still inside you, his other hand pushing loose hair behind your ear as he shushed you gently. 

“The entire house is gonna hear you, and they’re gonna know exactly what’s going on in here,” he said, as if it wasn’t his fingering that was making you make all these noises.

But you listened anyway, biting down your lower lip, tears pricking at your eyelids when he pushed a second finger in. You buried your face on his chest, fingers digging into his shoulders as he pushed you closer to the edge

Vernon pressed his lips on the side of your head, shushing you gently while still brutally ramming his fingers in and out of your sex.

Then you felt that familiar knot twisting low in your belly, threatening to come undone. Your breathing turned erratic, breasts falling and rising rapidly as you braced for an orgasm. Vernon saw that, kissed your cheek, and moved harder amd faster. 

His fingers were cramping, but the delightful look on your face was spurring him on. He couldn’t wait to see the beautiful face you’d make when it’s finally him drilling into your sweet cunt. Just thinking about it was making his cock throb—hard and hot, still trapped in his pants.

“Vernon, I’m—” you cut yourself off, gasping, body jerking, hands on his shoulders gripping tighter as a wave of orgasmm surged through you.

Then you fell limp against Vernon, who held you steadily. He kissed you again because… well because he just couldn’t stop himself from kissing you, could he? His head was clouded, and all he could think of was how much he wanted to fuck your brains out.

So he lifted your thighs, wrapped your legs around his legs and carried you over to the bed.

You fell on the mattress with a bounce, still out of breath from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Vernon crawled over you, smirk tugging at his lips.

“Still wanna tell me what to do?” he asked, mouth hovering just above yours.

You hesitated. That hesitation made him smile. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, kissing you again. 

His hand pinned your wrist above your head, the other tracing down your side like he was rewriting the rules you lived by. He gathered the hem of your sweater, yanking it up and over your head, before crashing his lips back to yours.

Your skirt and stockings followed immediately after, his hands settling on your thighs, spreading them wide enough for him to marvel at the sight of your wet pussy.

“Like what you’re seeing?” you asked, confidence spiking because Vernon was looking at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world.

He huffed an amused laugh, hand tracing your thigh. “Oh, I love it. You have no idea.”

When was the last time you felt this kind of intense desire and uninhibited pleasure? You couldn’t even remember. Not that it mattered. Vernon was here to rock your entire world tonight, with that rock-hard, standing tall, deliciously girthy manhood that had just sprang free from the confines of his boxers.

You held your breath when he positioned himself between your legs, licking a stripe on his hands and coating his cock with the slick. Your fingers curled into the sheets as he pressed into you slowly, the earlier orgasm making him slide smoothly, but the stretch made you whimper.

“Don’t make me cover that mouth myself,” he warned, grinning so sweetly, unaware of the surge of pleasure that just shot through you when he said those words.

He bottomed out with a groan, his body settling over yours as he collected himself. His hair brushed your face as he moaned against your chest, muttering curses under his breath.

Meanwhile, you were catching your breath, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Vernon, I need you to move. Please. Please. Please,” you’d basically pleaded.

Vernon exhaled sharply, lifting his head to meet your gaze and plant a quick kiss to your lips. “I’ll allow it because you asked nicely,” he quipped, pulling out for a second just before thrusting into you.

Your chest rose and fell against his, nerves dancing in sensations his every move was sending through your body. Your fingers tangled, your breaths mingled, heat lingered in every glance, and every brush of skin. You clung to him, losing track of everything except his touch and the way he held you close.

The world had narrowed to the feeling of him against you, the pull and the push—especially the push. Your lower lip stung from biting too hard to keep yourself quiet. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, echoing in his.

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, lips grazing your temple, and the shiver that ran down your spine was delightful and hot. 

“You are most beautiful,” he whispered, eyes locked with yours, filled with sincerity and something tender… something that looked a lot like love.

Snow kept falling outside, and somewhere between the haze of lust and warmth, you were sure that whatever came next would leave both of you ruined in the best possible way. But at the same time, you realized you wouldn’t have wanted to stop even if you could.

You woke up to Vernon’s arms wrapped around you, his warmth seeping through the blankets, his scent lingering in your hair and on your clothes. He was awake, head propped on one hand, watching you with that half-smile that made your chest tighten.

“What are you doing?” you mumbled, embarrassed, burying your face against his shoulder.

“Keeping my eyes on you in case this turns out to be a dream and you disappear,” he said in one breath, brushing loose strands of hair behind your ear.

You grinned, snuggling closer. “That’s so corny.”

You stayed like that for a few more minutes, savoring the warmth and the way his hand traced idle patterns along your side. But the inevitability of the morning eventually caught up with you. It’s Christmas Day. By now, the rest of the family would be gathered downstairs, waiting to open gifts and celebrate some more.

“Come on. You should see what I got you,” he said, sitting up. “It’s in a red box with a shiny green ribbon on it.”

“You got me something?” you asked, genuinely surprised.

Vernon looked at you like the answer should have been obvious. “Of course, I got you something. It’s Christmas. You’re supposed to— wait…” he paused, narrowing his eyes at you. “You didn’t get me anything, did you?”

You smiled sheepishly, and Vernon’s jaw dropped. But then he shrugged, reached to cup your face, and grinned.

“It’s okay. I think I received my best Christmas gift yet,” he chimed, leaning in to kiss you.

You ended up cuddling in bed again. Vernon was relentless, kissing the back of your neck, tugging your hands, soft murmurs of promises that made your heart flutter and your cheeks burn. Getting up after that was slow. Clothes, brushing teeth, and somehow, through a haze of laughter, stolen kisses, and whispers, you managed to get ready.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, standing behind you in front of the mirror and wrapping his arms around.

“Thanks. I figured I should try harder if I’m gonna date someone so handsome,” you replied, turning to face him, arms finding their way around his neck.

Vernon grinned, clearly pleased with what he just heard. “You don’t need to. You’re already too beautiful for someone like me.”

You rolled your eyes, not buying it. “You clearly don’t understand just how beautiful you are, Vernon Chwe.”

He kissed you again, and you had to squirm out of his hold and walk out of the room first or you’d spend the whole morning locked in the bedroom with him.

The first thing you noticed when you reached the bottom of the stairs was the silence. The usual mayhem of children squealing and zooming around, adults chattering, holiday music in the background—it was all gone. Only the adults were there, standing rigidly, staring at the two of you.

Your stomach dropped. Something was wrong, you could feel it in your bones.

Vernon stepped closer, taking your hand in his. “What’s going on?”

No one answered. Then his mom stepped forward, her smile tight, eyes not quite meeting his. She shoved a piece of paper into his hands, and you immediately recognized your carefully constructed contract even before reading the words.

“What is the meaning of that?” his mom asked, her voice small and hesitant. “Vernon, tell us right now. Why is there a document like that in your bedroom?”

The words didn’t register at first. The paper in his hands felt heavy, like it had gravity all its own. You tried to breathe but your chest felt hollow.

Vernon opened his mouth, searching for the right words, and your heart hammered in sympathy and panic. “We… I can explain…”

Voices erupted around you, overlapping, frantic and sharp. Someone asked why he did this. Another said this was unnecessary and that he didn’t have to deceive everyone. One voice asked if he had any motive. Another asked if he thought of this family as a joke.

You barely made sense of it, caught between the tidal wave of accusations, most of them being directed at Vernon. He kept his hand around yours, holding you tight and shielding you with his body as his family demanded answers from him. The rest of the room seemed to tilt and spin. You barely heard him try to speak again; his words were drowned out by questions, accusations, demands—all of it directed at him.

Finally, you found your voice, loud and firm, “It’s my fault.”

All eyes turned toward you, stunned at your words. You took in their confused faces, then exhaled sharply. 

“I made him do this,” you added, tugging your hand away from Vernon’s grasp. “There was a… a situation,” you began to explain, choosing your words carefully. 

“A supposedly one-off situation that unexpectedly spiraled out of control. And I know, we could have avoided this by being honest from the get-go but…” Your gaze swept the room and settled on your grandma in the corner. You thought she’d look angry, but all you could see on her face was sympathy. “But we didn’t. We couldn’t.”

You flattened your lips into a smile, still directed at your grandmother. “Not when it was the first time in a long time that I saw someone smile as brightly as she did when she heard I had a fiancee.”

Your Grandma’s hand flew to her mouth, his brows furrowing, and she looked away. You turned to the rest of Vernon’s family. To his Nana, to his parents, his aunts and uncles—the very people who welcomed you warmly into their home.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I have my reasons, but they’re all just excuses. Selfish excuses. I shouldn’t have dragged your entire family into this. I wouldn’t have,” you paused, taking a deep breath and turning to Vernon. “I wouldn’t have if I had known just how much you loved Vernon.”

You turned to everyone again. Nana’s hand was on her chest, Vernon’s mom was covering her mouth in shock.

“So don’t blame him. It’s not his fault. He’s a really good man,” you added, smiling bitterly. “He just couldn’t say no to his Medusa of a boss who promised him a raise and regularization if he agreed to do this.” 

“Stop,” Vernon said, taking your hand. “I didn’t agree to this because of that—”

“It’s okay, Secretary Chwe,” you interrupted, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry for ruining your Christmas. I’ll leave,” you said, voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. You glanced at Nana, and the words escaped almost like a prayer: “You have a wonderful family. I’m sorry. I wish we didn’t have to meet like this.”

And with that, you walked out, leaving Vernon rooted in place, the paper still in his hand, the room swirling with stunned silence.

Before you knew it, you were sinking into your seat on the plane, the engines vibrating softly beneath you. Beside you, your grandma was perfectly composed, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she stared out the window at the receding tarmac.

Vernon’s family had tried to make you stay. Gentle pleas, promises to table the matter of your deceit and unpack it properly. But you knew they were only being polite. That was just the kind of family they were, too nice for their own good.

You stared at the screen in front of you, counting the buttons, the logos stamped into the leather, your thoughts spinning in circles. Finally, you broke the quiet.

“Grandma…” Your voice was small, tentative. “Why aren’t you mad?”

Her calm eyes met yours. “Why would I be mad?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “I knew everything from the beginning.”

Your chest tightened. “You did?”

She nodded serenely. “Of course. You thought you were so clever, but you forgot that I taught you how to use that intelligent brain of yours.”

You blinked. “Wait… what? How?”

Grandma leaned back, unbothered by your wide-eyed stare. “My dear, with whom do you think I set you up with on that last blind date I begged you to go to?”

Your stomach dropped. “That… that was… No way.” You chuckled, in denial. “It can’t have been Vernon.”

“Oh, but it was,” she said, as if it were the simplest, most obvious thing in the world. “I kept telling you I knew his family. But you wouldn’t even give a second to hear me out. Imagine my surprise when I saw you in that hotel lobby, calling Vernon Chwe your fiancee.”

At this point, your heart beat has turned erratic. “If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was trying to see how far you were willing to take this charade. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but Vernon asked me to play along, so I did,” she explained.

You turned sharply to face her, incredulous. “Vernon knew that you knew?”

“Yes. He was confident he could make you fall in love and turn this pseudorelationship into a real thing. Sunhee and I had so much fun watching you struggle to maintain a face all week.”

Your jaw dropped. “Who else knows?”

“No one else, as far as I know.” Her hand rested gently over yours. “My dear, you’re clearly overwhelmed right now. Let’s talk about this later.”

You slumped back in your seat, staring out the window at the clouds streaked with gold from the rising sun, your mind buzzing. She knew. Nana knew. Vernon knew they knew. And somehow, that knowledge made the entire avalanche of the past twenty-four hours feel both heavier and… a little lighter.

Vernon first met you when he was ten.

It was summer, hot and loud and bright in the way summers only feel when you’re a kid. His kite had gotten stuck in a tree at the park, and he’d decided that climbing it himself was a good idea. 

But he was wrong. He slipped on the way down, scraped his knee, and sat there sniffing quietly, holding back his tears, more embarrassed than hurt.

Then you appeared out of nowhere, crouched in front of him, asked if he could stand, and when he said no, you sighed like an adult who’d already dealt with worse problems than a bleeding knee. 

After covering his knee with a cartoon Band Aid from your purse, you climbed the tree yourself and brought the kite down like it was nothing.

You were taller than him back then. Probably smarter, and more mature. And when you handed the kite to him and smiled, all he could think was that you were pretty. Like an angel.

He never saw you again after that day. Life moved on, as it does. He went to school, made friends, and had growth spurts. The memory of you drifted to the back of his mind, filed away with other half-remembered moments from childhood.

Until college.

He didn’t recognize you at first. Years had a way of blurring faces, and he almost walked past you at the freshman welcome party until you laughed. Suddenly he was ten again, at the park with a scraped knee and a kite in his hands.

You’d grown prettier, smarter, and more graceful. He was much much taller than you now, but the difference in height only made Vernon think you were cute.

He hadn’t even wanted to attend this party. He’d only gone because his cousin promised to cover his chores for a month if he showed up. Vernon wasn’t naïve—he knew his cousin wanted him there as decoration. He’d grown into his looks by then, and he was ‘handsome’, something people never let him forget, even when he wished they would.

But that night, for the first time in his life, he thought maybe he could use his looks for something other than being stared at. Maybe he could use it to charm his way into your contacts.

He planned to talk to you. Just to say ‘hi’. Maybe ask if you remembered him from all those summers ago. Or maybe he didn’t need to bring up the past at all. He could just talk to you. Say something normal. Ask for your number.

He stood near the drinks table, psyching himself up. But when the moment came, his nerves got the better of him. So he took a shot of soju.

Liquid courage, he told himself.

Then another. Then a third, because his heart was still beating too fast and you were laughing again and seeing that was making it hard for him to breathe.

By the fourth, his cousin was asking if he was okay. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, eyes locked on you a few tables away. 

His cousin poured a shot for himself, and Vernon snatched it away, downing it straight just to see if it would make him less nervous.

Before he knew it, he was already wasted, slumped over a table, cheek pressed to cold plastic. Someone had drawn something obscene on his hand. The party was over, and you were gone. He lay there for a long moment, staring at a bottle, wondering how he’d managed to mess it up without ever actually trying.

After that, he saw you everywhere. The library, the quad, the cafeteria line. Sometimes alone, sometimes surrounded by people. You never noticed him, and he never pushed himself into your space.

Then one afternoon, he saw you holding hands with someone. Apparently, you’d started seeing this guy from the Liberal Arts department. That night, he went back to his dorm, shut the door, lay on his bed, and stared at the ceiling.

His cousin glanced over. “What’s up with you? You look like you just got dumped”

“I might as well have been,” Vernon said, voice flat. He turned his face into his pillow and let himself feel stupid for exactly five minutes.

Then he moved on because that was just life. He was happy that you were happy.

He dipped his own toes in the dating pool. Dated seriously, even. He laughed, fell in and out of love, learned what he liked and didn’t. You became a fond thought in the back of his head, not a fixation. And also something his friends teased him about every now and then.

Then senior year came. He heard you’d broken up, and realized he still liked you. So he thought about trying again.

He did the same thing without realizing: took shots for liquid courage. One too many shots, obviously. And passed out on a couch before he could say your name, obviously.

Senior year came and went. Graduation followed. He figured that was that. Some people were just meant to be memories.

And his life after college had already been mapped out for him. Vernon worked long hours in his family’s corporation. He learned how to sit through meetings without showing boredom, how to be sharp without being cruel. He dated when he had time, stopped when he didn’t. He built a reputation he hadn’t asked for but carried well enough.

Every once in a while, your name surfaced not from memory, but from screens. LinkedIn updates. A promotion. An article shared by someone else. Your company’s name appeared frequently in industry chatter. You weren’t loud online. You had Instagram but didn’t post much.

He nodded at those updates like they were news about someone he once knew well.

Years later, when he heard about a potential partnership with your company, he volunteered to handle it without hesitation. It wasn’t even his division, but he argued his case until he won. 

He told everyone else that it was professional curiosity. Strategic interest. Nothing else. In reality, he thought maybe this would finally put him in the same room as you again.

But it didn’t. Nana collapsed. That family emergency pulled him away the day of the meeting, and the opportunity slipped through his fingers. Life, once again, had other plans. He never made it to the meeting. Someone else took over. The partnership went through anyway, handled efficiently, just not by him.

You stayed untouchable and unseen. And of course, he moved on again.

Years passed. Nana recovered and became sharper than ever. She mentioned your name casually over tea.

“Her grandma’s worried,” she said. “She thinks that brilliant granddaughter of hers works too much. She called, asking if I knew someone suitable.”

“Someone suitable? A husband?” Vernon’s mom asked.

He froze in his seat, hand hovering as he reached for his teacup.

“Yes,” Nana continued, watching him carefully over the rim of her cup. “I told her I might know someone, but I don’t approve of arranged marriages.”

Vernon’s mom glanced at him too, the only man in the family who hasn’t married yet. “It would be nice. I heard she’s very intelligent and pretty. But I’m a fan of true love too, mama. These days they call it ‘organic encounter’.”

That night, Vernon stared at his ceiling for a long time and made a decision.

He left his job, much to his family’s dismay. They managed to reel him in with his contract, but as soon as that was over, Vernon was out. He moved cities. Applied to your company hoping he’d get closer to you through work. But te only position open was an internship. He took it anyway.

It was a humbling position. Educational. Occasionally ridiculous, and nowhere near you. Apparently interns didn’t meet CEOs on the reg.

So for months, you were just a name, a presence on another floor. Interns and other employees often talked about you—brilliant, dedicated, but formidable and terrifying. Medusa, they called you. 

Vernon would find himself standing up for you against men in his department who uttered inappropriate comments. Especially those who questioned your right to sit in the CEO’s office.

And then one Tuesday morning, Vernon was at the reception desk, sorting documents he wasn’t technically supposed to touch yet, when the elevators chimed.

He didn’t look up. He didn’t really need to. But then he heard a familiar voice calling him by name.

“Vernon Chwe?” the voice repeated, making him look up and freeze.

Your grandmother stood at the front desk, elegant as always. She looked exactly the way Vernon remembered her from childhood. She leaned on her cane more out of habit than necessity, eyes sharp as they swept his face. “Is that you, dear boy?”

Vernon straightened instinctively, unsure why his heart had started beating faster. He swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

A pleased smile spread across her face. “Well,” she said lightly, tapping her cane against the floor once. “I thought so. My, how much you’re grown.”

His mouth went dry. “You remember me?”

She laughed softly. “Of course I do. What are you doing here? Last I heard you were Executive Director at your family’s company.”

Vernon hesitated. Then he sighed, knowing full well how hard it was gonna be to lie to your grandma. “I think we’re gonna need to sit down if I’m to answer that question.”

Your Grandma seemed to understand something. “Come to tea this Sunday. Let’s unpack whatever that is.”

And Vernon did meet with your grandma that Sunday. And he confessed that he was there because of you. After hours of talking about you, your grandma decided to set him up on a blind date with you.

To say he was thrilled was an understatement. Vernon was over the moon. He couldn’t wait for the day to come. Though Grandma did warn him that she had a habit of not showing up to these dates. He was still looking forward to it, hoping your grandma stayed true to her words when she said she would try to convince you.

Then Becca came by the intern lounge, asking if anyone wanted to be your temporary secretary while she was on maternity leave.

“For Medusa?” someone murmured quietly.

Silence followed, and interns exchanged nervous glances. Vernon was the only one who raised his hand.

Becca stared at him. “I need to know if you’re serious about this.”

“Yes.”

“You’re gonna be paid a regular’s rate, but it’s not gonna be an easy task.”

“I know. I can handle it.”

She sighed. “Fine. No backing out at the last minute, alright?” she said, pointing her pen at him. “Follow me. Training starts now.”

Vernon trained for a week, learning schedules and systems, familiarizing himself with important names and contacts, copying the cadence of your emails. All this while stealing glances into your office, or staring a little too long whenever you passed by.  

He reminded himself to be normal. To not let the past—or the crush—color the present. Even though it had clearly already taken over his entire world.

And then came the day Vernon was finally getting introduced to you. Becca had given him the head’s up the day before, and he took an extra hour getting ready the next day.

He stood with Becca in your office, patiently waiting for you to walk into those heavy glass doors. When you did, Vernon straightened up. Luckily that time, he didn’t get drunk or pass out anymore. Everything after that was an experience Vernon would never forget.

And now, over a month later, there he was, standing just inside your office, asking you to take him back.

It was the 29th. Just two days before New Year’s Day and four days since the whole fiasco at the Chwe Estate. Grandma and Nana had invited you out on a brunch where you apologized—more than once. For the lies. For leaving. For ruining Christmas. 

Nana waved it all off with a soft laugh, insisting none of it mattered as much as you thought it did. “We’ve seen worse.”

She said the family wasn’t really angry, just shocked. Said that if you’d stayed, things wou;d’ve been resolved over breakfast and hot cocoa, the way they always did.

“What’s done is done,” your grandma had said simply, stirring her coffee. “At least you learned a lesson from this experience.”

You didn’t bring up Vernon. You couldn’t, not after how vague things were left between you. The grandmas seemed to understand that the subject was touchy and decided not to bring it up either.

After brunch, you told them you had something for Nana—and for everyone back home. It had arrived at the office that morning, and that was how the three of you ended up there instead of going straight home.You drove back to the office with the city humming around you, hands steady on the wheel despite everything sitting heavy in your chest.

They followed you into the building where employees greeted your grandma at every turn, surprised to see THE big boss parading the halls. You heard Nana quip about your grandma building an empire through inflicting fear upon her people, and laughed along when they did.

But that laughter died down the moment you stepped out of the elevator and found Vernon Chwe standing near reception, hands clasped loosely in front of him, jacket still on like he hadn’t been sure whether to stay or leave. He looked up the moment the elevator opened, like he’d been waiting for it.

For a second, no one moved. Your brows furrowed, relief and confusion washing over you. Relief because four days felt too long and you’d missed him the whole time. Confusion because what was he doing there? And why did he wait until now to come see you?

“What are you doing here?” you finally asked.

He picked up a clear bag from the floor and lifted it for you to see. “You didn’t get to see what I got you,” he said and your eyes locked on the red giftbox with a green ribbon inside the clear bag.

Your grandma squeezed your arm gently. “We’ll give you two a moment.”

Nana was already nodding, amused. “Yes. Let’s let the kids sort it out.”

You didn’t protest, letting them walk back into the elevator, muttering and giggling. The office fell quiet. You and Vernon were staring at each other while the rest of the people on that floor held their breath. You could feel their eyes, watching and waiting for whatever was about to go down.

You exhaled and started walking toward your office. Vernon followed silently behind. You didn’t say anything until you were inside your office, the door clicking shut behind you. It was quieter here, insulated from the rest of the floor.

You turned to face him. “My grandma told me something about you,” you said, not elaborating because he probably already knows what you mean. “Is it true?

“It is,” he answered quickly.

You let out a slow breath. “So you liked me even before I asked you to be my fake fiancee?”

A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Oh, I liked you longer than that.” 

Your heart stuttered, just before beating wildly in your chest.

“When we were kids, when we were in college… I liked you in different ways, at different stages of my life.” He met your eyes fully. “And now… Now I’m in love with you.”

You kept your voice steady, hands clenching at your sides as you tried your best not to just go ahead and jump in his arms. “Why didn’t you come see me sooner?”

“I tried, but I didn’t really get a chance. You were in a relationship with this dude in college—”

“No, I meant after we left the island on Christmas day,” you interrupted.

Vernon paused, realization dawning on him. “Oh. Oh, I wanted to,” he said. “But no one was allowed to leave the island until the holidays were over. That’s not negotiable in my family. And I needed to sort things out. With them. With myself. I didn’t want to come to you half-done.”

You laughed under your breath. “Do you always have to do things properly?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to do this one right.”

Silence fell between you. You crossed your arms, still unsure what to do, how to navigate this. “I’m sorry,” you said first, because you had to. He deserved it. “For leaving like that. For not letting you say anything.”

He shook his head. “I would’ve followed you anyway.”

“So?” you asked, heat creeping up your neck. “What now?”

Vernon took one tentative step closer. “Well, my new year’s resolution is to kiss you everyday for the rest of my life.”

You huffed a laugh, caught off guard. “That’s a… very specific commitment.”

“I’m very committed to it.”

You laughed despite yourself, and Vernon watched with a fond smile, just before silence came again. You were both standing at the edge of something you didn’t want to rush or ruin.

“Well?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you just gonna stand there all day or do I have to kiss you myself?”

Vernon’s mouth stretched into the biggest, happiest smile you’d ever seen on a man. He crossed the distance between you in one step, then wrapped his arms around you. You hugged him back just as tightly, instinctively, like it was something your body had been waiting for longer than your mind wanted to admit.

Then he kissed you. A kiss that answered everything, one that didn’t ask questions anymore. For a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of you. But only for a moment because three seconds later, the sound of clapping, cheers, and hooting erupted around the office.

Startled, you pulled back just enough to see past his shoulder and realized that the entire floor had been watching from outside the clear glass walls of your office.

“Oh my god,” you exclaimed, looking at Vernon and then laughing. “Do you think they heard you confess your love for me?” you teased.

Vernon glanced around, then back at you, utterly unbothered. “I don’t care,” he said, scooping you up and kissing you again.

The office erupted all over again, a whole floor of employees witnessing the day you and Vernon made a scene professing love like you were in cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie.

And honestly? You didn’t care either.

[fin]

[moonriizing]

Rewrite the Stars | j.sc (18+)

Ghostwriting fanfics about a KPOP group you barely know? All fun and easy money, until one of them walks into your life and refuses to leave. When fiction meets reality, neither of you is ready for the rewrite.

Genre: idol au, strangers-to-lovers, smut Pairing: RIIZE Jung Sungchan x afab!reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) MDNI Notes: 16k words. Listening to Rewrite the Stars from the movie, The Greatest Showman. I have never written an idol AU before, and by choice because I didn't wanna cross that line. But I've been thinking about this plotline for a while now, and the only way it would stop bothering me is if I wrote it. Lol. Hope you like it! Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life behave the way they were portrayed in this fic. If you see the same exact fic in a different blog, for SEVENTEEN, that is me. I did not plagiarize myself; otherwise, lmk.

You were a ghost writer employed by an online blogger to write fanfiction for them. Not your first choice of profession, but after two years of trying—with no luck—to land a decent job using the Creative Writing degree you were once so proud of, you had no choice but to take what you could. Ghostwriting gigs paid the bills. That was enough.

You got it. Life was tough. You knew that better than anyone. And even though you were an orphan with big dreams riding on a full scholarship at a local community college, you foolishly believed you didn’t need to spend four years studying something practical just to get a guaranteed paycheck.

Your passion was writing—pouring your heart and soul into stories, unleashing your endless imagination into literary masterpieces that would touch hearts and change lives.

But in hindsight? Yeah. Maybe you should’ve been more realistic. If you had been, maybe you wouldn’t be stuck writing for some random influencer who ran a popular Tumblr page posting fanfictions about a K-pop boy group you barely knew. Maybe you wouldn’t have to sit there watching people praise her for stories you wrote.

“It pays the bills, hon,” you muttered, squinting at your screen as your fingers tapped briskly across the keyboard. “Suck it up.”

You really shouldn’t be complaining. You took the job willingly, and the pay wasn’t bad. Twenty bucks per thousand words. And with this blogger, you were locked into writing at least 15,000 words every three weeks. A walk in the park—usually.

Except on days like today.

You had five days left to finish the latest fic. This time, you and your employer had agreed on a 20,000-word college AU starring someone named Anton Lee. Easy enough, if not for the fact that you were completely out of inspiration.

You weren’t a procrastinator, not by nature. That was how Jasmin had managed to milk two full-length fics out of you each month. But every now and then, you’d hit a wall. And today, the wall was Anton.

Still, you had to ‘power through’—so Jasmin said.

“Your mind is a bottomless vault of infinite ideas and masterful works,” she told you this morning when you called to confess your writer’s block. “Writer’s block is just your brain taking a quick nap from the alternate universes you’ve built brick by brick out of literally nothing but your genius. You got this. I believe in you.”

Of course, Jasmin, your employer, had an eloquent tongue. She used to post her own original works before the blog blew up, and she needed someone else to crank out 20k-word epics about emotionally constipated idols falling in love at college. Hence, you.

“Come on, Anton!” you groaned at your screen. “Say something already!”

You stared. Typed a line. Deleted it. Typed another. Deleted that too.

Eventually, you slumped back in your chair, peeled your fingers off the keyboard, and slammed your laptop shut with the force of someone about to dramatically quit their job.

You met someone’s gaze the moment you slammed your laptop shut.

He was mid-step toward a nearby table, a to-go cup in one hand, and your sudden outburst had made him pause, blinking at you like a deer caught in high-definition LED headlights.

You blinked back. He looked vaguely familiar. You tilted your head at him, trying to place where exactly you’d seen him before. He looked like someone you’d passed a few times in the same space but never actually acknowledged. You were pretty sure you'd seen him sitting at the corner table with an Iced Americano and something on his screen that made him smile to himself.

Meanwhile, he stood frozen for a second longer, clearly waiting for some kind of reaction—like maybe you’d scream, or ask for a selfie, or launch into an unsolicited compliment about his jawline.

But instead, you said, “...Sorry. Did I scare you?”

That broke whatever spell he was under. He smiled, a little sheepish. “A little. But it’s okay. That was a pretty solid slam.”

You raised your coffee cup in mock salute. “Creative frustration.”

“I figured,” he said, stepping past you toward his usual spot by the wall. He sat down, took a sip of his drink, and pulled out his phone—but not before casting one last glance your way.

You turned back to your now-shut laptop.

You didn’t know his name, but you’d seen him around from time to time. Always past ten. Always quiet. A hat or hoodie on, head ducked low. He was probably a student. Or a night-shift worker. Or someone who just hated mornings as much as you did.

What you didn’t know was that he’d noticed you too.

Sungchan had been coming to this café occasionally, drawn by its ambiance, the indie jazz playlist, and the simple fact that no one ever bothered him here. Least of all you.

You, who was always glued to your screen, typing like your rent depended on it. You never spared him more than a glance. Never whispered about him or sneakily took a photo. He liked that.

He liked it so much, in fact, that he’d started timing his late-night coffee runs to match yours. Not on purpose. At first.

And now here you were, laptop finally closed, looking at him like he was just some guy who got caught in your dramatic breakdown. Which—he kind of was.

Sungchan smiled and lifted his cup in acknowledgment of you. You smiled back just as you were standing up to pack your things away and leave.

Funny. You’d never noticed how nice his smile was until now.

You didn’t mean to start talking to him. It just happened.

He was in line behind you at the counter the next night when the barista told you they’d run out of oat milk, and you turned around to groan dramatically into the nearest stranger’s personal space.

“Oh my god, this is the third time this week,” you said. “Being lactose intolerant is the worst.”

The guy behind you wearing a ball cap, hoodie, and a handsome face, chuckled. “Maybe the universe wants you to build tolerance.”

You squinted at him. “Tried that. It was a disaster. Trust me.”

He smiled. “Then I guess you’ll have to suffer with almond milk like the rest of us.”

That was the first real interaction. It was short and mostly unremarkable. But when you sat down at your usual spot later that night and saw him settling into the table across from you, you gave him a polite nod. And he smiled like he was hoping you’d notice.

The next time, it was raining, and he asked if he could share your outlet. And the time after that, he asked your name.

You told him without much hesitation. “You?”

“Chan.”

“Chan?” you repeated, waiting. “Chan what? Just Chan?”

There was a pause. His gaze flicked to his phone screen, which had just lit up with a message from someone. “Song,” he said quickly. “Chan… Song.”

You stared at him. “Chan Song?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “It’s Korean.”

“I figured,” you replied, shrugging. You took a sip of your drink to hide your amusement. “Well, Chan Song, welcome to the sad people café. Everyone here’s avoiding something. Deadlines, heartbreak, lactose.”

He grinned. “What are you avoiding?”

“Deadlines. And dairy, apparently.”

“Good combo.”

“Thanks. What about you?”

He looked like he wanted to lie, but then shrugged. “Just insomnia.”

You nodded in understanding, even though something about his face still itched at your memory.

You didn’t think much of him for the next three days—too busy cramming 20,000 words into a fanfic you still weren’t sure made sense. One night, he said hi, and you said hi back, but that was the extent of it.

Until, finally, you looked up from your laptop—and at the same time, he lifted his head from his phone. Your gaze met. You didn’t speak.

You raised your cup. He raised his back. Then you exchanged smiles before you went back to your work.

The whole night, you were so deep into your writing that you barely noticed the world around you. It wasn’t until a plate landed next to your laptop that you looked up and blinked in confusion. It was a pastry with a paper napkin folded neatly beside it.

Your gaze followed the hand that had placed it down.

Chan was already zipping up his hoodie, one strap of his backpack slung over his shoulder, clearly on his way out.

You opened your mouth. “What’s this?”

“You looked like you needed it,” he said with a small grin. “I saw you eat the same one last week. You mumbled something about ‘crisis carbs.’”

Crisis carbs. Right. 

You looked at him again, a little stunned. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, already backing toward the door. “Good luck with… whatever it is.”

Two days later, you were a new person. Your deadline was met, the fic submitted, the invoice sent. You’d even replied to Jasmin’s unnecessarily emotional ‘thank you’ voice memo with a heart emojis and treated yourself to a full eight hours of sleep for the first time in a week.

Tonight, the café was quieter than usual. But the soft drone of the espresso machine and a slow playlist of lo-fi piano wasn’t any less therapeutic.

You didn’t come to write. You weren’t even pretending to write. You were just sitting there, enjoying your overpriced drink and the feeling of having absolutely nothing due.

So when Sungchan walked through the doors, you noticed him right away. This time, you waved first.

He raised an eyebrow, amused, but made his way over anyway.

“Wow,” he said, looking at your closed laptop. “No laptop tonight? I almost couldn’t believe it was you.”

“Deadlines are dead,” you announced dramatically. “Long live the part where I get a whole week of being idle.”

He laughed and slid into the seat across from you like it was the most natural thing in the world. “So what is it you write, exactly?”

You took a sip of your drink, leaned forward, and smiled. “You sure you want to know?”

“Yeah, why not?” he replied, smiling. “Is it fiction?”

“Fanfiction,” you said bluntly, watching him for the usual wince or awkward pause.

But he didn’t flinch. He just blinked. “For what? Books? Movies? Musicians? Anyone I’d know?”

You squinted at him. “I mean… probably? They’re a K-pop group.”

“Oh.” He took a slow sip of his drink. “Which group?”

“RIIZE.”

He choked on his coffee and started coughing hard. Alarmed, you sat up straighter. “You okay?”

“Yeah—hot coffee,” he managed, rubbing his chest with the back of his hand. “So… uh, you like them?”

You shrugged. “Not really. I don’t actually follow them.”

His brows furrowed. “But… you write about them?”

“Yup. I treat them like original characters, pretty much. It’s all AU stuff. College tropes, office romances, vampire boyfriends. That kind of thing.”

You figured he was just curious, like most people. So you kept talking.

Jasmin’s fanfic blog was dedicated to RIIZE—a group that, apparently, was popular. And it’s not like you lived under a rock. You knew K-pop existed. You’d heard of BTS and BLACKPINK. You even followed Jennie on Instagram. But you didn’t care much for the industry, and what little you did know came from the occasional trending tweet or article.

“I’m confused,” Sungchan said, laughing softly.

You gave him a knowing look. “Yeah, I get that a lot. I’m actually just the ghostwriter. It’s not even my blog—I get paid to write that stuff.”

He blinked. “Wait, someone pays you to write fanfiction?”

You smirked. “It’s a very popular blog, Chan. I’m talking ten thousand followers. Twenty-thousand notes per post. That kind of popular.”

He leaned back, trying to wrap his head around it. “But… why would someone pay for something people can just read for free?”

You laughed. “That’s the thing. She’s not paying me for the content. She’s paying me to keep up the content. The blog pulls traffic, and that traffic drives her Etsy store. She sells handcrafted RIIZE merch, advertises through the blog, and makes real money off it.”

Sungchan’s expression shifted from confusion to dawning comprehension. “So the blog is basically her marketing campaign.”

“Exactly.” You showed your phone to him, toggled your screen, and scrolled through posts under the ‘riizefanfic’ tag. “See this? Your average Tumblr fanfic gets around 1,000 to 3,000 notes. That’s considered decent.”

He nodded, eyes scanning the dashboard as you toggled to your employer’s blog next. You missed the way he froze when your arm brushed against his.

You pulled up a random post. “And this one? Over 30,000. That’s a lot of people.”

He nodded again, just as you scooted away. He cleared his throat before saying, “Still doesn’t explain why she’d pay that much for a ghostwriter. She’s not making money off the posts directly, right?”

“No. That’d violate fair use. But indirectly? Absolutely. People love her work—well, my work, technically—and that love turns into support for her shop. And if you know anything about custom merch,” you added, sipping your drink, “you’d know it’s not cheap to make… or buy.”

He gave a small laugh and leaned back. “Wow. That’s actually kind of brilliant.”

You smiled. “It is, isn’t it?”

He was quiet for a moment, just watching you look at your screen. Then he asked, “Why don’t you just make your own blog? Post your own stuff?”

You looked up from your drink, already knowing this question would come. “I could,” you admitted. “But there’s no point.”

“No point?”

You leaned back in your seat. “First of all, I’m not a fan of RIIZE. Or any K-pop group, really. So I’m not writing these stories out of love for the group—I’m writing them because it’s a job. That’s reason one.”

He nodded slowly. “And two?”

“Two is the hype,” you said simply. “Jasmin already has a huge following. Ten, maybe fifteen thousand regulars, not counting the casuals who reblog. When she posts something, it blows up by default. I could post the exact same fic on my own blog and it’d probably get a hundred notes. Maybe two hundred if I begged.”

Sungchan let out a small laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Lastly, and most importantly,” you said, raising a brow, “is that Jasmin pays me. If I made my own blog, that same fic would be up there for free. And no offense to RIIZE or their fans, but I don’t care about them enough to write 20,000 words for free.”

That was the most honest answer you had. You weren’t trying to be rude. You just didn’t see the point in devoting hours of effort into something you didn’t believe in—unless there was compensation.

Sungchan didn’t respond immediately. He just stared down at the rim of his coffee cup, brows knit.

“…That’s oddly upsetting,” he said after a moment, scoffing in a self-deprecating way.

You tilted your head, surprised. “What is?”

He hesitated. “Hearing you say you don’t care enough about RIIZE.”

“Oh, I don’t care about them at all!”

Sungchan’s chuckle came out strained. “Okay. I heard you the first time. It’s just… I don’t know. The idea of someone writing about people—real people—like that, but not actually caring about them is kinda sad.”

You blinked at him, unsure how to respond. “It’s not personal,” you said after a pause. “It’s just work.”

“I know.” He looked away, but you could still see the slight pout forming on his lips.

You frowned. “Stop it. I feel like I’m hurting your feelings.”

He smirked faintly. “Why would you be hurting my feelings?”

“Exactly! It’s not like I’m saying I don’t care about you.” You chuckled incredulously. “But you’re scoffing and pouting, like, are you RIIZE or somethi—”

You paused, seemingly coming to a realization. You stared at him, mouth gaping open. Sungchan straightened in his seat, bracing himself for the words that were about to come out of your mouth.

“Oh my god,” you blurted, hand covering your mouth in shock. “Chan, are you...”

Sungchan could feel his heart picking up pace, beating harder and harder the longer you stared at him, holding back on blurting out exactly what—or who—he was.

“...Are you a BRIIZE?”

Sungchan choked, turning away to cough into his hand. You reached over and patted his back, frowning. “You okay?”

He cleared his throat and recovered. “BRIIZE?!” he croaked, blinking at you with wide eyes.

You nodded, completely serious. “Yeah. That’s what RIIZE calls their fans.”

Sungchan laughed in disbelief and then cleared his throat again before leaning on his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “So you know about BRIIZE but don’t know the members?”

You shrugged. “I don’t see how those correlate. Jasmin calls herself a BRIIZE all the time, of course, I’ve heard it.”

Sungchan chuckled, shaking his head as he scrambled to change the subject.

“So you don’t…” he gestured vaguely, “…look them up? Just to see what they look like before writing about them?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I did once. But I don’t like doing that.”

“Why not?”

You sat back in your chair, fingers curled around your mug. “Because I write mostly on inspiration. And I like to think I’m writing for my own renown, not someone else’s fantasy. It’s important to me that I don’t picture someone else’s face in the image of a character I created. Especially not a guy—or guys—I know nothing about.”

Sungchan tilted his head. “Wouldn’t it help, though? Having a visual?”

“I have all the visuals I need right here,” you said, tapping the side of your head with a small grin. “Trust me. My brain’s got better casting than Netflix.”

He laughed. Genuinely. Then leaned forward a bit. “So if I told you I knew RIIZE… like, personally…”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’d say good for you, and tell you I know Beyonce. She’s on my speed dial.”

He grinned, but didn’t push. “Fair enough.”

Sungchan: guys wake up. she writes fanfic. about US. she doesn’t even like us 😭 Shotaro: wait WHAT who is she send her @ Anton: is this the café girl again? Sungchan: yes. her. she thinks i’m just some guy named Chan Song Also she thinks i’m a BRIIZE 💀 Wonbin: Chan song? You’re joking that’s the fake name you used? Eunseok: Chan Song. Sungchan LMAO Anton: dude he used ur last name lol Eunseok: YOOO?? WTF! Shotaro: wait so she writes about US but doesn’t KNOW it’s YOU while TALKING to YOU this is like a fanfic inside a fanfic Sungchan: guys this is not funny i think i like her Anton: don’t simp. Investigate. Sohee: does she write good stuff tho 👀 Sungchan: its literally so good I think I fell in love with myself reading one I'm scared Shotaro: bro Eunseok: bro 💀 Anton: she could be lying. stop seeing her Sungchan: idc she's cute Wonbin: btw when are you flying back? Shotaro: he hasn't even been gone a week clingy ass

He was just about to type another reply when a shadow fell over the table. He glanced up and nearly dropped his phone.

“Hey,” you said, smiling as you slid into the seat across from him. “You’re uncharacteristically early.”

Sungchan fumbled with his phone, locking it so fast it almost flung out of his hand. “Oh—hi. Yeah. No. I mean—yes. Early. Breakfast. I’m getting breakfast.”

You raised a brow at him, amused. “It’s noon.”

“Brunch,” he said quickly, coughing into his drink.

You sipped your drink, watching him with a soft laugh. “Cool. Me too.”

Sungchan tried not to look like he was malfunctioning. The words “i think i like her” were still visible in his recent messages, glowing up at him from his screen.

You sat there scrolling through your phone for a minute, while he watched you cautiously. Then, clearing his throat, he broke the ice.

“So, um,” he began, taking a sip of his drink before continuing, “I read one of your works last night.”

You blinked. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “It was really good. The one where this college guy was childhood friends with the girl and had been in love with her since they were little?”

“Oh, the Jung Sungchan one,” you replied, smiling proudly.

“Right, that one.” Sungchan shifted in his seat, trying to act casual. “That version of, um, Sungchan, is super flirty. But it was a great story.”

“Thank you,” you said, pleased. “I thought you said you weren’t a fan?”

“I’m not,” he said quickly, then paused. “I just wanted to check out your work, which, by the way, your stories are… engaging. And interesting.”

You chuckled, sipping your drink. “You think my version of Sungchan is too good to be true?”

“No, no,” he insisted. “Just… maybe a little bold. His game was unreal. No one I know is that smooth.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well. That’s fiction for you.”

“Anyway, I gotta learn from him. Or, from you,” he said, pointing at you with a crooked grin. “You wrote him, after all.”

You let out a soft laugh. “I did write him, but I can’t help you. Just because I can write charm doesn’t mean I have it.”

He tilted his head. “No? You’re pretty charming to me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me, Chan Song?”

“Is it working?” he asked back, tilting his head at an angle that highlights his jawline.

“Try harder,” you replied, sipping your drink. He laughed again, and somehow, the conversation didn’t end.

You started seeing him more often after that. At first, you told yourself it was a coincidence—same café, same hours, nothing unusual. But Sungchan—or Chan, as you still knew him—always seemed to show up within ten minutes of you settling in. Sometimes earlier. Sometimes already there, waiting at a different table before casually strolling over to ask if he could join you.

You’d asked him questions he found weird sometimes. Like, “If you could live in any fictional universe, where would you go?”

But he never hesitated to indulge you each time. “Probably the one where people don’t cancel you for the smallest things.”

You had nodded solemnly. “So… a fantasy world.”

Sungchan laughed then. “Exactly.”

Other times, he asked things that caught you off guard, like, “Do you ever wish you wrote under your own name?”

You paused. “All the time. But honestly? Right now, being paid and anonymous isn’t so bad, I get to put my skills to work and practice until I find something I want to write about in my own name. I can’t just sit around and wait for my big break to magically land in my lap.”

He didn’t argue. He just looked at you like he understood.

He told you about his dream of becoming a pro footballer as a kid. You told him about dreaming of being a novelist before you accidentally became a ghost. He laughed at that, and you told him that, no, you meant ghostwriter—but honestly? Same thing.

You told him you liked waking up early, that the air before sunrise felt like it hadn’t been breathed in yet. He made a face and told you you were always in this cafe pulling all-nighters or just hanging out by yourself.

You said, “That’s what writers do. And I said I liked waking up early, not that I do wake up early every day.”

He laughed then. “You always have to have an answer to everything, don’t you? Bet you don’t ever let anyone have the last line.”

“I always get the last piece of pizza too,” you smirked. “I’m competitive like that.”

Some nights, you were both quiet, lost in your own screens. Others, you filled hours with nonsense—debating which ramen flavor was superior, naming the pigeon that always hovered outside the window, wondering whether ghosts ever got bored of haunting the same house.

Sometimes you get into deep conversations about existence and life. Other times, you debated over the silliest things. But overall, it felt nice to hang out with him. You weren’t sure when it started, but you began looking up every time the cafe doors opened. And you started smiling at the sight of his face.

You didn’t think much of it the first night he wasn’t there. Maybe he had something to do. People have real lives to live. Surely, you didn’t expect him to spend every single night in the cafe like he didn’t have a life outside of it.

But then came night two. Maybe work was keeping him busy. And then three. Maybe he finally got sick of overpriced drinks and jazz playlists.

And by the fourth, you caught yourself glancing up every time the door opened—only to pretend you hadn’t. You stayed a little longer that night, ordered an extra drink you didn’t even want, hoping maybe he was just late.

He wasn’t. He didn’t show. The same way he didn’t for the last three nights.

You went through your past conversations in your head, trying to remember if he’d said anything. A mention of a trip, a warning, a see-you-later. But there was nothing. You thought maybe you’d scared him off. Did something that turned him off. It could be anything.

“Maybe you talked his ears off,” said Isla, your roommate. “I mean, you can talk a little too much sometimes, if I’m being honest.”

You squinted at your ceiling. “Yeah, but, really? He hated it so much that he ghosted me?”

Isla sighed from her bed on the other side of the room, exasperated. “Girl, it’s three in the morning. Please. Can we do this in the morning?”

“Right,” you said sheepishly. “Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“Thank you,” she blurted, covering her face with her blanket. “I love you. But I really need to sleep right now.”

“I know.”

You tried not to overthink it. Maybe it wasn’t something you did. Maybe he got bored. Maybe he was just passing through. People drift. Especially people you never really knew in the first place.

So you went back to writing. Half-heartedly. You kept the same table, kept sipping the same drinks, kept pretending it didn’t feel a little colder without him there. 

And then, nearly a week later, the barista called your name as you were packing up.

“Hey,” he said, jogging after you with something in his hands. “Sorry. Totally forgot. This was left for you.”

You turned, confused. He was holding a small box, taped shut, with your name scribbled in all caps on the lid.

“This… what?” you asked, taking it from him.

“Guy in a hoodie left it. Chan. You know, the one you always hung out with,” the barista said, looking apologetic. “Like, days ago. Said it was for you. My bad. It got shoved behind the register.”

You stared at the box. Your chest suddenly felt too tight for how small it was. Funny how something that small could make your chest feel so full. You sat back down and smiled at the barista. “Thanks.”

The café had cleared out by now. The playlist had looped back to something familiar. You peeled the tape off slowly, your mind racing with thoughts and feelings you couldn’t quite make out, but mostly relief.

Inside, there was a neatly folded note and a small keychain—the kind you’d find in a gift shop. It was shaped like a pen. Silver, a little cheesy, but weirdly thoughtful.

You unfolded the note.

Sorry, I didn’t get to say goodbye. Something urgent came up at work. I’ll be back soon. –Chan (P.S. That’s my number on the back of the tag. In case you miss me a little. I’ll wait for you to reach out.)

You stared at the handwriting for a long time. Then flipped the keychain over. And there it was. An international phone number, and three words: Your Chan Song.

You let out a soft laugh. It didn’t even feel as simple as relief. More like... oxygen, after holding your breath for too long without realizing it. You tucked the box into your bag and stared at your phone for a long moment.

You started texting him that same night. Just a short message—casual and nonchalant, like you weren’t sitting cross-legged on your bed, anxiously watching your phone the moment you hit send.

He replied within ten minutes. And just like that, a new part of your daily routine began. It wasn’t constant. You weren’t glued to your phones. But the messages came often enough that you started to expect them.

A photo of some pastry with the caption: “your favorite lol.”A sleepy update at 2 a.m.: “can’t sleep. what u up to?”

Some mornings, he’d text first, asking if you’d eaten. Other times, he’d disappear for hours with nothing but a quick “brb. work thing.” Still, you found yourself scrolling back through old messages more often than you’d like to admit, re-reading lines that made you laugh or feel some sort of giddy feeling in your stomach.

By the fifth day, he hadn’t texted yet.

You found yourself glancing at your phone more than usual. You even opened your chat, typed something, deleted it, then placed your phone face down on the table—like that would stop you from thinking about it.

He messaged late that night.

Sungchan: Did you miss me? I hope you did. Long day. Tell me something good?

You smiled and almost started jumping up and down on your bed. Only to slap yourself on the face and tell yourself to calm the heck down. “He’s just a guy,” you chastised yourself.

You: The café pigeon is back. Sungchan: I miss the pigeon. And the girl who talks to him like he understands English. You: He does understand English. He just pretends he doesn’t. Sungchan: Smart bird.

That was the last message for the night. You didn’t hear from him the next day. Not that you were counting. But part of you kind of was.

Some nights, while you worked on a new story, you couldn’t focus because you were waiting for his message. Other nights, he’d fall asleep mid-conversation and text you a sheepish “oops” the next day. And even though you still didn’t know what he did for work or why he kept disappearing without warning, you didn’t pry. You just kept texting him anyway.

Because for now, that little corner of connection—between the deadlines and the doubts—was enough.

And besides, you were starting to miss him more than just a little.

“Chocolate chip or matcha?” you asked no one in particular, peering through the glass display with your hands stuffed into your jacket pockets.

“Matcha,” said a very familiar voice beside you.

You froze. Then turned. And there he was—standing just close enough, eyes already crinkling with a smile.

Your heart picked up speed almost embarrassingly fast. Something about hearing his voice again felt like plunging into a cool pool on a hot summer day. Jarring. Refreshing. Kind of impossible to recover from.

“Chocolate chip’s safe,” he continued, nonchalantly like this wasn’t the first time you were seeing each other again after two whole months, “but matcha has ambition.”

You blinked at him, then raised a brow, crossing your arms and pretending like you weren’t actively losing your mind. “Matcha tastes like grass and regret.”

He gasped—actually gasped—and put a hand to his chest, wounded. “Take that back.”

“Never,” you said, grabbing a packet of chocolate chip cookies and walking away with a smirk. Half-hoping he’d follow. 

And knowing he would.

You didn’t have to look behind you to know he was still there. He was matching his steps with yours as you made your way to the counter, pretending like this was any other night and not the moment you’d replayed in your head at least a dozen times since he left.

Sungchan set down his drink next to yours while you paid for the cookies. Then he nodded toward the corner table you always claimed and said, “Still your spot?”

You shrugged like your heart wasn’t doing cartwheels. “Unless you’ve suddenly grown too cool to sit there.”

He smiled. “Not a chance.”

You both slipped into your usual seats. And it was quiet between you for a moment. But not the kind that was awkward and tense, but the kind that happens when someone’s absence had been loud, and now their presence feels even louder.

“So, Chan,” you said, peeling open the cookie packet. “Vanished off the face of the earth, huh?”

Sungchan winced, but not dramatically. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

You nodded slowly, chewing thoughtfully. “I almost thought you’d ghosted me.”

“I didn’t want to,” he said quickly, and you looked up at him. “Had to leave last minute. Didn’t have a way to reach you. Though technically, you were the one who took a while to reach out.”

“Me?” you blurted, scowling, but then you remembered how the barista ‘forgot’ to give you the note Sungchan left you. You glanced over your shoulder, glaring at the oblivious barista. “Yeah, well… turns out someone forgot to give me your note.”

“It’s fine.” Sungchan chuckled, and you turned back to him. “I did think you didn’t wanna bother reaching out at all, but you did eventually, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad you did.”

“Flirting on your first day back?” you said, raising an eyebrow as you brought your cup to your lips. “Calm down, Chan Song.”

Sungchan leaned his head back and groaned in feigned distress. “Is it not working? I practiced hard while I was gone!”

That made you laugh. “Where were you anyway?”

“Places,” he replied casually, placing his elbows on the table. “I was swamped with work. This, um, project I was working on took a while. And it’s not done yet, but I can do it remotely in the meantime.”

“What’s the project?”

“Can’t tell you. Confidentiality clause and all.”

You narrowed your eyes at him in playful suspicion. “Is this your way of telling me you’re in the CIA?”

He laughed, and the sound reverberated beautifully in your ears. “No. Definitely not cool enough for that.” 

Then he looked at you—really looked at you. The golden café lights caught in his eyes, turning them to amber, and his usual half-smile was soft and warm. For a moment, it felt like time paused around your little corner of the world. You weren’t thinking about pigeons or playlists or the months in between—you were just watching him, and thinking stupid things like: This is the face I’d give a love interest if I ever wrote a story with me as the heroine.

God, you were so down bad.

“But I did miss this,” he said gently. “You. The coffee. Jazz. The pigeon updates.”

You blinked, pulling yourself back into your body. “He got a girlfriend while you were gone,” you said, exhaling a laugh to cover the way your heart was racing.

Sungchan gasped. “No way.”

“Way. They sit on the third lamp post now. Real estate upgrade.”

He shook his head in mock devastation. “I miss one month and everything changes.”

“Two months,” you corrected, before you could stop yourself.

He smirked teasingly. “You were counting? You did miss me.”

You did, but you weren’t about to admit that, so you rolled your eyes. “I’m a writer. I keep track of time in coffee cups and cafe playlists. Hard not to notice the gaps.”

You lingered in the cafe longer that night. The conversation continued to flow, never quite running out. Something about being back in each other’s presence felt too rare to cut short. You watched the way Sungchan leaned back in his chair, the way his fingers curled around his cup, how his gaze sometimes softened when it landed on you. And maybe it was the mellow jazz or the cookie sugar in your system or the fact that you missed him so much more than you admitted—but the moment soon started to feel intimate.

The café lights had dimmed hours past midnight, and only two other customers remained, tucked into their corners, half-asleep. When even they decided it was time to call it a night, you realized you couldn’t stay forever.

Sungchan glanced at the clock, then at you. “You gonna keep holding this table hostage ‘til morning?”

“No,” you said, sipping from your empty cup. “But I like it here.”

He smiled. “Wanna come over instead? I live five minutes from here.”

Your heart stuttered a little. He said it casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just two friends, too wired to sleep, choosing to stay in each other’s company a little longer.

So you nodded. “Yeah. Why not?”

He didn’t say anything else and just stood up, slid his phone into his pocket, and waited for you to gather your things. When he offered to carry it for you, you didn’t hesitate to hand it over.

The walk was comfortable. You talked about nothing. About the weather, about the stupid pigeon, about how you used to hate lo-fi but now kind of love it. His apartment was small but clean, set up like a showroom for a studio condo. It was well-kept and didn’t really look lived in. But it kind of made sense. He’d been gone for a while after all.

He tossed his keys onto the counter and flicked on a soft lamp near the couch. Warm light filled the room.

“Tea?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said, not because you wanted tea, but because you weren’t ready to sit down yet. Not ready for whatever this was becoming.

You watched him move through the kitchen, sleeves rolled to his elbows, looking so relaxed and handsome, and that was when it hit you.

You liked him.

God, you really liked him; your heart wouldn’t shut up about it.

He sat beside you on the couch, knees brushing, the cushion dipping with his weight. It was the first time you really noticed how small you looked next to him. You’d always known he was tall—but now, seated this close, it hit you that he was also broad. Solid, and larger than you were.

Somehow, that realization made the nerves all over your skin tingle.

You didn’t drink your tea. Neither did he. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge or the occasional sound of the city outside. You sat side by side, not touching anymore, but still close enough that your body remembered the warmth from just seconds ago.

Neither of you spoke, but you could feel him glancing your way now and then. All while you kept your eyes on the mug in your hands like it was the most fascinating object in the world.

Eventually, you broke the silence, just to say something. Anything. Just to shake off the static.

“You could’ve texted,” you said softly. “That you were coming back today.”

Sungchan didn’t answer right away. You turned your head to look at him and caught him already looking at you. Then, quietly—like he didn’t even mean to say it out loud—he replied, “I was nervous.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Because I knew if I saw you again, I’d want to do this.”

You didn’t have time to ask what “this” meant because he was already leaning in and kissing you.

It was a tentative one, testing your reaction. And the second your mouth moved against his, he sighed against your lips and kissed you deeper. Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer. His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw, holding you steady. 

You set your mug down without looking. His was abandoned somewhere on the floor. Your knees brushed again, then his hand slid to your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

“You’re warm,” he whispered, wrapping strong arms around your waist, pulling you closer against his own body. “Warmer than you look.”

“Did you think I’d be cold?” you smarted.

That made him grin. I didn’t say that. I said warmer, meaning I already thought you were warm, but you turned out to be warmer than I expected.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay, let’s not argue about semantics right now. We have far more pressing matters to—OH!”

Sungchan flipped you onto the couch with one swift movement, immediately hovering over you and kissing you like it wasn’t a decision, but a pull—like gravity.

You didn’t stop him. You didn’t want to.

His hands slid under your thighs as he pulled you closer, your bodies fitting together like this had always been inevitable. His mouth never left yours for too long, just long enough to murmur your name or breathe out a soft curse when your nails dug into his back.

His fingers slipped beneath your shirt, and his lips trailed down your throat. He touched you like he already knew you, like every inch of you had already been memorized in his head and he was just retracing it now, slowly and thoroughly.

Clothes disappeared in the quietest, clumsiest kind of way, in between laughter and breathless silences. He kissed your shoulder when you trembled, grinned into your skin when you sighed, and talked you through it gently, though his pace was anything but.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. Messy, clumsy, with a touch of awkwardness here and there, but it was amazing. And at the end of it, when you both curled up into each other, tangled limb by limb and breathing in each other’s skin, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so warm.

Or so wanted.

That night with Sungchan changed everything—and nothing at all. 

You still saw each other at the café, still sat at your usual spot in the corner, still argued about nonsense like whether black coffee was superior to lattes or if matcha was real and not just the new social construct these days (like Pumpkin Spice Latte once was). But more often now, you’d find yourself at his apartment instead.

His apartment became the new favorite spot. Mornings, nights, entire afternoons together on that couch, in his bed, in the shower, on the kitchen counter. There was no routine—only instinct, desire, and passion.

There were days you didn’t even bother getting dressed, moving from bed to fridge in one of his shirts, hair a mess, legs still aching from the night before. He’d pull you in again anyway, say something stupid like, “You’re distracting me from feeding you,” only to set the food aside five minutes later because, well, you were both starving—but not for lunch.

You lost track of how many times it happened. Just that it always started the same—him reaching for you like it was second nature, like your body had become his default setting. And maybe it had. Your shirt lifted before your coffee cooled. His fingers trailing your spine while you brushed your teeth. The two of you under the sheets, out of breath, half-laughing, completely undone.

But it wasn’t just that.

Sometimes you cooked together. Ramen, argued over whether ketchup belonged on eggs, more ramen. Sometimes you fell asleep on his chest mid-movie, only to wake up to him still there, scrolling his phone with one hand, the other resting lightly on your hip like he didn’t even notice he was holding you.

There was no talk about what it meant. No confessions, no “what are we doing?” panic. There was only a growing comfort that settled between your bones like muscle memory.

You told yourself it was just physical. But the way he brushed your hair behind your ear before kissing your forehead said otherwise.

And maybe he knew it too. But neither of you said a word. Because if there was anything stronger than your chemistry, it was your shared refusal to ruin a good thing by naming it.

But of course, things couldn’t just stay that way forever.

One day, you were on his couch again, legs crossed, half-listening to his playlist while you typed away on the laptop resting on your thighs.

“What are you writing?” Sungchan asked out of nowhere, walking into the living room with a bowl of what you assumed was his breakfast cereal.

You shrugged. “Not really writing yet, just brainstorming this new idea for a plot.”

He joined you on the couch, draping one arm on the backrest behind you. “You should write about us.”

You paused. “Why would I do that?”

“Why not?” he said, nudging your leg with his knee. “Come on. Writer girl meets charming cafe stranger who turned out to be an amazing lover.”

You snorted, giving him a look before turning back to your screen. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not? You don’t think I’m an amazing lover?” he said teasingly, leaning in to kiss your cheek while his hand slid into the hem of your shirt.

You rolled your eyes and swatted his hand away. “You are amazing. But you’re not my lover.”

He looked confused, so you said, “I don’t write about myself. And besides, a lover is more than someone who warms my bed. He’s…” You shrugged. “The boyfriend type. You know?”

Sungchan tilted his head, interested now. “So a lover’s a boyfriend?”

“For me? Yeah. I don’t use that word lightly. If I say lover, I mean he’s mine. Officially. Not just in my bed, but in my life.”

You glanced back at him and saw a thoughtful flicker on his face, replaced quickly by a smug grin. “So…” he said slowly, “this your way of asking me to be your boyfriend?”

You flushed, surprised by the turn of the conversation. “Absolutely not.”

"Why not?" He grinned, leaning closer. “Because I will. No questions asked. Just say the word.”

You stared at him, then laughed softly. “God, you’re serious?”

“I am,” he said, and there was no lilt of teasing in his voice. “I understand why labels are important. It’s better to have some sort of agreement making things official, rather than just cruising with it.”

You were speechless for a moment, watching him look at you with the same fondness in his eyes and the small smile on his lips.

And then, shyly, you said, “Okay.”

His smile widened, and he kissed you—quick and sweet—before whispering, “About time.”

From then on, something had changed. You still hung out the same, still ended up in his bed more often than not, but there was something more certain about it now. Your toothbrush joined his in the cup. Your jackets ended up in his closet. He called you his girlfriend, casually at first, and then like it had always been the case.

And maybe the biggest surprise of all? You started writing a plot about it.

Not in full detail, not everything. But the bones of it. The gist of how it began. How you met this guy at a café and didn’t expect him to stay. How he made you laugh when you were stuck, how he kept you glowing and smiling, and how he now warms your nights with his embrace.

Sungchan left again the following week.

He didn’t want to. That much was obvious in the way he lingered in the doorway, kissing you one too many times, pulling you into one last hug before muttering “I really don’t wanna go” against your hair. But work called, and his time off had already stretched longer than planned.

This time, he didn’t disappear without warning. He told you exactly where he was going, for how long, and promised to call whenever he could. You didn’t ask too many questions. You knew what he did now—not the specifics, but enough. And you didn’t need the whole story to understand the parts that mattered.

You stayed in his apartment for a few nights after he left. It still smelled like him. Your laptop stayed open, pages half-written, but your thoughts kept circling back to him.

On the fourth day, Jasmin messaged you.

Jasmin: Hey! Do you think you can do Sungchan next? Haven’t posted any fic for him in a while, and I think you’d kill it. Something soft and light, maybe? I’m thinking comfort character vibes.”

You stared at the screen, smiling because you had only been working on one plot outline all week. You typed in a reply.

You: Absolutely! I have just the plot for this.

You picked up your laptop and opened a new document. Sat cross-legged in the middle of his bed with the scent of his laundry on your skin. And for the first time, you didn’t write about a character you made up. You wrote about him.

The charming stranger who sat beside you in a café. The man who touched you like he already knew you. The boy who made you laugh as easily as breathing.You didn’t use his name—not really. This was still a fanfic for Jung Sungchan, but every word belonged to your boyfriend, Chan.

Chan came back like he always did—without much warning but with his arms around you before you could ask what took him so long.

“I only have five days,” he said, forehead pressed against yours like he was apologizing in advance. “Work’s close by. I’m technically still on the clock.”

You didn’t ask for details. You knew by now that his version of “close by” meant another country, and “on the clock” meant being shuffled between hotel rooms and planes. But you also knew that if Sungchan had five days off, he’d use all five of them on you.

So you spent time with him. In his apartment. In his bed. In your world, like he’d never left in the first place.

“So… what’s the mystery project this time?”

He smiled at his coffee, noncommittal as ever. “Just work. Same old.”

You gave him a look. “You do know that’s the least convincing answer in the history of ever, right?”

“It’s the only one I can give you right now,” he said, and even though it was vague, he kissed your temple right after. So you let it go, because he was here.

And maybe five days wasn’t forever—but it was still five mornings waking up tangled in his arms, five nights of late conversations and whispered nothings, five chances to pretend that the clock wasn’t ticking.

The first night, he didn’t want to talk. Just kissed you the moment the door shut behind him, backing you into the nearest wall with all the urgency of someone who’d been craving this for weeks. He touched you like he was trying to memorize the feel of you all over again.

The second day, he slept. Like, did nothing and just slept for hours. You spent the afternoon working on his bed, glancing at him every now and then to make sure he was still breathing. He looked peaceful for once—none of that usual tension he carried in his shoulders. Just Chan, with his big arms wrapped around your torso, face buried on your side, and long legs curled into his chest.

You couldn’t help reaching for your phone to snap a photo of him like that—like he wasn’t an actual grown man curling up like a baby.

On the third day, you tried to cook and nearly set off the fire alarm trying to make pancakes, and he teased you about it until you flicked batter at his arm. It turned into a flour war, which turned into a makeout session by the sink, which then delayed breakfast by another two hours.

The fourth day was quiet. He sprawled out on your couch while you sat cross-legged nearby, laptop open, fingers moving across the keys.

He glanced over mid-scroll through his phone and asked, “What are you working on?”

“The usual.”

“Fanfic?” He raised a brow. “For which member is it this time?”

You turned your screen toward him slightly, curious to see if he’d have any reaction. Maybe he'd know the member, you thought. Maybe he'd laugh.

Instead, his smile dropped. His posture stiffened almost imperceptibly, and his gaze locked on the name at the top of your document.

“Sungchan?” he said, voice suddenly tight.

You blinked. “Yeah. Apparently another member of RIIZE.”

He stared at the screen. At the words Jung Sungchan in the title bar. At the bullet point list underneath: Soft-spoken. Thoughtful. Says things like “I’ll wait for you” and means it.

Then he chuckled and leaned back on the couch, casual as ever. “For a second there, I thought you were finally writing about me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m writing for Sungchan, not Chan Song. Both names sound oddly similar for some reason, but no. Not about you.”

“Right,” he said, grinning. “You’re very defensive.”

He was right, you were. While you did decide to write about your own story, you didn’t wanna tell him that because it was lowkey embarrassing.

You threw a pillow at him. He caught it and hugged it to his chest, smug. “Can I read it?”

“Nope.”

“Not even a line?”

“Nope.”

He pouted and rested his chin on your shoulder anyway. “I’ll read it when it’s posted, then,” he whispered.

You didn’t say anything to that. Just kept typing, trying to ignore the way your heart stuttered a little from having him so close.

On the fifth day, it rained. You didn’t leave the apartment. Barely left the bed. You lay tangled together, limbs sore and words soft, talking about everything and nothing. And when the clock struck midnight, you realized his five days were up.

The seasons blurred before you noticed how much time had passed.

Chan still came and went, and you stayed. Not in the way that you were waiting around for him—no, you had your own work, your own life. But somehow, everything always fell back into place the moment he walked through the cafe doors again. As if time outside of each other didn’t really count.

He still kept things vague. His work, whatever it was, still dragged him away. You knew the time zones changed depending on where he was texting from, but he never gave names of cities. Or clients. Or what exactly he did that involved so many trips and deadlines and a phone that never stopped buzzing.

You didn’t push. Not because you weren’t curious, but because pushing never worked with Chan. He was gentle with your questions—deflecting, redirecting, charming his way around the answers until you forgot why you asked in the first place.

And maybe, for a while, you didn’t need to know more. Because he always came back to you.

You knew his apartment better than he did. Knew where he kept the extra towels, knew how to wiggle the bathroom window when it jammed, knew the name of the neighbor downstairs and which flavor of cup ramen he always kept stocked.

You knew he slept best with one arm under the pillow and the other over you. That he couldn’t stand not working out at least once a day. He liked trying different flavors of smoothies and had a weird addiction to everything matcha.

You also knew he dodged your questions whenever they got too specific. “What’s your schedule like next month?” “Do you miss Korea?” “Will I ever meet your friends?”

He never answered directly. Just grinned or kissed you, or said something sweet to reroute your thoughts. Sometimes, the doubt crept in. Slipped into the silence between goodnights. But most of the time, you were too busy wrapped up in him to notice.

Literally, most of the time.

Like now, for example. He was stretched out across the couch, arms wrapped around your middle, head buried into your chest like a human-sized house cat. You absentmindedly ran your fingers through his hair, the TV humming quietly in the background.

“You’re too tall for this,” you mumbled, shifting under his weight.

“I’m perfectly sized,” he said, his voice muffled against your shirt.

“Mm. Sure. Perfectly sized to be called a Tiny Giant.”

You felt him stiffen slightly. Then he pulled back, blinking up at you with dramatic offense. “Tiny what?”

You grinned. “That’s what your contact name is in my phone.”

“Me? Tiny Giant?” he asked, pointing to himself like he couldn’t believe it.

You nodded. “You’re a giant man who likes to be babied. You literally curl up into me like you’re five foot.”

He scoffed, feigning offense. “So what? Just because I’m tall, I can’t ask to be cuddled by my girlfriend?”

“I did not say that,” you giggled.

“You know what? Call it what you want to.” He pouted, then snuggled back into your chest. “I am a full-grown man. There’s nothing tiny about me.”

You grinned, enjoying his reaction. “A full-grown man who steals only my green skittles and says ‘yummy’ while doing it.”

“You’re a bully,” he huffed, then pulled you close, mumbling into your shoulder, “I like it though. Don’t change it.”

Moments like that made it easy to forget the cracks.

Like how you never saw any family photos. Or how he always changed the subject when you mentioned having Korea in your bucket list of places you wanted to visit. Or how once, you walked in while he was mid-call, speaking Korean in a clipped, professional tone and he hung up the second he saw you.

You wanted to trust him. And most days, you did. But some nights, when he was gone for too long and all you had were his cryptic texts and charming excuses, you wondered who exactly you were sharing your heart with—and your body, and your very soul.

“You’re really warm tonight,” he murmured. 

You were curled into him, naked under the sheets, one arm slung over his chest, your cheek pressed against the warm skin of his shoulder. He played with your hair absentmindedly, twirling it around his finger and bringing it to his nose.

“You say that every time.”

“I mean it every time.”

You smiled into his skin. “Maybe you’re just cold-blooded. Lizard man.”

He chuckled and gave your hip a lazy squeeze. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just…always warm.”

You hummed at that, sleep tugging at your eyelids. He saw that and cupped your cheek to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Wanna wash up before we sleep?”

“I should,” you groaned, hugging him tighter. “But I’m too tired. My legs aren’t working.”

He chuckled softly. “Can’t say I’m sorry. How about I go take a shower and wipe you down? You can stay here and wait for me.”

“But it’s cold,” you grimaced.

“Either that or be stuck feeling gross all night.”

“You say that like you’re not the one who made me gross,” you mumbled.

Sungchan laughed and kissed you again. Then he climbed out of bed, tugging on his sweatpants and stretching his arms overhead as he padded toward the bathroom.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he warned, pointing at you from the doorway, already smiling. “I’ll be right back.”

“No promises,” you yawned, grabbing the nearest pillow to hug against your chest.

The bathroom door clicked shut. Water began to run. You stared at the ceiling for a while, letting the sounds lull you into that dreamy space between sleep and thought. His phone buzzed once. Then again. 

You glanced over instinctively. It was on the nightstand, vibrating against the wood with an incoming call. 

“Chan?” you called out, voice still hoarse from earlier. “Chan, baby, someone’s calling,” you called out half-heartedly. No answer. He probably couldn’t hear you over the water.

The phone kept buzzing. You didn’t move to answer it—of course not. You weren’t that kind of girlfriend. You just leaned over and peeked at the screen, just to check the caller ID in case it was one of his clients or something important.

The phone stopped ringing before you could read it. You didn’t catch the name. But you saw the wallpaper.

It wasn’t the usual blank black background he always swore was “less distracting.” It was a photo—taken in a studio, professionally lit and filtered.

At first, it was the image itself that caught your eye: seven men standing against a concrete wall, each turned slightly sideways, looking over their shoulders. All dressed in metallic silver jerseys, black gloves, and baggy pants. Sharp styling. Photo-shoot quality. A group shot, you assumed.

But then your gaze landed on him. Same height. Same shoulders. Same side profile you’d kissed a thousand times.

He was looking right at the camera, a half-smile tugging at his lips. The same lips that kissed your forehead goodnight. The same lips that whispered sweet nothings while tangled up in your sheets.

And on his pants was big block letters spelling one word—RIIZE.

You sat up straighter, leaning in without meaning to. Squinting. You didn’t need to zoom in to know it was him. No makeup or hairstyle in the world could change that bone structure, that posture, that slightly tilted way he always carried his chin.

Your Chan.

The bathroom door opened then, and Chan stepped out with a damp towel in one hand, hair still wet, a bead of water trailing down his chest.

“Baby,” he said, voice warm and carefree, “you really should get in the shower. The water is so warm, you’re gonna love it.”

“Chan Song,” you mumbled, making him pause.

He hummed inquiringly. You looked up at him, confusion written all over your face. “Chan Song. Is that your name?”

He froze. Then, with a slow breath, he smiled and said, “Great name, isn’t it? Very main character.”

You squinted down at him. “Is that your real name?”

A second passed, and you could see his smile faltering. “It’s a name.”

“Chan.”

He took a step closer, lifting the towel. “Why are you asking—”

“Don’t.”

You stood, the sheet still tangled around your legs, your body still warm from where he’d touched it. You gestured vaguely at the phone, where the screen had since gone black.

“That’s you. Isn’t it?” you demanded, picking up the phone, tapping on the screen, and showing it to him as soon as it lit up. “Right there. That’s you in the picture.”

His hand dropped. So did the towel. There was a long beat of silence. Then, finally, with his chest still bare and the scent of your skin still clinging to his—he nodded.

“…Yeah.” His voice was almost a whisper. “That’s me.”

You exhaled slowly. “So your name isn’t Chan Song.”

“No,” he said, quieter now. “It’s Jung Sungchan.”

You blinked. Once. Twice. Like your brain was still trying to reconfigure what it all meant.

“How long were you planning to lie to me?” you asked, though your voice didn’t rise. If anything, it dropped lower.

“I wasn’t lying,” he said quickly. “I just… didn’t say anything. I wasn’t ready for you to know.”

“Because what?” you snapped. “What did you think would happen if I found out?”

“I don’t know…” he muttered, looking away like he was ashamed to say that.

Heat prickled at your eyelids, and a lump started forming in your throat with all the emotions flooding you. “So, what? What’s all this, then? A double life? A temporary fix? A social experiment to see what it’s like having a foreign girlfriend and living a regular, not-a-celebrity life?”

“No, baby, that’s not what this is. You have to believe me.” He looked at you then, wanting to move closer, like he wanted to fix it with just a word, but you stepped back.

“This whole time,” you whispered. “I thought I knew who you were.”

“You do know me—”

“No, I know Chan Song. The guy who’s gentle and clumsy and curls up on my chest like a six-foot toddler. I don’t know this guy.” You motioned to the phone. “I don’t know him.”

Silence fell over the room again. You waited for him to say anything, but he just kept his head down, sighing deeply every now and then. You swallowed hard and turned away, reaching for your clothes in a daze.

“Wait—baby, wait,” he said, stepping forward as you grabbed your shirt from the floor. “Don’t go. Please, let’s talk about this. Just let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” you said, voice sharp now. “You’re not who you said you were. And I—I can’t do this right now.”

“You’re not even dressed—can you just—please, just talk to me.”

You pulled on your jeans, fingers trembling. “I can’t look at you right now, Sungchan.”

That stopped him in his tracks. The first time you’d ever called him that. You pulled your top over your head and bent down for your phone. You didn’t look at him—not even once—because if you did, your resolve would crack.

He stepped forward again, helplessly hugging you from behind and burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t leave like this. Please. Stay.”

“Would you?” you whispered, staring right at the door. “If it were you in this position, being lied to for almost a year by someone you thought you could trust, someone you love, would you stay?”

He didn’t say anything; he just froze. Then a few seconds later, his embrace loosened. You took the chance to pull away, reaching for the knob and pulling the door open.

And then you were gone, the door clicking shut behind you.

You couldn’t believe it. You really, genuinely couldn’t believe it. But at the same time—God—it made so much sense.

The ambiguity. The secrecy. His habit of dancing around questions with just enough charm to distract you from asking harder. The newly furnished apartment that felt like a hotel suite more than a home. The obscure description of his job. The time zone differences, the weeks—months—where he vanished and only texted in vague updates. All of it.

All of it made sense now.

You sat alone on your bed, still in the jeans you barely managed to tug on before storming out of his place. Your phone buzzed a few times on the table beside you, but you didn’t check it. You knew who it was. You knew he’d call. Probably say all the right things. Probably beg you to understand.

And the worst part? It might work. You’d been so caught up in your feelings, so drawn to his warmth, his stupid smile, the way he held you like he never wanted to let go—how could you not fall for that? He was kind. Sweet. Goofy, even. He made you feel like you were the only person in the world who ever really mattered. But he lied.

And not a small lie, either. Not the kind you could write off as a white lie, or a protective omission, or something forgivable in the name of love. No. He lied about his entire identity. About who he was. What he did. Everything that came before he walked into that café the first time and sat beside you like a perfectly normal guy.

You buried your face in your hands. Let out a laugh that sounded too bitter to be funny. Now here you were—heart broken, pride shattered, and a phone full of messages from someone who wasn’t even real.

Chan Song didn’t exist. Not for real, anyway. There was only Jung Sungchan. And you had no idea who the hell he was.

You didn’t see or talk to him for the rest of the week. And he tried—God, he tried. The messages came nonstop. First through text. Then calls. Then emails. DMs. He even left a comment under your most recent post on your locked side account.

“Please. Just talk to me.”

You deleted it without replying.

Back then, it had felt odd how you never gave him your address. But then again, why would you? You spent most nights at his place anyway. Now, it felt like the smartest thing you’d ever done. There was an odd sense of safety in being unreachable. Emotionally, that is.

You turned off your notifications and buried yourself in writing—not the story you’d been working on about him, of course. You couldn’t even look at that draft without your heart clenching. So you opened something else. Something mindless and cliché, just to stay busy. Just to not think about his face.

Jasmin: Hey! Just checking in—any updates on the Sungchan fic? No pressure, just wondering when you think you’ll be done.

You stared at the message, thumb hovering over your screen. A hundred different responses came to mind. You could tell her the truth. You could say, “Actually, I’ve been hooking up with the real Sungchan for almost a year and just found out who he is.” But you didn’t.

Because even if she did believe you, what then? You’d seen the way some fans reacted to rumors. You weren’t delusional—you knew exactly what kind of firestorm that could bring down on you. On him.

And despite everything, you weren’t trying to ruin him. So you replied with the simplest thing you could.

You: Actually, just finished it. Doing some editing rn, should be ready in a few hours.

Jasmin replied with a sticker of a little bear holding a pencil and a “fighting!!” message. You set your phone down and exhaled slowly. The ache in your chest didn’t lessen, but it dulled a little. Enough to let you breathe through it all.

The next day, at the cafe, you ran into him, which, in retrospect, you should have known would happen. The universe had it out for you, after all.

Right when you finally decided it was enough hiding and you needed to get out of your apartment after a week of holing up inside, you went to your favorite cafe and Sungchan just happened to be there. Of course, he’d be there.

Sungchan was sitting at your usual corner, hunched over a half-finished drink, his fingers absently tracing the rim of the glass like he’d been waiting for something. Or someone. When his eyes lifted and met yours, he recognized you immediately.

His face softened as he stood up. “Baby.”

You turned, already on instinct, but he was quicker. “Wait—please.”

You sighed, not turning back around yet. “Chan, I really don’t wanna—”

“I just want to talk.” His voice was gentle but desperate. “Five minutes. Please.”

You glanced over your shoulder. He looked… awful, actually. Not unkempt or anything. He was, still handsome, still put-together, but there were dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders were sagged like you’d never seen before. That made you pause.

You crossed your arms. “Fine.”

He swallowed. “Maybe… maybe back at my place? Just so we can have some privacy?”

You scoffed, loud enough for the nearby barista to flinch. “Oh, right. So you can charm your way into my pants again and avoid the actual conversation like you always do?”

His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down, ashamed. “No. I didn’t mean—okay. Here is fine.”

You picked the furthest table in the corner, where no one else was seated. He followed you like a scolded child. You didn’t speak and neither did he. The silence stretched too long, and you were the first to break it with a pointed remark, “If you don’t start talking in the next five seconds, I’m leaving.”

He looked up, alarmed, then nodded. “Okay. Okay.”

He took a breath. “I’m sorry. I know it was messed up, but I really didn’t mean for any of this to happen. When we were getting to know each other, you told me you were a RIIZE fanfic write. And I just… I wanted to be friends, but didn’t wanna tell you I was… you know, an idol—the idol you’d been writing about.”

You scoffed. “So instead, you just… pretended to be someone else.”

“I didn’t pretend—”

“You literally gave me a fake name.”

“It wasn’t fake. It’s just…” He faltered. “It’s my name too, in a way. A version of it.”

You didn’t respond. You just stared, dumbfounded by his statement. He continued. “It’s a me who was your friend, and fell in love with you later on. I swear, I wanted to tell you. So many times. But things just kept getting deeper between us and I… I didn’t want it to change.”

“You say that,” you said flatly, “but if you could lie about something as big as your identity, what else did you lie about? Did you mean it when you said I was the only one? Did you mean it when you said I made you feel like home? When you said you were in love with me?”

“I did. I do.”

You let out a bitter laugh, one that didn’t sound like you. “Right. Of course. So now you’re lying straight to my face. Oh—wait. You’ve been doing that since the very start.”

Sungchan looked like he’d just been punched in the chest. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. You stood. He stood with you, like he still thought there was a chance you’d change your mind.

“Go home, Jung Sungchan,” you said firmly, brows furrowed, your throat tight and eyes stinging.

He staggered a half-step after you, with a pained expression, like he might fall to his knees any moment now and beg.

“And don’t say you’re home right now,” you added, voice barely above a whisper. “Because we both know you could never have one here.” And with that, you turned and walked away.

You went home and cried—again. It was starting to feel like all your tears had his name at the root. You hated that. Hated how heavy your chest felt, how empty and hollow it was.

You quit ghostwriting that same week. Not just for RIIZE, but altogether. Jasmin didn’t argue. You hadn’t given her a real reason, and she hadn’t pressed for one. She simply said it was about time she got back into writing and thanked you for your service of over a year.

You thought that would be it. That you’d cut ties, burn the bridge, and move on. Except you didn’t.

Instead, you found yourself falling down a YouTube rabbit hole—starting with a random RIIZE music video that popped up on your homepage. You clicked on it out of morbid curiosity, expecting it to be bad, just some overrated visuals and fan-hyped mediocrity.

But it wasn’t. Not even close.

Sungchan was radiant and confident. Moving with precision, singing with excellence, and rapping with a good flow. The same body you knew so well suddenly transformed under the lights. You kept watching these videos, exploring the contents, and surprisingly enjoying them. 

Your roommate noticed by the third day. “Didn’t peg you for a K-pop fan,” she said from the kitchen as you replayed one of their dance practice videos for the third time.

“I’m not,” you called back, eyes still on the screen. “Just watching to see how awful they are.”

But they weren’t awful. The more you watched, the worse it got. You learned their names. Their dynamics. Their strengths. Sohee’s bubbly charm. Anton’s oddly relatable humor. Shotaro’s work ethic. Wonbin’s magnetism. Eunseok’s visuals. Seunghan’s charisma. And of course, Sungchan.

You learned to separate the boy you loved from the idol on stage, but the overlap hurt because now you were seeing pieces of him he’d never shown you. Not because he didn’t want to—but because he couldn’t. Not as Chan Song.

You started seeing the boys differently too. The ones you used to write about like they were plot devices. Archetypes. Playthings for fandoms to project fantasies onto. You hadn’t questioned it before. Never thought twice about why it was okay to give them made-up pasts, invented traumas, perfect romance arcs. Everyone did it. It was normal.

But now? Now you knew their voices. Their faces. Their idol personas—the little ticks and quirks you could never have invented. They weren’t movie characters or book protagonists crafted for the sole purpose of being consumed. They were people. People with careers, pressure, families, real-life stakes. You’d never felt weird writing about fictional characters before. Superheroes, fantasy leads, actors from dramas—you could fictionalize them because the boundary was clear. Fiction was fiction.

And it made you cringe because Sungchan had seen some of your works. Had read them. Had probably imagined what it was like to be fictionalized and flattened, turned into someone else’s daydream.

You remembered the time he’d jokingly said, “You should write about us. Or me.”

You had. Except you hadn’t known who he really was then. And now that you did, it wasn’t funny anymore.

Did he lie when he said they were good? You wondered. He’d read some of your stories and gave you his thoughts. He even pointed out how some of the dynamics didn’t quite fit. You remembered him laughing at one of the lines and saying, “Anton would never say that,” tapping the screen with his knuckle. “He’s too shy for that.”

You’d argued, of course. “Well, maybe fanfic Anton is a little more confident.”

“Yeah, maybe. But that’s not him,” he’d said with a shrug and a smile.

“And you know this because?”

He’d shrugged then, brushing it off casually. “Gut feeling. Have you seen his face? He looks like a dork.”

The memory made you laugh a little under your breath. Laughing about it made you miss him. Missing him made your chest hurt.

You tried to push through it, maybe clean up the dishes or open a new tab on your laptop. But it hit you all at once, like a freight train—this grief you hadn’t fully registered yet. You curled up and a sob escaped before you could catch it. Another followed, louder, more broken.

And then you were crying loudly, uncontrollably, the kind of crying that made your head hurt and your breath hitch.

Your roommate came running from the bedroom, barefoot and wide-eyed. “What happened? Are you okay?”

You couldn’t even answer. You just sat there on the rug with your arms wrapped around yourself like that might stop the aching. It didn’t. “I miss him,” you choked out between gasps. “I miss him so much it hurts.”

Isla crossed the room, crouched beside you, and wrapped her arms around your shoulders. You felt her hand stroking the back of your head gently, shushing you like a child caught in the middle of a nightmare.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t answer. You just cried harder, buried in the warmth of someone who didn’t need explanations.

The next day, you were alone in the apartment. Isla was out for work, and you hadn’t moved from the couch in hours, legs curled under you, your thumb hovering over the screen, staring at the contact name—My Tiny Giant. Still saved the same way you always had.

That was what he was, after all. Your Tiny Giant. All six feet and something inches of him, always curled up against you like he didn’t have a whole wingspan to spare. Snuggled into your chest for as long as you’d allow him. Loving it when you hugged him from behind like he wasn’t a whole head taller than you

You missed him. God, you missed him. Your thumb hovered over the call button, then pressed. 

It rang once. Twice. Thrice. And a few times more. You were seconds from hanging up when it finally connected. There was a pause, then a groggy voice, low and confused.

“Did I wake you?” you asked.

There was shuffling on the other end. “Who—” He paused, then his voice sharpened. “Baby?”

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Baby, is that you?”

You let out a sob. “Yes.”

You heard a loud thud, something crashing to the floor, and then more movement—Sungchan cursing softly under his breath, fumbling for something.

“Sorry, baby,” he said, a little breathless now, his voice clearing. “Are you—are you still there?”

“I’m right here.”

“Oh, good. Good,” he paused, let out a soft shaky sigh. “Good.”

You didn’t know what else to say. Neither did he. The silence stretch long, filled only by the sound of his breathing from the other line. You had expected to say or hear a lot of things. But right now, in the silence, it felt like there was plenty to say and nothing at all.

“What time is it there?” he asked softly, finally breaking the quiet.

“Early. It’s 10 am.”

He hummed. “Did you eat?”

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Yeah.”

“What did you have?”

You shrugged. “Coffee and a bagel.”

“Mm. Still eating like a writer, I see,” he quipped.

He asked about your week. What you’d been doing. If you were eating enough. If your roommate was around. If the weather was nice. You answered in soft, gentle tones, short replies, nods he couldn’t see, but you were listening. You were both trying.

Eventually, his voice began to slow, the spaces between his words stretching further apart until it faded completely.

You didn’t hang up for a while, and just listened to the sound of his breathing, steady and deep, like a heartbeat on the other end of the line.

For the first time in a while, your heart was at ease. You always found it odd when people said the best cure to any pain was what caused it in the first place. But now, you realize they were right.

Sungchan woke up to the first ring of his alarm, but didn’t move. The digital clock blared at his bedside, but he lay still—eyes open, unfocused, fixed on the blank wall across from him.

It felt like something had happened. Something important. But his brain is fogged. He didn’t know if he’d dreamed it, or if you had really called him in the middle of the night with your voice trembling on the other end.

A loud series of knocks made him glance at the door.

“Hyung,” Sohee’s muffled voice said through the door, “your alarm’s been going off for five years. Turn it off.”

Sungchan didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his head and reached for his phone on the nightstand. When he didn’t find it there, he searched for it on his bed, in the sheets, under the pillows. His fingers swiped at the screen as soon as he found it. The light made his eyes squint, but he blinked past it, thumb tapping into his call history.

There it was. My Lovely Writer. Call duration: 2 hours, 17 minutes.

He let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. It wasn’t a dream. You really had called him last night.

The door swung open, revealing an annoyed Sohee. “Hyung, are you deaf or—” Sohee cut himself off mid-sentence, staring at Sungchan who was grinning from ear-to-ear. “Are you okay?”

Sungchan didn’t look up. He just slowly, quietly turned off his alarm. Sohee blinked at the silence, then narrowed his eyes. “What got you smiling like that?”

Sungchan didn’t answer that either. He simply smiled wider, dazed and quiet, still staring at your name on his phone like it was already the best thing that had happened all day.

And then—without a word—he pulled Sohee into a hug. 

“Okay, you’re being weird,” Sohee muttered, stiff as a board in his arms.

Sungchan just hummed. A low sound, somewhere between a laugh and a breath of relief. Then he got up, still wearing that strange, faraway smile, and walked out of the room with his phone in hand—already drafting a message to you.

He walked into the kitchen like he hadn’t spent the past week stomping around like a sleep-deprived ghost with a broken heart. Like he hadn’t just been curled up on the living room couch two days ago rewatching Totoro in the dark.

He was humming. Everyone turned to stare.

“…No way,” Anton said from the fridge, holding a half-empty juice carton.

“Holy shit,” Eunseok whispered dramatically. “It’s alive.”

Wonbin blinked, midway through his skincare routine. “Is he humming?”

“He’s humming,” Shotaro confirmed, poking his head out of the hallway. “And smiling. Jesus. Someone check the weather. Is hell frozen?”

Sungchan just gave them a sleepy grin and reached for a mug. “Good morning, children.”

“What the hell happened?” Shotaro asked.

Anton squinted suspiciously. “Did you win the lottery?”

“Better,” Sohee said, joining everyone in the kitchen. “I think they made up.”

Sungchan didn’t answer, but his grin gave him away.

“Oh my god,” Eunseok gasped. “He’s back. He’s so back.”

“I told you he’d cheer up eventually,” Sohee cheered, slapping Anton’s arm like this was a bet he’d won. “You owe me ten.”

“Alright, spill,” Shotaro said. “What did she say? Did she take you back? Did you cry? Did you cry?”

“I didn’t cry,” Sungchan denied.

“He definitely cried,” Wonbin mumbled.

“He sobbed,” Eunseok said. “He probably started crying the second he heard her voice.”

“I did not cry,” Sungchan said, smiling so hard now it looked like it hurt.

Shotaro slung an arm around his shoulders and shook him like a wet rag. “You did, didn’t you! Oh my god, you cried. I’m so proud of you.”

“No, I didn’t, though, I almost did,” he admitted. “But she called. And I heard her voice. That’s all.”

The teasing died down for a moment. Then, gently, Shotaro clapped him on the back. “You’ve been walking around here like your dog died for a week,” he said. “It’s good to see you alive again.”

Sungchan laughed. “Thanks.”

Wonbin pointed at him dramatically. “Just don’t screw it up this time, lover boy. I really like her.”

“You haven’t even met her,” Sungchan said.

“Yeah, but I like her better than you,” Wonbin said smugly, crossing his arms. “Her Wonbin stuff was impressive. Almost like she knew me personally.”

Everyone groaned. “She made you delusional,” Sohee muttered.

Sungchan didn’t say much after that. He just sipped his coffee, phone in hand, thumb absently brushing over your name on the screen. He straightened up when your reply came in, then he left his mug on the counter and ran back into his bedroom.

“...He’s running. Did she text back?”

“I think so.”

“Godspeed, king,” said Anton, not even looking up.

Sungchan: Back in town, baby. Wanted to see u first but didn’t know where you’d be 🙁 My door’s unlocked if you wanna come over Maybe we could meet at the cafe? Lmk babygirl Babe :( text me back i miss you Pretty girl Baby girlll Where are youuuuu my loveeee????

You didn’t bother knocking. Didn’t even tell him you were coming. You’d rushed out of your apartment and took the first cab to his place. But you stood outside his unit for a few minutes, trying to steady your breath and make sure you didn’t appear like you were too eager to see him again.

Then, after wiping your sweat and checking your reflection in the elevator doors, you stepped into his apartment.

It was clean, dimly lit, and quiet. It still smelled like him—matcha, laundry, a hint of sandalwood body wash—and the scent wrapped around you like a familiar hug. You didn’t realize how much you’d missed it until your lungs started to ache.

You’d barely taken a step inside when hurried footsteps thundered down the hall, and Sungchan popped out from the door with his eyes wide. 

“Baby!” he exclaimed, darting from the bedroom door to the foyer where you were kicking off your shoes.

He stopped himself from pulling you into a hug, clenching his fists at his side like he wanted to wait for you to make the first move. He watched you move quietly, like he was scared one wrong breath would scare you off again.

You kept your eyes on him, not quite smiling, but not looking upset either.

“Hi,” he greeted sheepishly.

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

His eyes widened slightly, confused but then he played it cool with a nervous chuckle. “No, but I… well, I didn’t wanna… overstep.”

You scoffed then crossed the room slowly. He stayed still until you were close enough to touch, but he didn’t reach out just yet. He was about to, but he stopped himself again.

“I said I’d give you as much space as you need,” he said, hiding his hands behind his back.

You chuckled, dropping your keys on the counter and your bag on the floor. With your hands now free, you open your arms wide for him. “Come here, you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. The second your arms opened, he was already in them—hugging you like he’d spent years without the feel of your body against his instead of just a few weeks. His arms wrapped tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a ragged breath.

“I missed you,” he murmured, almost like it hurt to say. “I missed you so much.”

Your fingers curled into the back of his shirt, gripping him like you couldn’t believe he was real again. That warmth, that scent, that heartbeat thudding against your chest—it was everything you had almost lost to pride and prejudice.

Your hands came up to cup his face, and he looked at you like he was melting under your touch.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. You just kissed him hard and fast and desperate and feverish—like you hadn’t done so in years instead of weeks. Like nothing else mattered except the way your lips found his, over and over again. He kissed you back like a man starving, stumbling forward as you tugged at his collar, your bodies crashing together in the middle of the room.

Neither of you broke the kiss as he backed you into the hallway, bumping into walls, fumbling for direction, your hands already slipping beneath his shirt. He laughed into your mouth when you accidentally hit your hip against the hallway cabinet, but you didn’t stop. Not even for a second.

You reached the bedroom with matching gasps, half-laughs, your kisses turning sloppier with every step. Your clothes were peeled away with every step—his hoodie first, then your top, followed by your skirt, then him shimmying out of his jeans. His hands found your waist, your back, your thighs—every familiar curve he’d been aching to hold again.

By the time you tumbled onto the bed, only your underwear remained. You bounced on the mattress, but neither of you noticed. You were too busy chasing each other’s mouths, tracing skin, fingers threading through his hair as he kissed down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone.

“I love you,” he murmured against your skin, and you felt your heart do a cartwheel in your chest.

His lips crashed into yours again, harder this time. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them open around his hips, grinding against you with a soft groan that made your skin prickle.

“Fuck,” he murmured against your lips. “Missed you so bad.”

Your nails dug into his back as you bucked your hips against him, the friction sending heat all over your spine and low in your belly. You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, fingers slipping under, pulling until he helped you push them down. He leaned up just long enough to kick them off, then reached for your underwear, eyes locked on yours for permission.

You nodded. Breathless. Barely able to think.

He dragged them down slowly, eyes never leaving your face as he dropped them to the floor. His hands returned to your thighs, trailing upward, fingers brushing where you needed him most, making you gasp.

“Can I—”

“Yes!” you whispered back before he could even finish his question. “Yes, please, Chan. Touch me.”

He chuckled lowly and leaned down again, kissing the hollow between your breasts before taking your nipple into his mouth. You moaned, legs tightening around his waist, desperate for more, desperate to feel him again in the way that made your world tilt.

His hand moved expertly between your legs, circling, pressing, flicking. Fingers going in and making you gasp. He continued to ravage your boobs, moving from one to the other, all while playing with your sex like he’d memorized exactly how you liked it—he had.

“Chan,” you cried, voice broken and needy. Your hand slipped down his toned chest, reaching to wrap your fingers around his manhood. “Inside, please.”

“Yeah?” he rasped, mouth wet against your skin. “Need me that bad, baby?”

You grabbed his face, pulling him into another dizzying kiss. “Sungchan,” you said, breath broken. “Now.”

He reached between you, stroking himself once, twice, before lining up. He slid into you in one long, slow thrust—so deep, so perfect it knocked the air out of your lungs. You clung to him, gasping into his shoulder, nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head dropping to your neck. “Perfect. So perfect.”

He moved slowly at first, like he wanted to savor it—every inch, every gasp, every whimper you let out against his ear. Your bodies moved in sync, your hips rising to meet his, and every thrust had your thoughts scattering, your mind teetering to the edge of insanity.

“Sungchan—” you moaned, breath catching.

“Yes, yes,” he breathed, eyes locked into yours, his thrusts never faltering. “Say it, baby. Say my name.”

“Sungchan—AH!” 

He picked up the pace, rolling his hips deeper, faster, making you cry out. Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, dragging him closer, keeping him there. His name echoed from your lips again and again like a mantra. He kissed you through it—sloppy, hot kisses broken by moans and the sound of skin slamming against skin.

You felt him everywhere. In your chest. In your stomach. Between your legs. In the tears burning at the corners of your eyes because you’d missed this—missed him—so much it hurt.

It was messy. Beautiful. Too much and not enough. He touched you like he was trying to rewrite every memory of the last week—like if he held you hard enough, long enough, the world might go back to how it was. And you let him. You let him love you the only way he knew how right now.

Your body tightened beneath him, euphoria catching up fast, and he felt it. He whispered encouragements against your neck, his thrusts turning desperate.

“Come for me, baby,” he begged. 

You cried out, body arching, eyes squeezing shut as release crashed through you. He followed with a broken moan, thrusting once, twice, then spilling into you with a deep groan of your name.

The aftershocks made your body tremble. He didn’t pull away right away—just collapsed against you, face buried in your neck, both of you breathing hard.

You didn’t speak yet. Not because you didn’t have anything to say. But because neither of you wanted to break the fragile, golden silence that had finally returned. The moment between the storm and the cleanup.

The one where you both got to breathe.

The room was warm. Your skin was still buzzing, lungs still trying to remember how to breathe at a normal pace. Sungchan hadn’t moved much—just rolled onto his side so he wouldn’t crush you, one arm still draped over your stomach, his face pressed into your shoulder like he had no plans of going anywhere.

You stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly, your chest rising and falling with every breath. Everything felt heavy. Not physically, but emotionally. And not sadly, just, generally heavy. Like having a question you wanted answered so so desperately.

He let out a breath, soft and shaky, then murmured, “We can talk about it… If you want.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “We should.”

You turned on your side so you were face to face with him. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth sooner? Were you ever going to? Did you ever plan for this to become serious?”

He chuckled heartily, kissing your knuckles. “How about one question at a time?”

You didn’t respond, instead, you just furrowed your brows at him. He sighed. “Okay. Fine. Everything at once.”

You tutted. “Stop weaseling your way out of this.”

“I’m not. I really wanted to tell you the truth sooner,” he said finally, eyes flickering to the ceiling like it held answers. “So many times. Especially when we started getting serious. I just… I couldn’t figure out how. Every time I thought about telling you, I got scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“That it would change everything,” he said, sighing. “That you’d stop seeing me and just start seeing… him. Jung Sungchan. RIIZE. The idol. The fantasy. Not the guy who loved curling up in your lap and eating green Skittles out of your hand.”

You stared at him, lips parting slightly.

“I was stupid,” he added, before you could say anything. “I know that now.”

You were quiet for a moment, taking in the sincerity on his face and his voice. Then you said, “I didn’t fall in love with Sungchan from RIIZE.”

He looked at you, confused but expectant. You smiled, continuing, “You know exactly who I fell for. Chan Song, some tall, handsome, adorable dork.”

He chuckled, but didn’t say anything.

“And I’m still in love with him, with you,” you confessed, and it felt like the easiest thing you’d ever said. Sungchan’s mouth parted, surprise painting his expression. 

You reached out to cup his cheek. “I just wanted to know if, even if you lied about who you were, was everything else real?”

He held your hand against his cheek. “It was. It still is.”

“I need to hear that you knew it was wrong. That you’re sorry.”

“I am. I’m so sorry,” he said instantly. “I’m so fucking sorry. Not just for lying, but for not trusting you enough to tell you the truth.”

His grip of your hand tightened, and he intertwined your fingers carefully, as if afraid you might pull away.

“I love you,” he said. “I don’t know if I deserve you, but I love you. I don’t want to lie ever again. So if you want to ask me anything—anything at all—I’ll tell you everything. Honestly.”

“Okay,” you said softly.

Sungchan leaned in to kiss you, hand cupping the back of your head, eyes closed and savoring it like it was the first time. When he pulled away, he had a contented smile on his lips. You smiled back and planted a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.

“I still don’t know everything about you,” you whispered.

“That’s okay. You know the important parts.” He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know later.”

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m still mad,” you said, lips twitching.

“Totally fair.”

“And you’re still on thin ice.”

“Understood,” he nodded solemnly.

You tilted your head toward him and finally smiled. “But I love you too, Jung Sungchan.”

He let out a relieved exhale. “Oh, damn. Can you say it again? My name?”

“Jung Sungchan?”

He closed his eyes, humming, and it seemed to relax something in him. “Shit. I think I might bust a nut.”

You chuckled and then hit his chest playfully. “Stop overreacting!”

Sungchan just grinned, pulled you back into his arms, and locked you in a tight embrace. “I love you so much, please don't go bald.”

That made you laugh, and he did too. You spent the night like that, laughing, giggling, and talking like no time had passed at all. Like nothing outside of that small bedroom ever mattered.

That was just wishful thinking. You knew there would be a whole lot of things you'd need to face, a whole lot of adjustments now that you knew who he was. But you'll worry about those later. For now, you'll focus on this moment right here.

[fin]

[saythenametotheworld]

Take a Chance With Me | j.ww (18+)

You could not believe that no one ever told you how frustrating (and beautiful) it was to be hopelessly captivated by a boy who thinks love is overrated.

one | two | three | four | five

Genre: college au, strangers to lovers, slow burn Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader Warnings: fluff fluff, she fell first he fell harder kinda slow burn lol, mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) Notes: 25k words. Part 3 of the Heartbreak Hotel series, but it can be read as a standalone fic. Listening to Take a Chance with Me by NIKI. Longer fic because writing this was my coping mechanism for the devastating tragedy that was Backburner. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know them personally and do not claim they would ever behave like they were portrayed in this story.

Playlist: Take a Chance with Me by NIKI, Forces by Japanese Wallpaper, I Think He Knows by Taylor Swift, Taglist: @katfaceu @mansaaay @scoupsjin @iarayara @gaslysainz @silvermist002 @ssmebody @alyssa19123456

Jeon Wonwoo’s story began one hot evening, just two weeks into your senior year of college. It was at a party—one where you’d arrived late after a supposedly quick pre-game session with your girlfriends at Lea’s apartment turned into a full-on mini-party on its own. You’d almost ditched the party altogether, but Mina said she had to meet this guy at the party, or she’d regret it forever. Of course, she was exaggerating at the time, but you went anyway.

You were the designated driver since you were the only one who didn’t drink, which was because you were late even to the pre-game. Some things just never change, and being late is one of your many talents.

As soon as you pulled up to the driveway of the party venue, your friends rushed out of the car and into the house, leaving you behind to park. Just as you were stepping out of your car, you spotted Wonwoo—tall standing next to the lamppost, and handsome under the yellow-orange glow of the light. He was attractive—the slight flush on his cheeks, his skin glowing under the lamplight, and even in simple square glasses and a plain white tee, he radiated some kind of confidence that made you pause.

He was cute. And he was heading toward you.

Why though? Did he want to talk to you? Maybe get your number? Oh my god. What are you gonna do?

You stood frozen, heart pounding in your chest as Wonwoo closed the gap between you. Sure, he wasn’t the first guy to ever approach you, but he was cute, and it was ridiculous how fast you were crushing on him.

He’s coming, you told yourself, glancing around casually, trying not to look too eager. But just as he was about three steps away—bam! He hit the ground, limbs sprawled out in every direction.

You gasped, rushing over. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

He groaned, kicked at the offending rock that had tripped him, and then dramatically flopped onto the grass as if it had betrayed him too.

You crouched beside him, waving a hand in front of his face. “Hey, you alright?”

Wonwoo blinked up at the sky, glaring like the stars were personally out to get him. Then, locking his glassy eyes on yours, he said, “Hi. My asshole friends abandoned me here.” He hiccupped. “I’m kinda drunk and you’re kinda gorgeous. Would you be so kind to help me out?”

Caught off guard by his random compliment, you chuckled. “Here, let me help you up,” you said, tugging his arm, trying to haul him back to a sitting position. “You can walk, right? You were walking just now.”

“Walking’s overrated,” he muttered, but with your help, he managed to get back on his feet, wobbling slightly.

You told him your name. “What’s yours? Where do you live? Do you need a ride?”

He opened his mouth to speak but someone suddenly appeared beside him, patting his chest. It was Hoshi. “There you are, Wonwoo. We’ve been looking all over for you!” 

“Hosh! You know this guy?” you asked.

“Look,” Wonwoo said, turning to you and pointing a very unsteady finger at his friend. “See that? Fake friend. Never trust people who abandon you.”

“What are you talking about? You’re the one who wandered off!”

Wonwoo smirked, leaning in as if sharing a deep truth. “People who gaslight you aren’t your friends. Don’t forget that.”

“I can’t believe I ditched my girl for this. Okay, that's enough from you.” Hoshi slung Wonwoo’s arm over his shoulder. “Where’s that idiot Jun? Junhui!”

A second later, a man came jogging toward you. “Found him?”

“Yeah, help me get him out of here,” Hoshi said, struggling to hold up Wonwoo’s weight.

Jun smiled apologetically at you as they shifted Wonwoo’s arm off your shoulder. “He seems like a handful, but he’s nice sometimes.”

You stepped back, watching them as they wrangled him toward a black pickup truck. “He doesn’t seem that drunk, though.”

Jun chuckled. “You’d be surprised. One time he got wasted and started working on a coding project. Finished the whole thing in one sitting.”

“Didn’t even remember it the next day,” Hoshi added, making a mock exploding gesture at his temple.

You couldn’t help laughing, finding it both amusing and adorable that a fine man like him would have such drinking habits.

“Anyway, thanks again,” Hoshi said, flashing you a quick grin as they started loading Wonwoo into the truck.

“Bye, gorgeous lady!” Wonwoo called from the back seat, waving weakly. “I love you!”

Jun scoffed. “You don’t even know her name.”

“Who cares what you think, Jun? You’re a fake friend!”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, waving them off as the truck pulled away. Standing there, you found yourself thinking about Wonwoo—strangely intrigued by this cute, clumsy guy. But before you could dwell on it for too long, you heard Lea’s voice calling your name from inside the house.

“Why are you out here alone? Let’s go!”

You skipped toward her, linking arms as she pulled you inside. “I just met the cutest guy ever.”

If Seungcheol’s face wasn’t the first thing you saw as you stepped into the pool pavilion, you wouldn’t have recognized him at all. His neat blue suit from yesterday had been swapped for something far more relaxed—crisp white pants and a cream button-up that made him look more… approachable. He greeted you the moment you arrived, gesturing to the lounge chair beside his.

“I ordered cocktails,” he said, motioning to the bellinis on the table. “But I took liberties since I didn’t know what you like.”

“You didn’t have to include me, but thanks,” you smiled, taking one of the flutes.

Seungcheol watched you take your first sip before saying, “So, what depressing tale would you be telling me today?”

You coughed, choking very slightly on your drink. “You said you wouldn’t judge.”

He shrugged, leaning back on the chair and fixing his eyes at the infinity pool. “I wasn’t judging. My expectations are based on past experiences. In this case, the experience was yesterday’s story. It was quite heavy.”

“Exactly,” you nodded, setting your glass down. “Yesterday was intense, so I’m dialing it down today with a lighter story about my favorite ex.”

“You have a favorite ex?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “But that’s not the point. Do you wanna  hear it or not?”

Seungcheol nodded. “Please. Proceed.”

“Alright.” You took a sip of your drink before starting. “His name is Jeon Wonwoo.”

THE DAY after you'd first met him at that party, you’d prioritized looking for Wonwoo. Living in the on-campus dorms gave you time to walk around the campus before your class. The problem was, you didn’t know where to start. Your friends could swear they were sick of you, gushing about him and retelling the story of how he called you gorgeous and basically confessed his love for you in under five minutes of meeting each other.

“I know he was drunk, Jill. But people say you become more honest when you’re drunk,” you insisted, not even trying to hide your excitement as you scanned the cafeteria for any sign of him.

“What’s his name anyway?” Mina asked, scowling slightly as she watched you crane your neck, practically spinning in your seat. 

“Wonwoo. I don’t know his last name.”

Mina scoffed. “Wonwoo? Aren’t you like neighbors?”

You stopped mid-scan, turning to her with wide eyes. “We’re WHAT?”

As it turned out, Wonwoo lived in the on-campus dorm too. He and Hoshi were roommates, and you only knew this because, apparently, the guy Mina just had to meet at last night’s party was Hoshi. 

“You’re telling me I’ve been looking around campus for him like a lunatic when he’s been right under my nose this whole time?” you asked, clutching your pearls.

Jill snorted into her iced coffee. “You’ve been obsessed for, what? Twelve hours?”

“Thirteen,” you corrected. “But who’s counting?”

For a while, you tried catching glimpses of Wonwoo around your apartment complex. You even took slightly longer routes on campus, hoping to spot him by chance between classes or during meals. But every time, you came up empty—no sign of him at all.

“Just where does this hot specimen hide his gorgeous self?” you grumbled. “It’s been three days.”

Lea watched you with a glimmer in her eyes. “This is a first. You’ve had crushes before but never hyper-fixated on one until now.”

“Right? I was just thinking the same thing,” Jill affirmed.

“There’s no one like him,” you gushed, tilting your head dreamily. “I think he might be the one.”

Mina choked on her drink. “You’re not serious.”

You laughed, stroking her back gently. “Of course not. I’m just having fun, guys. Relax.”

“Anyway, why don’t you just ask Hoshi?” Jill suggested, sounding like the only sane one in the group. 

Oh. Right. Hoshi. Why didn’t you think of that earlier? You paused, considering the idea. It was practical. Sensible.

“Do you think that’s weird? Just asking out of nowhere?” you asked, biting your lip.

“You’re the one who’s been running around campus like a headless chicken,” Mina pointed out dryly. “Asking Hoshi would be a lot less weird than that.”

You smiled at Mina, batting your eyelashes prettily. “Ask him for me.”

Mina swatted your hand away when you tried to hold her. “We’re not talking right now. And no, I won’t tell you why.”

You grimaced. “Well, no one’s asking!”

Jill laughed. “Just go to Hoshi. You guys are friends. And it’s not like you’re asking for Wonwoo’s hand in marriage. You’re just curious.”

“Alright, alright,” you relented, standing up from the table. “I’ll ask Hoshi.”

Mina gave you a thumbs up as you left the cafeteria, heading out to start your quest. You just hoped your heart didn’t explode from the anticipation before you got there.

You spotted Hoshi in the dance room, drinking water after practice. Perfect. You strode over, determined but trying to keep it cool. He saw you coming and grinned, clearly already knowing what this was about.

“Well, well, well,” Hoshi said, putting his bottle down and crossing his arms with a smirk. “What brings you to my humble corner of campus today? Or should I say... who?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, stop. I just wanna ask you something.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially. “You’re about to ask me where Wonwoo is, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I’ve seen this before. You’re already head over heels. It’s okay, it’s a common reaction.”

You tried to look annoyed, but your lips twitched, betraying you. “Fine. Yes. Where is he?”

Hoshi raised his eyebrows, looking overly impressed with himself. “See? I’m basically psychic. I should be charging for my services.”

“Just tell me!” You lightly shoved him.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “He’s usually holed up in the tech building, doing nerd stuff. You know, coding, hacking the mainframe, whatever those guys do.” He waved a hand in the air. “Oh, and I’m gonna tell you this only because you and I are tight—you’re gonna need to bring a snack. Wonwoo’s been known to forget to eat when he’s in the zone.”

You crossed your arms, half-joking but half-serious. “What’s that supposed to mean? Do I need to worry about him starving to death before I even get the chance to talk to him?”

“Maybe,” Hoshi said, eyes twinkling. “But hey, if he does, I’ll make sure his last words are something romantic. Like, ‘Tell her... she was... gorgeous.’”

“Oh my god, you’re impossible,” you groaned, turning to walk away, though you couldn’t help laughing.

He called after you, still grinning. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you! And hey—if you need a wingman, you know where to find me!”

Now you had a solid lead... and maybe a ridiculous wingman if things got really desperate. But most importantly, you had a plan: bump into him casually.

You spent the next few days timing your trips past the IT building. At first, it felt silly—pretending like you were just ‘happening to walk by’—but today, your patience paid off. There he was, standing just outside the doors, tapping away on his phone. Your heart fluttered the second you saw Wonwoo, that same flush you remembered from the night before creeping up your neck.

You were about to walk over, but then a group of people spilled out from the building, laughing loudly as they passed by Wonwoo. You turned away, worried someone might recognize you. As soon as they were far enough, you spun back to see Wonwoo, only to find him gone.

You sighed. “Next time.”

The next time came—several next times, actually. You just couldn’t land the perfect opportunity! The universe was against you, you could swear with how each encounter was always interrupted by other people, unexpected circumstances, and now, even the weather!

You stared at the sky with a deadpan expression. “Really? Just tell me you don’t want me to shoot my shot with him, why don’t you?” you spoke to the sky, as if it would respond.

You were supposed to do your routine attempt at ‘bumping into Wonwoo’ but the rain started pouring right when you stepped out of your building. As if that wasn’t bad enough, you didn’t bring an umbrella with you. You sighed, scuffing your shoe against the pavement, debating whether to make a run for it or just wait it out.

“Maybe I’m just unlucky?” you muttered to yourself.

Staring at your feet, you noticed a new pair falling into step beside you. You looked up and gasped audibly upon seeing Jeon Wonwoo standing there with an umbrella in his hand. He looked as handsome as you remembered—neat appearance, well-kept hair, and his glasses that suited his face perfectly.

“Wonwoo!” you exclaimed, making him glance at you.

He scanned you for a second. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I know you.”

You told him your name—clearly and in full. “We met at the party last Friday,” you smiled, hoping he’d remember.

“Oh, I met a lot of people that night.”

“You called me nice and gorgeous?” you offered, gouging a reaction from him, but so far—nothing. “And, uh, you also kinda said you love me.”

Wonwoo blinked, clearly taken aback. “Did I?” You saw the confusion in his expression, followed by a flicker of embarrassment. He looked away, his jaw tensing slightly. “Sorry, I don’t remember any of that,” he said, his voice softer, but there was no warmth in it. It felt more like a brush-off.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” you said, waving it off casually. “You were really drunk, so I guess it makes sense.” You grinned, hoping the playful tone might make the moment less embarrassing

He seemed like an entirely different person. He was fun that night, sweet even. Was that a one-off thing?

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sound of the rain pounding on the concrete was oddly loud. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, not entirely sure if you should say something or just let it go.

“Well, then. I should go.”

You nodded. “Of course. It was nice seeing you.”

You watched him walk into the rain, dry and safe under his umbrella. You couldn’t help but scoff. If it was the Wonwoo you’d met that night, he would probably share his umbrella with you.

“What a bummer,” you muttered, looking down at your feet again as you kicked your tiptoes on the floor. 

You kept your gaze there, replaying the encounter with Wonwoo and how awful it made you feel. You barely noticed the car that pulled over in front of you until you heard someone call your full name.

When you looked up, you saw Wonwoo in a car with his window rolled down. He turned to reach for something behind him before extending his umbrella out to you. You stepped into the rain for a second to grab it and then backed away with a confused look on your face.

“Thank you,” you called out.

He just nodded, lips tight. “Leave it to the dorm lady when you’re done with it.”

“I will!” you replied, smiling at him.

As he drove away, you waved your hand in the air, your smile getting impossibly wider as you clutched his umbrella in one hand.

Just like that, your quest to make Jeon Wonwoo fall for you was on. You chased him around—well, not really, but you seized every chance to talk to him. First, you personally delivered his umbrella to his dorm, which surprised him because obviously, he wasn’t expecting it.

When you found him at the cafeteria that day, sitting alone at a table while working on something on his laptop, you walked over with your tray and casually slid into the seat across from him.

“You look like you could use some company. Lucky for you, I could use some too. Let’s accompany each other,” you beamed, and he looked up from his laptop briefly—just to see who you were.

“I’m working,” he said, reverting his attention to his work.

You leaned forward with a grin. “I can multi-task. Do you want me to be quiet while you work?”

“Do what you want,” he said, noncommittal.

That made you perk up. As long as he didn’t tell you to leave him alone, you were fine with being quiet. He was quiet too, but didn’t seem to mind your presence. So you stayed, eating your lunch while on your phone and occasionally sneaking glances at him.

One time, you find him at the library sitting at a table with his headphones in, immersed in whatever he was working on on his screen, again. You plopped down next to him, spreading your books out.

“It appears you might need some intellectual stimulation. I’m excellent company for that too,” you said.

Without looking away from his screen, Wonwoo said, “Pass.”

“Are you coding?” you asked, ignoring his refusal.

“I'm studying.”

“For what?” you asked, leaning back to take a peek at his screen. “You're reading a book on your laptop?”

“It's convenient.”

You grimaced. “I bet you don't know what books smell like.”

“No, and I don't really wanna know,” he said, facing you. “Now, can I have some peace and quiet?”

“Oh, of course. Sorry. I’ll just be over here being pretty and smart. Don’t mind me.”

He didn’t respond, just nodded slightly, continuing to work. You watched him for a bit, playfully resting your chin in your hand.

“Wow. My man is so cute and smart,” you muttered and Wonwoo suddenly glanced sideways at you.

You looked away immediately, opening a book, and burying your face in it. Wonwoo reached for it, taking it out of your hand and flipping it.

“It’s upside down,” he said before fixing his gaze on his screen again.

If not for your prior commitment to your friends, you would probably stay in the library until he leaves. Half-heartedly, you packed away your books and got ready to go. Wonwoo noticed you then but didn’t say anything.

You tapped on the table next to his laptop, making him take off his headphones and look at you inquiringly.

“I was thinking of watching a movie this weekend. You’re welcome to join me.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “I don’t watch movies.”

You shook your head disapprovingly. “Guess we’ll have to change that about you.”

“Good luck with that,” he replied, putting his headphones back on.

He didn’t seem put off by your forwardness, which was all that mattered to you because it didn’t seem like you were bothering him. You were resolved to continue what you were doing.

Another time, you saw him at the gym when you were there with your friends. He was lifting weights, and you confidently strode over, showing off your figure in your gym outfit. You casually leaned over the machine he was using.

“Wow, so you’re not just working out your brain, you work out your biceps too? Impressive,” you complimented.

“I come here to avoid conversations,” he deadpanned.

“You’re still talking to me, so you’re not really doing a great job,” you chuckled.

Wonwoo sighed, but again, he didn’t tell you to leave. He just continued what he was doing, and you watched for a minute, smirking. You were enjoying yourself, despite his lack of reactions.

“I’ll be over there if you need me,” you said, winking.

“Why would I need you?” he asked, resting his hands for a second.

You shrugged. “You never know when you might.”

As you walked away, your friends were waiting for you with playful smiles. Mina said, “Girl, is it just me or are you kinda embarrassing?”

You scrunched your nose cutely at her. “I am, kinda. But it’s okay. He’ll warm up to me soon.”

You kept ‘accidentally’ bumping into him at random spots—by the vending machine, dorm hallways, the library aisles, or even walking to class despite being in different buildings. 

Sometimes, you felt a little embarrassed, but you liked how fun it was to tease him and flirt with him, despite his aloof attitude. He was gonna break sooner or later, and whatever he decided to do when that happened, you were prepared to accept. You had projected about a dozen different scenarios of him confronting you, but the reality was far more unique.

“Look at us, fate keeps putting us together. Ever think the universe is trying to tell you something?” you told Wonwoo when you coincidentally (for real this time), ended up in the same college seminar together.

He stared at you. “The universe doesn’t work that way.”

Unfazed, you shrugged, opening your laptop. “Maybe not, but it’s more fun to believe it does.”

Wonwoo closed his laptop and turned his body slightly toward you. “Do you have feelings for me?”

“Yes,” you replied without missing a beat. “Wasn’t it obvious? I made sure you’d get the message though.”

He was quiet for a while, staring at you with a blank expression. After about a minute, he asked, “Why?”

You shrugged, keeping your smile. “Because I do. Hey, you confessed your love to me first!”

“When did I—” he stopped and then sighed. “I don’t even remember any of that.”

“It’s okay. I remember enough for the both of us,” you teased, tilting your head with an innocent smile.

Wonwoo seemed to realize arguing wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He shook his head slowly, as if accepting defeat. “Do whatever you want, but I won’t take responsibility for your assumptions.”

“You’re not telling me to leave you alone?” you asked, raising your brows in genuine surprise.

He looked at you, baffled. “What?”

“You’re not telling me to leave you alone,” you repeated, this time more matter-of-factly. “So can I take that as a sign that I can keep following you around?”

Wonwoo grimaced, though it was more out of exasperation than irritation. “You’re not seriously going to follow me everywhere, are you?”

You grinned mischievously. “No, not really. But now that you mention it, maybe I should. What do you think?”

“Well then, leave—”

“Good afternoon, sir,” you exclaimed upon seeing the professor walk in.

You lay sprawled on Lea’s bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, scowling. Next to you, Lea was perched on her stomach, typing away on her laptop.

“The guy’s a tough nut to crack,” you muttered, shaking your head in frustration. “Do you think… maybe he’s just not interested?”

“I thought he made that pretty clear with how he keeps brushing you off?” Lea replied, not looking up from her screen.

You sat up with a sigh just as Mina and Jill strolled into the room. “He doesn’t really brush me off though,” you argued. “More like… he lets me do whatever I want.”

“You guys talking about Wonwoo?” Mina asked and you nodded. “Hoshi is inviting him over for movie night. Apparently, he said ‘yes’.”

Your jaw dropped. “No way? He said he didn't like movies!”

Mina nodded, pulling out her phone and flashing you the screen. “I don't know the details. Hosh says he’s wingmanning you,” she added with a grin.

You squealed, grabbing Lea by the arm. “Quick! Lend me a cute dress. No! I should just go back to my dorm and get one!”

“It’s a pajama party,” Jill interrupted, sitting beside you with a bowl of ice cream in hand. “You’re supposed to wear pajamas.”

You paused, considering. “Yes, but... like, do you have a cute nightgown? Those count as pajamas too, right?”

“I do,” Jill said, shaking her head, “but I’m not lending it to you. You’ll just complain about being cold.”

You slumped back onto the bed dramatically, face-first. “Friendship is dead. It never existed.”

Lea gasped. “Jill! Not you eating ice cream on my bed!”

“Oops, sorry!” Jill mumbled, quickly getting off the bed.

You rose when you heard ice cream, following Jill off the bed and asking to share. Mina was watching you with a soft smile on her lips. Then she said, “You changed a lot, did you notice? Remember when you took a break from school when we were freshmen? You were so different back then.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, mouth full of ice cream. Jill answered for you. “That part of her life was her character development arc. It wouldn’t make sense to remind her of such a depressing time when she’s done a really good job getting over it a long time ago.” 

You shot her a pair of finger guns and winked, appreciating the save.

“You’re right,” Mina said, her expression softening as she came over to hug you. “I’m just so proud of you.”

Jill joined in the hug, and Lea followed soon after, sandwiching you in the middle.

Feeling warm and fuzzy, you leaned over and kissed Mina’s cheek, only for her to pull away, grimacing. “Ew, sticky lips,” she complained, wiping the smudge of ice cream from her face.

“Sorry,” you grinned, unapologetic.

The smell of popcorn filled the apartment as you rummaged through Lea’s closet, pulling out a cozy sweatshirt that still looked stylish enough for the movie night. “This will have to do,” you muttered, tugging it on over your pajamas.

Lea, now in a matching set of flannel, raised an eyebrow. “You really think Wonwoo’s gonna notice your outfit at a pajama party?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted with a shrug. “But it’s better to be prepared.”

When you got back to the living room, the usual chaos of movie night was already in full swing. Hoshi and Jun were bickering over what movie to watch while Seokmin raided the snack stash.

Hoshi called out your name, waving you over with a mischievous grin. “Look who actually showed up.”

You froze mid-step. Wonwoo was sitting on the couch, casually leaning back with his arms folded across his chest, looking as aloof as ever. He was wearing pajamas, which was unexpected because you didn't think he'd be the type to engage in silly activities like this one, but he was cute nonetheless.

You blinked. “He’s real,” you whispered, eyes wide, and Mina stifled a laugh. To Hoshi, you said out loud, “Hosh, you’re my most favorite person in the world.”

Just as you were about to claim the spot next to Wonwoo, Jun swooped in and plopped down right where you were headed. Without thinking, you grabbed Jun by the arm. “Move!”

Jun blinked at you, laughing. “What’s going on?”

You picked up a throw pillow and hit Jun with it again and again until he moved out of your way.

“You’re ruthless,” Jun chuckled, shaking his head but laughing anyway. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” you winked at him before turning to Wonwoo. He watched the whole thing unfold with mild amusement, shaking his head as you settled in.

“Comfortable?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Very,” you grinned, inching just a little closer to him. “Fancy seeing you here. I didn’t think you’d really show up. And in pajamas, no less,” you said, flashing him a wide grin.

Wonwoo glanced at his clothes briefly. “Hoshi insisted,” he said flatly.

“Well, I’m glad you came,” you said, batting your eyelashes in what you hoped was a cute way. “It’s not every day I get to sit next to my favorite person.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, unamused. “I thought Hoshi was your favorite.”

You pouted. “You’re no fun, you know that?”

“Wasn’t trying to be,” he replied, unbothered.

Determined to get some sort of reaction, you leaned closer, pretending to examine his face. “Do you always wear glasses?” you asked, feigning curiosity. “They make you look extra smart.”

He pushed his glasses up his nose, side-eyeing you. “I am extra smart.”

You giggled, undeterred. “I bet you’re super smart, Mr. IT Genius. You could probably hack into all our phones right now.”

Wonwoo didn’t seem fazed. “I’m not that smart. And hacking is illegal.”

“Well, that’s good. Otherwise, you’d see all the photos I took of you before,” you teased, leaning even closer so your shoulder brushed his. “For research purposes, of course.”

This time, Wonwoo did look at you, but only briefly. “Research for what?”

“Oh, just, you know,” you waved a hand vaguely, “studying the behavior of elusive, handsome introverts.”

“Sounds like a waste of time,” he replied dryly, though his lips twitched into a faint smile. You’d almost missed it if you weren’t staring right at him.

You grinned, feeling triumphant at his tiny show of amusement. “Did I just make you smile? Am I your source of happiness and joy now?”

“Just what is up with you?” he questioned, genuinely bewildered.

“I’m persistent. Haven’t you noticed?”

“I have.”

Before you could respond, Hoshi’s voice boomed across the room. “Movie’s starting, everyone! Grab your snacks, get cozy!”

The lights dimmed further, and the opening credits began to roll. You wiggled in your seat, purposely leaning just a little closer to Wonwoo, your head brushing against his arm. Wonwoo glanced at you but didn’t say anything, so you tilted your head playfully and whispered, “You’re not gonna move away, are you?”

He looked away, clearly unimpressed. “Why would I?”

“I don’t know… because I’m annoying?”

“You are,” he said, eyes fixed on the screen.

“Hey!” You nudged him with your shoulder, a mock pout on your lips. “I’m charmingly annoying.”

“If you say so,” he replied.

Every now and then, you’d make little comments, trying to catch his attention. Wonwoo remained mostly unresponsive, only glancing at you occasionally, but he didn’t seem bothered either. In fact, the more you nudged him or commented, the more relaxed he seemed.

Finally, you ‘accidentally’ let your head rest on his shoulder. “Oops,” you whispered, eyes still fixed on the screen. “My bad.”

Wonwoo sighed, but to your surprise, he didn’t push you off. “You’re really pushing your luck tonight.”

You grinned up at him, batting your lashes. “What can I say? I like taking my chances.”

“Just watch the movie,” he muttered, but you could tell—he didn’t actually mind.

With a satisfied smile, you snuggled a little closer, content with your minor victory. 

After the movie, everyone stretched and yawned. Hoshi and Seokmin were already debating what to watch next, while Jill and Lea were dramatically complaining about the lackluster conclusion to the movie. You continued the night with laughter and conversations over light drinks. It was a school day, so no one was entertaining the idea of getting wasted.

You glanced at Wonwoo, who had stayed quiet throughout the night, except for a few quips here and there. You often flirted with him in between conversations, but as usual, he couldn’t even be bothered.

When the group started to pack up, you took a deep breath and turned to him. “Hey, do you wanna walk back to the dorms together?” you asked, keeping your tone light and hopeful.

You were the only ones going back to the dorms, since the rest of your friends lived off-campus, and Hoshi was obviously staying over at Mina’s.

Wonwoo stood up, gathering his things without making eye contact. “No, thanks,” he said simply, pulling his jacket over his shoulder. “I’ll head back on my own.”

Your heart sank a little, but you didn’t want to let it show. “Okay, sure,” you said quickly, trying to brush it off with a casual laugh. “Didn’t think you’d say yes anyway.”

He paused for a moment, adjusting his jacket before looking at you with a slight frown. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You don’t need to follow me around.”

The words stung more than you expected, even though you’d been joking about it all night. You opened your mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Instead, you just nodded, forcing a small smile. “Got it.”

Wonwoo gave a short nod, then turned and headed for the door without a second glance. As you watched him leave, the lightheartedness you’d felt earlier fizzled out. You knew he wasn’t trying to be cruel, but his rejection still hurt. You’d pushed and pushed all night, and for a moment, it felt like maybe he was warming up to you. But now, it seemed like you had been wrong all along.

Mina noticed your shift in mood and walked over. “Hey, you okay?”

You plastered on a smile, shrugging nonchalantly. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll head back now. See you guys tomorrow, okay?”

Your farewell was noisy, with your girls dramatically begging you to stay. There was a big smile on your lips when you exited the door, but as you headed back to your dorm, thoughts of Wonwoo’s words stayed with you. 

Maybe this little game of flirting wasn’t as fun for him as it was for you. Maybe you were pushing too hard. Maybe this was more one-sided than you wanted to admit. It had been fun for the most part, a lighthearted chase that kept your heart racing, but now it was starting to feel tiring—draining, even.

Your brows furrowed in frustration. “I should stop…” you muttered under your breath, kicking at a stray pebble in your path. Then, with a small pout, you crossed your arms tightly over your chest. “Men ain’t shit,” you grumbled, though the bitterness in your voice didn’t quite match the half-hearted way you said it.

“Now, now, sweetheart,” said a greasy, slurred voice from behind you, giving you goosebumps all over. “You don’t really mean that, do you?”

How deeply distracted were you that you didn’t notice the dragged-out footsteps behind you? 

You tried to brush it off, but when the pace quickened and the slurred voice called out again, you got ready to run. Before you could, however, he grabbed your arm.

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” the man drawled, his breath reeking of alcohol as he eyed you. “What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ out here all alone?”

You shot him a sharp glance, trying to ignore the knot tightening in your stomach. “I’m not interested. Leave me alone,” you said, trying to swat his hand away but his grip tightened.

“I’m not so bad, am I? C’mon—just a little company,” he slurred.

You yanked your hand back, eyes narrowing as you tried to fight him off. “Let go!” you snapped, your voice rising in panic.

The man chuckled, tugging you toward him. “What’s the rush?”

With a rush of adrenaline, you elbowed him in the ribs and stomped on his foot with all the force you could muster. But despite your efforts, he was stronger, and your heart pounded as he forced you back against a wall, your breath catching in your throat.

Just as you started to fear you couldn’t fight him off, a sharp voice cut through the air. “Hey!”

Before you could process what was happening, Wonwoo appeared, eyes blazing with fury. He swung a solid punch, landing it squarely on the guy’s jaw. The man stumbled, dazed, before collapsing to the ground with a heavy thud.

You stared in shock, chest heaving, barely registering the fact that Wonwoo had just knocked the guy out. He reached for your hand, his grip firm but reassuring. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice calmer now, though still laced with urgency. “Before he gets back up. Come on.”

Grabbing his hand, you ran with him, your pajamas flapping awkwardly as the two of you bolted down the street. Imagine getting harassed in oversized Pucca pajamas? The ridiculousness of the situation would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t so shaken.  

Your heart was still pounding, and you could feel Wonwoo’s hand tightening around yours as you rounded the corner, not stopping until you were safely back inside the campus walls.

When you finally slowed down, panting, you glanced at him. “You just—” you started, still breathless, “You punched him!”

Wonwoo looked at you, still catching his breath. “Yeah.”

The simple acknowledgment sent a strange warmth through you. You both stood there for a moment, the adrenaline fading. You were still catching your breath, trying to process everything that had just happened. 

“Thank you,” you breathed out. “You really saved me back there.”

“I think you would’ve done well by yourself even if I wasn’t there. You probably broke a rib or two with that elbow,” he quipped, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Is that a joke?” you questioned, pointing at his lips. “Are laughing at your own joke?”

He looked at you, his expression shifting back to his usual. “I didn’t laugh. Next time, be more careful. Don’t walk by yourself at night.” His voice was steady, almost scolding, but there was an unmistakable note of concern in it. 

You blinked up at him, feeling your heart flutter in a way that had nothing to do with the scare you just had. He had just knocked out a guy without breaking a sweat, and now he was here, telling you to be careful. You couldn’t help it—the admiration in your eyes must’ve been painfully obvious because you were falling even harder for him. 

Wonwoo noticed your dazed expression, the way your eyes lingered on him a little too long. His brow furrowed slightly before he sighed, clearly not amused by whatever was going through your head. Without saying a word, he took off his jacket and threw it over your face.

“Go back to your room,” he muttered, his voice carrying a hint of exasperation. “And stop being weird.”

You pulled his jacket off your face, blinking up at him with a grin, but he was already turning away, clearly done with the situation.

“Hey! Wait for me! What if he comes back?” you called out, running to catch up to him.

This wasn’t part of the plan. You were doing just fine on the sidelines of college life, navigating the highs and lows of being a student. You were content not drawing attention to yourself in places that didn’t need your presence, happily enjoying the fun college functions from a distance.

Why did you have to join the student council on a whim?

“I’m so sick of this,” you muttered, hauling a large box of banners back into the storage room. Someone else could do it if only there were other hands available to help. Frustrated, you kicked the box, only to recoil in pain when it slammed against your foot. “Ouch!”

“Move,” came a familiar voice from behind you. You glanced back just as Wonwoo pushed you aside, his movements smooth and efficient. With ease, he picked up the box and carried it to the storage room. You followed him, a wide smile creeping onto your lips.

“Thanks a lot,” you said, genuine gratitude lighting up your tone.

Wonwoo gave you a side-eye. “Next time, ask other people for help if you can’t do it by yourself.”

“There was no one to ask! Everyone’s busy with other stuff,” you defended, pouting at being scolded.

“You didn’t ask me.”

“You were busy too!”

“Then you should’ve waited until I was done.”

“What are you so mad about? I didn’t ask because you were busy, and you’re not even in the council to begin with. This isn’t your job.”

Wonwoo sighed, turning away. You followed him out, trying to keep up with his long strides. When he stopped, you halted too, glancing up at him. He stared at you for a moment, inspecting your appearance with an intensity that made your heart flutter.

“Are you checking me out?” you quipped, knowing how he’d react.

Wonwoo scoffed. “Are you heading back to the dorm now?” he asked, and you nodded. “Wait here,” he said before climbing up the sound box to fetch his backpack. When he came back down, he pulled out a jacket and handed it to you.

“Oh, I’m good. I have a jacket in my bag,” you chimed, dismissing it.

“Forget it, then,” he said, putting it away, but you stopped him.

“No! I’ll take it! Mine’s not warm enough,” you grinned. “Thank you!”

Wonwoo’s deadpan expression remained as he rolled his eyes. “Go get your things. We’re leaving.”

You blinked, confusion washing over you. “Huh? Are we leaving together?”

“We’re going the same way anyway. Might as well just go together,” he said, glancing away with a slight furrow in his brows. “You might get yourself in trouble again.”

“We’re on the campus, I don’t think anyone would try something like that here,” you stated, but you couldn’t help smiling. 

After what happened the other day, Wonwoo seemed to be warming up to you now. It felt good to know that he cared enough to walk home with you and ensure nothing happened again.

“If you don’t want to, suit yourself,” he said, turning his back.

“No, wait! Let’s go!”

You rushed back to where you’d left your things, bidding hurried goodbyes to your student council friends. When you returned, Wonwoo was still waiting for you. He sighed at the sight of your massive grin and started walking first, so you ran to catch up with him.

“Wait for me,” you called, giggling as you intertwined your fingers with his. He didn’t shake you off.

“Put the jacket on. It’s cold.”

“Oooh, Jeon Wonwoo,” you teased, peeking at his face. “Are you trying to get promoted to green flag?”

“I’m not a red flag,” he said monotonously.

“When did I say you were?”

“You kept implying it.”

You chuckled lightly. “You know, I heard that people who claim that they’re not a red flag tend to be… well, a red flag.”

“Just wear the jacket. I don’t want to be responsible for you if you get hypothermia.”

You pouted, backing away to put on the jacket. As you did, you unlinked your fingers with his but Wonwoo chased after it, tightening his hold. You blinked at him, confused. “Let go. I need to put this on.”

“Huh?” he blurted, retracting his hand like he’d been electrified. His fingers slipped away too quickly, but the warmth lingered on your skin.

“Do you hate it that much?” you scoffed as you wore his jacket. It was warm and smelled like him. “And no one’s getting hypothermia in this weather. It’s not that cold.”

“Can’t we just walk quietly and pretend we don’t know each other?”

“No, we can’t,” you chimed, linking your arms with his. “It’s impossible because we look like a couple right now.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do,” you sang, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you strolled down the dimly lit pathway. You allowed yourself to savor the moment, your steps perfectly in sync with his, a warmth spreading in your chest as you walked together under the soft glow of the pathway lights.

The school festival was coming up, and you got to work with Wonwoo on the preparations—you as a student council member, and him with the IT Club. Your tasks were different, not overlapping at all but you were content just being in the same space with him. 

While Wonwoo worked with a clubmate on the sound systems, you were assigned to help with decorations and logistics. Despite your tasks not overlapping, you made a point to stroll by his area often, a smile lighting up your face whenever your eyes met. Wonwoo would only nod to acknowledge you, but each exchange was a little jolt of happiness for you.

The hours passed in a blur of laughter and hard work. You organized tables, hung streamers, and made sure everything was in its right place, all while stealing glances at Wonwoo and his team.

During a break, you found yourself near the sound booth, leaning against the wall to catch your breath. Wonwoo was adjusting a microphone, and you couldn’t help but watch. He looked effortlessly cool, his concentration making him even more attractive.

“Don’t just stand there, you’re making me nervous,” he teased when he noticed you staring.

You flushed, momentarily caught off guard. “Just appreciating the view!” you shot back with a grin.

“Right,” he deadpanned, shaking his head. “Just don’t break anything.”

“Oh please, I’m the master of decorations! No broken things here!” you replied with mock seriousness.

As the day wore on, the festival started to take shape, and your excitement grew. You loved this sense of unity, the way everyone worked together to bring a festival to remember. It was very tiring, wearing out your bodies with work and your minds with how much you kept brainstorming for the best ideas. But as the sun began to set, and the field was transformed into a magical scene with the glow of fairy lights, all your labor had been worth it.

“Looks great,” Wonwoo said, suddenly at your side.

You nodded, unable to suppress your grin. “It does, doesn’t it? You guys did a great job too. The LED displays are cool.”

“We did what we do best. You guys at the student council worked harder, coming up with cool ideas and stuff,” he replied, giving you an appreciative nod.

Feeling a rush of warmth at his compliment, you could only smile. “Let’s just say we make a great team—each in our own way.”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Some of the council guys were a bit pompous and bossy but, yeah, you’re right.”

You laughed at that, hitting his arm and letting your hand stay there. Wonwoo didn’t flinch, even flashing a small smile as you both stared at the fruit of your labor.

The school festival was finally here, and the campus was alive with excitement. You could feel the energy in the air, the smell of food wafting from the stalls, and the cheerful sound of laughter and chatter. 

The day kicked off with a formal ceremony in the main courtyard—with the school band playing a march. Students and faculty gathered under a large banner that read Welcome to the 00 University Festival! You stood with your friends, cheering as the college president gave a short speech about the importance of community and collaboration.

“Let the festivities begin!” he concluded, and the crowd erupted into applause.

As the ceremony ended, you raced to the game booths that had been set up around the campus. Your friends challenged each other to various games—ring toss, balloon darts, and a giant inflatable obstacle course. The laughter was infectious, and you lost track of time as you tried your hand at each game, reveling in the thrill of friendly competition.

In between the fun, you made your way to the sound booth, where Wonwoo and Jihoon were busy setting up for the afternoon performances. 

“Snacks for the most hardworking people on the whole campus,” you called out, showing them the containers of food and drinks.

“Thanks a lot!” Jihoon said with a bright smile, taking a snack before returning to his controls. “You’re so thoughtful.”

Wonwoo, on the other hand, merely nodded, a small smile breaking through his serious demeanor. “Thanks,” he said, taking a sip from the drink you brought him.

“You guys are doing an amazing job! Can’t wait for the party tonight!” you exclaimed, your excitement bubbling over.

“We’ll make sure it’s a good one,” Jihoon replied, his enthusiasm infectious.

“Are you kidding me? DJ Woozi is here. I know it’s gonna be a good one,” you chimed, pointing finger guns at Jihoon.

The latter couldn’t help grinning at your compliment. “You should come over more often! It’s not all boring work here.”

“Oh, of course. I’ll be here often. Gotta make sure you stay hydrated. You’ll need the energy to keep up with the crowd.”

Jihoon tilted his head slightly, unconvinced. “Pretty sure Wonwoo will appreciate it,” he chuckled, nudging Wonwoo’s arm.

You just smiled, winking at Wonwoo before you bid your goodbyes and promised them you’d be back. 

As the afternoon rolled in, the booths and games continued. You lost yourself in the fun, but each time you never forgot to stop by the sound booth, checking in on Wonwoo—and Jihoon because he happened to be there too.

“Want a break?” you asked during one of your visits. “You’ve been at it for hours!”

Wonwoo looked at you, the serious expression on his face softening slightly. “I’m good. Just need to make sure everything is perfect for tonight.”

You nodded, admiring his dedication. “Well, I brought more snacks,” you said, pulling out the waffles you got from one of the booths.

“Thanks,” Jihoon said, taking the bag with a grateful smile.

Soon, the day transitioned into the evening. Students gathered around the stage, and the sounds of music filled the campus. You joined your friends, dancing and enjoying the beats as Jihoon—moniker, Woozi got the crowd hyped.

You could see Wonwoo in the sound booth, focused on the music, and your heart swelled with admiration. Every now and then, you made your way back to him, offering him drinks or just sharing a quick laugh about something funny happening in the crowd.

“Having fun?” he asked during one of your visits, his gaze momentarily leaving the controls.

“Definitely! This is amazing!” you replied, breathless from dancing.

“Good. Just keep your distance from the speakers,” he said and you could see a playful glint in his eyes despite his deadpan expression.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to break anything,” you shot back, grinning.

The night continued to unfold, filled with dancing, laughter, and an electric atmosphere. Later, when the party wound down and the crowd began to disperse, the working group gathered again for a final clean-up.

“I can’t believe how well everything turned out,” you said, looking around at the remnants of the festival.

“Yeah, it was a success,” Jihoon replied, glancing at you. “Thanks for all your help today.”

“Of course! It was so much fun being part of it,” you said, feeling a warmth spread through you.

The student council president clapped his hands together to grab everyone’s attention. “Before we call it a night, how about we plan a weekend escapade to celebrate our hard work? A little break after all this?”

Cheers erupted from the group, and you felt your heart race at the thought of spending more time with everyone, especially with Wonwoo.

“Good to know everyone’s up for it!” the president said, smiling. “For now, let us pack up what needs to be packed up, make sure not to miss anything, and then we can head to the after-party.”

You helped pack up the necessary stuff that could not wait until tomorrow. Luckily, the university had a cleaning personnel who would handle the rest, so your work was lighter. Afterward, the group dispersed, some resigning to their dorms to rest, and the others heading to the after-party at an off-campus frat house.

Your friends were waiting for you outside the dorm, and you all hurried off to the party. It was a big shift from the organized chaos of the festival to a more liberated vibe. The living room was packed with students, and the atmosphere was thick with the smell of alcohol, vape, and perfumes mixed with the faintest hint of sweat. Colorful lights dance across the walls, along with the bodies of partygoers moving along to the catchy music.

“Let’s grab some drinks!” Mina shouted over the music, and the group surged toward the makeshift bar set up in the corner. You followed, adrenaline coursing through you as you filled a cup with whatever was on offer.

With drinks in hand, you scanned the room, your eyes searching for a familiar face. And there he was—Wonwoo, standing in a corner, a drink in hand, watching the chaos unfold with an amused expression. His dark hair glimmered under the strobe lights, and he stood out in his plain white t-shirt.

Without hesitation, you weaved through the crowd, clutching your drink tightly. “Hey, you made it!” you said, trying to sound casual despite the excitement bubbling inside you.

“Not willingly,” he replied, taking a sip from his cup.

“Want to join the madness?” you asked, gesturing toward the dance floor, where a group of students swayed and grinded, lost in the music and alcohol.

“Pass,” he said, not even giving it a thought.

“I knew it, but why did I still ask?” you mumbled, chuckling over your cup.

Across the hall, you spotted Mina and Hoshi, getting touchy as they danced to the rhythm. You smiled at the sight of them, lifting your cup in greeting when Hoshi waved at you.

“They look so in love, it’s annoying,” you snorted, but your fond smile was anything but snarky.

“Doesn’t look like it to me,” Wonwoo commented, making you glance at him.

“You don’t see it?” you questioned, genuinely perplexed. “It’s so obvious. They can’t even get their hands off of each other.”

Wonwoo hummed, but he looked unconvinced. “It could be the alcohol, you know, making them hot and touchy… and horny. You don’t need love to feel that way.”

You observed him for a while, trying to gouge what was in his mind but to no avail. You could tell though that he was a cynic. “You don’t believe in love, do you?”

“Love is overrated,” he said, sipping from his cup.

You just nodded, acknowledging his admittance and respecting his opinions. “Are you sure you should be drinking? You can’t handle your liquor.”

“Oh, this is plain soda,” he replied, showing you the contents of his red cup. “I’m not drinking. Can’t afford to make stupid mistakes.”

“Mistakes? Like calling some stranger gorgeous and confessing your love for them?” you quipped but there was a bit of snark in your tone.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

That dampened your mood. “Well, good luck then,” you said, bumping your cup gently against his. “Enjoy the party.”

As you turned to walk away, Wonwoo grabbed your hand, stopping you in your tracks. “Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna go have some real fun. Dancing, drinking, maybe some games because I’m quite good at them,” you smiled, motioning to the chaos around you. “It’s a party after all.”

He released your arm and you couldn’t quite tell what expression he was wearing. “Have fun then.”

“Thanks. I will,” you said with a salute before disappearing into the crowd.

You didn’t see him around the house after that, neither did you try looking for him. You just enjoyed the night, trying to take him off of your mind and the nagging thought at the back of your mind that going after him would not result in anything but disappointment.

Early Saturday morning, you gathered at the school plaza with other members of the festival working group. You were set to leave at 9 am, and despite the hangover from last night, you managed to make it there on time—not without a splitting headache that a handful of other members seemed to share.

“Alright?” asked Wonwoo, appearing beside you with a slight scowl as you pressed your fingers to your forehead, trying to ease the pounding pain.

“Hi!” you greeted him, smiling from ear to ear only to wince again. “Ouch. My head is killing me.”

“And whose fault is that?” Wonwoo smirked.

Before you could retort, Jihoon hopped over, a small plastic bag in hand filled with water and medicine. “Here. It’ll help with the hangover,” he offered, his expression earnest.

You groaned dramatically, pouting at him. “Thanks a lot, Jihoon. You’re a literal angel.”

Jihoon’s cheeks flushed at the compliment, the corners of his mouth twitching into a bashful smile. “That’s… Well, it’s not much.”

“No, I mean it. You really are an angel. Your skin is so fair, it’s blinding,” you said, squinting playfully as if his glow was too bright to bear.

“Take the medicine if your head is hurting that much,” Wonwoo chided sternly on your other side, making you turn back to him.

“Oh, right,” you mumbled, opening the bag. You popped a pill in your mouth and fumbled with the bottle of water, struggling to twist the cap off. Just as Jihoon was about to help, Wonwoo snatched the bottle from your hand, effortlessly twisting it open. 

“Thanks,” you said, raising the bottle in appreciation. You mirrored the gesture to Jihoon, grinning widely. “Thanks, my angel.”

Soon, the rest of the group arrived, ready for the trip. Since the university didn’t sponsor this outing, you all had to pay for expenses and transportation. Some students had cars and agreed to carpool with those who didn’t.

Without giving it much thought, you headed straight to Wonwoo’s car, making yourself comfortable in the front seat like you belonged there.

He didn’t seem to mind, though he did say, “I thought you were going in Jihoon’s car.”

“Oh, he didn’t invite me. We’re not that close,” you replied, buckling your seatbelt. “Besides, I’d rather ride you.”

You noticed his hand freeze mid-air, the awkward silence that followed stretching between you like a taut string.

“With you!” you said in a panic. “I meant to say, I’d rather ride with you.”

Wonwoo nodded with a blank expression. “Yeah. I know,” he said coolly.

You chuckled awkwardly, looking outside his window and mentally cursing yourself. When the other cars started driving away, you realized that Wonwoo still hadn’t turned on his engine.

“Are we waiting for someone?” you asked and he nodded.

“There he is,” he said, gesturing at Seokmin, who was rushing toward you with a backpack slung over one shoulder.

He yanked the backseat door open and hopped in immediately. “Wow. Thanks for not leaving me behind.”

“You had three minutes left,” Wonwoo replied, a hint of exasperation in his tone as he finally fired up the engine and drove out of the campus.

The car ride was filled with laughter as Seokmin took charge of the music, blasting upbeat tracks that made it impossible not to move. He sang along, his voice rising above the catchy beats, and every now and then, he added exaggerated dance moves from the passenger seat, making you and Wonwoo laugh.

“Can you believe we actually survived the festival?” Seokmin exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “I thought we’d end up in a full-on food fight or something! Just imagine it—streamers flying, popcorn everywhere, total chaos!”

You chuckled, picturing the scene, however impossible it was. “Yeah, and we’d be the ones cleaning it up afterward.”

“Exactly! But it would’ve been legendary!” Seokmin insisted, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Next time, I’m bringing a water balloon launcher. Who’s in?”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his amusement. “You’d just end up hitting someone with that.”

“Details, details!” Seokmin waved off the concern. “It doesn’t matter as long as you had fun and made lots of memories.”

He stopped and gasped quietly as he watched you extend the iced coffee toward Wonwoo so he could take a sip. You noticed him only when Wonwoo had taken a sip and you’d placed the coffee back in the cup holder.

“What?” you asked.

“Why don’t you guys just kiss in front of me?”

Wonwoo scowled, glancing briefly at his friend. “Why would we do that?”

“Right?” you blurted, snorting. “Didn’t know you were kinky like that, Seokmin.”

Seokmin leaned back in his seat. “You guys. You know that’s not what I mean.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. “I was just being nice, okay?”

“Right, just being nice,” Seokmin teased, wiggling his eyebrows. “But I mean, he didn’t look like he was complaining. When did he stop complaining about you invading his space?”

“Oh, he’s never complained to me before,” you replied, you didn’t even need to think about it.

Seokmin gasped dramatically. “He did not?”

“Not that I remember,” you said, peering at him in the backseat. “And I remember every single interaction we had,” you added with a proud smile.

“But he doesn’t like it when people are in his space,” said Seokmin, pointing at Wonwoo with a surprised expression. “He hates it.”

You shot a glance at Wonwoo, who kept his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable. “Enough, Seokmin. You’re gonna make her think I’m enjoying this.”

“Aren’t you?” he shot back with a grin. “I mean, who wouldn’t want a hot girl following him around, giving him drinks and all that?”

“Exactly!” you exclaimed. “Look at me! 1-800-hot-n-fun.”

Seokmin leaned between your seats, pointing a finger gun at your temple. “Excuse me, ma’am. You’re under arrest for being 10 out of 10 and 2 hot 2 handle.”

You and Seokmin burst out laughing, and even Wonwoo couldn’t hide his grin.

“Settle down, or I'll kick you two out of the car,” Wonwoo chided.

“Is it strange that I’m more invested in your relationship than you are?” Seokmin asked after a moment’s pause.

You shushed him. “Shut up. No one is more invested in our relationship than I am!”

As the miles rolled by, the countryside unfolded around you, with fields of wildflowers swaying in the breeze. Just as you were nearing the location, you had to stop at a gasoline station because Seokmin needed to use the restroom.

“How about you?” he asked, just as Seokmin had left the car.

“No, I’m good,” you replied, glancing at him and found him scrolling through his phone. He just hummed, eyes fixed on his screen.

You took in his features—handsome, of course, with that natural air of confidence he always seemed to carry. His jawline gave him an angular, sharp look, yet there was something almost delicate in the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, or the way his lashes fell gently against his skin when he blinked.

Your gaze fell to his lips—symmetrical with a defined cupid’s bow and subtle but natural fullness. There was that ever-present slight curve. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it always seemed like it was on the verge of one, and it made you wonder what it’d take to coax a real one out of him.

“You know,” you said, voice dripping with playful mischief, “you have really pretty lips.”

Wonwoo paused, blinking as if processing your comment. His eyes flicked to your mouth, and for a second, the silence between you seemed to thicken. But then he shifted his gaze back to the road, brushing off your words like it was nothing. “Thanks,” he replied, as nonchalant as ever.

At the back of your mind, you wonder if it was as soft as it appeared to be.

“Can you tie a cherry stem into a knot with your tongue?” you asked again, leaning a little closer with an innocent smile on your lips. 

You knew exactly what you were doing—the teasing tone, the loaded question. It was playful, sultry, but in a way that you could brush off if he didn’t bite. You fully expected his usual indifferent response.

Then again, there was the possibility that maybe he’d pick up your hints this time, and maybe he’d do something about the tension that was building up between you right at this moment. Maybe—

“I don’t think anyone can,” he answered flatly, the corner of his mouth barely twitching.

You threw your hands up dramatically. “Oh my god. What was I expecting?” you groaned, looking away.

Wonwoo remained quiet, so you glanced back at him. You met his eyes, dark with an intensity that you hadn’t seen before. His jaw was clenched tightly, and somehow it felt as though you had done something wrong.

“What?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

He didn’t say anything. He just unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned towards you. Before you could react, he was already cupping the back of your head and crashing his lips into yours.

You were momentarily stunned, grappling with the sensation of his lips pressing against yours. He tightened his grip on your head, tilting it just right, allowing him to kiss you more deeply. It was firm, yet slow, like he’d been thinking about it for much longer than you’d realized. You closed your eyes as you melted into him, kissing him back with a rhythm that made your skin prickle with the warmth that was slowly creeping into your chest. Your heart raced in its cage—so wildly that you swore Wonwoo could feel it echoing in his own.

When he finally pulled back, his expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of triumph in his eyes.

“So?” His voice was low, teasing. “Can I?”

You blinked, still a little dazed. “Huh?”

He smirked, the smug confidence catching you off guard. “Can I tie a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue?”

Your mouth fell open in disbelief before you burst out laughing, the tension between you now crackling in the air. “Y-yeah,” you stammered, the flustered grin spreading across your face. “Absolutely. You’re amazing. Basically a pro. Heh.”

Luckily, Seokmin arrived before the mood could get any more awkward. He did notice the shift between you, but when he asked about it, you just brushed it off. Deep inside, you were reeling in the bliss of kissing Wonwoo—wait, no—of being kissed by Wonwoo.

You soon arrived at the villa, its warm stone exterior blending beautifully with the surrounding trees. There was a welcoming warmth to it, and you hoped it was as comfortable as it looked.

“Wow, this place is massive,” Seokmin commented dramatically as he stepped out of the car, looking up at the villa as if it were a five-star resort.

Just then, a girl with beautiful long hair and a bright smile appeared on the porch. “Hey, guys! You made it!” she called out, waving enthusiastically. 

“Claire?” Seokmin blurted, evidently surprised.

“Seokmin!” she squealed, running to him for a quick hug.

You noticed Wonwoo stiffen slightly at the sight of her, his expression shifting as he watched the reunion. It didn’t go unnoticed by you, but Claire seemed blissfully unaware.

“What are you doing here?” Seokmin asked, backing away with a neutral expression.

The student council president came out before Claire could respond. “You’ve arrived! Good. Good. Have you met Claire?” he said, smiling at Claire. “Claire here was kind enough to offer their family villa, so this is going to be our home for the weekend.”

“Oh, I know these guys. We go way back,” said Claire, referring to Seokmin and Wonwoo.

Prez introduced you to her and Claire’s smile widened as she extended her hand to you. “Nice to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you too!” you replied, trying to match her enthusiasm. You were still processing the sudden tension in the air, especially from Wonwoo.

“Come on in! The others are waiting.”

As the president guided you inside, you watched as Claire held Wonwoo by the arm and walked ahead of you. You felt a sudden surge of annoyance at her, clearly out of jealousy.

Seokmin leaned in to whisper in your ear. “That’s Wonwoo’s ex.”

The revelation made you nervous as you watched them. Wonwoo’s expression was blank, while Claire remained upbeat.

As you stepped further inside the villa, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this weekend was going to be more complicated than you had anticipated.

The first order of business in the villa was dinner. After arriving early, everyone gathered around for snacks and chatted, but by dinner time, the group split into two—those helping in the kitchen and those exploring the villa.

You hadn’t planned on helping out in the kitchen, but when you noticed only a few had volunteered, you reluctantly joined in. A mistake, you realized, as your eyes drifted to the living room where Wonwoo sat with Claire beside him. She looked far too comfortable, leaning in close as they talked, her laughter ringing out over the murmur of conversations. Your chest tightened at the sight, the feeling of irritation and insecurity creeping up on you. 

It’s fine. He’s allowed to have a past, you told yourself, gripping the knife a little tighter as you sliced through a watermelon. But does she have to sit so close? Exes shouldn’t be too nice to each other. And does she have to appear now?

“Hey, focus!” Jihoon’s voice cut through your thoughts as he nudged your shoulder. “You’re going to cut yourself if you’re not careful.”

“Oh, shit,” you muttered, blinking down at the cutting board. You had nearly reached the end of the watermelon and were dangerously close to nicking your finger

“Why are you so distracted?” Jihoon teased, glancing briefly at Wonwoo and Claire before turning back to the stove. “Relax. He’s yours. I’m sure of it.”

You let out a dry laugh, though your stomach twisted. “You can’t be so sure. Not with his ex clinging to him like that.”

“I don’t know... He’s heading this way now, so I think I’m right,” Woozi replied, stirring the contents of the pan with a knowing smile.

Before you could process Jihoon’s words, Wonwoo appeared beside you. His presence made the kitchen feel smaller.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the watermelon as he gently nudged you aside. His body brushed against yours as he took the knife from your hand, his touch lingering a little longer than necessary. Then he began slicing the fruit with ease.

Your pulse quickened. “What do you think?” you pouted, stepping aside but staying close enough for your elbows to brush every now and then.

“I think you’re trying to get my attention. Getting hurt and all,” he replied, making your jaw drop. He laughed at your expression. “Aren’t you?”

“I wasn’t hurt,” you told him, rolling your eyes although your heart was fluttering at the sight of his smile. “And even if I did want your attention, I don’t need to hurt myself to get it.”

Wonwoo nodded, agreeing. “You’re right. You don’t need to. It’s one of your many talents.”

You took a paring knife and started slicing the pears, scooting closer to Wonwoo so your elbows touched slightly. “Seokmin told me Claire was your ex.”

Wonwoo hummed in response, not looking up from the watermelon he was slicing. “She is. Freshman year.”

You stopped the urge to roll your eyes. “So you did believe in love.”

“Just because I had girlfriends before doesn’t mean I believe in love.” 

“You know, I heard somewhere that people who claim not to believe in love tend to be the most hopeless romantic individuals to ever walk the Earth.”

“Whoever said that was lying,” he replied, shoving a small piece of watermelon in your mouth, his fingers lightly brushing your lips.

You chewed slowly, feeling a blush creep up your neck. The way Wonwoo’s eyes lingered on your lips didn’t go unnoticed by you. On an ordinary day, that would be a good opportunity to make fun of him, but after what happened in the car earlier, you could not bring yourself to tease him.

He cleared his throat, looking away and resuming his task. You glanced around, suddenly feeling self-conscious and didn’t know where to put your hand, so you grabbed a slice of watermelon.

“It’s very sweet. Try it,” you said, offering the slice to him.

Without looking, Wonwoo leaned sideways to you and took a bite of the fruit. You instantly regretted that because now you were the one staring at his lips, recalling the vivid imagery of earlier’s kiss.

“Wonwoo!” a voice called out from the living room, snapping you out of your imaginations. It was Claire and she didn’t have anything to say, just waving at Wonwoo with a smile.

You glanced at Wonwoo who didn’t even bother to show a reaction, let alone respond.

“Does it bother you that she’s here?” you asked, your voice softer now, more curious than playful.

He paused, his gaze finally meeting yours. “No, it doesn’t bother me.”

“So you’re unbothered?”

“I’m unbothered.”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “You know, I heard that people who say they’re unbothered tend to be... well, very bothered.”

Wonwoo let out a small, resigned laugh, finally setting the knife down. His gaze softened as he turned to face you fully. “Again with your odd wisdom.” He raised an eyebrow, his tone teasing but warm. “What’s next? People who claim to have allergies aren’t actually allergic?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” you shot back, laughing. “Allergies are backed by science. But being bothered when you’re in the same room as your ex? That’s a little harder to prove. Just like not believing in love.”

“You’re too smart for your own good,” he said sarcastically. “I might need to practice my patience so I can keep up with your antics.”

“Oh? You’ll do that instead of telling me to leave you alone?”

Wonwoo scowled lightly. “Did you forget what Seokmin said? That I hate it when people bother me?” he asked, reaching to tuck a few stray hairs behind your ear. “I don’t hate you, so I won’t tell you to leave me alone.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but before you could reply, Claire’s voice carried over from the living room, breaking the moment. You glanced over, watching as she stood up, her eyes briefly meeting Wonwoo’s before she looked away.

I have a feeling in my gut that she’s doing this on purpose, you thought to yourself, narrowing your eyes slightly at the other girl.

“Dinner’s almost ready!” someone called from the kitchen, pulling your attention back.

Wonwoo didn’t seem to notice Claire at all as he turned to the stove to help Jihoon with the final touches. After that, you moved to the backyard just as the evening settled into a cool, dusky warmth. 

The smell of barbecue filled the air, rich and smoky. The large grill crackled and popped as steaks, skewers, and vegetables sizzled under Seokmin’s watchful—albeit playful—eye. You could hear him narrating the process dramatically to anyone who would listen, complete with sound effects.

“And now, behold! The perfectly grilled steak, sizzling under my masterful technique,” Seokmin proclaimed, waving his spatula like a wand.

You sat at one of the long picnic tables on the patio, nursing a cold drink and watching the light from the grill flicker across the faces of your friends. Wonwoo sat beside you, quietly observing the scene while Claire—who had rejoined the group—chatted animatedly with some others across the table. You were trying not to feel too aware of her presence, but it was impossible not to glance her way now and then.

“Hey, are you going to give me a hand, or are you just going to sit there looking cute?” Seokmin called to you with a playful wink.

You snorted, setting your drink down and getting up. “You know, you can’t use that line for everything.”

Seokmin shook his head, grinning widely. “Who said it’s a line? You just happen to look cute all the time, okay? Now, get over here and help me with the skewers.”

Wonwoo chuckled beside you, and you gave him a teasing glance as you headed toward the grill. “Don’t laugh too much, or you’ll be next on Seokmin’s target list.”

“I’ll pass,” Wonwoo replied dryly, though his eyes followed you with a hint of amusement.

You reached the grill, where Seokmin handed you a plate of marinated vegetables to arrange onto skewers. “So, how’s it going over there with Mr. Mysterious?” Seokmin asked in a low voice, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he leaned closer.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”

Seokmin nudged you with his elbow. “Don’t play dumb. I saw how you and Wonwoo were looking at each other earlier. You’re practically making out with your eyes.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Okay, you win. You are more invested in our relationship than me.”

“I told, didn’t I?” he asked, giving you a knowing grin. “I’ve known the guy for ages. He’s not usually this... I don’t know, present. It’s like he actually pays attention when you’re around. Normally, he’s off in his own world.”

You opened your mouth to respond but were interrupted when Wonwoo appeared at your side, casually grabbing one of the skewers you had just finished assembling.

“Hey!” you exclaimed, laughing. “You’re supposed to let them cook first.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, popping a piece of bell pepper into his mouth. “It’s good raw.”

Seokmin gasped dramatically. “It’s what?”

Wonwoo flicked Seokmin’s forehead, discouraging his thoughts. “Take your mind out of the gutters.”

Seokmin rubbed the part of his forehead that Wonwoo flicked, grinning at you and wiggling his eyebrows knowingly. You playfully swatted his arm with the back of your hand.

“So dirty-minded, go away,” you scolded though you were grinning.

Wonwoo smiled softly, and for a moment, the noise of the group around you faded. His gaze held yours, and you felt that familiar warmth spread through your chest again.

Seokmin cleared his throat loudly, breaking the moment. “Okay, lovebirds, enough with the eyes! We’ve got mouths to feed.”

You blushed, turning back to the skewers as Seokmin gave you a teasing grin. He leaned over and whispered, “See? What did I say? Sparks.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, though you couldn’t help smiling.

Seokmin sighed reminiscently. “Man, I’m so single. I wish the others were here too.”

“Right? I would’ve been fun to have them here,” you noted, remembering your rowdy friends.

“We should do this again with them. Say ‘yes’.”

“Yes,” you replied, not missing a beat. “Absolutely, yes.”

As the grilling continued, you could hear laughter and chatter all around—Seokmin’s over-the-top narrations, Jihoon offering sarcastic commentary from where he stood near the grill, and Claire’s voice chiming in from the table, still carrying that same vibrant energy she had when you first arrived.

Once the food was ready, everyone gathered around the picnic tables, the platters piled high with grilled meats, skewers, and sides. The scent of charred meat and fresh herbs mixed with the cool evening breeze. The plates clinked as people passed around dishes, and conversations overlapped in the comfortable chaos of friends enjoying a good meal.

You found a spot next to Wonwoo again, your plate full, though you were more focused on the way his knee brushed against yours under the table. Each little touch felt like a secret between the two of you, unnoticed by everyone else.

Across the table, Prez pointed his fork at you and Wonwoo, grinning. “You two are awfully close for two people who aren’t dating.”

You almost choked on your food, but Wonwoo calmly sipped his drink, completely unfazed. “We’re just eating, Prez,” he said, but his hand landing gently on your thigh under the table contradicted his statement.

“Yeah, and sitting suspiciously close while doing it,” Seokmin quipped, wiggling his eyebrows. “Just saying. The grill master knows things.”

“You really need to stop calling yourself that,” one of your companions teased, shaking her head at Seokmin.

Seokmin gasped dramatically. “Excuse me, ma’am, but this title is earned through years of culinary excellence and—”

“Hey, Claire, do you think Seokmin deserves the title of ‘grill master’?” someone called from the other end of the table, cutting off his exaggerated speech.

Claire, who had been quiet for a while, looked up with a smile. “I mean, he did a good job, but I wouldn’t go that far.”

The group erupted into laughter, and Seokmin threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine, fine. I’ll accept the demotion.”

As the laughter died down, you felt Wonwoo lean a little closer, thumb rubbing your thigh over your jeans. He didn’t say anything, but the way he quietly stayed by your side, even in the midst of all the noise, spoke volumes.

The evening carried on, full of easy laughter, good food, drunk anecdotes, and the soft glow of lanterns that lit up the patio as night fell. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this light, this content, as the warmth of the barbecue wrapped around you like a comfortable blanket and the buzz of alcohol numbed the cold air hitting your skin.

“You alright?” Wonwoo asked, placing a hand over your back as you were resting your head on the table.

Everyone had gone back inside, save for a few others who continued their drinking by the poolside. You and Wonwoo were the only ones left at the table, mainly because you were tired and he didn’t want to leave you.

You sat up and stared at him. “My god, you’re so handsome. I could kiss you.”

“You’re drunk.”

You snort. “I’m not drunk. I never get drunk!” you paused, staring at your index finger. “Actually, I did get drunk… once, twice? Was it thrice? I don’t remember. Anyway!”

You took a deep breath and tucked your hair behind your ears. “Even if I’m not drunk, I always want to kiss you.”

“You do?” he questioned, amused.

You stood up and stepped closer to him, he remained in his seat, watching you with soft eyes. You wobbled a bit but Wonwoo caught your arms firmly, keeping you steady. You held his face with your hands, squeezing his cheeks slightly. “Don’t dodge this, okay?”

“So? Did you…” Seungcheol paused, hesitating. There was a hint of embarrassment on his face as he finished his sentence. “...kiss?”

You laughed, lolling your head back. “You’re a grown-ass man and you’re hesitating to say the word ‘kiss’?”

Seungcheol shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking away with a small pout. That expression intrigued you, surprised to know he could make such a face. Then again, what do you really know about him?

“It’s not my fault. The mood of your story is quite… I’m not sure what to call it. Innocent? In a way?”

“I get what you mean. But to answer your question, we didn’t kiss,” you jeered, rolling your eyes. “I blacked out and forgot, but he told me that we didn’t kiss. He dodged it.”

“You believed that?”

You shrugged. “Wonwoo had no reason to lie about it. I mean, that’s just out of character for him.”

“I see,” said Seungcheol, thinking. “So? What happened next?”

You groaned, taking a big sip of your drink before continuing. “Remember Claire?”

“Yeah, we do not like her.”

“Good, she’s annoying,” you said, rolling your eyes. “She was even more annoying the next day after that...”

Prez had a hike planned for the next day. The area was a popular spot for its beautiful river up the mountain, so you all agreed to go. When you heard a knock on your door, you had expected it to be Wonwoo, but instead, Jihoon’s smile greeted you.

“Looks like we’re carpooling today,” he said.

“We are?” you asked, blinking in confusion.

Jihoon gave a half-shrug. “Yeah, I thought the same. Figured you’d be with Wonwoo, but apparently, he already left.”

“Wonwoo’s gone?” You tried to keep your voice steady, masking the sting of disappointment that followed his words.

“Yeah, he headed out early with Prez, Claire, and a few others,” Jihoon explained, noticing the subtle shift in your expression.

You forced a smile, quickly masking the sinking feeling in your chest. “Well, can’t be helped. I’ll just grab my jacket.”

“Take your time. Calum’s not even ready yet, so we’ve got a bit.” Jihoon leaned against the doorframe as you moved back inside to grab your things.

“Who else is with us?” you asked, emerging with your jacket and a small backpack.

“Just Calum,” Jihoon replied with a smirk. “Which means we get to listen to him complain the whole way.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Well, we better go before he decides to ditch us too.”

As the three of you arrived at the foot of the mountain, you spotted the rest of the group already gathered around the guide for a quick briefing. Your eyes immediately searched for Wonwoo. Sure enough, he and Seokmin were at the front of the line, both seemingly unaware that you’d arrived. A strange tension filled the air as your gaze lingered on Wonwoo, but you quickly pushed it aside, focusing on the hike ahead.

“Okay! Everybody ready to go?” the guide asked and everyone responded with a chorus of yesses.

You saw Wonwoo scanning the crowd behind him, stopping only when he locked eyes with you. There was a subtle change in his expression, something softer as if in recognition of you. He patted Prez on the back, saying something to him before he jogged toward you.

“There you are,” he said with a small smile. “I thought you weren’t coming?”

“Who said that?” you asked, genuinely perplexed. 

“Claire. She said she heard you tell someone that you weren’t coming out today.”

You smirked, annoyed at Claire and her obvious attempt to sabotage you. “And you didn’t think to check with me?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “I didn’t wanna wake you. You seemed pretty drunk last night.”

The annoyance you were feeling suddenly dissipated, replaced by shame as you recalled trying to kiss him last night. You looked away, covering your mouth in shock.

“Are you shy?” he asked, chuckling lightly. “That’s new.”

You tutted at him and hit his arm playfully. “Shut up.”

He chuckled, casually taking your sling bag and wearing it across his chest. “I’ll take this.”

You grinned playfully. “Are you a gentleman now? Is it because you’ve fallen in love with me?”

“No. I just don’t want to deal with you complaining about a heavy bag halfway through the hike.”

The hike started out smoothly, with the morning sun filtering through the trees. Your group moved at a comfortable pace, with chatter filling the air as you climbed higher, nearing the mountain’s scenic river. Claire—who somehow found a way to walk next to Wonwoo and you, was leading the conversation close to Wonwoo, which irritated you more than you’d like to admit. 

“Are you alright?” Jihoon asked quietly, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. He flashed you a knowing smirk, catching the direction of your gaze.

“I’m fine. Just… taking in the view,” you replied quietly.

Jihoon didn’t seem convinced but dropped the subject. “Well, we’re almost there. Save your energy. There’s still the climb up to the ridge,” he added, pointing ahead to a steeper incline.

You felt a hand on your back and glanced at Wonwoo who just smiled at you. As the group made its way up, the conversation turned to reminiscing about old hiking trips. Claire, of course, found her way into this again, laughing as she talked about a time she and Wonwoo had hiked a similar trail. 

“Wonwoo was such a show-off back then,” she said with a laugh, nudging him. “You remember that, right?”

You could hear the hint of nostalgia in her voice, but Wonwoo barely reacted. He just gave a polite nod, keeping his eyes on the trail ahead and his hand on your back. 

“I was younger. Probably didn’t know better.”

Claire smiled at his response, but there was something about the way she looked at him—like she was waiting for more. It twisted something in your chest.

“Yeah, when you’re younger, you make stupid decisions,” said Seokmin, laughing a tad bit louder than necessary. “You’re so relatable, man. I try to forget my stupid decisions too. Especially the worst ones.”

You didn’t know the context, but you grasped the picture Seokmin was trying to insinuate about Wonwoo and Claire’s history. For some reason, it made you feel better about yourself to know that Wonwoo’s friend didn’t like his ex.

After another thirty minutes of steady climbing, you reached the ridge, overlooking the crystal-clear river that sparkled in the distance. Everyone took a breath, the beauty of the view silencing the group momentarily.

“This spot is perfect!” Prez called out, breaking the stillness as he bounced forward with his phone, ready to take pictures. “Let’s get some photos, everyone!”

Some of the group began to gather for a group shot, while others wandered around, taking in the scenery. You stayed back, wanting to enjoy the moment without Claire’s constant presence.

After a few photos and a lot of teasing from Seokmin, everyone dispersed, walking back toward the trail to continue on. As you moved ahead, you glanced at Wonwoo, who seemed quieter than usual, lost in his thoughts. You wondered if it was Claire getting to him, or if he was just being his typical reserved self.

The hike continued around the river, with a playful challenge thrown in along the way. Seokmin, always full of energy, dared anyone to balance on a fallen log that stretched across a small stream.

“Come on, who’s got the best balance?” he called out, clapping his hands together. “It’s a rite of passage for this hike!”

Prez shook his head, grinning. “I’m out. I’ll leave that to the younger ones.”

Seokmin turned to you, eyebrows raised. “How about you? I bet you’ve got some hidden skills.”

You shook your head. “Have fun without me.”

“Come on!” Seokmin grinned, motioning for you to step up. “Just once. Let’s see who wins.”

“Fine. You asked for this,” you told him, taking off your jacket and tying it across your hips.

The challenge began, and as you wobbled your way across the log, the others cheered from the sidelines. Seokmin was right behind you, steady but focused, and you could feel his presence as you tried not to lose your balance. A few slips here and there, but you made it across, jumping off the log with a victorious grin.

“Not bad, not bad!” Seokmin cheered, clapping his hands as he followed behind you, landing with ease.

You were catching your breath when you noticed Claire, standing a bit too close to Wonwoo, again sharing some kind of inside joke. Your stomach twisted as you watched them, the sight more irritating than the thought of falling off the log.

Feeling a bit frustrated, you turned away, pretending to check your bag but realized it was with Wonwoo. You sighed again, and then suddenly you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned to see Wonwoo, holding out his water bottle.

“You didn’t bring water, did you?” he said simply, eyes soft but unreadable. “Drink up.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. “Thanks.”

“Don’t wanna have to carry you all the way back.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he was only trying to downplay his concern for you. “Of course.”

You took the bottle, your frustration softening as you realized he’d been paying attention. It wasn’t much, but you loved it anyway. You basked in it—in his attention which seemed to be on you most of the time.

He didn’t say anything more, just walked beside you as the group started unloading their stuff for a quick lunch by the river. The others went for a swim, led by Seokmin, as expected. You quietly took a sip of the water, the cool water hydrating you as you glanced over at Wonwoo in his usual quiet demeanor. He handed you a sandwich that he’d peeled open for you. Even though he wasn’t saying much, his actions were enough, and you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly was going through his mind.

After lunch, Seokmin managed to talk you into looking for wild berries. The guide mentioned there were plenty of wild berries around, so it sounded like a harmless adventure. You walked with Seokmin, Jihoon, and a few others, but Wonwoo decided to sit this one out, saying he was a bit tired. You glanced back at him, wondering why he didn’t want to join. He simply gave you a small wave before sitting by the water’s edge, his quiet presence still lingering in your thoughts.

As you wandered deeper into the trees with the group, the sound of laughter and rustling bushes filled the air. Seokmin was practically bouncing from one patch of greenery to the next, exclaiming every time he found a small cluster of berries.

“Look, these are the good ones! I told you I had an eye for this!” he boasted, holding up a handful of bright red berries.

“Okay, okay! We know you’re the berry master,” you teased, bending down to pluck a few yourself. But as you reached for another low-hanging cluster, you misjudged your footing on a slippery rock. The moss-covered surface gave way under your shoe, and before you could catch yourself, you stumbled forward, scraping your hand against a sharp branch. A sharp sting shot through your palm, and you hissed in pain, clutching your hand.

“Ow!” You winced, inspecting the cut. It wasn’t deep, but a small trickle of blood appeared, and the sting was enough to make you stop in your tracks.

“Are you alright?” Jihoon was quick to notice, walking over to check on you.

You waved him off with a sheepish smile, trying not to make a big deal of it. “Yeah, I just slipped on a rock. It’s not that bad.”

Seokmin, always the dramatic one, rushed over too. “Whoa, are you bleeding? Should we get you back? Do we need a first aid kit? A stretcher?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “I’m fine. I just need to wash it off.”

But despite your attempts to brush it off, the sting lingered, and you felt a little foolish for not watching your step. Jihoon offered you his handkerchief to wrap around your hand for now. “Here, it’s not much, but it should help until we get back.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, feeling a bit more embarrassed than hurt.

After a while, the group decided it was time to head back to the riverbank. As you approached, the sight of Wonwoo sitting alone by the water came into view. He was gazing out at the stream, looking serene.

When he saw you returning, his eyes instantly dropped to your hand, the makeshift bandage catching his attention. Without a word, he stood up and walked over to you, his brow furrowed slightly.

“What happened?” he asked sternly, his gaze locking onto yours.

“Oh, I just slipped. It’s nothing, really,” you said, trying to sound casual, though the throbbing in your palm said otherwise.

Wonwoo, however, didn’t seem convinced. Without asking, he gently took your hand, carefully peeling back the cloth to look at the cut. His touch was soft but firm, and you felt your heart skip a beat as he inspected the wound.

“You should clean this properly,” he said, his voice low, a hint of concern in his tone.

“I will, it’s just—” you started, but he was already pulling you toward the river’s edge.

He crouched down by the water, motioning for you to follow. “Come here, rinse it off.”

You knelt beside him, dipping your hand into the cool water. The sting intensified for a moment before the fresh stream washed the dirt and blood away, leaving the cut cleaner. As if on cue, the guide appeared with a small first-aid kit, handing it to Wonwoo. He opened it, cleaning the wound with a steady hand before covering it with a Band-Aid.

“Here,” he murmured. “This should be better than that cloth.”

You glanced at your hand, grateful, but Wonwoo's next words caught you off guard.

“You said you don’t need to hurt yourself to get my attention?” he asked, an almost teasing glint in his eyes.

You blinked, caught between amusement and exasperation. “I didn’t do this on purpose! And you weren’t even there when it happened. How is this an attempt at getting your attention?”

“You came here with a wound,” he replied, his gaze softening slightly. “That got my attention.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “I didn’t ask for you to clean it up or worry about me.”

For a moment, his brow furrowed as he studied you. “You don’t want me to?”

“What? Of course, I do!” you stammered, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “But if you’re just going to hold it against me, no thanks. I’ll take care of myself.”

Wonwoo didn’t let the comment slide. “As if you have to take care of yourself. Lots of people will do that for you,” he said, scoffing as he nodded at Jihoon who was chatting animatedly with other people in a distance. “Like Jihoon, for example.”

You felt a spark of irritation flare. “God, I hope you’re saying that because you’re jealous.”

Wonwoo’s scoff came out a little too loud, and he quickly cleared his throat. “Why would I be jealous?”

“Exactly,” you said, pouting as you stood up abruptly, a wave of frustration rising in your chest. “You don’t like me enough to get jealous of other guys.”

Wonwoo stood up too, his expression softening just slightly. “Let’s go back together, okay? Don’t go with Jihoon.”

You crossed your arms, turning away. “Did you hear me complain when you came here with your ex?”

Wonwoo fell quiet for a second longer than expected. When you turned to look at him, he was smiling. You raised an eyebrow, making him chuckle lowly.

“You don't have to worry about her.”

“I'm not worried,” you denied, huffing. “Why would I be worried? I'm a 10. 2 hot 2 handle.”

Wonwoo chuckled, pulling you by the waist and wiping your damp forehead. “Don't hang out with Seokmin too much, you're starting to sound like him.”

You didn't say anything, too caught up in the feeling of being close to him to form a coherent sentence.

“Come on. Let’s pack up,” he said, quietly dismissing whatever it was that just happened between you.

After the hike, you all went back to the villa to pack and get ready for the long drive home. Everyone seemed to be moving in slow, tired motions, still buzzing with the high of a day spent outdoors, but ready to settle into the comfort of a car seat. You grabbed your jacket and water bottle, feeling a slight soreness from the hike, but overall content with how the day had gone.

When Wonwoo finished loading your stuff in the trunk, you made your way to the shotgun and sat there while waiting to leave. Claire appeared at your window, startling you a little. She was smiling as she knocked.

“Hi, Won,” she greeted as if she couldn’t see you there. “You didn’t forget your promise, right? That you’d give me a ride back?”

“Of course,” Wonwoo replied.

“Yay, thank you!” she said, opening the front seat door, much to your confusion.

Claire stared at you for a while, making you feel self-conscious all of a sudden. You gave her an inquiring look, which she returned with a raised eyebrow, gesturing for you to get off.

“Do you want me to get off so you can sit here?” you asked aloud, genuinely curious. “Seriously?”

“What’s going on?” Wonwoo asked, making you glance at him.

Claire spoke before you could respond. “Oh, I don’t mean to offend you or anything. It’s just… well, I get woozy when I sit in the backseat for long drives. Wonwoo knows this. I hope you understand.”

Her words seemed innocent enough, but her tone grated on you. You glanced at Wonwoo, half-expecting him to shoot down the excuse for what it was—a blatant attempt to sit next to him. Instead, he gave a simple nod, signaling for you to move.

Your heart sank. Seriously? It was obvious what she was doing. Glaringly obvious. And yet, he was just... fine with it? You bit back your frustration, forcing a polite smile as you got out of the shotgun seat.

“Oh, thanks a lot! You’re such an angel,” Claire gushed as she slipped into the seat beside Wonwoo. Her voice was dripping with exaggerated sweetness, but there was a glint of malice in her eyes that you were sure only you could see because her back was on Wonwoo.

“I have snacks,” she added to Wonwoo, pulling out a bag. “We can share it. I know you like to nibble on something when driving.”

Still silent, deadpan, you slid into the backseat, trying not to let it bother you. You stared out the window, hoping something—anything—would distract you from the irritation building up. Then you spotted Seokmin jogging toward the car, his usual carefree grin plastered on his face.

That was a relief. Seokmin is fun so you’d probably be too busy laughing to even notice the two other people in front of you.

You moved to open the door for him, but he went straight to knock on Wonwoo’s window.

“What’s going on? I thought you said you were too tired to drive?” Seokmin called through the rolled-down window.

“Yeah, I was waiting for you,” Wonwoo replied, his voice light as he opened the door to step out.

You blinked in confusion as Seokmin slid into the driver’s seat, chatting animatedly. Wonwoo made his way to the back, where you sat still trying to piece together what just happened. When he reached for the door, you instinctively tugged it shut, surprising both of you.

“Oh, sorry,” you blurted, opening it again quickly, your cheeks flushing. Wonwoo raised an eyebrow but said nothing, just chuckled softly as he pulled the door open himself.

He settled next to you, draping an arm over the seat. “Where’s our blanket?” he asked, glancing around.

“Our—” you started, then caught yourself. “It’s… uh… there!”

You pointed toward the compartment near the gear shift. Wonwoo reached for it, undoing the fold and casually covering himself with it.

“Hey, I brought that for myself,” you protested, though there was no real heat behind your words.

“I’m cold. If you need it, you can scoot closer,” he teased, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smile.

“Don’t just hog it,” you complained, tugging the blanket but Wonwoo tutted, glaring at you playfully before scooting closer to you and covering you with the blanket.

Seokmin, who had been fiddling with the car’s controls, sighed dramatically, tilting his head toward you two. “I’ve never felt so single until now.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was undeniable. As the car finally started moving, you caught Claire’s icy stare in the rearview mirror.  She was not enjoying the ride at all, and you hadn’t even left the parking lot yet.

The ride back to the university had been a blur. After the initial chatter and laughter, the exhaustion from the hike finally caught up to you. You vaguely remembered the sound of Seokmin’s playful banter, Claire’s chipper voice fading in and out, and the muffled conversations that filled the car, but most of it was a fog.

By the time you woke up, the sun had dipped lower in the sky. You blinked groggily, your eyes taking a moment to adjust. It was then you realized your head was resting on Wonwoo’s arm, nestled comfortably against his shoulder. The scent of his hoodie filled your senses, and you stiffened slightly, unsure how long you’d been using him as your personal pillow.

You hesitated to move, not wanting to wake him if he had dozed off too, but then you felt him shift. His arm flexed slightly under your weight, and you quickly sat up, feeling your face grow warm as you straightened yourself.

“Sorry, was I heavy?” you started, voice still heavy with sleep.

Wonwoo turned his head toward you, a soft smile playing on his lips. “It’s fine. You looked tired.” His voice was calm, as if it was no big deal, and somehow that made you relax a little.

You glanced out the window to see familiar buildings coming into view. The car was already pulling into the university parking lot, the journey back seemingly much shorter than expected—probably because you’d slept through most of it.

Seokmin was the first to break the silence from the front seat, stretching dramatically as the car came to a stop. “Finally! I thought we’d be driving forever.”

Claire, who had been unusually quiet toward the end of the ride, turned in her seat to glance at you and Wonwoo with a tight smile. “Did you get enough sleep back there?” she asked, her tone sugary but edged.

You smiled politely, pretending not to notice the underlying tone of her question. “Yeah, I feel better now, thanks.”

Stepping out of the car, you pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders as the cool evening breeze hit you. Wonwoo came around the side of the car, his backpack slung over one shoulder and yours in his hand, his expression as calm and unreadable as always. You walked together in silence toward the dorms, the sounds of your friends’ voices fading behind you.

“I guess that’s the end of our little trip,” you said softly, breaking the quiet between you.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo replied, glancing over at you. “It was fun.”

You nodded, the memory of the hike and the car ride settling into something softer, quieter. You couldn’t recall every detail of the trip, but a few things stuck with you—the feeling of warmth each time he attended to you, the quiet closeness that had lingered in the space between you, and although it had been a silly joke, the kiss that you shared with him in the car.

At the dorm entrance, he paused, turning to you with a small flicker of worry on his face. “How’s your hand?”

“This? Oh, it’s totally fine,” you said, showing him your hand. “You took really good care of it.”

Wonwoo gave a slight nod, his lips curling into a faint smile.

He walked you all the way to your room, with your bag in his hand while you kept talking to him, asking him this and that like a curious toddler. 

“What are you doing today?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Probably working on an assignment.”

You raised a brow, pushing the conversation further. “And after that?”

“Gaming, maybe,” he replied with a small smirk, clearly entertained by your persistent questioning.

You tilted your head, pretending to think deeply. “Do you need help with the assignment?”

He gave a short laugh, shaking his head. “No, I’ve got it.”

As you reached the door to your room, you hesitated, glancing at him. The idea of letting the day end here felt anticlimactic, and you weren’t ready to let it slip away so easily. He stood there, still holding your bag, his usual calm expression giving nothing away. 

“Do you wanna come in for a bit?” you asked, glancing at him. 

He blinked, a little surprised. “Why?”

“So I can hang out with you more,” you answered honestly, flashing him a playful smile. “You can get started on that assignment and I promise not to bother you too much.”

His eyes flickered to the door, then back to you, his lips quirking into that small, barely-there smile he often wore. “Sure.”

You opened the door and stepped inside, the cool air from your room greeting you as you flicked on the lights. It wasn’t much—a cozy little dorm room with just enough space for a bed, desk, a single couch, a built-in closet, and a small shelf where you kept a stash of snacks.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you said, motioning to the small couch by the window. You placed your bag down and went over to the mini-fridge. “I’ve got some juice or water. Or… ah, here we go,” you smiled, pulling out a couple of sodas. “Would you like some?”

Wonwoo took a seat, casually stretching his long legs out in front of him, his gaze following you as you handed him a can. He accepted it with a nod, popping it open with a soft hiss. The sound filled the quiet room, making the moment feel more intimate somehow.

He opened his laptop and began working, but you couldn’t help glancing over at him every now and then. The subtle shift of his focus, the way his fingers moved over the keyboard—it was distracting in a way you weren’t expecting. You grabbed a bag of chips and sat on the floor next to the couch, close enough that your shoulder pressed slightly on his leg.

“Why are you on the floor?” he asked, reaching for the side of your head and rubbing his thumb through your hair.

“I don’t wanna eat on the bed,” you replied, leaning slightly in his touch. “I’m fine, you can keep working,” you added, pulling up an app on your phone.

You were content with the quiet—both of you immersed in your own different bubbles, but still feeling the warmth radiating from each other. You didn’t think you’d actually keep your promise to be quiet and let him work, but here you are.

“So, about the hike…” Wonwoo said after a while, leaning back into the cushions as he stretched out his fingers. “Did you enjoy it?”

You took a sip of your soda, trying to act nonchalant. “Yeah, it was nice. Different.”

“Different?”

“In a good way.” You smiled. “I didn’t expect to have that much fun either. Well, except for the part where I hurt myself,” you added with a playful grimace, showing him your bandaged hand again.

Wonwoo’s eyes softened as he glanced at your hand. “Just be careful next time.”

There was a pause. You could feel him watching you, and when you finally looked up to meet his gaze, there was something in his eyes that made you feel both nervous and confident at the same time. It felt like the perfect moment to say something, to push the boundary of whatever this tension was between you.

Wonwoo put his laptop away. “Come here,” he said, patting his lap.

You stood up almost immediately, placing your arm around his neck as you lowered yourself down on his toned thighs. Not many words were exchanged between you—you didn’t need to anyway, you both knew exactly what you wanted.

Wonwoo’s lips met yours in a soft, lingering touch, as if testing the waters. But after a second, a wave of heat surged through you, and you felt your entire body come alive. His lips were soft, warm, and tasted faintly of the soda he'd had earlier, and you couldn’t help but lean in closer, deepening the kiss.

He responded almost immediately, a low, quiet sound escaping him as his hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him. His fingers dug into your sides, not harshly, but enough to make your breath hitch. The room around you disappeared—there was no bed, no walls, no anything. Just the two of you lost in each other.

Your lips parted, allowing the kiss to deepen, and when his tongue swept across your lower lip, a shiver ran down your spine. It wasn’t just a kiss anymore. It was something more, something primal, and hot—very hot. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more of him, and he obliged, his lips moving against yours with more urgency, more need.

You gasped when his teeth grazed your lower lip, the sensation sending a shock of pleasure through your body, and your knees weakened. His arms tightened around you, holding you steady, as though he could sense how much you were melting into him.

When you pulled back, you were in awe, staring at him with your mouth hanging open. Wonwoo smiled a content smile—proud, even, as he traced the outline of your face with his thumb.

“Wow, that was so much better than what we did in the car,” you blurted before you could think about it. “I mean… heh. Not saying that one was bad, just, you know. This one is better.”

He chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer before reaching for his laptop. His focus reverted back to his work, which caught you off-guard since you were still sitting on his lap, with his hand supporting your back.

He’s not seriously going back to his assignment, is he? you pondered, a bit disappointed. But he did, pulling you closer slightly as he used his two hands to type.

You casually slid out of his lap, sitting your butt on the armrest, but he held your legs in place just as you were about to get off completely, so you just left it there. For the next hour, you sat there together, him working on his assignment, and you scrolling through your phone.

You were both silent—he’d always been quiet, but you? Your mouth may be quiet, but your mind is spiraling—overthinking, replaying, wondering, and projecting different scenarios in your head—all while celebrating another blissful kiss from Wonwoo.

In the days that followed, things between you and Wonwoo felt different— and unmistakably so. It wasn’t just the quiet, stolen glances anymore, or the playful teasing that came so naturally. There was a shift in the way you interacted, in the way he smiled more often, and in how he seemed more comfortable around you.

Before, it had always been you who initiated any kind of physical touch in public—holding his hand, a playful nudge, resting your head on his shoulder when you were tired. But now, it was him, too. Wonwoo would casually drape an arm across the back of your chair when you sat together in the library, or he'd give your shoulder a quick squeeze as you passed him by in the hallway. In private, he would hold your hand, or rest his hand on your thigh when you were out with friends. There was nothing over the top about it—just small, simple gestures—but the warmth of it lingered each time, leaving your heart racing a little faster.

One afternoon, you both sat in a quiet corner of a cafe, sipping iced coffee while you pretended to focus on your assignments. Wonwoo was clicking away on his laptop, his attention mostly on the screen, but every now and then, he’d look up, meet your gaze, and flash you that rare, quiet smile that made you melt just a little.

“You’ve been smiling a lot lately,” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him.

He didn’t look up, but his lips curved upward. “What? I always smile.”

“Not like this. You’ve been smiling because of me.”

Wonwoo finally met your gaze, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. “I smile for a lot of people.”

“Oh? Do you kiss a lot of people too?” you shot back, leaning forward and watching as a faint flush touched his ears.

He shook his head, still smiling but retreating behind his usual mask of aloofness. “That was a fluke. And I didn’t kiss you, you kissed me.”

You gasped dramatically. “You filthy little liar!”

He simply chuckled but didn’t argue further. Instead, he glanced over at your half-empty cup and nudged it toward you. “Finish your drink, or you’ll complain about all the ice melting away later.”

Your heart fluttered at the subtle care behind his words. Wonwoo wasn’t the type to outwardly fawn over anyone, but these little moments showed how much he paid attention. You wanted to impress him, so you drained your cup in one go, even though you were already full. He chuckled softly, giving you a look that said he saw right through you.

It wasn’t all just the proximity and teasing, though. You’d started noticing how you both went out of your way to take care of each other. You would save him snacks from lunch or remind him about deadlines, just wanting to show you cared. He, in turn, would grab an extra coffee for you in the mornings or walk you to class when it got dark, without making a big deal out of it. He was thoughtful, considerate—genuinely so.

Later that evening, you met up with him for dinner at a small restaurant near the campus, you greeted him with your usual chipper smile.

“Is that a scrunchie?” you asked, eyeing the yellow lace scrunchie around his pulse.

“Hmh?” He glanced at his wrist. “Oh. Yeah, it’s a backup.”

“Backup?”

“You keep losing yours when we go out. I got this for backup.”

“Aw. You’re so obsessed with me and I totally understand. I mean—” With flair, you flicked your hair out of your shoulder. “Just look at me.”

“Don’t push it,” he warned, taking the scrunchie from his wrist and handing it to you. “Fix your hair. I don’t want it in my soup.”

You took it with a teasing grin. “Thanks. You could have just gotten those plain black hair ties though. That way, I wouldn’t feel too bad for losing them.”

“I thought it would look good on you,” he mumbled but you heard him just fine.

Out of habit, you would’ve teased him—asked if he’s falling for you. But the way he looked away with the tiniest hint of shyness, the red tint on his ears, and the slight furrow of his brows—they all made your heart race. You needed not to ask, the fact was staring right back at you.

The thought of Wonwoo finally falling in love with you was daunting—terrifying in the best way. But you didn’t know how to navigate this phase.

You decided to keep things playful, like always. “Are you falling in love with me, Jeon Wonwoo?” you teased, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Wonwoo scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an air of practiced indifference. “I’m not falling in love with anyone,” he denied smoothly.

“Maybe not,” you shot back, a knowing grin curling your lips. “But you definitely like me.”

Just then, the server approached, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile. “Oh, to be young again,” she said, her gaze flitting between you two. “You two look adorable together. How long have you been dating?”

“We’re not dating,” you said automatically, flashing the woman a charming smile. “It’s just me. I like him a lot, and he’s… well, he’s just putting up with my antics.” You scrunched your nose for added effect, fully expecting the server to move on.

But the woman tilted her head thoughtfully. “Isn’t that what a couple is?” she said, her smile widening.

You blinked, taken aback by her question. “Sorry?”

“If you like him, and he puts up with all your silly antics,” she continued with a hearty laugh, “then you’re a couple.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the teasing atmosphere suddenly charged with a different kind of tension. You glanced at Wonwoo, half-expecting him to deny it too. But he just stared back at you, lips quirking into an amused smile, saying nothing. 

This wasn’t the first time someone mistook you for a couple. You’d lost count of how many times people asked things like, “When did you start seeing each other?” And every time, you laughed it off, always the first to deny it, brushing away the idea with a joke. Not because you didn’t want it to be true—but because you were scared of making Wonwoo uncomfortable, scared of pushing something he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. Wonwoo, however, never once denied it, though he never really confirmed it either.

“Have you decided on your order yet?” the woman asked, prompting your attention.

After dinner, you walked back to the campus, completely satisfied by the good food. You were clinging on Wonwoo’s arm, your head swaying from side to side as you hummed a song that you liked listening to these days.

“Why do you keep telling everyone we’re not a couple?” he asked out of nowhere, making you glance up at him in surprise.

“Because we’re not?” you replied, brow furrowed.

A smirk tugged at his lips, his gaze fixed straight ahead. “For someone who’s supposedly head over heels for me, you seem to hate it when people think we’re a couple.”

“I don’t hate it. I actually like it!” you defended, tightening your grip on his arm. “I’m denying it for your sake. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?” he echoed, glancing down at you.

You paused, biting your lip, trying to think of how to respond. “Because… I guess I just didn’t want to assume you were okay with it. I didn’t want to make it weird by pushing something you hadn’t even said you wanted.”

“Why would you go out of your way worrying about me when I don’t even make a big deal out of it?”

His tone was casual, almost indifferent, but there was something in the way he said it—something that made your heart skip. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. You couldn’t quite piece together what he was really getting at. It was confusing and you didn’t want to make your own conclusions.

Wonwoo let out a soft sigh, moving a step ahead of you, his hands slipping into his pockets as he walked on.

“Hey, wait up!” you called after him, jogging to catch up, completely unaware of the small, knowing smile that played on his lips.

BACK IN the present, Seungcheol scoffed and started clapping, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Wow.”

You frowned, confused. “What? Why are you clapping?”

He stopped, resting his hands on his thighs and giving you a sarcastic smile. “You were so dense, it’s embarrassing.”

“Hey! Whatever happened to just listening and not judging?”

You were in your dorm room again, the familiar comfort of your space wrapping around both of you. It had become routine—spending time here, where you could sit across from him or lie together in peaceful silence. Wonwoo, as usual, had his legs crossed, leaning on the backrest of the couch, looking more relaxed than ever as he talked about his plans for the future. 

It was the kind of conversation that you’d expect from Wonwoo. He had been so open about his future, talking about post-college job prospects and what he planned to do with his IT degree. You listened, intrigued by his calm and composed outlook.

“What about you?” he asked, catching you off-guard.

It was odd to be caught off-guard because of the way your conversation was going, it was expected of Wonwoo to ask about your plans too. At the time, it hadn’t sunk in yet, but you remembered that you were already a senior and would soon be graduating. It was a difficult question for you—a student who didn’t know what to do to launch the career she wanted to pursue.

“What do you wanna do?” he asked again, tilting his head in the way he did when he knew you weren’t paying attention.

You found yourself drifting, your gaze shifting from his eyes to his lips. It was a habit now, the way your eyes traced the curve of his mouth whenever he spoke—how his lips moved with each word, the subtle way they pressed together in thought. You barely registered the question he had just asked, lost in the subtle details of him.

“Hey?”

You blinked, your gaze snapping back to his eyes, but the words tumbled out before you could think. “I so badly want to kiss you right now.”

Wonwoo sighed, like he was almost bored, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. His non-reaction is only comical to you now.

You shrugged, already moving to stand up. “Never mind, then.”

You turned to leave but then came a sudden tug that had you sitting on Wonwoo’s lap, a brief glimpse of him swiftly taking his glasses off and tossing them aside before his lips crashed into yours—all in a span of two seconds. 

You were dumbfounded, but you immediately returned his kiss with the same amount of fervor.

“There. Happy?” he muttered, looking bored, though you weren’t fooled by his attempt to downplay what had just happened.

You blinked, still catching your breath. Slowly, you pouted as you reached out to fix the collar of his shirt. “I don’t really wanna talk about careers right now.”

“Okay,” he said, shrugging. “Then let’s talk about us.”

“Us?” you echoed, trying to sound casual, though your pulse had quickened.

He nodded, watching you with gentleness on his face that gave you butterfli. “Yeah. Us. Me, you, and what we want this relationship to be.”

The room felt still, his words hanging in the air between you. You couldn’t stop staring at him—at the way, his dark eyes softened as they traced your face, the way his lips parted ever so slightly as if there was something more he wanted to say but couldn’t bring himself to.

Your heart was pounding, your pulse echoing in your ears, and the proximity of him—so close, so inviting—was intoxicating. He looked at you with a quiet intensity, his gaze flickering down to your lips, and in that instant, something between you snapped.

Wonwoo grabbed your face and pressed his lips onto yours—softly, languidly, like he’d been deprived of it for so long that he wanted to savor every second of it. You quietly kissed him back, closing your eyes to immerse yourself. Every touch felt electric. The way his hands slid up your back, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. The way his lips moved with a rhythm that seemed to match the pounding of your heart. It was overwhelming—the intensity of it, the way you could feel his heart beating through his chest, how the heat was engulfing you from head to toe.

You pulled back for a moment, just enough to catch your breath, but your forehead stayed pressed against his. His breath was warm against your lips, and his eyes—half-lidded and dark with desire—locked onto yours. He didn’t say anything, but he looked at you like you were the only person in the world that mattered. You could still taste him on your lips, the memory of the kiss lingering, sending a thrill through you all over again.

“Kiss me like that again and I’m gonna take it as your confession of love,” you said, breaking the silence.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes and kissed you again with the same amount of sweet abandon. You gasped when he pulled away, utterly shocked.

“Is that… Is that your confession of love?”

“You’re impossible,” he sighed.

Before you could say anything else, his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in for another kiss. This time, it was deeper, hungrier. His lips molded against yours, his grip on you tightening as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. You moaned softly into his mouth, the sound swallowed by the kiss as he tilted his head, changing the angle to kiss you even harder.

You felt dizzy, lightheaded—completely consumed by him. His lips, his touch, his scent—all of it was too much, yet not enough at the same time. You wanted more of him, more of this.

Your hips bucked forward, slamming onto his crotch where you found out that he too was being spurred further into the pit of desire. The contact made Wonwoo grunt, nipping your lower lip and wrapping strong arms around your waist. 

Breathless, you pulled away, staring into his eyes and wondering if this was actually happening. Wonwoo lifted you by your thighs and moved from the couch to the bed in a heartbeat. There, he carefully laid you down, running gentle fingers through your hair.

“Wonwoo…” you whispered, unsure of what you were going to say, but needing to break the silence.

He pressed a thumb on your lip, shushing your softly before kissing you again. This time, he abandoned your lips too quickly, moving his kisses down to your jaw and up to your earlobe. The tickling sensation spread through your nerves, intensified by his hand slipping under your shirt to palm your breast. You moaned out, arching toward his touch as your way of asking for more.

Wonwoo’s lips left your ear, trailing to your neck down to your collarbone. His hands were busy with the buttons of your shirt, all while you were angling your neck to give him better access of your skin.

He pulled back once he was done with the buttons, marveling at the sight of your body, and letting out a sharp exhale before lifting the hem of his shirt and tossing it across the room.

“I can do a lot more without those,” he rasped, gesturing at your underwear and you hurriedly took them off.

While you were fiddling with the hook of your bra, Wonwoo dived down to kiss your belly, sucking with an intensity that you knew would leave tiny bruises on your skin. He was moving upwards, grabbing a boob as he peppered his path with kisses and then taking his mouth to meet your nipple. As if by his design, he sucked your nipple and pressed his fingers on your sex at the same time.

The moan you let out was throaty, spurred on by the ministrations of his mouth and his fingers. He rubbed tentative circles on your cunt, trying to find your clit based on your reactions. When he did find it, your mouth parted open as you took a sharp intake of breath, and the confidence on Wonwoo’s face made you want him even more than you already did.

“Oh, I see,” he grinned, licking a stripe on your neck. “That’s the spot, isn’t it?”

You bit your lower lip, trying not to lose your mind with just this. “Since when were you so arroga—agh!”

“Shh, you’re distracting me,” he said after pushing a finger in your cunt that had you gasping. He watched you writhe underneath him, going absolutely feral with just a finger. When he pushed another one inside, you were close to crying, whimpering, and clenching around his fingers.

“Wonwoo please…” you whined, forehead creased and lips downturned—desperate, needy. “Inside, baby. Please.”

“Come on. Say it properly. I can’t give you what you want unless you speak to me clearly.”

You threw your head back and sobbed before meeting his gaze again to say, “Fuck me, Wonwoo. I need you to fuck me really really good.”

Wonwoo groaned softly, clenching his jaw as he pulled his fingers out of your pussy. He shimmied out of his sweatpants and positioned himself between your legs, watching you with half-lidded eyes.

You watched in anticipation as he licked his fingers and used them to palm his erection. As he did, your breath hitched, chest heaving up and down as you waited patiently for him to do what he came to do. He lowered himself, placing his hands beside your head as he prodded your entrance with his cock. 

Finally, you let out a guttural moan as he pushed inside you with one messy stroke. The nerves all over your body were rejoicing, feeling both relief and a delightful pain as your cunt stretched exquisitely.

“Damn, look at you,” he drawled, leaning lower to give your open mouth a sloppy kiss. “I didn’t know you could get any prettier. If I did, I would have done this a long time ago.”

“Move, Wonwoo,” you managed to rasp out, not even trying to hide the desperation in your voice. “Please, move. Please, please, please, please!”

He did as you asked, moving languidly as he practiced the clench. That didn’t take long. In no time, he was rocking inside you over and over in a rhythm that made you lose your mind. You writhed and whimpered, urging Wonwoo to keep going.

When it looked like you couldn’t take any more, he paused for a bit, squeezing your skin as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. Then he lifted your leg over his shoulder and rammed deeply into you, grunting at how tightly you clung onto his manhood.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pausing to take a break. You reached to wipe the sweat forming on his forehead and saw the expression on his face—something between pained and delighted. “We’re not done yet,” he said, hovering over you and ravishing your neck before picking up where he left off.

You kept at it, moving in sync with each other, getting lost in a blur of passion and desire. Your mind was clouded, thinking about nothing except satisfaction and release. You rose to meet his thrust, clawing at his back as you desperately chased a high that was almost within reach.

“Oh, Wonwoo,” you cried out, eyes rolling back just before the pulsating release engulfed you with euphoria.

“Damn it,” Wonwoo murmured, his thrusts becoming sloppy and unsteady as he chased his own climax, driven further into a high by your blissed-out face.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, staring at the ceiling with nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing to break the silence. You turned on your side, moving toward him and resting your head on his arm. His hands found a spot on your waist, thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles on your skin.

“Is this the part where I ask if I could be your boyfriend?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You giggled. “We’re way past that now. But I’d say ‘yes’ just for the sake of it.”

“But I don’t believe in love. Is that okay?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s okay.”

“It’s overrated.”

“Yes, you’ve told me that,” you replied, chuckling lightly.

He turned on his side so he could face you, his eyes gleaming with affection and fondness. Those eyes were directed at you. “I’m not good at this. And I don’t know what to call this, but I know I can’t stand the idea of not being yours.”

You kissed his cheek. “It’s fine, Wonwoo. If you want me like I want you, it doesn’t matter what we call it.”

“Okay, baby,” he grinned, pushing your hair out of your shoulder. He brushed his thumb over the skin of your neck, staring intently at it. “I may or may not have left some…” he trailed off. “...marks.”

You gasped, sitting up with a jolt and hitting his chest. “Jeon Wonwoo!”

Wonwoo simply grinned, propping himself on his elbow as he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“The girls are gonna see that and know that we had sex!”

He shrugged. “They’ll probably just say something like, ‘About damn time’, you know?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re annoying,” you said, standing up at once and heading for the bathroom. Wonwoo followed behind you, draping an arm around your shoulder and then kissing the side of your head.

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again,” he said, chuckling lightly.

“No, do it again,” you said sheepishly, looking away. “Just… not where people can see it.”

You peeked at Wonwoo’s face and saw him sporting a massive grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

From the start of your official relationship, things shifted dramatically. Wonwoo was completely different from his usual aloof self. He’d be all over you—holding your hand, lying on your lap, hugging you from behind, anything as long as he was attached to you. He’d hold your hand even when the two of you were quietly reading books—a habit he eventually picked up from you after your constant attempts to get him to read an actual physical book made of paper.

Your dorm room, as always, was the prime spot for these intimate moments. He’d lazily wrap his arms around you, leaning in to steal kisses when you least expected it. The guy who once seemed indifferent now craved your touch.

When hanging out with friends, it was no different. Wonwoo would always reach for you without looking because he knew you’d always be within his reach. He would casually intertwine his fingers with yours, or simply place a hand on your thigh. It was so second nature that he did it once to Hoshi by mistake, his hand absentmindedly landing on Hoshi’s knee while he played a game. Hoshi, immediately recognizing his chance to mess with him, leaned his head on Wonwoo’s shoulder, pretending to cuddle closer.

Still blissfully unaware, Wonwoo absentmindedly reached up and cupped Hoshi's cheek, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb.

“Man, I didn’t realize you were this clingy,” Hoshi teased, leaning into the warmth.

Wonwoo blinked, his brain catching up, and when the realization hit, he let out a horrified gasp, retracting his hand so quickly it was like he'd been burned. “Hoshi, what the—!” he stammered, scooting away from him as far as possible.

Across the room, you were in stitches laughing with the rest of your friends, watching the whole thing unfold.

“Babe,” Wonwoo called out to you, almost desperately, making a beeline toward where you sat. The sudden, affectionate tone in his voice had everyone cringing.

“I could never get used to this,” Jun said, shaking his head with exaggerated disbelief

“I hate it when they call each other that,” Seokmin added with a mock grimace. “Like, okay, you’re not single and lonely. We get it.”

Wonwoo pouted as he made his way to you, wrapping his arms around you like a child seeking comfort. “I missed you,” he mumbled dramatically into your shoulder, sending another wave of exaggerated groans through your friends.

You playfully tapped his forehead. “I’m like five steps away.”

“That’s five steps too far,” he said, all mock seriousness, burying his face into the crook of your neck while the others looked away in mock disgust.

Moments like this had become common now, where he let little things slip that showed just how much he cared. Yet, he still clung to his old habit of feigning indifference, as though denying his feelings made it easier to hide how deeply he’d fallen for you. But it was all in good fun, and you found it adorable when he would switch back to his aloof, “too cool” personality just to see you smile.

Despite the teasing, you liked this new side of him. It felt good knowing Wonwoo was willing to show both you and your friends a part of himself that not everyone got to see. Your relationship had leveled up, and it was evident not just in the way he acted but in the ease you felt together now

“Can we go back to when the only simp in this friend group was her?” Jill asked, pointing at you. “Wonwoo’s giving me the creeps.”

Feigning offense, you placed your hands on your hips and said, “Wow, okay. Sue me for being drop-dead gorgeous and having a boyfriend who’s head-over-heels with me. Whatever.”

“Don’t listen to them, babe. Jealous friends are fake friends,” said Wonwoo, covering your ears and kissing the side of your head.

“He was perfect. The best boyfriend one could ever ask for, except for the part where he didn’t believe in love. Actually, that didn’t even matter in the long run because he was still such a great guy,” you recounted, sighing contently as you gazed at the horizon, the warm colors of the sunset painting the sky. “I had never met anyone like him again. I don’t think I will.”

Next to you, Seungcheol furrowed his brows slightly, the confusion evident on his face. “If he was so perfect—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” you interjected, turning to him with your palm raised. “There was no ‘if.’ Wonwoo is perfect.”

“No, hear me out,” he insisted, grabbing your hand and gently putting it down. “If he was so perfect, why did you break up?”

You retracted your hand and glared at him, pretending to be offended. “It is, what it is.”

“What does that mean in this context?”

“It means, we were just not for each other,” you said, shrugging in acceptance. “He was lovely and perfect, and all that. But—You know, I read somewhere that we were all created in pairs, and that we were put in this Earth to be with that one person—our pair.”

“Polyamorous people are not gonna like it when they hear that,” he shot back, a teasing grin on his face.

You tutted, shaking your head. “Listen!” Narrowing your eyes at him, he mimed zipping his lips, letting you continue. “As much as I wanted Wonwoo, we weren’t the perfect match.”

“Okay, I get it,” he replied, nodding thoughtfully. “So how did it end?”

You let out a heavy sigh then flattened your lips together in a tight smile. “I don’t know if you noticed, but the whole time I was telling the story, I never once mentioned anything about us fighting.”

Seungcheol’s face lit up in realization.

“That’s because we’ve never had a fight. Not even once,” you added. And somehow, that was everything.

How did it end?

It wasn’t anything grand, much like how you got together in the first place. Wonwoo continued to be a great boyfriend, one you could always boast about. Your friends were envious of such a perfect relationship—one where your man was obsessed with you and adored you to death, not to mention good-looking and smart. He was a catch.

Wonwoo had a quiet patience that made it easy to handle your boundless energy. When you’d burst into a room excited, full of chatter, he would always listen with a soft smile, never overwhelmed by your liveliness. He didn’t need to match your enthusiasm; his calm presence was enough.

And you understood him just as well. You knew when he was getting tired, even when he tried to hide it behind his usual stoic demeanor. Like when he’d sit a little closer than usual or his fingers would linger on your arm. That’s when you’d ease up, toning things down without him needing to say a word. You were attuned to his subtle cues, a silent understanding between the two of you that others rarely noticed.

But Wonwoo wasn’t just passive; he knew how to take care of you, too. When your stress bubbled over, he’d pull you into his arms, resting his chin on top of your head, whispering words of comfort so softly they barely broke the silence. You’d feel the tension melt away in those moments, reassured just by being close to him.

“I hate dental checkups,” you complained, slumping on Wonwoo’s bed the moment you entered their dorm room. 

You had just arrived from a dentist appointment and had to have your teeth cleaned as a regular procedure. Wonwoo sat in front of his computer, eyes fixed on the game he was playing, but he was listening to you.

“Was it bad?” he asked, fingers moving rapidly on the keys and eyes darting left and right as he focused on the screen before him.

“It was! I forgot it was time for a cleaning procedure, so I went there totally unprepared. I didn’t get to meditate and mentally prepare myself for the torture. It was awful,” you grumbled, burying your face in the sheets.

“Come here,” he called, glancing only briefly at you.

You walked towards him with a slouched back, sitting on his lap and burying your face in his neck.

“It can’t be helped, it’s not like you can just neglect your teeth. You did a great job back there,” he murmured, his voice gentle and comforting. “I hate dentist appointments too.”

You lifted your head and peeked at his face. “Right? It’s the worst.”

He hummed. “I can’t even last two minutes on that table without gagging. It’s a nightmare.”

“Really?” you asked, surprised to learn something new about him. “You know, I don’t have a gag reflex.”

Wonwoo cocked an eyebrow, finally meeting your gaze just as the unmistakable sound of ‘Victory’ echoed from his headphones. “Really now? Should we put that mouth to use then?”

You gasped, covering your mouth dramatically at how incredibly attractive he sounded. The atmosphere shifted, a sultry heat igniting the air between you.

“What? You didn’t tell me that just to brag about it, did you?” he teased, his lips curling into a smirk.

At this point, you were sure your panties were already on the floor. “Jeon Wonwoo, you hot specimen of a man,” you said, lunging at him with an urgent kiss.

Your relationship was not only built on mutual respect and adoration but also on an undeniable passion. As your lips met, you could feel that familiar spark, igniting something deep within you.

And despite his usual laid-back attitude, Wonwoo would go along with your plans. You’d drag him to social gatherings with friends, where he might seem indifferent, but you knew better. His hand always found yours under the table, and though he stayed quiet, the squeeze of his fingers let you know he was happy to be there—just because you were.

Even when you coaxed him to take breaks from gaming or studying, he’d give you that knowing look, letting you win every time. “Alright,” he’d say with a sigh, but the way he let you guide him outside for fresh air told you he enjoyed the break more than he’d ever admit.

Yet, as you basked in these moments, a thought nagged at you, echoing in the back of your mind. You turned to Wonwoo, breathtakingly handsome in the golden light of the sunset. 

“Babe,” you began, “did you know we never had a fight yet? Not even about the smallest things.”

His brow furrowed slightly, realizing the truth in your question. Then he looked at you curiously. “I didn’t realize. Isn’t that a good thing?”

You pondered his response. “I think it is, but it’s weird, isn’t it? Why don’t we fight? Couples fight all the time. Look at Hosh and Mina.”

Wonwoo shrugged, taking a bite out of his churro. “Maybe because we don’t let small things get in the way of our relationship?”

“Hmmh. We understand each other so well, don’t we?” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t know why, but somehow, I can’t help but think that maybe it’s too easy. Like we never challenge each other or have those deep conversations.”

“We have deep conversations all the time.”

“You’re right, but not because of a fight,” you stated in a matter-of-factly tone.

Wonwoo frowned, and you could sense the wheels turning in his mind. Then he hummed, and said, “It does make you wonder if we’re really communicating or just avoiding issues.”

What he said struck a chord with you. Days turned into weeks, and the questions loomed larger with each passing moment. You began to notice the cracks beneath the surface of your perfect relationship. The playful teasing became tinged with seriousness, and the easy laughter felt strained at times.

You pondered over the conversations with Mina and your other friends about love and relationships, and it began to dawn on you: What if what you have was limiting your growth instead of nurturing it? What if you had mistaken stagnation and decay for safety and comfort?

One evening, you and Wonwoo sat in your dorm room, the atmosphere cozy as you both worked on separate assignments. He was focused on his computer, while you scribbled notes on a notepad. You glanced at him, the familiar sight of his concentrated expression making your heart flutter. It was in these moments that you felt most at peace. And then came the thought that you couldn’t seem to shake: How could something so good not be enough?

“Hey,” you said, breaking the silence. Wonwoo looked up, his brow furrowing slightly. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us.”

He tilted his head, taking in your every word. “What’s on your mind?”

“Remember when we talked about how we’ve never fought at all?” you began, fidgeting with your pen.

Wonwoo hummed, nodding.

“Well, I couldn’t stop thinking about it and…” you paused to sigh, biting your lower lip to prevent the words from spilling out of your mouth. You knew it had to be said, that it was necessary to see if you should continue moving forward or move on with your lives.

Wonwoo reached for your face, wiping away a tear that you didn’t realize had rolled down your cheek. “I know. You don’t have to say it.”

Your lips turned downward, trying your best to hold back your tears. “But isn’t that avoiding the issue too?”

He chuckled lightly, pulling you toward him in a tight embrace. “It is but, isn't it better than saying things that will only hurt each other’s feelings?”

“What do you mean?” you asked, nuzzling against his chest.

Wonwoo was patting your back in a slow, soothing rhythm, calming your nerves and helping keep your tears at bay. “I know what you’re thinking, baby. I’ve been thinking about it too. And it’s okay, it can’t be helped. Maybe it’s for the best too.”

You exhaled sharply before letting yourself sob in his shirt, tears rolling down your face like a sudden downpour. Wonwoo tightened his hug, shushing you gently as he rubbed your back, muttering soft ‘it’s okay’s in your ear.

“I don’t wanna lose you,” you admitted, your voice cracking.

“Me neither,” he said softly, pressing a kiss on your head. “But I think we need to face the reality of our futures. Our paths are set to diverge anyway, even if we try to change it. It might be for the best if we part ways now, while we still have these great, happy memories of each other.”

You pulled away from his embrace, looking up at him with your tear-stained face. The thought of never laughing together again weighed heavily in your heart, but there was also a flicker of understanding that this was the right choice.

“Remember when we were in that seminar, and you asked me if I liked you?” you chuckled through your tears, the memory bringing a smile to your lips.

Wonwoo laughed, a soft sound that felt like a warm hug. “How could I forget? That was when I started falling for you.”

“Really?” you asked, eyes widening at his revelation. Wonwoo rolled his eyes as if he regretted telling you that. “No, but seriously?”

“Yes, yes,” he gave in. “You were so confident then. So straightforward and honest. I may have experienced having my heart skip a beat for the first time.”

“No way!” you giggled, snuggling into him. “Why were you pretending to be so nonchalant for a long time?”

“I kinda liked having you chase me around,” he admitted sheepishly. “Why? What were you gonna say about that day?”

You pulled back, sitting up. “Oh, I wanted to ask if you were gonna tell me to leave you alone that day before the professor came in and I cut you off.”

He scoffed, feigning indifference. “Well, I guess you know the answer to that now.”

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his torso while you looked up at him. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he replied in a heartbeat. “Love was worth a try with you.”

“I’m gonna remember you forever.”

“That’s quite a big promise, but okay. I’ll take you up on that.”

And you spent the rest of your college days in each other's embrace, dreading the inevitable but also accepting the reality of your future. Jeon Wonwoo was a breath of fresh air, the warmth of the early morning sun, a prelude to a beautiful song, and a sweet memory of your youth that would stay with you forever.

[fin]

[saythenametotheworld]

Backburner | k.mg (18+)

There is a rule of thumb for casual relationships: do not fall in love with the other. Yet with Mingyu, it felt easier to watch the world burn than to stop yourself from falling for him.

one | two | three | four | five

Genre: friends with benefits, smut Pairing: Kim Mingyu x afab!Reader Warnings: angst, explicit content (18+) Notes: 21k words. Part 2 of the Heartbreak Hotel series, but can be read as a standalone fic. Listening to Backburner by NIKI. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know them personally and do not claim they would ever behave irl like they were portrayed in this story.

Playlist: Backburner by NIKI, Say Don't Go by Taylor Swift, Another You (Another Way) by Against the Current Taglist: @scoupsjin @iarayara @gaslysainz @silvermist002 @ssmebody @katfaceu

It was midnight, and what was usually a quiet evening was shattered by the persistent ringing of your phone—tucked inside the drawer of your nightstand. You shifted on the bed, lying on your back to stare at the ceiling, your ringtone still playing and making the nightstand buzz faintly.

“You gotta be kidding me,” you muttered, groaning as you moved to grab your phone. The backlight made your eyes sting. Squinting at the words on the screen, you immediately recognized the caller ID: ‘R18+++’ 

One week of nothing and here he comes, calling you in the middle of the night. The audacity.

You shouldn't pick up. You were mad at him after all. But what if he had something important to say? Even if he didn't, would it really hurt if you pick up?

Are you seriously justifying your desire to talk to him?

“Hello?” you answered, against your better judgment (or not).

“Hi…” said Mingyu from the other line, his voice more dragged out than usual. Deeper. Lonelier. “Did I wake you?”

He did. “No. Not at all.”

He hummed on the other side. “Can't sleep? What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing important,” you sighed, sinking deeper into your soft pillow. “What’s up with you?”

“Me? I'm just working on this paper,” he replied. You could hear him groaning as if he was stretching his limbs. “This course is kicking my ass.”

“Professor Jung?” you asked, remembering how he often complained about the same professor.

“Yeah. He’s the worst,” he chuckled but there was no humor in it. “I’ve been staring at this screen all night, trying to make sense of it. You know when you read the same line over and over, and it still doesn’t click?”

You hummed in acknowledgment, shifting on your bed. “Sounds like every assignment I’ve ever done.”

He let out another laugh, soft and hollow. “Right? This one’s on some theoretical nonsense. I keep typing, hoping something’s gonna make sense eventually, but it’s like... whatever. I’ll probably just wing it.”

You could hear the faint tapping of keys on his end as if he was still half-distracted by the work in front of him. But something felt off, and somehow, you knew exactly what it was. He didn’t really want to talk about the homework, he was just stalling. The words were just filler—something to pass the time, to keep the conversation going.

“Maybe I’ll just email the professor and tell him the dog swallowed my homework. Think he’d buy that?” Mingyu joked and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Probably not,” you replied with a soft smile of your own, but your mind was elsewhere now, sensing the heaviness behind his casual complaints.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he chuckled followed by a soft groan and the sound of him falling back on his bed.

Another pause settled between you, and this time you didn’t wait for him to fill it with more empty chatter. “Wanna come over?” you asked instead, and he was quiet for a moment.

“Well… yeah, I’d love to. I mean…” he paused and then chuckled. “If it’s alright.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course, it was alright. You’d always taken it in stride when he ghosted you and returned like nothing happened. Sometimes you wonder if he was genuinely oblivious or pretending not to know. “Sure. You know where I’ll be.”

After hanging up, you let the phone slip from your hand, staring at the ceiling. You weren’t supposed to do this. Mingyu was someone you should’ve been keeping at arm’s length, a complication you couldn’t afford. The smart thing would’ve been to ignore his call. But you didn’t. No matter how much you tried to keep your distance, you would always find yourself waltzing back to him. 

You thought about how easy it would be to send a quick message, tell him not to come, maybe even block his number if you really wanted to make a clean break. You should. A single text, a few words, and it would all be over. Your fingers hovered over the screen, but you didn’t type anything.

Then the knock came and you abandoned all protests, tossing them aside as easily as you tossed your phone back into the drawer. You didn’t hesitate as you crossed the room, your hand already reaching for the doorknob.

When you opened the door, there he was—tall, tousled hair, a lopsided smile, as if he wasn’t entirely sure you’d actually let him in.

“Hey,” Mingyu said softly, standing in the doorway like he’d been there dozens of times before—he had.

“Hi,” you replied, your heartbeat picking up pace, louder now that he was here, standing in front of you.

Without another word, he stepped inside, scooping you up by the waist like it was a habit, crashing his lips into yours. For a split second, your mind screamed at you to stop, to push him away, but your body wouldn’t listen. 

You kissed him back, letting yourself sink into the feeling. His hands moved to your back, pulling you even closer, and any remaining hesitation crumbled as the tension between you both sparked to life.

He was completely unaware and lost in the moment, and you let him be because pretending felt easier than confronting the truth. It felt easier to let him kiss you like this, to let him believe everything between you was simple—as if you weren’t standing on the edge of something much bigger.

Mingyu pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with a grin. “Is Mina here?” His voice was teasing and light.

“You wouldn’t be here if she is,” you replied, breathless, your words barely forming as you watched him tug his sweater off, the urgency in his movements sending a fresh wave of heat through you.

For a moment, you stood there, watching as his sweater hit the floor, your heart racing against your better judgment. Here you go, again. You could stop it right here—send him home, tell him you don’t want to see him again even if that was a lie. Again, you didn’t. You reached for him, pulling him back toward you, his lips meeting yours with a kind of hunger that made you forget everything else.

The door clicked shut behind him, and with it, any resolve you thought you had.

“Wait, hold up. Let me just—” You made a rolling gesture with your fingers, trying to gather your thoughts. “—roll it back a bit. I think I went straight to the intense part.”

Seungcheol’s calm demeanor didn’t budge. He leaned back. “Didn’t feel intense to me.”

“Yeah, well…” You shifted in your seat. “I should’ve started by telling you how we met, right? Or how we even ended up in… this kind of arrangement.”

He nodded. “Context would help.”

You paused to sip your water. “Okay, so… I first met Mingyu in freshman year. Second semester, to be exact. We had one class together—gen-ed history. I was late the first day.” You smirked, remembering how rushed you’d been, with your shoes squeaking against the floor as you slipped into the back row, your heart pounding from running across campus.

The only available seat was next to Mingyu. You didn’t notice him at first because the odd silence of the lecture hall was the first to catch your attention.

You tugged his sleeve. “Hey, sorry to bother you.” You told him your name. “I just came in. Did I miss something important? I feel like I did.”

He glanced at you, brows slightly raised. He looked half amused, half confused. “I’m Kim Mingyu. And… yeah, you missed something. Professor gave us five minutes to pray for the diagnostic test.”

“Pray?” you’d repeated, your disbelief clear and your eyes wide as you stifled a laugh. “How hard could a gen-ed diagnostic exam be?”

Very hard. 

You cringed at the memory of that test and how you didn’t know the answers to most of it. Mingyu was grinning beside you, walking in easy strides. “Still think you didn’t need those five minutes to pray?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no bite to it. “Alright, fine. I’m humbled. But you don’t have to be so smug about it.”

He chuckled, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I’m just teasing. Anyway, don’t worry about it. The test won’t affect your grades or anything.”

Before you could respond, another classmate who overheard had stopped to join your conversation. “Actually, it does count. It goes straight into your record.”

Mingyu snorted, clearly doubting it. “No way. It’s just a pre-assessment.”

“The professor said so herself. You probably didn’t hear because you left too soon.” She looked at you with a sympathetic smile. “But hey, I bombed it too, so… you’re not alone.”

You felt a strange sense of closeness with her, but mostly, you were trying to process what that meant for your grades. “Great,” you muttered, but you weren’t sure if you were saying it sarcastically or just in defeat.

“I’m Mina, by the way,” she said, offering her hand for a shake.

“Nice to meet you,” you chimed, shaking her hand and telling her your name.

“See you around!”

When Mina walked away, you expected Mingyu to say something mocking, but instead, he just laughed lightly. “Guess I should’ve prayed too.”

Over the next few weeks, Mingyu became someone you interacted with only during class. You’d sit near each other by default, mainly because the two of you were often seated at the back—him because he was tall, and you because you were chronically late. You exchanged hushed jokes when the professor wasn’t looking and sometimes teamed up when group discussions were required. But outside that lecture hall, you led entirely separate lives.

In the hallways, you’d pass by each other every now and then. He’d nod or smile—never stopping, just giving a brief acknowledgment as you walked in opposite directions. Sometimes, you’d give him a quick wave, or he’d send you a lazy salute with his fingers.

During class breaks, when the professor let everyone stretch their legs for a few minutes, you’d talk. Mingyu liked to complain about how boring the lectures were, though his grumbling always seemed exaggerated, more for humor than actual frustration.

“Think I might pass out,” he groaned one time, letting his head drop to the desk dramatically. “I don’t know how anyone stays awake for this.”

“You’d stay awake if you actually took notes,” you had teased back, scribbling in your notebook as you spoke.

“Ah, but see, that’s what friends are for,” he’d replied. “You can lend me yours later.”

“One large IVL, a slice of cheesecake, and it's yours,” you'd retorted.

“Okay, that's expensive.”

“Nothing is free in this world, brother.”

Mingyu had laughed at the time and then flashed you a toothy grin. “That's a clever way of asking me out.”

You grimaced, looking him up and down like you were disgusted by the idea. “Yeah, no. That’s a level of delusion I can’t afford to enable,” you said, shaking your head.

When class ended, he went his way, and you went yours. He wasn’t someone who crossed your mind outside of that classroom, and you suspected it was the same for him. Mingyu wasn’t a constant presence in your life, just a classmate who made lectures slightly more tolerable.

For a while, that was all he was, someone you could share small moments of boredom with during class, passed with lazy smiles and half-hearted complaints. That is, until the night of your first off-campus party for the semester.

The music was pulsating around you, louder than it needed to be, vibrating through the floor and into your chest. You were seated at the edge of the crowded party, with a half-empty cup of something strong in your hand, and watching as your ex-boyfriend paraded his new girlfriend around. Every touch between them felt like a jab. You couldn’t care less about him, not really. But watching him be all giggly and touchy with her after he’d cheated on you with her, no less—yeah, that was annoying.

You took another sip of your drink, trying to keep your irritation in check. It didn’t help that they were standing close enough that you could hear snippets of their conversation—his low, stupid laugh and her breathy giggles.

“Someone’s pissed.”

The voice came from beside you, startling you out of your thoughts. You turned and found Mingyu standing there with a half-smile, hands tucked in his hoodie pockets as he glanced over at your ex and his new girlfriend.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, though your sarcasm was clear.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, amused. “Come on. I’ve seen you shoot daggers at them from across the room.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and staring into your cup. “I’m not pissed. Just... annoyed.”

His eyes flicked over to the couple again, then back to you. “I get it. Ex-boyfriend?”

You hesitated but nodded. “Yeah. Not that it matters. We broke up.” You bit your lip before adding, “But he cheated on me with her. So, you know... watching them be all gross together isn’t exactly fun.”

Mingyu winced in sympathy. “That’s rough. Sounds like he’s not worth the headspace, though.”

“He’s not,” you said quickly, and you meant it. “But it’s still annoying.”

He snorted. “I don’t blame you. If it makes you feel any better, they look like a bad reality show couple.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Yeah, they kinda do.”

Mingyu shrugged, leaning a little closer, his voice dropping. “If it’s bugging you that much, want me to help you take your mind off it? We can head somewhere else, or... just stay here and make fun of them quietly. Your call.”

You hesitated, glancing at your ex one more time, then back at Mingyu. The idea of staying here, stewing in the background while they flaunted their new relationship, made your stomach turn. Leaving may be the better option.

“Actually,” you said, standing up and finishing the last of your drink, “let’s get out of here. This party’s boring anyway.”

Mingyu’s eyebrows shot up, clearly surprised but pleased. “Alright. Lead the way.”

The two of you slipped out of the crowded party and into the quieter night. The noise faded behind you as you stepped outside, into the cool air, which was a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of the party. You hadn’t really thought about where you were going, just that you needed to leave.

“Any place in mind?” Mingyu asked, falling into step beside you, hands still casually tucked into his pockets.

You scoffed. “I don’t know. This was your idea.”

He shrugged, glancing at the sky briefly before turning back to you. “We could walk a bit. Sober up.”

“I barely drank.”

Mingyu nodded. “Okay, fair. If you want, I’ve got some soju and beer at my place. Not much, but it’s better than whatever was in that cup you were drinking.”

You glanced at him. There was no pressure in his tone, no hidden motive; it just sounded like a harmless suggestion. Still, something about the idea of going to his place made your heart beat a little faster.

“Exactly how many ulterior motives do you have right now?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him in mock suspicion.

A grin spread across his face. “For now, zero,” he replied, showing a zero with his fingers.

“For now?” You rolled your eyes. “Better keep it at zero, then.”

Mingyu winced with a mock-hurt expression. “Do I have to make promises too? Man, this is a lot of work.”

“Kim Mingyu!”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, raising his hands. “Come on. It’s this way.”

The walk to Mingyu’s apartment wasn’t long, and the conversation between you was comfortable. He was funny, as always. By the time you reached his door, your cheeks were red and slightly hurting with how much you were laughing.

His place was a studio apartment, small and cozy with a few mismatched pieces of furniture. It was tidy, except for the couch, which was covered in a pile of unfolded laundry.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered, laughing awkwardly. “I forgot about that. Let me just—”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind at all,” you said, waving your hand dismissively.

“Nah, there’s nowhere else to sit,” he insisted, kicking off his shoes and quickly tidying the couch.

While he put his clothes into a basket, you took a moment to look around. The tidiness of his home was unexpected. You rarely judge people’s living spaces but it was surprising for a man to be this clean. Then again, that was just the stereotype speaking.

Mingyu grabbed two beers from the fridge, tossing you one as you settled onto the now-cleared couch.

You raised an eyebrow, inspecting the can. “I was promised some soju.”

He chuckled, opening his own drink. “Well, you told me to keep my motives in check, so soju is out of the table.”

“You’re so boring.”

As expected, conversations with Mingyu were always fun. You talked about class, made fun of the test you’d failed, and joked about the people at the party. But somewhere between the laughter and the quiet moments, the atmosphere began to shift. By and by, the space between you became a little smaller, and the eye contact got a little longer.

At some point, Mingyu’s arm stretched across the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against your shoulder. You didn’t move away. Instead, you leaned into him slightly, feeling the warmth radiating from him.

“You should go,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blinked, momentarily confused, but regained your composure fast enough to scoot away from him. “Wow, okay. There's no need to shoo me away. I'll go,” you muttered, unable to hide the disappointment in your voice.

You stood up instantly, reaching for your jacket, but he grabbed your wrist before you could walk away.

“No, that's not—I mean...” he paused, sighing as he looked at your annoyed expression. “I’m sorry. Come sit. Don’t go.”

You didn’t answer; instead, you swatted his hand away and put on your jacket. Mingyu stood up, taking your hand and squeezing it.

“Please.”

You were exasperated, not because he told you to leave, but because he started this. One moment, he was tugging you close; the next, he was shooing you away. “What’s wrong with you?”

There was a glint of hesitation on his face. “Can I be honest?”

You retracted your hand and crossed your arms over your chest. Then you raised an eyebrow, urging him to speak.

Mingyu leaned back slightly, his expression shifting to something more serious. “I have at least six ulterior motives.”

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Six?”

“Do you want to find out?” he asked back, but it didn’t seem like a question to know how curious you were. Somehow, it sounded as if he was asking for permission.

You held his gaze, not moving an inch as he walked slowly toward you. Time seemed to slow as you considered his question.

And when he was finally standing close enough that you could feel his breath on your face, you murmured, “Yes.”

Before you could think about what would come next, his hand slipped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The tension that had been building all night finally found its release as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a tentative kiss.

You kissed him back, slowly at first, but it didn’t take long before the hesitation melted away. You knew where this was going—but whether it was just the alcohol, the moment, or something more that drove you to do this, you didn't know. For now, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way Mingyu’s lips felt against yours, and the desire building between you as you let yourself get lost in the moment.

Your fingers drummed rhythmically on the table, eyeing Seungcheol as if trying to gauge his thoughts. His head was tilted slightly, thinking about your question: ‘What do you think happened next?’

“You became friends with benefits,” he said with certainty.

Your fingers stopped abruptly. “Really? You didn’t think we’d started dating after that?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Did you?”

“No,” you replied sheepishly. “But you seemed so sure that we were gonna be friends with benefits. I'm a little offended.”

He shrugged. “It didn’t seem like your connection was building up to a romantic relationship just yet.”

You scowled, confused. “What do you mean? You didn’t think our connection was romantic?”

“Not at all. You were just friends. There was nothing that hinted at any romance until the night you went to his flat.”

“Fair enough.”

Seungcheol nodded, not smiling but he seemed pleased with himself. “So, what happened next?”

What happened next? You and Mingyu became friends with benefits; that’s what happened. Despite that arrangement, Mingyu made it hard to draw a clear line between what was casual and what wasn’t.

At university, nothing changed. You were still just classmates, maybe not even that close. You’d smile at each other in passing, maybe sit near each other in a lecture like usual, but that was it. To anyone else, you were barely acquaintances. But behind closed doors, it was different—passionate, fervent, and surreally euphoric.

Soon after that first night, you moved your rendezvous to your place. Your apartment was bigger than Mingyu’s tiny studio, with enough space for both of you to comfortably exist, though most of the time you didn’t bother with space. Whenever he came over, it didn’t take long for his hands to find you or for you to pull him in. There was something magnetic between you, like a spark that kept reigniting no matter how many times you tried to cool it down.

The passion was always there, and you were always eager to touch each other. Sometimes, you wouldn’t even make it to the bed—his lips on yours, your hands tugging at his shirt, and before you knew it, you’d be tangled in each other, the sheets forgotten. Other times, when the heat had subsided, you’d lie there talking about anything and everything.

It was odd, in a way, how effortless it felt when you were alone together. You could laugh, joke, and even sit in silence without any discomfort. Yet, in public, it was like nothing existed between you. Mingyu never brought it up, and neither did you. It was easier that way. You weren’t together, after all, just two people who couldn’t get enough of each other when no one was watching.

Sometimes, the heat was so consuming, that it blurred the lines between passion and affection. And yet, after the fire died down, there was always this: Mingyu, showing up with bread that you loved, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“You’re here already?” you asked, surprised to see Mingyu standing in your living room as soon as you came through the door, browsing your bookshelf like he had all the time in the world.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greeted, flashing a smile and carefully returning a small ceramic bear to its place.

“How did you get here so fast? You texted me like five minutes ago,” you said, dropping your bag on the sofa as you walked toward him. 

“I was nearby,” he replied, wrapping his arms around your waist. His lips met yours in a soft kiss, the familiar spark flickering between you again. When he pulled away, he said, “I picked up some bread on my way here.”

“Is it the same ones you brought last time?” You couldn’t hide your excitement, reaching for the bakery bag on the coffee table.

He nodded, looking pleased with himself. “Yep, that’s the one.”

You sat in the living room that afternoon, talking over warm cups of chocolate and bread. You barely paid attention to the football game on the TV, giggling and pawing at each other, feeling cozy despite the cold weather outside.

At some point, Mingyu’s hands moved to squeeze your shoulders, and you sighed in contentment. “Thanks, I needed this,” you murmured, closing your eyes as his skilled fingers worked through the tension on your muscles. It was one of Mingyu’s many skills: massage.

He leaned closer, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. “We should take this inside.”

You opened one eye, pretending not to understand. “Take what inside?”

Mingyu chuckled, his lips curving against your skin. “Well, if you want to do it here, that’s fine too, but we should probably turn off the TV. I don’t feel comfortable having my idols watch,” he replied, making you turn to face him.

“Your idols?”

Mingyu shrugged and then nodded towards the TV where the football game was still on. Scoffing, you grabbed a throw pillow and hit him with it. You both laughed about it for a while, but eventually decided to lock yourselves in your bedroom.

Later that night, you stirred awake, the glow of a laptop screen pulling you from sleep. Blinking, you realized Mingyu was no longer beside you. He was sitting on the floor, his back resting against the bed, fingers tapping rapidly on the keys.

Reaching out, you squeezed his shoulder. “What are you doing?” you asked, your voice thick with sleep.

Mingyu paused, turning slightly to kiss your knuckles. “Go back to sleep, baby. I just need to finish this.”

“Can’t it wait till morning?” you mumbled, burying your face in the pillow.

He shifted closer, wrapping an arm around you. With a soft shush, he ran his fingers through your hair. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ll be done soon.”

You sighed, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed your forehead. At that moment, it seemed so normal, so typical of him. But you didn’t realize at the time—it was a sign that Mingyu had trouble sleeping through the night.

Mingyu had a way of making you feel seen in the little things he did—thoughtful acts that slipped under the radar until you realized just how much attention he paid. One time during class, he came over holding a tiny ceramic bear, almost shy as he handed it to you.

“What’s this?” you asked, turning the figurine over in your hands.

“I noticed that your bear family didn’t have a dad, so,” he said with a small grin, watching as your eyes lit up in recognition. 

It was such a simple thing, but the fact that he remembered your collection, that he’d thought of you left you feeling touched.

“Aw, thank you,” you gushed, genuinely delighted.

“It’s a grizzly, not a polar bear. Is that okay?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s perfect,” you giggled. “He’ll have to take up the responsibility of taking care of kids who aren’t his though.”

Mingyu shrugged, though there was satisfaction in his expression. “He’ll be a good stepdad to them. I can vouch.”

“You barely know the guy,” you laughed, playing along.

It wasn’t just gifts. Mingyu had a habit of taking care of the little things in your life without you even asking. Like the time the lightbulb in your bathroom had gone out. You didn’t mention it to him, but the next time he came over, he had a replacement bulb in his bag. 

“Didn’t realize you were an electrician now,” you joked as he stood on a chair, screwing in the new bulb.

He laughed. “Just figured you’d forget to buy one.”

“I wasn’t going to forget,” you protested, even though he was right. “But… thanks.”

It was like that often with him—effortless, natural, and so domestic, one would argue you weren't just casual.

“Alright, let’s see,” he said, stepping down from the chair and reaching for the switch to test if it worked. When it did, he let out a satisfied hum. “There you go. Good as new.”

“How much for your labor, good sir?” you quipped, wiping away the tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

The grin Mingyu gave you was menacing, shamelessly checking you out in your tank top and shorts. “I’ll have you know I do not accept monetary fees.”

You knew what he meant and he made it especially clear when he casually pressed his palm on your left boob. You just scoffed and swatted his hand away. “I see you work pro bono. Thanks a lot.”

In the kitchen, he would cook dinner while you sat on the counter. You found it amusing that the wok he used was something he had brought from his own flat. It has been in your kitchen for a while now. Today, he brought his own kitchen knife.

“You might as well move in at this rate,” you teased after he warned you to be careful with his sharp knife. “What’s next? A drawer for your clothes?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You know, what? That's a good idea. Is there space in your closet?”

“No, but I should probably make some space since you’re here almost every day,” you snickered. “You should bring your own toothbrush too.”

“Ah, that reminds me.” He moved toward you, placing a kiss on your cheek as he rummaged through the paper bag resting on your lap. From there, he fished out two toothbrushes, holding them for you to see. “Look. They came in pairs.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I use an electric toothbrush, you know.”

“Then keep it as a backup,” he shrugged, still grinning. “Or don't. It’s not a big deal.”

You’d joked at first, but eventually, you started using the toothbrush he brought. It felt like a small connection, something that tied him a little more closely to you, even if neither of you talked about it.

And he remembered everything. When you ordered food, he always knew exactly what you wanted without asking. “Chicken katsu with extra sauce,” he’d say, already placing the order.

He’d put on music that matched your mood perfectly, like the songs you loved but never had to mention. Even the book you had been reading—he remembered the title and asked if you’d finished it yet.

Those little moments kept piling up, making it harder to separate the physical nature of your relationship from the real deal. Every time he remembered, every time he took care of something small, you wondered if maybe this wasn’t just friends with benefits after all.

But then there were moments of uncertainty that made you question how much you really knew about him. Sometimes, in quiet moments, he would zone out, lost in his thoughts. You vividly remember one evening when you were curled up together on the couch, a movie playing softly in the background. You had been laughing at the antics on-screen, leaning into him, when you glanced over and found him staring blankly at the flickering light of the television.

When he slept over, you’d sometimes wake up to find him staring at the ceiling. His face was relaxed, but there was a tension in the way his jaw was set, a hint of a furrow in his brow. You reached out to touch his face, hoping to draw him back into the intimacy you cherished.

“Mingyu?” you'd whispered.  He’d blinked, as if waking from a dream, and he turned to you then. For a brief moment, you saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes before he masked it with a smile. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking,” he replied, his voice trailing off. You could see it in his eyes—something was weighing heavily on him, a thought he was wrestling with that he didn’t want to share.

“About what?” you prodded, trying to gouge something out—anything that he’s willing to share. He shifted slightly as if the question made him uncomfortable.

“Just stuff. Don’t worry about it,” he said, a noncommittal answer that only left you more curious. He pulled you closer in a warm embrace. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

The way he shrugged it off felt like a wall going up between you, and for a moment, the warmth of his embrace dissipated. You didn’t push further; you never wanted to pressure him. Instead, you closed your eyes, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

You wanted to know, to understand what made him so distant at times, but every time you tried to get closer, he would slip away like sand through your fingers. You had asked about it in passing, and while he always deflected your inquiries with a joke or a change of subject, it left you wondering if there was more to his silence. You didn’t want to overthink it; after all, it didn’t happen often. Or so you told yourself, hoping that with time, he would open up.

But instead of that, Mingyu disappeared, leaving behind an emptiness that echoed in the spaces where he once filled your days with warmth and laughter.

“Are you keeping up?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow at Seungcheol, who seemed to be quite slow at processing what you’d just told him.

“Yeah, of course. Though I’m not gonna lie. I’m a little lost,” he admitted. “Where did he go?”

You smirked, standing up at once. “I’m gonna need a drink for this.”

Seungcheol’s understood. “By all means.”

Mingyu’s disappearance wasn’t sudden or unexpected; there were signs you hadn’t recognized until he was gone. It began with him replying late to your messages, then not replying at all. You’d see him in class, and when you approached, he didn’t avoid you outright but dodged your questions and made excuses to avoid conversation. Eventually, he started sitting on the opposite side of the lecture hall, far from you and even missed a handful of classes.

You were upset, not just because he chose to stop seeing you but because he didn’t give you any warning. You had been easing into it, getting used to the idea of something more. But when he left so abruptly, you felt foolish.

Still, you had to come to terms with the fact that there was no commitment between you—what you shared was temporary, and he was free to walk away just as you were. It didn’t change the fact that his action was a total jerk move. He could've told you he was done instead of ghosting you.

“It’s okay. We were just fooling around anyway,” you told yourself after almost two weeks of silence. You forced a smile at your reflection in the mirror. “That’s right. You’ll be fine.”

You tried to push Mingyu out of your mind, diving into a busy social life—going out with friends and meeting new people. At one party, you were in the midst of flirting with a cute guy when you spotted Mingyu across the room. A wave of warmth washed over you at the sight of him, but you played it cool, pretending to be engrossed in your conversation. 

“So, are you always at Jinwoo’s party?” you asked, trying to sound charming but feeling more like a dork.

“Only when there’s free food,” he replied, a little too eagerly.

You forced a laugh, trying to play along. “Well, they do have snacks... and drinks.”

He leaned in closer. “You know, I’m really into snacks. Like, I could talk about snacks all night.”

Your stomach turned slightly at the sudden wave of ick. You couldn’t tell if he was serious, or just saying it to be funny. What the hell does that even mean?

You caught a glimpse of Mingyu from the corner of your eye, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching the exchange with an amused expression. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you realized how embarrassing this was—Mingyu was listening, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him hearing you flounder like this.

“Right, snacks. That’s... cool.” You shot him a tight smile, glancing around the room in a bid to escape. “Speaking of snacks, I’m gonna go get me some more. Excuse me,” you smiled and slipped away from the guy, Mingyu’s gaze following you as you headed outside.

“Wow, that was awful,” Mingyu said, appearing beside you just as you stepped into the cool air.

“You,” you spat, glaring at him.

“Hello to you too,” he replied, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms. “What’s your opinion on people eavesdropping on other’s conversations instead of minding their own business?”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” he teased, though the grin on his face suggested otherwise. “I can’t help it if you guys were loud enough for me to hear, can I?”

“That doesn’t change the fact that it’s none of your business,” you replied smartly, looking away with a frown.

Mingyu’s laugh was deep, the kind that made your stomach twist in a way that was all too familiar. “Alright. I’m sorry. How about hanging out with me so you need not deal with all those lame guys?”

“Pretty sure you’re much much lamer,” you scoffed. 

He called your name softly, a teasing smile playing on his lips but his eyes were more serious than before. You failed to ignore the way your heart began to race. “Lighten up. I missed you, you know.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Do you now?”

“I did.” Mingyu’s gaze flickered to your lips for a split second before he grinned again. “I missed you so much, I thought I’d go nuts.”

The confession caught you off guard but your annoyance was stronger. You scoffed, struggling to hold back and trying not to just go ahead and smack him. “Then you shouldn’t have ghosted me like that.”

His smile faltered slightly. The air between you shifted again, the playful banter fading into something heavier. Mingyu didn’t respond right away, and the silence just made you fume.

After a long pause, he finally nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry about that.”

You smirked, looking away and fixing your gaze into nothing. He should be sorry; it’s only right to be. But the fact remained: you were not in the kind of relationship where you could hold him hostage for something he was allowed to do. Yet here you were, feeling more hurt than you were allowed to be.

You let the silence hang between you, and it went on for a while before it was broken by the sound of people clambering out of the main door, their drunken laughter echoing in the cool night air.

“Wanna get out of here?” Mingyu finally asked, breaking the spell.

“Took you long enough to ask,” you replied, striding toward the street with him following closely behind.

As you were passing by the parking lot crammed with cars, Mingyu suddenly grabbed your hand. “Let's not walk to your apartment. That’s like a mile-long hike.”

“What?” you asked, confused but still allowing him to lead you toward a black SUV.

He opened the passenger door and gestured for you to get in. While he rounded the car to the driver’s side, you glanced around the unfamiliar interior, a fleeting thought crossing your mind that maybe this wasn’t his car. But as soon as he slid into the seat and turned the key in the ignition, you relaxed a little.

“Please tell me this is yours and you didn’t just steal it.”

Mingyu chuckled, his smile easing some of your lingering unease. “Why would you think that?”

“Because last time I checked, you didn’t have a car,” you replied, watching him navigate the vehicle out of the parking lot.

“Oh, this is my dad’s. He’s letting me borrow it while I’m staying with them.”

You blinked, surprised. That was the first time Mingyu had mentioned his family or anything about his life outside of university. Naturally, curiosity sparked in you.

“You're staying with your family?” you asked, hoping to finally get some insight into where he’d disappeared to.

“Yeah, only temporarily,” he said casually, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

“Why?”

He hesitated, fingers tightening on the steering wheel for just a second before he shrugged. “Just some stuff came up. Nothing major.”

There was something vague about his response, and you could sense the conversation wasn’t going to go any deeper. He’d always been good at deflecting when it came to his personal life.

You nodded, accepting the explanation without pressing further, even though the curiosity still lingered in the back of your mind. It was frustrating, but at the same time, you’d gotten used to the fact that Mingyu shared only what he wanted, and nothing more. Maybe it was just his way of keeping distance—emotional distance, that is.

When you arrived at your apartment, you barely had time to take a breath before Mingyu’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you into him. It was like being caged, but in a way that made you feel safe and wanted. You couldn’t explain how much you had missed this—missed him. His warmth, his touch, the way his presence alone seemed to fill the space around you.

As you moved together from the living room to the bedroom, it felt inevitable, like gravity pulling you into his orbit once again. You knew you were letting yourself fall, diving headfirst into the abyss of passion and enigma that was Kim Mingyu. And yet, even knowing that, you didn’t stop yourself.

You couldn’t.

“You missed me, didn’t you?” he whispered as he took your breast in his mouth.

Yes, you wanted to scream out, but all that ever left your mouth was a lewd moan. And when he heard that, he slid a hand under your dress, moving down to your hips and slipping inside your lace panties. He caressed your sex slowly, and then urgently in circling motions while his kisses trailed up from your breast to your neck, nipping at the supple skin before they found your lips.

Your hands had a mind of their own, greedily removing his jacket, and then running your fingers on the firm muscles and warm skin underneath. Desire clouded your brain, wrapping your arms around his neck in fear that your trembling legs would collapse under you.

“Lie down, baby,” he rasped in your ear, pushing you gently towards the bed.

You let yourself fall on the mattress, bouncing slightly. You watched as he undid his belt and kicked off his jeans before moving to undress you. You saw how he ogled your body with those dark, lustful eyes before he hovered over you and traced the outline of your face with his fingers.

“Do you have any idea how amazing you are?” he whispered. He slid a finger into your mouth and you sucked it, making him exhale sharply and dive in to kiss you feverishly.

You were almost breathless with desire, your skin prickling with anticipation of what was about to happen—of what Mingyu was about to do. You could feel him against your thigh, hot and hard, so you spread your legs open to welcome him.

And then with one push, he was filling you—the stretch giving you the most exquisite kind of pain. His body pressed against you as he thrust in and out in a rhythm that sent ripples of pleasure through every single nerve in your body.

And all of a sudden, he stopped, leaving you momentarily confused. He stood up and said, “Come here.” 

Without a word, you obliged, walking toward him in haste. He then spun you around so you were facing the full-length mirror in the corner of your room. “Take a good look at yourself.”

You saw your own reflection: messy hair, flushed cheeks, and your lips swollen from kissing. You could see him there, too, standing behind you with fire in his eyes. You watched as he reached for your breast, while his other hand cupped your sex, collecting the slick in his hand before bringing it to his tongue.

You gasped at the delicious visual, and seeing your reaction made Mingyu grin. Without warning, he pushed you back on the bed, lifted you by the waist so your ass was sticking out. Then he pressed your face on the mattress before you felt a sharp, delightful pain on your asscheek where his palm met your skin.

“Oh, Mingyu!” you cried out.

He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “That’s not loud enough, baby.” Then came another slap on the same spot.

“Mingyu, please!” you begged, actively losing your mind, needing nothing but to feel him inside you again.

Mingyu obliged, happily so, pushing himself inside and making you whimper most obscenely.

“Fuck,” he grunted. His fingers dug hard into your hips as he thrust deeply. Your hand held onto the sheets, pleasure so intense that you couldn’t think anymore—you couldn’t even see your own naked, sweaty self in the mirror in front of you. But you could hear the sound of bodies slamming into each other again and again, and a breathless moan that must have been coming from your own throat.

You could hear yourself begging for more, telling him to keep going until a familiar, dizzying high engulfed you from head to toe. You shivered, knees almost giving out, but Mingyu held you tighter, keeping you upright.

It didn't take long before his guttural moan echoed in the room, driving himself deeper into you and staying there for a good minute. Then he released your waist, and your legs felt so weak you could barely hold yourself up. So you collapsed on the bed, followed by Mingyu, panting beside you with a satisfied look on his face. 

“How was that?” he said smugly, knowing damn well how wonderful he made you feel.

You just laughed, snuggling into him as you put off washing up for a few more minutes. The heated passion gave way to intimacy as you both settled into bed. You didn't even notice until now that it had been raining outside; raindrops tapping against the window filled the silence.

“Are you cold?” he asked, pulling the blanket over both of you.

“Yeah, but you're warm enough,” you replied, snuggling closer.

For a while, you chatted lazily about random things—music, classes, friends—until you finally gathered the courage to ask, “What happened to you? Where’ve you been?”

“I’m really sorry. I got busy with school and stuff at home,” Mingyu replied. But you could sense that he was unwilling to properly talk about it, as always. “Did you miss me?” he added, trying to keep it light.

You had missed him. A lot. But you weren’t about to admit that. “Barely. Didn’t even notice you were gone.”

Mingyu chuckled, clearly not buying it. “Is that why you were out there flirting with every cute guy you meet?”

You raised an eyebrow, grinning. “You seem to know an awful lot about me. One might think you’re interested or something.”

He laughed softly, the kind of laugh that made your stomach flutter. “You’ll find that I am, in fact, very interested,” he said with conviction. And suddenly, the air between you shifted again, filled with tension—desire mingling with uncertainty.

“Say,” Mingyu began, his voice lowering as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you want to be exclusive?”

Your heart raced at the word. “Exclusive…? Like—”

“Like not sleeping with other people,” he clarified, though that wasn’t quite the question you were about to ask.

You were about to ask if he meant dating. Thank God you didn’t.

“Oh…” you trailed off, unsure how to respond. “Why?”

Mingyu shrugged. “No reason. It’s okay if you don’t want to. You’re free to do whatever you want. But… it’d be nice, don’t you think?”

There was no reason to say no. The truth was, you’d stopped considering other guys the moment this thing with Mingyu began. Still, his offer made your heart race—both giddy and nervous. But there was no way you’d let him see that.

“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem like a fair deal,” you quipped, hiding behind banter.

Mingyu narrowed his eyes at you, curious. “Wait, what does that mean?”

You shrugged again, refusing to elaborate, though it didn’t really mean anything.

“Hold on—what?” He sat up, feigning shock, and flexed his biceps dramatically. “You don’t think this is a fair deal?”

“Where?” you teased, squinting at his arms like you couldn’t see them.

Mingyu grinned and started flexing even harder, pointing out specific muscles on display. He even made a few poses highlighting his abs. “You seriously don’t see this? Look closely and tell me this isn’t a fair deal.”

You giggled, extending your leg to touch his torso with your toes. Grinning, he grabbed your foot and pulled you toward him. The sudden tug made you squeal.

“Come on, baby, take it back.” He leaned down, hovering over you, his grin playful and toothy. “Take it back while I’m still being nice.”

“I didn’t ask you to be nice,” you taunted, your coy smile daring him.

Mingyu chuckled low in his throat. “You’re extra beautiful when you’re naughty, did you know that?”

“No idea,” you replied, grinning as he leaned in, capturing your lips again. When his hand cupped your boob, you pulled away from the kiss and pushed him off. “No. I'm worn out,” you groaned, melting into the bed.

“Fine,” he sighed in defeat, falling next to you. Quietly, he settled behind you, wrapping an arm around your torso and sliding his other arm under your head. “Get some rest.”

He didn't say much after that, but there was a warmth in the way he pulled you closer, an unconscious act of intimacy that made your chest tighten.

It hit you then—how much you’d come to crave moments like this, not just the passion, but the feeling of being with him, of having him there with you in the silence. You’d never felt this way before, not even with past relationships, and the realization made your heart ache a little. You were falling for him, had already fallen for him.

It had been a long week. Between schoolwork, dealing with your chaotic schedule, and pretending like everything with Mingyu was still as casual as it used to be, you were exhausted. The tension gnawed at you—this thing between you two was starting to feel like more than it should. It wasn’t something you were ready to acknowledge yet, but it lingered in the back of your mind.

You walked into your apartment after a particularly grueling day, half-expecting the silence to greet you. When you walked into the kitchen for water, you found a small plastic bag filled with food on the table. Next to it was a ceramic panda bear, about half the size of your palm.

You blinked, trying to process it. It wasn’t there this morning. Mingyu must’ve stopped by.

You walked over to the counter, looking at the items. Inside the bag were a couple of your favorite snacks—the kind you liked to nibble on when you were too tired to cook. There was no note, but the panda felt like something only he would give you. It was cute in an oddly sentimental way, like he knew you’d smile at it.

You heard a knock at the door and quickly set the bear back on the counter, then ran to open the door, fully expecting to see Mingyu.

And Mingyu it was. “Hey,” he said, flashing you that familiar, easygoing grin.

“Hey,” you replied, smiling back. “Did you stop by earlier? Or do I have a creepy psychopathic stalker who’s obsessed with me and thinks it’s romantic to leave food for me at home while I’m away?”

Mingyu laughed heartily. “What are you gonna do if the creepy psychopathic stalker was me?”

“I’m calling the police,” you told him, closing the door to his face. He didn’t stop you, nor did he knock for about thirty seconds after you closed the door so you opened it again. “Come on in, then.”

“I was in the area so I thought I’d drop by and surprise you but you weren’t home,” he explained, kicking his shoes off at the foyer.

“Snacks and a panda?” you asked, raising an eyebrow but smiling. “That’s quite a combination.”

Mingyu shrugged, a soft laugh escaping him. “I saw it in this shop near campus. And I figured if it was you, you wouldn’t leave it alone in that shop.”

“I don’t go around adopting every bear figurine I see, Mingyu,” you snorted, picking up the panda again.

“Maybe, but since he’s already here, you should have it up there with your little bear family,” he beamed, taking the panda from your hand and placing it up on the shelf with the rest of your bear collections. “She can be their Chinese aunt.”

“Because she’s from China?” you asked and saw him nod his head. You both laughed. “I’m sure they appreciate you making their family bigger.”

“Thanks for saying that,” he smiled, not the mischievous kind of smile that he usually sported, but a sincere one—as if he was touched by your statement. “I’m glad I could make them happy,” he added, staring at the bear family.

You stared at him for a moment, something warm and unfamiliar swelling in your chest. You could only hope he’d open up to you and let you into his world. That way, you could love him properly.

“Thanks,” you said softly. “It’s cute.”

“Yeah?” he asked, turning his gaze back at you. “You’re cute.”

You rolled your eyes, though your heart skipped a beat. “Shut up.”

Mingyu chuckled, leaning against the wall, watching you with an unreadable expression. It was like he wanted to say something but was holding back. You were holding back too, both of you toeing the line of something you could not bring up.

“I’ll make you dinner,” you offered, trying to fill the silence.

“You don’t have to,” Mingyu replied, but you were already walking toward the kitchen, grateful for the distraction.

The rest of the evening was spent with each other’s company, sitting together on the sofa with your head resting on his chest as he absentmindedly stroked your hair. The silence wasn’t awkward or strained; if anything, it was soothing, the kind of peace that made you feel safe and whole.

Mingyu shifted slightly, one hand holding your shoulder as he reached for his phone on the coffee table. You glanced up at him, watching as the light from the screen cast soft shadows across his face.

You’d memorized every detail of how he looked by now—the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, that playful smirk he always wore. But tonight, something about him felt different. His dark hair, slightly disheveled, framed his forehead just the right way, and you couldn’t help but think of how soft it looked—how smooth it felt the mornings you ran your fingers through it when he was half-asleep. He had always looked good, but right now, with his face relaxed in the glow of the phone, he seemed almost unreal.

You’d thought he was handsome the day you met him, but now, now that you’d spent nights tracing every inch of him, mornings laughing at how messy his hair could get, and afternoons like this where he seemed so unaware of how much space he took up in your thoughts... it hit you all over again. He wasn’t just good-looking. He was beautiful in a way that made you ache a little, like your mind couldn’t fully comprehend that someone like him was sitting here with you.

“Ah, I almost forgot.” His voice broke through your reverie, a gentle reminder that this wasn’t some dream you’d conjured up. He really was here. “Hell week starts tomorrow. Are you ready?”

Hell week, AKA midterms exam week.

You pressed your lips together in a tight line, suddenly reminded of the real world outside this little bubble. “I’ve gone through all my notes, but I’m not sure,” you muttered, the conversation feeling trivial compared to what was really on your mind. You weren’t thinking about exams. You were thinking about how, with him beside you like this, nothing else seemed to matter.

“We could pray,” he snickered. “For our grades.”

You rolled your eyes. “As if you have to. You’re gonna ace everything and graduate with flying colors.”

Mingyu chuckled. “We’re freshmen—ages away from graduation.”

“Yes, but if you continue at your current pace, you’d really graduate with high distinction.”

He hummed and then kissed your forehead. “You think too highly of me. I like it more when you used to call me a himbo. Less pressure.”

Without thinking, you let out a soft sigh, turning to look at him. Really look at him. His focus had shifted back to his phone, his long fingers casually scrolling through whatever app he was on, but there was a subtle tension in his jaw, like maybe he was thinking about something.

“Let’s go to bed. I’m tired,” you said, nuzzling into his shirt.

Mingyu sighed, pulling you closer as he placed his phone down. “Sorry. I have to go home tonight.”

“Oh.” You didn’t mean for it to sound so disappointed, but it slipped out anyway.

Mingyu rubbed the back of his neck, clearly sensing the shift in your mood. “I just have to help out at home tonight. My parents…” He trailed off, leaving the explanation half-formed, and you didn’t press him for more.

“It's fine, really,” you said, forcing a small smile. “You don’t have to explain.”

There was an awkward pause before he kissed the top of your head again, his voice soft. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” You sat up as he rose from the couch, the warm space he left behind feeling a little colder already.

Mingyu grabbed his jacket from the chair, glancing at you with a small, apologetic smile. “I’ll text you.”

You nodded, watching as he left, and once the door clicked shut behind him, the silence of the room felt a little too loud.

“He’s just busy with exams,” you told yourself, sitting in your living room with your elbows propped on your knees, chin in your hands. You stared at the bears on the bookshelf, speaking to them as though they could somehow offer an answer. “Or maybe he had stuff to take care of at home.”

It had been four days, and you hadn’t heard from Mingyu. He texted after he left your apartment like he said he would, but after that—nothing. The last thing he mentioned was that he was spending time with his father. But then, radio silence.

“He should at least check in on me, right?” you muttered, leaning back into the sofa. “It’s been four days.”

Just as you were spiraling further into your thoughts, your phone buzzed in your hand, making you sit back up with a jolt. Your heart raced at the thought of Mingyu finally texting you, but your excitement died down as quickly as it came. It was just Mina.

Mina: otw to pick u up. U ready?

“Oh, shit,” you cursed, bolting upright. You scrambled to your bedroom, throwing on the first outfit you could find that was semi-decent for a party.

You spent the next five minutes getting ready, knowing Mina lived nearby and would be here in less than ten minutes. By the time you heard the knock on your door, you were almost done with your makeup, except for the lipstick that you decided you’d do in the car.

“Coming!” you called out, rushing to slip on your shoes as you headed for the door. But when you flung the door open, it wasn’t Mina standing outside your door.

It was Mingyu, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, wearing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Hi.”

“Mingyu!” you exclaimed, gripping the doorknob to resist the urge to leap into his arms. “What are you doing here?” 

 “I thought I’d drop by. Is now a bad time?”

“No! I mean, yes—kinda! I’m going to Hoshi’s party,” you rambled.

Mingyu nodded, a flicker of realization crossing his face. “Ah! I was supposed to go there too. Should we go together?”

“My friends are already on their way to pick me up,” you said quickly, wincing. “Come inside for a bit.”

You pulled him in by the sleeve, shutting the door before Mina could catch you in this whirlwind of confusion. Mingyu was here—after four days of nothing—and suddenly, all those unspoken thoughts came rushing back. Why hadn’t he reached out? What was going on?

“You said you’re supposed to go to the party?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Yeah,” he answered, walking closer and resting his forehead on your shoulder. His sigh was long, deep, and heavy. Much heavier than you expected.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, placing a gentle hand on his back.

“Yeah, it’s just… I’ve been exhausted these days,” he confessed, sighing again. He wrapped his arms around your waist. “Let’s just stay like this for a while.”

And you did. You let him stay there, gently stroking his back in hopes that it would bring him comfort from whatever it was that was weighing down on him.

In that silence, your mind raced. You wanted to ask what was wrong, but something in his demeanor urged you to hold back. Instead, you focused on the rhythm of his breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest. He needed this comfort, and for now, it felt like enough to be there for him. You didn’t move, not even when you heard the first series of knocks on your door. You just stood there, giving Mingyu the warmest hug you could offer.

When the second series of knocks came, followed by Mina’s voice calling out your name, Mingyu pulled away. “Is that your ride?”

“Yeah,” you replied softly, almost in a whisper. “It's Mina and the others.”

He smiled at you, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear, lingering for a moment—thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw. “I’ll see you there, then.” 

“Alright,” you whispered, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. “I’ll go first, okay? You can stay for as long as you need.”

“Thanks,” he said, kissing your lips softly.

In the car with your friends, your mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Mingyu. Is he okay? What happened? Why did he seem upset and sad? Where was he these past few days?

“Where’s Mingyu these days?” Mina asked, tugging on your elbow to get your attention. “You guys are close, right?”

“Huh?” you asked, surprised by the question. What you have with Mingyu wasn’t a secret, but you didn’t openly tell other people about it. Whenever someone noticed that you seemed close, you always told them that you were friends. And in a way, you were.

Mina tilted her head slightly, confused. “Was I wrong? I thought you two got along.”

“Oh, yeah. We’re friends.”

Mina said, “I haven’t seen him around campus in a while. Is he okay?”

“I think he’s fine, yes. Why’d you ask?” you replied.

“Well, something happened a few days ago,” Mina said, hesitating. She turned to Jill, your other friend, who was driving. “Jill, tell her what happened.”

You met Jill’s gaze in the mirror briefly. “Lea and I saw him getting slapped outside the campus.”

Your heart ached. “What? When? Who hit him?”

“It was probably his mom,” said Lea, glancing at you from the shotgun. “She looked like it, and Mingyu got in her car after. Luckily, there weren’t many people there, and I think only a few noticed. But he seemed really upset at the time.”

You leaned on the backrest of your seat, crossing your arms over your chest as you wondered about Mingyu. Is he having problems at home? Is that why he was upset?

“You seem shocked. You must be close,” Mina said, probing.

“Not really, but he's a friend. Of course, I’m shocked,” you lied through gritted teeth.

When you reached the party, you were stuck with your friends for a while, playing a round of drinking games with other people. When that was over, and you’d managed to slip away unnoticed, you searched the crowd for Mingyu and spotted him nearby, talking to a group of friends, his usual easy smile lighting up his face.

You smiled too, watching him. It was almost effortless with him, how he could make everyone around him feel comfortable. You’d noticed it before—Mingyu was always the life of the party wherever he went. 

But then you remembered what your friends told you, and the smile faltered from your lips. How much pain was he hiding behind those sweet smiles? Were they fake the whole time? Or were they real, and was he only able to smile this much outside his home? What was going on with his life? With him? At this point, the most fitting question would be, ‘Who is he really?’

You were about to join him when you noticed someone approach him—some girl you hadn’t seen before. She was tall, pretty, with perfectly styled hair and an outfit that screamed confidence. She touched Mingyu’s arm lightly, leaning in to say something that made him chuckle. It was a small, polite laugh, the kind he gave when he didn’t want to be rude, but that didn’t stop the knot from forming in your chest.

You tried to ignore it, reminding yourself that it didn’t mean anything, that he was allowed to have platonic female friends. You were once a female friend to him, too, and you got along just fine without making things romantic or whatever. But when she took another step closer to him, her fingers lingering on his arm, you felt a strange tightness in your chest, and a familiar sensation that crawled under your skin. 

Jealousy.

Jealousy was a strange thing. You had never felt it before—not like this. The idea of losing him to someone else, even though you weren’t “together,” made your stomach churn. 

Mingyu’s eyes flicked over the room, and then they landed on you. For a split second, you thought about looking away, playing it cool. But the look in his eyes, the way his face softened when he saw you, stopped you in your tracks. He smiled—his real smile, the one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners—and the knot in your chest loosened a little.

Without a word, Mingyu took a step away from the girl and made his way over to you. You tried to act casual, leaning against the wall as if your heart wasn’t racing.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm and familiar. He stood close, the heat of his presence drawing you in.

“Hey,” you replied, trying not to let the relief show on your face.

“Enjoying the party?” he asked, leaning in slightly so you could hear him over the music.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you said, shrugging. “You seem popular tonight.” You couldn’t help the slight edge in your voice, even though you tried to play it off as a joke.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the subtle tone. “You mean her?” he asked, tilting his head toward the girl who was now talking to someone else. “She’s just being friendly.”

“Friendly, huh?” you replied, taking another sip of your drink. “Looked like she was being a little too friendly.”

Mingyu laughed softly, stepping even closer. “Did you know I like my women territorial?” he teased, but his tone was gentle.

You scoffed, trying to hide the sudden rush of joy. “Go find yourself someone territorial then,” you said, bumping your shoulder against his when you pushed past him.

Mingyu chuckled, turning to grab your wrist and stop you from leaving. “I don’t need to find one.” He tugged you towards him, hugging you from behind and planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek. “I have my territorial girl right here.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered. “Get off me. Why are you doing this in public?” you chided, shaking him off but not putting in any strength to actually get away from him.

“Oh, is this not allowed?” he asked and you were about to fire a retort when you caught your friends’ gazes from across the room. You felt your cheeks flare, looking away and hoping they'd magically forget what they saw.

“Go away.” You pushed him away and straightened your clothes.

Mingyu chuckled heartily, tugging your shoulder so you’d face him. He was smiling softly, a softness that made you feel seen in a way that was more intimate than anything else. “Don’t worry. I’m yours exclusively.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. Exclusively? He must be talking about the fact that you were exclusive fuck buddies. You wished he wasn’t, but it was easier to believe he was. You’d rather not have false expectations. 

“I know,” you said, your voice quieter now.

“Mingyu!” shouted someone from across the room. You both turned your heads in the direction of the voice. “Come on, man! It’s your turn!”

Mingyu chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. “You guys continue without me!” he shouted back. Then he took your hand, fingers lacing through yours, and gave it a small squeeze. “Wanna ditch?”

You shrugged.

“Come on. I know you want to leave and go for burgers right now.”

You felt a smile tug at your lips. “Did you just read my mind?” 

“No, but I have a manual in my head with your name on it, and that information is saved here,” he replied, pressing an index finger to his temple.

“You’re so obsessed with me. Aren’t you embarrassed?” you quipped, pushing off the wall and walking toward the door, feeling the familiar warmth of Mingyu’s presence right behind you.

The night ended in your apartment, as expected. In the heat of the moment, you set aside everything—your confusion, the questions, everything. There was only you and him in this moment of passion. Once more, you let yourself spiral into the momentary distraction of a euphoric night with Mingyu. And when the high slowly dissipated, you found yourself in the warm bathtub, with your back leaning on Mingyu’s chest.

“Are you staying?” you asked softly. “Over, I mean. Or do you need to go home?”

“I’d love to stay,” he replied. “Is that okay?”

“Of course it is.” You closed your eyes, content with his answer. “I don’t even want you to leave,” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

Mingyu chuckled lightly. “I don’t want to leave either. I wish I could just stay here. Forever, if that’s even possible,” he said and it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Oh yeah? Then why do you—” You bit your lip, feeling vulnerable all of a sudden. You weren’t used to confronting things like this. You looked up to meet his gaze, looking into his eyes. “Where will you disappear next time, Kim Mingyu?”

For a second, his expression shifted—just a flicker of something in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite read. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice filled with certainty. “I'm not leaving unless it's you who wants me gone.”

Your chest tightened. How long had you been waiting to hear something like that? To know that, at least for now, he was yours, and he wasn’t going to slip away without warning like he had before.

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice again. “No. I don’t want you to go.”

Mingyu smiled, that same easygoing grin that always seemed to make everything feel okay, even when it wasn’t. “Then I'll be right here,” he said, his thumb still tracing those soft circles on your skin.

He didn’t make a promise, and maybe you should’ve asked for one. Because even though he stayed for a while, it didn’t stop him from fading away all over again.

You were at Mina’s apartment, sitting on the edge of her bed while she packed her things. Beside you, Jill was cradling a bag of chips, pointedly refusing to share.

“I still don’t get why you’re moving out,” Jill grumbled, slapping your hand when you reached for a chip. She shot you a glare and continued, “Can’t you just tell your parents you don’t want to live with them?”

“Asian parents,” Mina sighed, shaking her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Exactly! I don’t understand why they’d move to another state just to follow you here,” Jill said, incredulous. “That’s some next-level parenting!”

“They moved because they can’t stand being away from their daughter,” you chimed in, swiping a protein bar from Jill’s stash. “Also because they can.”

“Yeah, and that’s why it’s so confusing,” Jill scoffed, gesturing toward Mina. “My parents love me too, but they wouldn’t move out of their hometown just to keep me close. Are all Asian parents like hers? Do they really want their grown-ass kids living in their home?”

You shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it happens more often than you’d think.” Your mind briefly wandered to Mingyu, remembering how he’d moved back in with his parents.

Before you could say more, music blared from outside the bedroom, cutting through the conversation. You looked up to see Lea entering the room, a towel draped over her shoulders like a makeshift cape. She carried a speaker in one hand, which she promptly set down on the nightstand.

“You say!” she belted, voice dramatic as she launched into the opening lines of a Hamilton song. “The price of my love is not a price that you’re willing to pay!”

The three of you groaned in unison.

Mina rolled her eyes, standing up to shove Lea out of the room. “Get out, nerd,” she said, feigning annoyance but unable to hide her smile.

“She’s sad. Let her grieve,” you teased, glancing toward the door where Lea continued knocking persistently.

Mina sighed and switched off the speaker, silencing the music. “She’s just overdramatic, that’s what she is. It’s not like we won’t see each other anymore.”

“Maybe you won’t,” you said, shrugging. “Who knows? Some people like to disappear and not say a word. Only to show up out of nowhere and act like nothing happened.”

Mina crossed her arms over her chest, tilting her head and giving you a suspicious look. “Where is this coming from?”

You shrugged, glancing at Jill who was giving you the same look. The chuckle you let out was awkward and defensive. “Nowhere. I’m just yapping for no reason. You know me.”

“Yeah, we know you,” Jill said, grinning playfully. “We know you’re hiding someone up at your apartment.”

“WHAT?” you exclaimed, backing away and laughing incredulously. “No. When did I ever? You’re crazy," you denied, snorting.

“Uh-huh? Then why haven’t we been invited there in like, six months already?” Jill interrogated.

You blinked, then chuckled awkwardly. “I didn’t know you guys were keeping count.”

“Who is it?” Mina pressed, a teasing smile on her lips.

“No one,” you said briskly. “We haven’t talked in like, a week.”

“Oh, is it over before we even found out who it was?” Mina asked, appalled.

Before you could respond, Lea’s voice rang out from outside the door, full of flair. “You’ll be back! Soon you’ll see! You’ll remember you belong to me!”

Yeah. Mingyu will be back. Like always.

You went on with your life, like always. You’d learned to adapt. Classes came and went, each lecture merging into the next. On the first few times that Mingyu would disappear, you used to be distracted. Now you just went on as usual. Each day passed in a blur of classes, late-night study sessions, and the occasional laugh with friends.

“You still haven’t told us who this mystery man is. He’s not a professor, is he?” Lea questioned while you were at a cafe one evening.

“No! What the hell?” you said briskly, shaking your head at the ridiculous accusation.

“Is it Mingyu? You guys seem... close,” Mina teased.

“No,” you lied, blatantly.

Mina nudged your elbow. “Then why won’t you tell us?”

You hesitated, glancing down at your plate. “It’s just… it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Jill asked, leaning in, her eyes glimmering with curiosity. “He ghosted you, right? You’re better off without him.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you said, but the words felt heavy in your mouth. You could not bring yourself to tell them that he’d done this before, and that he’d be back. When he does, you’d take him back like you always did.

You didn’t want to tell them how much you craved his presence, even if it was a source of confusion and pain. The idea of him laughing and teasing you again, the thought of being held by him, being one with him in body and mind—it all felt like a drug you couldn’t resist. How could you tell your friends that? They’d kill you if they can’t kill Mingyu first.

Mina reached out, squeezing your hand. “You deserve someone who’s all in. Not someone who just pops in and out of your life.”

“I know,” you nodded, appreciating their concern. You know they were right, but you still wanted to wait for Mingyu.

Just as the ache began to dull into a familiar rhythm, you were in the library, buried under a pile of textbooks. Studying students surrounded you, and like them, you were in your own world, focusing on an assignment.

“Hey, stranger,” said a familiar voice that made your heart race. You looked up to find Mingyu, and you almost sobbed. He looked goofy—exactly as you remembered. “Missed me?”

“More like I forgot what you looked like,” you retorted, trying to play it cool.

He laughed, that warm, infectious laugh that always made your heart flutter. “Oh, so you missed my face?”

“Not as much as I missed your annoying habit of interrupting my studying,” you shot back, though you couldn’t suppress the smile creeping onto your face.

Mingyu grinned, leaning closer. “I can’t help it. What’s more interesting than me?”

Your heart swelled at his playful confidence, and for the first time in weeks, the tension in your chest eased a little. “A lot of things, actually,” you teased, trying to keep the atmosphere light.

“Lies,” he said, pouting as he slid onto the seat next to you, scooting so close that your shoulders were squeezed together. “Any plans tonight?”

You rolled your eyes, but inside, you felt the warmth of his presence filling the void he had left. “What do you have in mind?”

Mingyu started to integrate himself back into your life seamlessly. He would swing by your apartment with snacks, distract you with silly anecdotes, and make you laugh until your sides hurt. You need not mention that most of these nights were spent with your limbs tangled underneath your sheets—half his weight pressing on you, your fingernails digging into his skin, as your moans blended with his soft grunts, creating a beautiful melody that made you lose your mind.

One afternoon, you found yourselves in the park, lounging on the grass under the fading sunlight. “So, what’s new with you?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbow to look at you.

“Not much. Just the usual—classes, studying, hanging out with the same friends,” you replied, your gaze drifting to the clouds above.

He raised an eyebrow. “Just that? No wild adventures? No spontaneous trips?”

You laughed softly. “You’re my wild adventures, Mingyu.”

Mingyu’s expression shifted, his playful demeanor softening as he studied your face. “I’m sorry for disappearing like that. I just needed some time to take care of stuff,” he explained, playing with the ends of your hair. “I wish I didn’t have to.”

His words hung in the air, and your breath caught in your throat. The way he looked at you made you feel special again—loved even. You could feel the warmth spreading in your chest, a blend of relief and yearning.

“I’m glad you’re back,” you said softly, your heart swelling with hope.

“I know,” he replied with a teasing smirk, but his eyes were sincere. You stayed like that for a while, just staring at each other, not quite understanding what your eyes were trying to tell each other, but content nonetheless.

“I should go,” you said, sitting up. Mingyu followed, holding your hand and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Go where? I was hoping we could hang out again tonight. How does steak sound? I’ve gotten good at it recently.”

“I am tempted, but maybe next time. I made plans with the girls.”

“Can I sleep over tonight, then? I don’t wanna go home,” he pleaded.

You winced. “Mina’s sleeping over tonight.”

Mingyu scowled. “Didn’t she sleep over the other night?”

“Yeah, well. She doesn’t have an apartment anymore. It’s a long story.”

Mingyu gasped. “Is she moving in with you?” he asked, pouting.

“No, not really. But she’d be sleeping over sometimes.”

“Tell your friend she's cockblocking me and that's not nice.”

You threw your head back laughing. “Go away, dumbass.”

As the days turned into weeks, you settled back into the regular routine with him. Mingyu seemed lighter, more carefree. Every moment felt precious, as if you were both making up for lost time.

But behind the lighthearted moments, you could feel it—the underlying tension that often accompanied Mingyu’s presence. You pushed it aside, choosing to savor the time you had together instead of dwelling on what might come next.

Then, one chilly evening, it happened again.

You’d heard somewhere before that one should always expect disappointment. That way, it would hurt less when it comes. They were wrong. It didn't hurt less, if anything, knowing you'd be disappointed in the end was more painful than not knowing at all.

“What’s your opinion so far?” you asked, watching Seungcheol lean back in his chair.

He shook his head slowly. “I’m not really in a position to comment.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. I’m the one asking.”

He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I think you got yourself stuck in an impasse. And honestly, it’s a frustrating one, because you knew what was going on, you didn’t like it, and you knew exactly what you could do to get out of it.”

“And your point is?”

“My point is, you could have spared yourself the trouble. You could have chosen differently—confront him, walk away, tell him to leave if he’s just gonna keep doing what he’s doing,” he replied.

You shot him a teasing smile. “Notice how you’re listing all the things I could have done, instead of what Mingyu should have done?”

There was a flicker of realization on Seungcheol’s face, clearly caught off guard. “Oh…”

You chuckled softly. “Exactly. That’s because people generally don’t trust men to be capable of picking up after their messes.”

“Oh, I can't even like, that’s actually a good insight,” he admitted with a nod. “So what happened after that?”

“You know what happened. It’s where I started when I told you this story. He called me after another week of radio silence, complaining about his annoying professor. Then I invited him over, we had sex, and we fell back into the same cycle of pretending like nothing was wrong. With him. Or with us. Then he vanished again.”

Seungcheol nodded quietly as he refilled your empty glass. For some reason, the gesture felt like a pat on your shoulder.

“That was the first time we fought,” you added, smiling bitterly at the memory.

At that point, you’d recognize the cues. You’d had Mingyu memorized and knew exactly from the way he was beginning to get detached that he was about to disappear again—late replies, making excuses and avoiding you at the campus. The thought of being abandoned by him once more struck a chord in you. Before you know it, you were confronting him, demanding to be heard.

“You’re doing it again,” you said, just as he was reaching for the doorknob.

Mingyu stopped, looked back at you, and blinked, confused. “Doing what?”

You gestured at him at the door. “This. The avoiding, the excuses.” Your voice was sharper than you intended, but you couldn’t hold it back anymore.

He shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “I’ve been busy—”

“Stop!” you interrupted. “Just stop it! Don’t lie to me, Mingyu. You think I don’t notice? You’re pulling away, and you always do this right before you disappear!”

Mingyu sighed, backing away from the door and facing you fully. He uttered your name—softly, almost like he was begging. “Come on, baby. Let’s not do this right now.”

“What? Am I supposed to just take it in stride while you disappear to God knows where without so much as a word? AGAIN? No. We’re doing this right now,” you demanded. The corner of your eyes began to sting with the tears threatening to fall. 

He reached to touch you but you recoiled, and he could only clench his fist then withdraw his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Is that all you have to say?” you asked, appalled.

“I don’t wanna make excuses.”

“Who said you have to?” you asked quietly,  your voice unsteady. “You just have to be honest.”

“It's easier said than done!” he snapped, exhaling sharply as he held your gaze. You could see the hesitation on his face before he looked away and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“What do you want from me, Mingyu?” you croaked out, trying to steady yourself on your feet. “Why do you keep doing this to me?”

“I don’t mean to hurt you,” he said defensively, reaching out again but you backed away.

“But you're hurting me anyway... And I feel like absolute shit because… because…” The words got stuck in your throat. How were you supposed to explain the constant tug-of-war inside you? The feeling of wanting more but being too scared to ask for it?

You sighed, shoulders sagging in defeat. “Am I just someone you come to when it’s convenient? Someone you need when you’re lonely, then toss aside the moment you’re done?”

“Stop! Don’t say that!” Mingyu growled, grabbing you by the shoulders and pulling you into a tight hug. You tensed at first, but then you felt it—the way his arms wrapped around you, not in anger, but in desperation. “I care about you. I care a lot about you.”

The force of his hold spoke louder than anything he’d said. His grip tightened slightly, but it wasn’t suffocating. It felt… conflicted, as if he was holding onto you for dear life but didn’t know how to tell you why. You felt his breath, unsteady against your hair, like he was battling with words that refused to come out.

But it wasn’t enough.

You stiffened in his arms, resisting the urge to melt into his warmth like you always had before. “Mingyu,” you whispered, your voice barely holding together, “if you really cared about me, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now.”

He didn’t let go, but his grip faltered, his fingers loosening just enough for you to feel the uncertainty. You continued, “We wouldn't be arguing about you disappearing all of a sudden and coming back like you didn't just leave me to wallow in self-pity, wondering what I did wrong to be treated this way.”

You pulled away from him, looking down at your feet. “You can't keep doing this, Gyu. Either you tell me what's wrong so I can understand you, or we end this for good. Please.”

Mingyu didn't say anything. Your apartment fell quiet, so quiet that you could hear the wall clock ticking overhead. His silence stretched on, filling the air between you, but he still couldn’t say it. He couldn’t give you what you needed—a promise, a reason, something to hold onto.

“Go,” you said, your voice raw with pain.

Mingyu faltered, his arms falling to his sides, his eyes pleading as if you’d just said something he wasn’t ready to hear. “Please…” he whispered, reaching out again.

You turned your back on him. “Just go, Mingyu,” you repeated, voice cracking as you struggled to keep your tears at bay. “Go. I can’t do this right now.”

With your back turned you didn’t see him linger by the door, hand hesitating on the knob. You didn’t catch the sadness clouding his eyes, the way his fingers twitched as if to reach for you one last time. And you missed the way he looked at you—torn, broken—before he slipped out of your life once again.

And with Mingyu gone, he didn’t see your legs give out beneath you. You collapsed onto the living room floor, where the two of you had spent countless hours together, making memories that now felt like they belonged to a different time. Your sobs filled the silence of the empty room, everything crashing down on you, and for the first time, you let yourself break down at the place where you had once felt whole.

You went on with your life, almost mechanical now with its repetition. Classes, study sessions, dinners with friends—it was all about keeping your head above water, distracting yourself from the void Mingyu had left behind. You had been through this before, so in some twisted way, you were used to it. He always came and went, and every time he left, it hurt less. The only difference was that this time, you weren’t sure if he’d ever come back. 

You missed him in the morning. Your eyes searched for him around campus all day. And your soul ached to be held by him at night. Your friends noticed your distracted state, and they had asked once but didn’t press on when you’d hinted that you didn’t want to talk about it. They figured that, eventually, you'd open up.

In the meantime, you stuck to your routine, pretending everything was fine. And in a way, it was. Your tears eventually dried up, and the restless nights decreased. The pain had dulled, and you were starting to accept that maybe this was for the best. 

But it seemed like fate wasn’t done toying with you yet. One evening, you were lounging on the couch with Jill, Lea, and Mina. You were halfway through a movie you’d been meaning to watch, a lively evening like so many before, when your friends had kept you company, so you weren’t left to your sad thoughts.

Then your phone rang. At first, you thought it might have been a mistake, that you were hallucinating when you saw Mingyu’s nickname on your screen.

“R18 plus plus plus? Who’s that?” Mina teased, noticing the name flash on your phone. “A fling?”

“It’s no one,” you muttered, still staring at the screen.

“Aren’t you gonna pick it up? It’s kinda loud, love,” said Jill, motioning to the TV.

You stood up, heading to the kitchen to answer the call. You knew you shouldn’t, but a part of you—the part that still hoped, still craved his presence—wanted to hear what he had to say.

“Hello?” you answered, your voice shaky.

“Hi.” The voice on the other end was unfamiliar, and they said your name uncertainly.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“This is Dan. Your number was on the phone so I called. Can you come to the bar downtown? It’s right across from 00 University. The owner of this phone had a little too much to drink. Can you come pick him up?”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. Mingyu? You hadn’t heard from him in weeks. “I… yeah, I’ll be there,” you managed, glancing at your friends. “Give me twenty minutes.”

You ended the call and stood, grabbing your coat. Mina raised an eyebrow, but you avoided her gaze. “I have to go,” you said quickly.

“Now, now. You’re not ditching us for Mr. R18 plus plus plus, are you?” Mina teased again, but you weren’t in the mood for jokes.

“R18? Is that a booty call?” Lea chuckled.

“It’s not what you think, guys.” You sighed, offering a quick, apologetic smile. “I’ll be right back.”

Without waiting for their protests, you rushed out the door, your heart pounding. You were confused and surprised. Mingyu drunk and alone in a bar? This was so out of character for him. He’d never done anything like this before.

When you arrived at the bar, you spotted him immediately. Slumped against the counter, his head hanging low, he was a mess. His hair was tousled, his eyes half-closed, and his cheeks flushed with alcohol. The confident Mingyu you knew was gone, replaced by this hollow, drunken version. You approached him, appalled at the sight of him looking wasted.

“You must be her,” asked the bartender. 

You nodded, glancing at Mingyu. “How long has he been like this?”

Dan sighed. “A few hours. He was drinking alone, staring at your number. Said he wanted to call, but wasn’t sure if he should.”

Your heart twisted at that. He wanted to call? He was thinking about you? But then, why hadn’t he?

“How much did he drink?” you asked, eyeing about a dozen bottles of beer in front of him and hoping he didn’t drink all of those by himself.

Mingyu stirred at the sound of your voice, his head lifting slightly. He tried to focus on you, but his eyes were hazy. He mumbled your name. “...is that you?”

Dan gave you a sympathetic smile. “He’s all yours.”

“Yeah, it’s me.” You sighed, wrapping an arm around him, trying to lift him to his feet. He leaned heavily against you, his body sagging.

He whispered your name again, slurring the syllables, and for a moment, something inside you softened. But no. You couldn’t do this again. Not like this.

With a struggle, you managed to get him outside. “Kim Mingyu, you’re gonna have to pull yourself together, or I’ll leave you here.”

Mingyu groaned, trying to straighten up. “I missed you,” he mumbled, his words barely coherent. He stumbled, reaching for your face but missing, his hand landing on your shoulder instead. He rested his head on your shoulder, taking a deep breath. “Missed you so much.”

You winced at the words, unsure of what to feel. Did he mean it? Or was it the alcohol talking? “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

In the cab ride back to your apartment, he kept trying to pull you closer, his head resting on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. Every time he said your name, it felt like a knife twisting in your chest. How could he hurt you so easily, and yet make you feel so needed at the same time?

When you got him inside, your friends were still there, their faces full of questions. Jill stood first. “What’s going on?” she asked, though the answer was obvious.

“He’s drunk,” you said simply, guiding him to the couch. “I’m sorry. Can we call it a night? I promise I’ll explain later.”

They exchanged looks but didn’t argue. Lea gave you a quick hug before leaving, followed by Jill and Mina. “Text us if you need anything,” Mina said quietly, her eyes lingering on you as if she wanted to say more.

Once they were gone, you turned to Mingyu, who had collapsed onto the couch. He was mumbling your name again, his eyes barely open.

You knelt beside him, brushing the hair from his forehead. “You’re a mess, Mingyu.”

He smiled lazily, his hand reaching for your face. Then he chuckled. “Dan, you bastard, what did you put in my drink? Why am I seeing things?" he drawled out the words.

“You’re not seeing things,” you chided, albeit softly, as you pushed his hand away.

You started to help him out of his jacket, his body warm and damp with sweat. As you worked, he kept trying to pull you closer, his hands wandering over your body, his lips trying to find yours but clumsily landing on different spots in your face.

You swatted his hand each time, and pushed him away as much as you could. You stripped him down until he was left with only his boxers. Afterward, you gave him a blanket and were about to leave when he grabbed you by the waist.

“Stay,” he whispered.

Just like that, the tears you thought had dried up started welling your eyes again. You stood there, letting yourself get enveloped by his warmth again. If only he could stay like this—open, vulnerable, needing you. But deep down, you knew this wasn’t real. Tomorrow, he’d be gone again.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and gentle. You stirred awake, feeling a familiar ache settle deep in your chest. The first thing you did was rise out of bed and go to the living room. Mingyu was still asleep on the couch, his arm draped lazily over the edge, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths.

Quietly, you walked over to the couch. You sat down on the floor next to him, folding your legs beneath you. Your eyes traced the familiar lines of his face, softened in sleep. He looked peaceful—vulnerable even, like he wasn’t the same man who’d disappeared for weeks without a word.

How many times have you told yourself not to expect more? That he wasn’t yours to keep. He was only yours in stolen moments—when the world outside didn’t exist, and it was just the two of you, tangled in each other. But those moments were fleeting, like a breath you couldn’t quite hold on to.

You sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his forehead. “Damn you, Kim Mingyu.”

What if this time was different? What if, just once, he stayed? Hope was a dangerous thing. Every time you thought you were free from him, he pulled you back in, sometimes with nothing more than a look, a word, or his mere presence. 

Mingyu stirred, his eyelids fluttering open slowly. His gaze found yours almost immediately, bleary but aware. For a long moment, neither of you said anything. You just looked at each other, the silence filled with unsaid words, with everything you were too afraid to admit. The hurt. The longing. The hope that maybe he wanted you as much as you wanted him.

His eyes lingered on your face, as if he was trying to read your thoughts. You felt exposed under his gaze, like he could see through the walls you’d built to protect yourself from him.

Then, without a word, he reached for you. His hand, warm and careful, cupped the side of your face, and you leaned into his touch instinctively, closing your eyes for a second as your breath caught in your throat. When you opened them again, his gaze was intense, searching.

His lips brushed against yours, soft and familiar. Then, his grip on you tightened, and you found yourself sinking into him. For a few moments, it felt like nothing else mattered. The pain, the confusion, the nights spent wondering where he was—none of it existed here.

You knew this wasn’t safe. Letting him back in, letting him hold you, kiss you—it was a cycle you couldn’t break. But you didn’t pull away.

He guided you to the bed, his hands sliding over your skin with tenderness, as though he was afraid you’d slip away from him. You weren’t sure who needed who more in this moment—whether he was seeking comfort from you, or whether you were the one hoping he would stay, if only for a little longer. Maybe it didn’t matter.

Your clothes fell away slowly, piece by piece, until there was nothing left between you. His touch was familiar, yet it felt different somehow—softer, more cautious. You shivered as his lips trailed across your collarbone, your breath hitching in your throat.

He then lay on his back, guiding you to straddle him. You’d miss everything about him these past few weeks, but you didn’t know how much you longed for him until he was deep inside you. It hurt a little, but you didn’t falter, you just stayed there for a second, adjusting to the stretch that you hadn’t felt in a while.

Mingyu sat up, his hands supporting your back as he pressed his forehead against yours. “You okay?” he asked, his lips ghosting over your skin. You nodded, moving ever so slightly. Mingyu kissed the side of your head. “That's it... Just like that.”

You didn’t reply, too caught in the moment to think beyond the feeling of his hands on you, and his manhood inside you. Soon you were breathless on top of him, grinding rhythmically, back arching with each motion. His hands were as strong as they had always been, gripping your hips as he guided your movements. You did not contain your moans, knowing Mingyu preferred hearing them—that he loved hearing you.

Just as you were nearing release, Mingyu shifted your positions, pinning you underneath him. He stared into your eyes for a moment, caressing your cheek before he kissed your open mouth. And once again, he thrust into you. The room was filled with soft sounds—shallow breaths, gentle whispers of each other's names. Everything felt slow, like time had stretched out just for you two, giving you space to exist in this fleeting moment.

There was no rush. No urgency. In fact, it felt like you were both savoring every second, dragging it out, and immersing yourselves in a passionate sex driven not solely by lust but by something far more powerful. 

Love.

You felt it in his every push, every kiss, and every touch. It was different this time. His hands lingered longer, his lips sought yours more often, and the way he whispered your name—it wasn’t merely desire. It was more, and you felt it deep within your chest, like an ache that had finally found its release

And when it was over, you lay together, his arms wrapped around you, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. His body was warm, his presence so familiar that it made you want to believe he could be yours.

“I love you,” he said suddenly, his voice soft but clear.

You froze, your hand still on his chest as the words hung in the air. You weren’t sure if you’d heard him right. Slowly, you lifted your head to look at him, your heart hammering in your chest. “What did you say?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu’s eyes softened, a faint smile playing on his lips as he repeated the words that made your breath catch. “I said, I love you.”

Your heart swelled, but with it came a surge of doubt. Could you believe him? Could you trust these words from the same man who had vanished from your life without a second thought so many times before? It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, one step away from free-falling into something that could either break you or save you.

You wanted to say it back. The words were on the tip of your tongue, but they felt too heavy, weighed down by all the times you’d convinced yourself that this moment would never come. Instead, you settled for leaning up and kissing him, slow and soft. Maybe this kiss could say what you couldn’t. Maybe it could be enough to bridge the gap between hope and reality.

When you pulled back, you looked at him again, the uncertainty gnawing at your chest. “Do you really mean that?” you asked, your voice smaller than you intended. “Or are you just saying it because… because of what just happened?”

Mingyu’s eyes darkened with something unreadable. He reached up, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “I mean it,” he said, his voice rougher now, like the words were harder for him to say than he let on. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

You pressed another kiss on his lips, your hand cupping his face. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe.

Or maybe not.

Seungcheol’s eyes stayed locked on you, you could see curiosity and concern written on his face. You just stared right back, keeping your lips tight.

“That’s it?” he asked, his voice soft, almost disbelieving.

You nodded. “That’s it.”

He blinked slowly, clearly not satisfied with your answer. He’d been so engrossed in the story that neither of you had noticed how late it had gotten. 

“It can’t be,” he murmured. “What happened after?”

You let out a breath, shrugging as if it didn’t matter. “We talked. Well, fought, mostly. I asked him what he wanted—if he’d finally commit.  In the end, he didn’t pick me. After everything, I thought he would. You know confessing his love and all that. But… meh.” You rolled your eyes. “That’s how it went.”

Seungcheol leaned in, his eyes narrowing. “So you walked away?”

“I don’t wanna go into details anymore, but yes I walked away with my dignity intact. I mean,” you paused to laugh. “I couldn’t keep letting him do that to me, could I? I had to stop it. I was better than that, though it took a while for me to finally grasp that fact and walk away.”

Seungcheol nodded slowly, but there was something unsatisfied in his expression. “Well, good for you. You deserved better.”

“I know,” you chuckled, but the laugh felt forced. “It’s funny, looking back. I acted so stupidly for him. But I’m just glad it’s over now, you know? That chapter is closed.”

He tilted his head, his brow furrowed in thought. “That’s good. Although I dare say, your storytelling is a bit, I don’t know… anticlimactic?”

“Is it?” you asked, like it wasn’t something you already felt too. You forced a shrug. “Maybe. But that’s how it went. Things kept circling back to the same pattern, and this part is basically the same. There’s only so many times you can replay the same argument, you know? I just skipped it,” you added with a forced smirk, hoping it would distract him from prying any further.

Seungcheol observed you for a minute, and you wondered if he could see right through you. Seems impossible. He didn’t really know you until today, and you were a pretty decent liar.

“Right,” he said, his tone softening, though the doubt hadn’t entirely left his face. “What’s next then?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I mean, who’s next?” he clarified, leaning back in his chair. “Kim Mingyu is not the only guy you’d ever dated, is he?”

You let out a short laugh, but it was strained. “No, there were others. But it’s late, Mr. Choi. The lady needs her sleep.”

He shot to his feet, his face immediately contrite. “Ah, of course! I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

“I’m sure you didn’t. If you want to hear more, you can ask the front desk for me. Tomorrow’s my day-off so I have time. We can also discuss the fee you promised,” you said, smiling and then narrowing your eyes at him. “That is, if you haven’t forgotten about it.”

“I remember.” He smiled. “Good night then.”

“Thanks for listening,” you said with a small wave as you turned to head toward your room.

As you made your way back to your quarters, thoughts of Mingyu swirled in your mind. You’d lied to Seungcheol. The ending between you and Mingyu wasn’t anticlimactic at all. It had been messy, filled with bottled-up anger and days wallowing in misery. But you’d never admit that to Seungcheol. Sharing a failed romance with a stranger was one thing; baring the ugly truth of just how miserable and pathetic you felt back then? That was something else entirely.

At the time, you thought he’d finally let you in. He did, for a moment. Mingyu had opened up about the weight of familial expectations, how it crushed him to follow a path that wasn’t his. He talked about the people and dreams he had to leave behind. And he confessed that the reason he couldn’t choose you, after all this time, was that same fear—that one day, he’d have to turn his back on you too.

“You don’t have to,” you said, placing a hand on his arm. “I’ll be here. Wouldn’t it be easier if you had someone to rely on?”

He’d smiled at you then, a smile filled with gratitude and maybe something like love. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

And so, you stayed. And Mingyu? He stayed the same—thoughtful, goofy, always consistent. Sometimes, he’d come to you in low spirits, and you’d let him lean on you in silence, even though he never fully shared his feelings. You fell deeper in love with him, slowly realizing that everything felt emptier, harder without him. You barely noticed time fly by, but you did notice that Mingyu no longer disappeared. He no longer detached himself from you. He was there all the time, even on days when he didn’t feel like himself.

Freshman year passed and you went up with him at his family’s estate to spend the break. He lived in a big house but his parents weren’t home the whole time you were there. It was nice to get a glimpse of his life, of the place he grew up in and the person he was before you met him. You spent time hanging out, making love, and being each other’s support system.

But despite how wonderful it was, despite the burning passion, the cloud of uncertainty loomed over you while you were there. The happiness you felt was so overwhelming, it scared you. It felt too good to be true, like the calm before an inevitable storm.

This storm would come earlier than either of you expected. And it came in the mail.

“What is it?” you asked, wrapping your arms around Mingyu’s seated figure. You tried to peek into the letter, but he put it away.

“Nothing important,” he replied, holding your arm and rubbing it as he looked up at you. He smiled at you and then pressed a soft kiss on your lips. “Where were you?”

You pointed at your head, wrapped in a towel. “In the bath,” you said, straightening up and walking toward the bed to undo your hair.

“You were gone for an hour.”

“Yeah. I was actually waiting for you to join me,” you said, not hiding your disappointment.

He groaned. “Oh, man. You should’ve told me.”

You grimaced. “No, you should’ve looked for me when you noticed I was gone.”

He tucked the envelope in the drawer before jumping in the bed with you. He pinned you down, making you squeal. Then he started peppering you with kisses all over your face. When he caught a whiff of your neck, his expression immediately shifted from goofy to naughty.

“I’d love to do it in the tub, but the bed isn’t such a bad idea too,” he lilted, undoing the ribbon of your robe.

“The bed is the best place to do it, dumbass.”

Mingyu hummed in satisfaction. “I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he said, making you laugh. 

That afternoon was spent being one with each other too, like the previous ones. When you fell asleep, Mingyu was beside you, his head leaning on your chest while you play with his hair. But when you woke up, it was already dark and the spot where Mingyu laid was cold.

You pushed yourself upright, wrapping your robe around you as you padded across the room, calling out his name. “Mingyu?” The sound echoed back in the silence. You checked the bathroom, the living room—every corner of the house, each step feeling heavier than the last. No sign of him.

You tried his phone next, only to find it sitting on the nightstand. Thirty minutes passed, then an hour. Your calls for him became more frantic, though still unanswered. It was only when the housekeeper returned that she offered some explanation.

“He went out earlier, ma’am,” she said, smiling kindly. “He didn’t say where, but I’m sure he’ll be back soon. Mr. Mingyu would never leave you alone.”

Right, he wouldn’t. Yet that wasn’t reassuring at all. This housekeeper might have watched Mingyu grow up, even took care of him during those years, but she had no idea what Mingyu had put you through. Still, you wanted to believe in him.

The hours passed, and the next morning came. He hadn’t come home yet. You waited until the evening, and the following evening on the next day, and the next, and the next. Still no Mingyu. The house felt hollow without him, as though the walls themselves knew something was wrong.

It was on the fourth day, when your frustration turned to desperate curiosity, that you found the letter tucked away in the drawer of his desk. Your fingers trembled as you unfolded it—an acceptance letter to a university abroad.

He hadn’t mentioned this. Was he planning to leave? Had he already left?

You’d looked for him and asked everyone at his house for help but no one seemed to know where he went. They even had to contact his parents, and you didn’t really expect them to know either, but it was frustrating to hear them say it.

“Have you checked his flat, ma’am?” the housekeeper asked.

You blinked. “I thought he moved out of his flat?”

The housekeeper shook his head. “No, ma’am. He’s been living here again, but that place in the city still belongs to him. Maybe he’s there?”

It wasn’t like him—not anymore. Ever since the two of you had gotten closer, you thought the days of him pulling away without warning were over. You had let yourself believe that, anyway.

You commuted back to the city and went straight to his flat. You hated this feeling—the waiting, the uncertainty. It felt like standing on the edge of something crumbling beneath your feet.

And now here you were, in front of his door, heart pounding as you knocked. You didn’t expect him to answer. But, he did.

Mingyu stood there, looking disheveled, dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in days. The sight of him was both a relief and a frustration, all the hurt and confusion swirling inside you.

“We need to talk,” you said, pushing past him into the apartment before he could say anything.

He closed the door behind you but didn’t move. “I know,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

You turned to face him, crossing your arms. “What’s going on, Mingyu? You disappeared. Again. After everything we talked about. After you said you didn’t want to keep doing this.”

He ran a hand through his messy hair, looking anywhere but at you. “I’m sorry,” he said, but there was no conviction in his voice.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Your voice cracked despite your efforts to keep it steady. 

Mingyu finally looked at you, his expression torn, like he didn’t know how to put what he was feeling into words. “I don’t know… I needed time. I couldn’t—”

“You always need time, Mingyu,” you interrupted, your frustration boiling over. “You say you don’t want to do this alone, but then you push me away every chance you get. Do you even want me in your life?”

“I do! I’ve never wanted anything else! But I can’t… I—” he paused, running his fingers through his hair. “I can’t keep dragging you into this.”

“You’re not dragging me, Mingyu. I’m here to stay! But if we’re gonna keep having this… if you’re gonna keep doing this to me, then what’s the point?” you asked, the words heavy with your anger and frustration. “I’m sick of this, Mingyu. Aren’t you?”

His eyes widened, and you could see the conflict in him. But he didn’t answer. He didn’t say anything, and that silence hurt you more than anything else.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, taking a step closer to him. “If you don’t want me, just say it. Tell me to go, and I will. But if you want me to stay…” Your voice faltered as you searched his face, desperate for any sign. “Tell me to stay, Mingyu. Say it.”

For a long moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of your uneven breaths. You waited. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

“Mingyu, please…” you pleaded, holding back your tears. “Just say ‘don’t go,’ and I won’t,” you added, shaking your head.

Mingyu reached for your face, staring at you with tears in his eyes. Then he pressed his forehead against yours as he sobbed. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart sank, the answer clear even though he never spoke the words. You took a shaky breath, nodding to yourself. “Okay,” you whispered, wiping away a tear that rolled down your cheek. “I get it.”

You backed away and then turned toward the door, your chest aching with every step you took. But before you could reach the handle, you stopped, glancing back one last time, hoping—praying—that he would say something, anything, to stop you.

But Mingyu stayed silent. And with that, you walked out for the final time.

To say you were a mess after that was an understatement. You were a wreck—miserable and sad, wandering through the days like a ghost of your former self. You ran to your friends, crying in their arms for hours, the kind of raw, gut-wrenching sobs that left you breathless. You thought you’d only cry about it for a few days and get over it. But it went on for a whole month.

Some nights, after too many drinks, you’d find yourself dialing his number, the alcohol loosening the grip of reason in your mind. “Mingyuuuu,” you’d whine into the phone with your voice slurred and pathetic. “I love you so much! Take me back!”

The next morning, you’d wake up to the shame of your drunken confessions, staring at the ceiling with regret pressing down on you. You’d replay the conversations in your mind, cringing at how desperate you sounded, wondering how you let yourself fall apart so completely.

Your friends did their best to pull you out of the darkness, but every attempt felt useless. You’d join them for outings, but you were barely present, laughing too loudly at jokes that didn’t register or staring blankly at the world around you. One night, they dragged you to a party, insisting you needed to have fun. But there you were, clinging to your drink, watching everyone dance and laugh, while the memories of Mingyu spun in your mind. Once the reality set in that he was no longer there to ditch the party with you, you stumbled to the bathroom and locked yourself in, sobbing into your hands as the beat thudded through the walls.

Even the simplest tasks became challenges. Your studies slipped away; assignments piled up, and your grades plummeted. You’d sit in your lectures, staring at the board but absorbing nothing. Friends would express their concern, but you brushed it off with a half-hearted smile, not wanting to burden them any more than you already had. 

Eventually, you hit a breaking point. On one particularly dark day, you sat alone in your room, surrounded by empty cans and bottles and crumpled tissues. The realization hit you like a freight train: you couldn’t do this anymore. You weren’t just grieving—you were drowning.

In the haze of your despair, you made the impulsive decision to skip the semester and move back home with your family. The thought of facing another day in the city without Mingyu felt unbearable. Packing your things felt like burying a part of yourself, but it was your only option. Every corner of your apartment did nothing to help your move on anyway.

You took one last look of the place where you made the most memories with Mingyu. And as you closed the door, you hoped it would also close that chapter in your life.

Your parents welcomed you with open arms, concerned and confused by your sudden return. You pretended everything was fine, but they noticed the shadows under your eyes, the way you flinched at the slightest mention of your time at university.

In the privacy of your old room, you often found yourself staring at the ceramic bears on your nightstand, remembering the small joy of building a family for these inanimate objects. Your friends tried to reach out, but you brushed them aside, too ashamed to admit how far you had fallen. They understood, giving you the time and space you needed, knowing you'd be back once things were better.

And as the weeks passed, things got better. The sun shone a little brighter, and your grief slowly lightened. You spent time with your family, rediscovering old hobbies and connecting with friends who reminded you of who you were before Mingyu. Slowly, you started to feel like yourself again. You laughed more, shared stories, and realized that life still held moments of joy, even in the absence of him.

One day, while cleaning your room, your eyes caught your little bear family, focusing on the grizzly and panda Mingyu had gifted you. Their faces seemed more cheerful now and you felt a bittersweet pang in your chest. 

Where could Mingyu be right now? How is he? You had no idea, but you wished he was in a better place than before. Somehow, you wish you could at least extend a hand to comfort him, even as a distant friend.

Then an idea came. You picked up the grizzly and the panda, the memories flooding back—of laughter, of warmth, of love. But you knew that holding onto them was holding you back. And right now, you don’t really need them anymore.

You wrapped the figurines carefully in bubble wrap and wrote a short note:

“I’m sending these with a happy heart and I hope that instead of bitterness and sorrow, they will bring a smile to your face, just like they did when we first met them. Thank you for the memories. Know that I do not regret meeting you, and if I had to do it again, I would. Although, maybe I’d make better decisions then. You’ll always have a space in my heart, Gyu. I hope you’re in a better place—both in your heart and mind. Love, me <3”

As you dropped the package off at the post office, you felt lighter and liberated. The storm that had raged within you had dissipated, replaced by a promise of new beginnings. You smiled to yourself, knowing that while the past would always be a part of you, it no longer defined you. You were ready to embrace whatever came next. You’re young, you have a whole life ahead of you.

And if you happen to run into Mingyu again in the future, you hope he will be in better circumstances. Whatever he was going through, you wished he’d get over it and be genuinely happy.

[fin]

[saythenametotheworld]

dear reader... again | dy, jn, jh

One island. One daughter. Three possible dads. You just wanted peace and quiet—what you got was chaos, old flames, and a little girl asking for three dads.

Genre: destination au, smut Pairing: NCT Doyoung/Johnny/Jaehyun x afab!reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) MDNI Notes: 22k words. Loosely based on the 2008 movie, Mamma Mia!. Sequel to dear reader, but can be read as a standalone fic Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life behave the way they were portrayed in this fic. If you see the same exact fic in a different blog, for ENHYPEN, that is me. I did not plagiarize myself. Otherwise, pls let me know.

The drawing room was a war zone. Empty cups on every surface, leftovers here and there, balloons all over the floor. Your daughter had retreated to her bedroom to play with her new toys, leaving you with a garbage bag in one hand and three ghosts of your past sitting awkwardly on the couch.

You didn’t look at them as you threw another stack of paper plates into the bag. It was a good thing that your friends and two of Emma’s godmothers were keeping the room noisy as they helped you clean up. But at some point, Lea and Amy found a spot far across the room where they could interrogate you.

“Which one is it?” Lea asked immediately, like she hadn’t already asked the same thing three different ways in the past three hours.

Amy nudged her. “Were you listening? She didn’t check which one it was, remember?”

“What are they doing here anyway? Did you invite them?”

You huffed, glancing over your shoulder just long enough to catch the three of them talking. “No idea. They just showed up out of nowhere.”

“On Emma’s birthday? That can’t be a coincidence.”

“Oh, it’s definitely not a coincidence,” Lea muttered, shaking her head conspiratorially.

Unfortunately, she was right. It wasn’t a coincidence. When they showed up on your doorstep earlier, all three of them, the first question you’d asked had been: What are you doing here? And apparently, they had an answer.

Each of them had brought a letter from you. Letters you didn’t remember sending—because technically, you didn’t.

After a discreet interrogation with the staff, you found out how it happened. Last week, while clearing out the attic, you’d accidentally left a box on the counter marked “outgoing.” Inside were things you meant to throw away—old receipts, scribbled notes, and three unsent letters you’d written four years ago.

You remembered them now. You’d written those letters when Emma was in the hospital, and needed a blood transfusion, but her blood type was rare. You were scared. Desperate. You almost mailed them. But she got better before you had to.

Now here they were, delivered years late and right on time to ruin your peaceful little life. Still, that didn’t explain how they got here on the same day, at the exact same time. But when you asked, Doyoung had said:

“Oh, we actually missed the ferry, and Mr. Johnny here was nice enough to offer his yacht.”

You’d scoffed. “Still parading the seas with that yacht?”

“Yeah, no,” Johnny had replied smugly. “This one’s new. Got it just last year.”

Doyoung was the first to speak, stepping forward with a smile. “So... we were wondering,” he said, glancing briefly at Johnny and Jaehyun, “if there might be any rooms available here? Just for a few days while we’re on the island.”

You raised an eyebrow but kept your voice steady. “You’re not leaving yet?”

Johnny chuckled. “Why am I getting the feeling you don’t want us here?”

“Honestly?” you sighed. “Doesn’t matter much to me. But if you’re looking for a room, try somewhere else. I’m fully booked.”

Doyoung cleared his throat. “We’d pay, of course. No trouble.”

You shook your head firmly. “Sorry. You can pay me double, but the calendar will still be full until the end of the month.”

There was a pause as Doyoung glanced over at the other two. You saw Johnny shrug before saying, “The boat’s got plenty of rooms. You guys can crash there while I’m around.”

Doyoung nodded quickly, but Jaehyun hesitated, eyes flicking to you. Johnny turned back. “Guess that settles it. We’ll be on our way, then,” he said, offering a small wave.

“Yes. Please go,” you said briskly, waving your hand dismissively. Don’t come back, you wanted to add—but didn’t.

“It’s good to see you, sweetheart,” Johnny grinned, winking before sliding on his sunglasses and turning away.

You grimaced, rolled your eyes, and went back to your chore. You reached for a trash bag, but someone else grabbed it before you could. It was Jaehyun, and you could still feel the warmth of his presence behind you even after he’d moved away. Doyoung and Johnny had left, but he was still here.

“What are you doing?” you asked, though it was clear he was trying to help.

Of course, he was. You didn’t even have it in you to stop him when he started scraping paper plates into it, like this was just a normal evening in some alternate universe where he was your partner and this was his house, too.

“She’s very lovely,” Jaehyun said after a moment of nothing but silence between the two of you. “Emma, I mean.”

“She is,” you replied flatly despite the nervousness slowly creeping up your chest.

“She’s six?” he asked and you nodded. “Is her dad around?”

You exhaled sharply, dropping the broom. “It’s really none of your business, Jae. I’d rather we don’t talk like we’re old friends. Or act like we knew each other at all.”

Jaehyun sighed, saying your name softly, but you didn’t want to hear it. You walked out of the hall and found something else to do in the kitchen, hoping he’d be gone at some point without you having to interact with him anymore.

You kept yourself busy, moving from one task to the next—stacking empty cups, folding napkins, wiping down surfaces—anything to avoid looking Jaehyun’s way. Every now and then, you caught him quietly working alongside you, silently scraping plates or gathering trash, never saying much.

You thought he would leave if you ignored him long enough, but the hours ticked by, the party noise died down, and still, Jaehyun stayed. You resisted the urge to ask him directly to go, too wary of what might come if you did.

Finally, as the last of the balloons were deflating and the floor was almost spotless, he gathered the last trash bag and gave you a small nod. Without a word, he slipped out the door. Relief washed over you.

Later that night, you sat in the living room with Amy and Lea, nibbling on some ham and cheese from the kitchen. The house was quiet, the staff had left, and Emma was sleeping quietly upstairs. A TV show was playing in the background, but no one was really watching.

“So,” Amy said, passing you the plate, “All three of them are here. Shy Boy, Lover Boy, and Play Boy. What’s going on?”

Lea shook her head, eyes narrowed. “Even with the letter mix-up and fate or whatnot, I still don’t get why now, after all these years.”

You shrugged, chewing slowly. “I don’t know. The universe probably has it out for me.”

Amy leaned back, thoughtful. “You seemed tense around Lover Boy earlier. What’s his deal?”

You glanced at the ceiling, choosing your words carefully. “He’s…” You threw your hands up in the air, frustrated. “He’s Lover Boy.”

“Oh,” said Amy, nodding in realization. “Of course. Yeah, I get it.”

“What is it?” Lea asked cluelessly. “I don’t get it.”

“Jaehyun is Lover Boy,” Amy explained plainly, though it wasn’t enough for Lea. “He’s complicated because, you know, he’s the guy she fell in love with, but then he left her because he was engaged to some other girl.”

Lea gasped. “Oh my god! Yes! I forgot that we called him Lover Boy because she was gaga about him.”

“I was not,” you said coolly, lifting your glass to your lips to hide your lie.

“Were too,” Amy said in a sing-song, smirking. You huffed and slapped her thigh, earning a surprised yelp and a fit of giggles from both of them.

“Whatever. I’m not doing this with you guys,” you said, standing and brushing crumbs from your lap. “I’m going to bed.”

“Who else would you talk to if not us?” Lea called after you, laughter chasing you up the stairs.

You padded down the hallway, quiet now that the party was over and the girls were left to their wine and gossip. Your bedroom door was ajar, but you kept walking past it and down to the end of the hall where Emma’s room was.

You pushed the door open gently and peeked inside. She was fast asleep, curled into a soft lump beneath her blanket, one arm wrapped tightly around the new stuffed animal she’d gotten today. You stepped in and sat lightly on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair from her face. Her breathing was steady. Peaceful. The sight of her always had a way of quieting something wild inside you.

“Goodnight, baby,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

You stood to leave, carefully pulling the blanket back over her shoulder, but just as you turned to go, a small voice cut through the quiet. “Mommy?”

You turned instantly. Emma had stirred, eyes half-lidded, voice thick with sleep. She reached out a hand, and you crossed the room again without hesitation, crawling gently onto the bed beside her. “I’m here, baby,” you whispered, wrapping an arm around her as she snuggled into your side.

She was quiet for a moment, her little fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. Then, softly, “Who were those men?”

You blinked. “What men?”

“At the party. I didn’t know them. The tall men.”

You hesitated, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. “Just tourists, sweetie. They were asking for some rooms.”

“Oh,” she murmured. “Are they mean?”

You frowned. “What? No. Why would you think that?”

“They made you sad,” she said simply, her voice already fading as sleep tried to reclaim her. “I saw you do the forehead thing.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat. That was the thing about Emma. Even when she didn’t fully understand something, she felt it. She had always been so in-tune with you, too sensitive for her own good sometimes.

“No, baby,” you whispered, kissing the crown of her head. “They’re not mean. Just a little complicated.”

Emma hummed, snuggling closer. “I don’t like that word.”

“Yeah, me neither.” She didn’t say anything else after that, and within moments, her breathing evened out again. You stayed where you were, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across her ceiling. You weren’t ready to explain who those men really were. You didn’t even have the full truth yourself yet. And quite frankly, you never really thought about introducing Emma to her dad one day. But then again, life has its own way of kicking you in the ass. With all three of them here, you knew you would eventually have to confront the truth and put a face on the dad you’d kept from Emma all these years. You just hoped she’d be ready when that day came. Or that you would.

The next day, you spotted them before they saw you—Doyoung with a juice in hand, Johnny chatting up the girl at the counter, and Jaehyun lingering by the window like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

Of all the cafés on the island, of course, they came to your favorite one. Amy followed your gaze and made a low, amused sound. “Would you look at that. Shy Boy, Lover Boy, and Play Boy, all in one place.”

“I told them to leave,” you muttered, flipping over the menu board even though you knew you were gonna order the same thing as usual.

Lea, who owned the cafe, leaned over the counter, eyes narrowing at the trio. “Shy Boy’s in flip-flops. I don’t think they’re leaving. Maybe they’re here for my famous croissant?”

“Sure,” Amy snorted. “Croissant. Closure. Co-parenting. Who’s to say?”

“I don’t care. They have to leave,” you huffed.

“Yeah, well, good luck with that,” Lea chuckled, turning to welcome another customer who’d just walked through the doors.

Johnny was the first to spot you, unsurprisingly. He made a show of removing his sunglasses, flashing a smile so wide you wondered how it didn’t split his face open.

“Good morning,” he called, walking over to where you were standing by the counter. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Can’t say the same with you.”

Johnny chuckled like the jab didn’t bother him. “Yeah, I missed you, too. Say, how would you like to join me today? I’m sightseeing.”

“Pass. Some of us have real jobs,” you deadpanned, eyes still fixed on the menu.

“You’re gonna bore a hole in that thing,” Johnny said after a few seconds of watching you stare at the piece of cardboard.

You exhaled sharply and placed the menu down. Behind him, you caught Doyoung’s gaze, and he gave a small sheepish wave. Jaehyun didn’t approach—just gave a slight nod from where he sat, eyes cautious.

“What do you want?” you asked Johnny, arms crossed.

Johnny lifted a brow. “Coffee? A warm smile? To not be treated like a disease?”

“You can have the coffee,” you replied, nodding to the barista. “Smile’s out of stock.”

Johnny grinned. “Where’s Emma?”

“School,” you replied briskly. “Not that it’s any of your business where my daughter is.”

“It’s not. I’m just trying to make conversation.” 

You didn’t say anything to that, just gave him a deadpan expression. Johnny raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to speak, and seemingly trying to gauge if the look meant anything, but when you didn’t, he took a deep breath and shrugged. 

“Well, this place has a nice vibe. We’ll order something and be on our way. No need to panic.”

“I’m not panicking,” you snapped. Which, unfortunately, sounded exactly like someone who was panicking.

They sat at a table in the corner, quietly eating. Doyoung tapped on his phone. Johnny flirted with the waitress. Jaehyun stared out the window. You pretended not to watch them, but your ears picked up every laugh and cough and scrape of a chair.

Amy leaned over again. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, poking at your food aggressively.

Lea leaned in as she pushed a small cup of espresso your way. “Be honest. Are you more mad that they came back, or that some part of you isn’t entirely mad?” You placed your fork down and didn’t answer.

“Oh my god. I can’t decide if I’m enjoying your despair or if I’m terrified of it,” said Amy, tutting as she shook her head at you,

“They’re just tourists,” you said through gritted teeth. “Let’s treat them as such.”

Just tourists, you told yourself. Just tourists my ass.

The sun was too bright for a Tuesday. You squinted up at it as you stepped out of a grocery store, two bags dangling from your arms, the baguette sticking out comically like something out of a cartoon. You walked down the winding road, exchanging smiles and pleasantries with a few people you knew.

Just as you were turning a corner, you spotted Doyoung in front of an old book shop, staring up at the sign with sunglasses far too big for his face. The owner, an old man with a permanent slouch, came out to greet him and usher him inside.

He hadn’t seen you yet. You considered ducking back inside and hiding in the alley between a patisserie and the bookshop, but fate was quicker. Doyoung turned at the perfect moment, smiling as soon as he recognized you.

“Hey,” he called, jogging over before you could pretend to be invisible. “I could help with that,” he offered.

You adjusted the bags in your hands. “No. I’ve got it.”

“Yes, but I insist, please.” He reached for one anyway, and you didn’t stop him, mostly because you were too tired to argue.

You walked side by side in silence for a few seconds. The streets were still sleepy at this hour—too early for tourists, too late for locals.  

Doyoung cleared his throat, shifting the bag in his hands. “So, uh, this place is lovely. The pastry is amazing. I had something yesterday—some kind of tart with fig and honey? It was amazing. I mean, not that I know anything about pastries. Or figs. I’m more of a donut guy, really. But you know—when in Rome. Or, uh, Corsica.”

You glanced at him sideways. He wasn’t looking at you, just staring ahead. He went on. “Also, everyone keeps smiling here. Like, aggressively friendly. One would think you’re not in France at all. Last time I was in the country, I went to Paris, and if someone smiled at you like that, they either want to sell you something or they’re about to scam you.”

That made you laugh, unexpectedly. Doyoung heard it and looked over, clearly startled, then smiled sheepishly. You cleared your throat after a few seconds, still a little red in the face. “You haven’t changed at all, Doyoung.”

Doyoung shrugged like he disagreed. “I did change a little. But you certainly haven’t.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He glanced at you, lips twitching into a small smile. “You’re just as beautiful as the first time I met you.”

You smirked. “On second thought, maybe you have changed.” You pointed to his choice of clothing. “You look more put-together. You must be doing better now.”

Doyoung smiled, that soft, earnest one that you used to find so endearing. “I am, thank goodness. My job is less stressful now. I’m doing much, much better. You, though? How have you been?”

“I’m fine. I’m sure you can tell that much.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he replied, nodding. “And you’ve got a daughter. Emma, right? She seemed really bright. She reminds me of you.”

You frowned. “You don’t know her.”

“I know enough,” he said gently, then added quickly, “I mean—not in a weird way. Just, you know. I saw her for a few hours, and she seemed... like she knows exactly what she wants. Just like you always did.”

You didn’t respond to that. The road curved ahead, and you were quiet again, but it was less awkward this time, more familiar. Like an old coat, neither of you knew how to take off. You stopped walking as your house came into view. Doyoung did too. You turned to face him. “What are you doing here, Doyoung?”

Doyoung looked confused. “Helping you with your bags?”

“No, I mean here here. On this island,” you clarified, sighing. “Why did you come here?”

Doyoung blinked. “What do you mean?”

You shot him a look. “I know you came because you thought I asked you to, but we cleared that up, didn’t we? So why are you still here?”

“Vacation,” he offered quickly. “I’m here on vacation. Sometimes I like to do solo trips. You know? Pick a spot on the map and go there. I’m a spontaneous person.”

“No, you’re not.”

Doyoung chuckled. “No, I’m not.”

You didn’t say anything to that, just shook your head and looked over your shoulder at your house by the cliffs.  “I should get these home,” you said finally, nodding toward the bags.

Doyoung blinked like he’d forgotten he was still holding one. “Right! Of course. Sorry. I’ll, uh—I’ll leave you to it.”

You turned toward the path that led back to your house, but paused after Doyoung called out your name. “It’s really good to see you again,” he said. And you knew he meant it.

You nodded. “Thanks.” Then turned and kept walking.

You thought you’d feel calmer the second you stepped back inside your house. But the moment you opened the door, laughter—loud and familiar—echoed through the hall and made the veins in your temples throb. Johnny was sprawled across your sofa, drink in hand, laughing at something Amy had said.

“There she is!” Amy called brightly the moment she saw you.

“My sweetheart,” Johnny added, getting to his feet with arms outstretched like he expected a warm welcome.

You dodged the hug before he could reach you. “Ames, did you check the mail? Something came for you.”

Amy’s eyes widened. “Already? Wait—what day is it?” She didn’t wait for an answer, scrambling off the couch and disappearing into the study, which you’d turned into your office.

Johnny followed you into the kitchen after Amy left, looking around the place. “Nice place you’ve got. Very you. Minimalist but cozy.”

“Glad you approve,” you deadpanned.

He grinned, tipping back the last of his drink before setting the glass on the countertop. “So... how have you been? You know, since our amazing little summer.”

“I’ve been fine.”

“Just fine?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “‘Fine’ fine, or ‘not fine’ fine?”

“‘None of your business’ fine.”

Johnny laughed, clearly entertained. “Okay, Ice Princess. What did I do? Why am I getting the cold treatment like we didn’t part in great terms on the best of circumstances all those years ago?”

The circumstances he was talking about were definitely not the best for you, but you didn’t wanna get into that with him. “I’m just trying to maintain a quiet life, Johnny. Having you here gives me anything but that.”

Johnny shrugged, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “Alright, fine.”

He was quiet for a minute, watching you pile up the groceries in their respective containers and cabinets. “Village’s changed a lot, hasn’t it?” he said after a while, glancing around. “I mean, there’s a wine bar now. A wine bar. When did this place get so bougie?”

“Not too long ago. More and more tourists are finding this place.”

“Is that why you turned this into a BNB?”

You hummed. “The plan was a hotel, but that takes so much more work, so I’m putting that on hold for now.”

Johnny nodded slowly, then looked at you again, this time more carefully. “Your daughter Emma is adorable. I didn’t know you got married.”

You paused, hand hovering in the air as you were closing an overhead cabinet. “I didn’t.”

His eyebrows rose. “Oh. Huh. I just assumed. You know... kid, house, the whole ‘maintaining a quiet life’ spiel. Is the father out of the picture?”

You huffed, unwilling to have this conversation with him for the most obvious reason. “It’s really none of your business, but if you must ask, no, he is not in the picture. I have a daughter and I’m not married. That’s it.”

He gave a slow, thoughtful nod, like he was tucking that information away for later. “Yeah, I doubt you would have enjoyed being married. You always did like being independent.”

You said nothing, just continued your chore and pretended he wasn’t there. But it was easier said than done.

“I missed talking to you,” he said with a lilt. “Even when you’re being mean.”

“You are bothering me while I’m working. I’m not being mean.”

“Oh, I know,” he chimed, tilting his head. “This is you being civilized. It’s kinda hot.”

You rolled your eyes. “I thought I told you to leave?”

“I’m the master of my own fate, sweetheart. I don’t let anyone tell me what to do,” he said smugly. “Besides, this place is magnificent. Can’t blame a man for staying and reliving the nostalgia.”

You didn’t bother replying. Just turned away and kept unpacking, hoping he’d take the hint. Johnny smirked, clearly enjoying pushing your buttons, but then his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it, sighed, and shook his head. “Well, I should probably let you get back to your kingdom of quiet,” he said, stretching.

You didn’t bother to say goodbye, just kept sorting the groceries. Johnny grinned like he knew he’d won some invisible game and turned toward the door. “See you around.”

You heard the front door close behind him, and the sudden silence was almost deafening. The sound of footsteps signaled Amy’s return. “Johnny’s gone,” she said, placing a letter on the counter. “I guess I’m gone too. But more gone than he is.”

Your brows furrowed. “Whatever does that mean?”

Amy lifted the paper. “They’re summoning me back. I’m afraid I’m gonna have to say goodbye to my little break and go back to working my ass off for a new Chanel purse.”

You chuckled. “You’re your own boss, Amy.”

“Pep talk? Nice. I can always trust you to lift me up when I’m down.”

“No, I mean literally,” you clarified, laughing. “You literally own your company.”

Amy sighed and sank into a chair. “I know, right? Who knew being a boss could be so demanding, too?”

You smiled, placing the last jar of jam in the cabinet. “You always did say you wanted to build an empire.”

“I was picturing more champagne and yachts. Less spreadsheets and back-to-back Zoom calls.” She pouted. “But alas, I must answer the call of capitalism.”

You leaned against the counter, arms folded. “When are you leaving?”

“Couple more days. Figured I’d squeeze in a few more sunsets before I go back to breathing recycled air in my office.”

“That gives us time for at least one more girls’ night.”

Amy grinned. “You, me, Lea, a bottle of wine, and us talking about Emma’s drop dead gorgeous dads?”

“Possible dads.”

She raised her hands in surrender. “Right, possible dads. But seriously… you okay with me leaving?”

You gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’ll survive.”

Amy narrowed her eyes. “You always say that when you’re suppressing deep emotional turmoil.”

“Then you must be thrilled I’m so consistent.”

Amy smirked, then stood to stretch. “I wish I could move here too.”

You shook your head. “Yeah, like you’ll survive the quiet.”

She grimaced, standing up at once and heading for the stairs. You watched her climb upstairs with her heels click-clacking on the marble floor, smiling as she disappeared from view.

You were halfway up the ladder, squinting against the late afternoon sun as you twisted the new bulb into the patio fixture. The scent of oranges permeated the warm air, sweet and delightful, and cicadas buzzed in the distance.

“Hey—careful,” came a voice behind you, gentle but urgent. You turned slightly and found Jaehyun standing near the base of the ladder, brows furrowed. “You shouldn’t be up there,” he said. “What if you fall?”

You huffed a small laugh, focusing back on the bulb. “Then I’ll fall. And hopefully someone will find me before the birds do.”

He stepped closer, placing one hand on the side of the ladder without climbing. “Seriously. Get down. Let me do it.”

“It’s fine, I’m almost—” You gave the bulb a final twist and straightened. “Done.”

He exhaled through his nose like he didn’t quite believe you, but wasn’t going to argue. His hand stayed lightly on the ladder until you made it to the ground. You felt it—the worry in his eyes—before you even looked at him.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

He nodded, glancing up at the light fixture. “You always do these things by yourself?”

You shrugged. “Mostly. The handyman comes by when something major breaks.”

“Don’t you have someone who could help with this kind of thing?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “A partner, or… someone?”

You scoffed. “Why? Because women shouldn’t be doing things like these?”

“That’s not what I said,” he said quickly. “I just meant you should be more careful and leave these tasks to other people.”

“Did you come here to boss me around?” you smirked, walking toward the shed with your toolbox. “Old habits die hard, huh?”

“I’m not bossing you around. I never did that,” he replied, following behind you. “You just don’t like being told what to do.”

“You know me so well,” you scoffed, digging through the shed for shears. “Good for you.”

You turned to him and handed him the shears with a crooked smile. “Here. Since you think I shouldn't be doing everything myself, you can help with the oranges.”

He took the shears without protest, the metal glinting faintly in the late afternoon light. You started toward the nearest tree, brushing your fingers against the low-hanging branches as you walked. The fruit was ripe, some already beginning to speckle with sunspots.

Jaehyun trailed behind, quiet except for the occasional snip of the shears. You didn’t offer instructions—he knew what to do. You remembered that much.

For a while, the only sounds were the rustle of leaves, the snap of stems, and the distant hum of insects. You filled a basket between you in silence, neither of you in a hurry. 

“These trees are doing well,” he said eventually, pausing beside you to drop a few oranges into the bin. “I didn’t think they’d survive the dry season.”

You crouched down to pick one that had fallen between two roots. “They almost didn’t. I had to replant a few.” You dusted off the dirt and added it to the pile. “They’re tougher than they look.”

He glanced at you, and you knew it wasn’t about the oranges. But you didn’t acknowledge it. Jaehyun shifted his weight, rubbing his palm over his neck like he always did when he was thinking too hard. “It’s peaceful here.”

“It was,” you said dryly, then added, “Still is. Mostly.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it faded quickly. He nodded and turned back to the tree, reaching for another cluster of oranges. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. But I figured, when I did… you’d look like this.”

You arched a brow. “Like what?”

He hesitated. “Like… settled. Happy.”

You didn’t respond right away, just adjusted the strap of the basket on your shoulder. “Yeah, life doesn’t just stop for anyone. It keeps going. But you know that already.”

Jaehyun didn’t say anything. Instead, he stepped forward, brushing past you to reach a particularly high branch. His arm stretched over your head, close enough for you to feel the warmth of him, but you didn’t move. He clipped the stem and handed the orange to you quietly.

You took it without meeting his eyes. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” he murmured. You placed the orange in the basket, then stood there for a few moments, letting the quiet stretch between you. You didn’t want to open your mouth and speak the words you were dying to say. But you needed to know.

You exhaled softly. “Are you going to tell me what you’re really doing here?”

He looked at you, lips pressed thinly together like he didn’t want to speak. You met his gaze. “Why are you here, Jae? Why now?”

“No reason,” he said, though his voice was softer now. “I just wanted to see the island again. You know what it meant to me.”

You sighed. “I know, that’s why I’m asking you why. You came all the way out here, just to reminisce?”

He didn’t answer right away. You could see it—the hesitation behind his silence. Maybe he was debating what to say, or maybe he didn’t even know the answer himself.

“I don’t know,” he said eventually. “Still figuring that out,” he said quietly.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Then figure it out somewhere else. I want nothing to do with you.”

You placed the basket of oranges down and turned to walk away. But then you paused, sighing to yourself. “Jaehyun,” you said, glancing back. He straightened, eyes hopeful.

“Don’t do that thing where you pretend we’re fine.”

His face fell, just slightly. “Okay,” he said softly. “Then I’ll do the thing where I hope we will be.”

You didn’t say anything else. Just walked away, the sun edging down the horizon, and the memories of your past heartbreak pressing hard against your chest.

In a small, dimly lit pub in the heart of the village, Johnny, Doyoung, and Jaehyun had found a corner table near the back, enjoying the local cuisine and some drinks. It was by Johnny’s recommendation, seconded by Jaehyun, who agreed that this place had the best food.

“So you’re all here by coincidence?” the pub owner asked, appearing at their table with a towel slung over her shoulder. She was in her fifties, with sharp eyes and a playful lilt to her voice.

Jaehyun smiled faintly. “Guess so.”

“I remember you,” she said, pointing at him. “You were here six years ago, weren’t you? Your hair was shorter then. Stayed a few weeks. Always ordered the sardines and left a good tip.”

Jaehyun smiled. “Yeah, that sounds like me.”

She turned to Johnny. “I saw you here before, too, with the fancy yacht.” To Doyoung, she said, “You all know each other?”

Doyoung offered a polite smile. “We didn’t know each other until this week. We all thought she—uh, someone—had asked us to come.”

“Misunderstanding,” Jaehyun added flatly.

The woman let out a long, amused hmm. “Three strangers, all drawn back to the same place, for the same woman? That’s either bad luck or fate.”

Johnny chuckled. “Feels a bit like both.”

The pub owner grinned. “Well, I’ve known her since she moved here. Lovely girl. Strong as hell. We all helped her when she had little Emma—Lord, that was a night.” She laughed to herself, then added fondly, “She did good, you know. Raising her child like that.”

That was when she tilted her head. “So…” she said slowly, eyes darting between the three of them, “which one of you is the dad?”

Silence fell all of a suddden. Jaehyun blinked. Doyoung choked on his beer. Johnny just stared at her, lips parting but nothing coming out.

She laughed, waving a hand. “Oh, don’t all look so spooked. Just thought it was funny—all of you turning up like that. I figured one of you must’ve come back for your kid.”

Doyoung leaned forward. “Sorry—our kid? Are you saying one of us could be Emma’s dad?”

She blinked, then grinned. “So you don’t know?” She looked genuinely entertained now. “You did all sleep with her, yeah?”

The three of them exchanged stunned glances, which only made her laugh harder. “That’s the part I’m having trouble wrapping my head around. Young people really are something,” she said, already turning away. “Just don’t cause trouble for our girl while you’re here, alright?”

The three of them stepped out into the cooling evening air, the sea breeze curling through the narrow streets. They walked in silence at first, shoes scuffing against cobblestones, the buzz of the pub still echoing faintly behind them.

“She’s got your laugh, Johnny,” Doyoung said suddenly. Johnny and Jaehyun both turned to look at him. “I mean—” Doyoung shrugged, a little sheepish now. “Emma. The kid.”

Johnny lifted a brow. “You’ve barely spoken to her.”

“I know,” Doyoung said, hands jammed into his pockets. “But I heard her laugh.”

“You don’t think she’s yours?” Jaehyun asked Doyoung.

Doyoung shrugged. “I feel like she’s mine, but I also think she’s not. I mean, me and her mom only met briefly and you two seemed to have a longer history with her.”

Johnny didn’t answer. He was looking up now, watching the clouds across a lilac sky. “A daughter. My own daughter. How odd.”

Doyoung gave him a sidelong glance. “You think she might be yours?”

Johnny smirked faintly. “The timeline fits. And we did have a wild summer.”

Jaehyun scoffed. “None of that would have happened if I never left the island.”

Johnny stopped walking and watched Jaehyun carefully. “So it was you?”

Jaehyun stopped too, glancing over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

Johnny narrowed his eyes, wagging his index finger. “The guy who left her in that state of despair six years ago.”

Jaehyun didn’t speak, but the way his jaw clenched and looked away made Johnny snigger. “Knew it. Guess I owe you for that. If you hadn’t messed up, I wouldn’t have had my chance.”

They exchanged glances, Johnny with a smug smirk on his lips and Jaehyun with darkened eyes, neither of them saying anything. Just a step behind, Doyoung was watching cautiously. 

“Are you gonna punch each other in the face? Please don’t punch each other in the face,” he rambled. “I’m a pacifist, but physically pacifying two grown men fighting is not my best skill.”

Jaehyun glanced at him and smiled. “No. No one’s punching anyone.”

Johnny nodded in agreement, and Doyoung visibly relaxed. Ahead, near the edge of the orange orchard, he spotted a small figure darting between the trees—Emma, the child they had all heard so much about.

“Emma!” he exclaimed, pointing at the orchard.

They all followed his finger, watching as Emma ran barefoot over the grass with two other kids, her hair bouncing, eyes bright with mischief. They all noticed how she tilted her head just like you did when you were thinking hard, and caught themselves smiling at the resemblance.

Jaehyun exhaled slowly. “We need to talk to her mom.”

Doyoung scratched the back of his neck. “We should, but she clearly doesn’t want us here.”

Johnny nodded slowly, his gaze still on the orchard. “Makes sense now, doesn’t it? Why she was so cold. She’s been raising a kid this whole time and we show up out of nowhere?”

A long silence stretched between them, heavy with everything that needed not be spoken. 

“Hi there,” came a voice behind them. They all turned. Amy stood there, smiling mischievously.

“Amy!” Johnny exclaimed, chuckling nervously. “Didn’t see you there.”

Amy crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Three grown men, spying on a little girl. I wonder what’s going on here?” she chimed, tilting her head playfully.

It didn’t take much to convince Amy. Just one sincere talk beneath the stars, and Amy’s usual knack for stepping into matters she absolutely shouldn’t. 

Okay, there was also a bribe of some sort from Johnny too.

By morning, she and the three men had come to some sort of unspoken agreement, though you’d never hear the details from her. She wouldn’t tell you yet, but Amy agreed to gave the men time to get to know Emma. Little windows of time, a few stolen moments. A chance to see Emma from a distance without disrupting her world. 

The girl remained blissfully unaware, chattering to her friends, running through trees, and sitting cross-legged on classroom floors while three very confused, very quiet men watched her and quietly lost their minds.

Johnny had his time with her first. He was sitting outside the café in the square, dark sunglasses over his eyes, arms crossed as if he wasn’t creepily surveilling a six-year-old. Emma sat three tables away with a coloring book open in front of her and a glass of peach juice beside it—served, oddly, in a champagne flute.

“She refuses to drink from plastic,” Amy muttered, sipping her espresso beside him. “Told me once it was ‘unsightly.’”

“She’s not wrong,” Johnny scoffed.

“She’s six.”

Johnny let out a faint snort. Emma was focused, brows pinched slightly, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she colored inside the lines. Not scribbles—clean, even strokes. Her sundress was bright. Her sandals were spotless. And when a tourist’s kid squealed nearby, Emma looked up with a flick of her lashes that Johnny knew all too well.

“She might be mine,” he murmured, eyes focused on the kid. “What a terrifying thought.”

“Terrifying that she’s yours?” Amy asked dryly.

Johnny nodded. “Yeah. I mean, can you imagine? Me? With a kid?”

Amy snorted. “You’d put her in designer overalls.”

Johnny puffed his chest proudly. “She deserves nothing less.”

Jaehyun saw her later that afternoon, under the fig tree by the orchard. Emma was crouched in the dirt, arranging pebbles into a messy circle around something she’d scratched into the soil with a stick. A butterfly landed nearby. She didn’t move—just watched it in silence, eyes wide with wonder.

A woman came over, offering some pastry to Emma who immediately stood up to look at the food. When she scrunched up her nose at it, Jaehyun smiled to himself, recognizing that stubborn streak.

Amy stood beside him, arms crossed loosely. “She’s very picky. She hates raisins,” she offered. “Picks them out of everything. Cookies. Bread. Throws them at birds, sometimes.”

Jaehyun blinked. “Birds?”

“It’s her favorite animal. Always the highlight of her drawings.”

“She likes to draw?”

“She does,” Amy replied, smiling.

He didn’t answer. Just kept his eyes on Emma as she adjusted one final stone, then stood back to admire her handiwork. A small, crooked flower drawn in dirt, circled with mismatched pebbles. She clapped once, proud of herself.

Jaehyun smiled faintly. “She’s my daughter,” he said, soft enough that even Amy might not have caught it. “I know it.”

Doyoung saw her at the school library. Emma was curled on a beanbag in the corner, a book nearly as big as her lap open across her knees. Occasionally, she’d whisper something to herself, then giggle like she’d cracked a private joke. Her glasses kept slipping down her nose, and every few minutes she’d push them up again with an absent-minded jab of her finger.

“She likes logic puzzles,” Amy whispered from the next shelf. “Reads ahead in class.”

Doyoung watched in fascination as Emma turned a page and promptly bonked herself in the forehead with the stiff cardboard. She made a dramatic little “oof” sound, then looked around—saw no one had noticed—and laughed at herself.

“She’s smart,” Doyoung murmured, smiling despite himself. “And clumsy.”

Amy looked at him knowingly. “Like someone you know?”

Emma had already gone back to reading, entirely absorbed, glasses slipping again. He watched her, chest tugging strangely.

“I feel like she’s mine,” he said finally. “I mean, she’s smart, clumsy. Her demeanor reminds me of myself.”

None of them spoke it aloud to each other. But in their separate corners of the island, in different lights and at different times, they all began to wonder the same thing.

What if she really was my child?

The first time you saw Emma hanging out with one of his potential fathers, you went batshit. You almost lashed out on Jaehyun—who was with her at the time, but Lea was able to stop you just in time before you could make a scene with your daughter present. Lea and Amy had to take the brunt of your anger.

Amy explained that all three of them had heard from someone that one of them could be Emma’s dad. It took some serious convincing—one which involved sitting your down while Lea and Amy held you on either arms to calm you down—before you eventually agreed that they deserved to at least get to know Emma.

That weekend, you watched Johnny and Emma spend time together. They were crouched side-by-side at the back of the bookstore. You sat at the café next door, pretending to read while watching them through the open window. You didn’t like this idea at all, but you wanted to give it a chance.

Emma, legs swinging from the edge of a stepstool, flipped through a picture book while Johnny knelt beside her, pointing at words and asking, “What do you think happens next?”

“She gets turned into a snail,” Emma replied seriously, like it was obvious.

Johnny chuckled. “Solid twist.”

You lingered to watch them longer than you meant to. When Emma eventually noticed you, she ran up to join you with Johnny in tow.  He just smiled at you and said, “We found the weirdest book. It’s kind of amazing.”

You only offered a clipped nod before turning to Emma as she showed you the pictures in the book. Doyoung’s turn came with the weekly beach clean-up. He somehow ended up carrying Emma in one arm and a leaking bucket of seashells and rocks in the other, grinning despite the mess.

“I’m starting a rock museum,” Emma explained when she spotted you. “Uncle Doyoung’s the janitor.”

Doyoung wiped his sandy hands on his jeans. “I asked to be head of security, but apparently I wasn’t intimidating enough.”

You didn’t stay long, just long enough to see him trip over a bucket and nearly fall into the tide. Emma cackled, and you couldn’t help the reluctant smile that pulled at your lips. She was having fun. That’s all that mattered.

And then there was the art fair too. You’d gone mostly for the free churros, but Emma got sucked into the craft tent, and of course Jaehyun was there—already drawing with a group of overly ambitious kids.

When Emma wandered over to him, she handed him a stick of chalk and said, “Can you draw a castle?”

So he did. A sweeping, moss-covered thing, all turrets and arches, delicately shaded like it was made to be hung in museums. Emma crouched beside him, adding a purple dragon with uneven wings. You stood across the square, your heart crawling up into your throat. And when they stepped back to admire their work—her tiny hand brushing his—you had to look away.

Through it all, you kept your distance. Smiled when Emma came home with funny stories. Listened when she said she hoped she’d see “the bookstore guy” or “the rock guy” or “the drawing guy” again. And quietly braced yourself for the moment it would all become real. Because deep down, you knew it couldn’t go on like this forever.

“Uncle Doyoung’s silly. I like him.”

Your heart twisted a little. “You do?”

“Uh-huh. And I like Uncle Johnny too. He said he’s got a big boat.”

You chuckled, running your hands gently through her hair. “Yeah, he does.”

“Your friends are not mean, Mom. They’re okay,” she added, beaming. “And did you know Uncle Jae is an architect?”

“I did.”

“He said architects draw houses and buildings. It’s cool.”

You smiled. “Do you wanna be an architect?”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “I want to be a marine biologist.”

“Oh?” you asked, propping yourself on your elbow. “What does a marine biologist do?”

She launched into a surprisingly detailed explanation about dolphins, seaweed, and how sharks weren’t actually evil. You listened, nodding along, trying not to think about how easy this all seemed for her. And how hard it still was for you.

The next morning, you told your friends about your conversation with Emma. It was late afternoon when the three of you gathered on the patio, just far enough from the orchard that your voices wouldn’t carry. You had lemonade in your glass, sunglasses on your head, and your jaw clenched just slightly as you watched Emma zip between the trees, her laugh echoing on the breeze.

Johnny, Doyoung, and Jaehyun trailed after her like oversized puppies. Doyoung was trying to toss fallen oranges into a basket while Emma called out scores like a basketball referee. Jaehyun was crouched beside her, gently brushing dirt off her knees with a folded napkin. And Johnny, of course, was doing the most Johnny thing imaginable—standing a few feet away, watching it all quietly, sipping from a water bottle like he was above the chaos but secretly just shy around Emma.

“It’s Lover Boy,” Amy said, plucking a grape off the plate in front of her.

Lea blinked. “You said your vote is on Playboy.”

“That was when I hadn’t met Emma in the flesh yet,” Amy popped the grape in her mouth. “Now that she’s grown, and I’ve met Lover Boy, I’m pretty sure it’s him. She’s got her hatred for raisins to back it up, too.”

Lea snorted. “Nah. It’s Shy Boy. Emma’s being a massive klutz can only be explained by genetics.”

“Oh, so that’s hereditary now?” Amy asked, chuckling.

“It could be, who knows?” said Lea, shrugging. “I will say, though. She’s got Playboy’s eyes.”

You didn’t say anything. Just sipped your lemonade, eyes tracking Emma as she darted behind a tree, making all three men spin around to look for her.

“She’s got pieces of all of them,” Lea said after a moment. “Honestly, I can’t tell. She’s... Emma. You know?”

Amy nodded. “She takes after her mother a lot. Anyone would have a hard time guessing which one is her dad.”

There was a pause while you all watched Doyoung lift Emma onto his shoulders so she could try to reach a branch. She shrieked with laughter when he spun in a slow circle and nearly tripped over his own feet. Jaehyun instinctively reached out to steady them both, and Johnny looked up from where he was sitting, brows furrowed in concern. The three men exchanged glances—then they all laughed.

“At least the three of them get along,” Lea commented. “Men are more civil than I thought.”

You hummed but said nothing, eyes lingering on Emma as she stuck out her tongue and made a silly face. She was glowing. She had no idea that her entire life might be shifting beneath her feet.

Amy nudged your elbow. “You okay?”

Before you could respond, you noticed Johnny approaching, and quiet fell over your small circle. He slowed when he reached the edge of the patio, giving a polite nod to the others before looking at you.

“Hi,” he said, hands in his pockets.

“Oh wow, would you look at the time,” Lea said suddenly, standing up. “I need to check on the muffins!”

“Right. Muffins in the oven. Burning. Very urgent,” Amy said, scrambling up after her.

Johnny smirked as he watched your friends scramble away on purpose. “I love your friends. They’re very tactful.”

You scoffed. “And very nosy too.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Johnny agreed, sitting on the chair Lea had just vacated. “So, Shy Boy, Lover Boy, and Playboy.” Your brows furrowed, but you didn’t say anything.

“Nice nicknames. Who came up with it?” he grinned, leaning back on the chair and crossing his legs. “Let me guess, Lea?”

You couldn’t help laughing. “Yeah. But where did you even hear that? Have you been eavesdropping this whole time?”

“No, but I’ve heard it a few times in passing. I mean, obviously I’m Playboy,” he said, pointing to himself. “Doyoung’s definitely Shy Boy. And that makes Jaehyun your Lover Boy.”

He turned to you, grinning mischievously. “He was the guy who broke your heart, right? I ought to thank him. That summer changed my life.”

You rolled your eyes. “Are you here to gossip, Playboy?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head and leaning in. “I’m here to ask why you never told me she might be mine.”

Your mind stopped functioning for a second, completely caught off guard by the question and the way he dropped it so casually. You opened your mouth to speak, but didn’t. You just took a deep breath and looked away.

Of course. This conversation was doomed to come.

You’d never seen her this happy. Emma had always been bright, quick to laugh, quick to love, but this was different. This was lit-from-within, cheeks-pink-from-running, never-stopping-to-breathe kind of joy. You’d opted to let the three of them check into the BNB so they could spend more time with her.

Emma tore through the orchard like it had been made for her. Hair in a frizzy ponytail, arms flapping like wings, cheeks flushed from the heat. And trailing behind her like loyal satellites were the three men she’d only just met.

Doyoung was her obvious favorite at first. He’d found an old chalkboard and some planks and convinced her they could build a lemonade stand, even though he had no real plan and kept hammering nails crookedly.

“You’re doing it all wrong,” she scolded, tapping the plank he’d just attached.

“I’m not!” Doyoung said, offended. “I saw someone do it this way and it worked out fine.”

Jaehyun, naturally, had to take over. Inside the house, you pulled the laundry off the line and folded it stiffly. You paused when you heard her laugh again—clear as glass—and glanced out the kitchen window.

Johnny was under the fig tree with her now, holding a clipboard and pencil. He was showing her how to draw a map of the orchard. She leaned close to study his handwriting, her forehead creasing a little in concentration. He watched her like he didn’t want to blink.

When you stepped out onto the porch with a basket of folded sheets, Jaehyun was crouched near the steps, gently wiping dirt from Emma’s scraped knee with a napkin. She sniffled but didn’t cry. He smiled at her, whispering something you couldn’t hear, and she nodded solemnly before getting up and dashing off to find the others.

Jaehyun stood slowly and noticed you. “You’ve got a few loose planks back there,” he said quietly, pointing to a spot behind the house. “I could fix them. It wouldn’t take long.”

You didn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve lived with them this long.”

“I know. But I’m here now.”

That made you look at him. His face hadn’t changed—still calm, still thoughtful—but there was meaning behind those words. Like an apology, or a promise, or both.

“I’m not gonna play house with you, Jaehyun.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” he said calmly. “I just… want to help.”

“Well, don’t,” you replied, lips pressing into a thin line. He nodded once and stepped back.

That evening, the lemonade stand had collapsed, the map was unfinished, and Emma had declared herself “Queen of Orange Land.” She demanded a crown. Jaehyun made one out of wildflowers. Doyoung gave her a sticker badge. Johnny carried her on his shoulders as she waved at no one.

From the patio, you watched it all. Arms crossed, with an unreadable expression. You’d spent six years guarding your peace. Six years building a world that revolved around you and your daughter, just you two, always. And now these men had arrived, pulling at old threads. Disturbing your peace.

Doyoung approached you later, holding out a glass of lemonade like a peace offering. “Hi.”

You took the glass without looking at him. “Thanks.”

“She’s a lot like you,” Doyoung said. “Bold, smart, very pretty. She has big dreams, too. Like you.”

You didn’t say anything, just quietly sipped on your lemonade.

Doyoung continued. “Remember in Paris? You said you wanted to run your own hotel and—”

“I don’t remember,” you cut in.

His smile dropped for just a second. “Right. Well… Back then, I said I’m gonna stay in your hotel as a guest. And—”

“Stop it, Doyoung,” you replied without missing a beat. “There is a chance that you might be Emma’s dad, and if you were, you could be a dad to her if you want. But that’s between you and her. That relationship doesn’t extend to me.”

You rose to your feet and left before he could say anything. You heard him call out to you, but you didn’t look back.

Later that night, long after Emma had passed out in bed, you ran into Johnny in the hallway. He was barefoot, hair damp from a shower, heading toward the kitchen.

He noticed you first. “Still mad at me?”

You walked past him without stopping. “No.”

Johnny turned, surprised. “Really?”

“That would require emotion.”

He didn’t smile. “Got it.”

As you walked away, you remembered how he asked you a few days ago why you didn’t tell him about Emma. You remembered being unable to say anything in response. Johnny said it was fine and that he would wait until you were ready to tell him.

“But as you know, I’m a busy man and I’m not very patient,” he’d said at the time, basically giving you a deadline, and you didn’t appreciate that at all.

The sun had set. Emma had fallen asleep after a tantrum over popsicle colors—red was the only acceptable flavor, apparently—and for the first time all day, the house was quiet. You were in the kitchen twisting at a jam jar with far too much effort, when Doyoung walked in.

“Need help?” he asked, smiling.

You jumped a little. “I got it,” you said, grunting once before giving up. “Okay, no, I don’t. I think the lid’s glued shut.”

He took the jar, twisted once, and popped it open. You stared at him like he’d just performed a magic trick.

“I loosened it,” you said defensively.

He handed it back with a smile. “Yes, you did. Great job.” 

The compliment caught you off guard, and you looked down at the jar in your hands, like you had suddenly forgotten why you wanted jam in the first place. Doyoung noticed your expression.

“Sorry. It just came out,” he said after a second. “My fiancee says she doesn’t know if I mean them sometimes, or if I’m just complimenting her out of habit.”

You glanced at him. “Fiancée? You’re engaged?”

Doyoung nodded, almost bashfully. “Since December. She’s great. Very not-me, which is probably why it works.”

“Congratulations,” you said, feeling a genuine warmth in your heart.

He looked at you, serious now. “I didn’t come to bother you or anything. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”

You flattened your lips together and shrugged.

“I was just really surprised to get that letter,” he added, chuckling softly. “And I came because it sounded urgent, and I wanted to help with whatever it was. You didn’t give me details, just that you wanted me to come as soon as I can.”

“I know,” you replied, shaking your head at yourself. “That was kind of the point. And I did need your help at the time, but things got better.”

“What did happen?” he asked, leaning on the counter. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

You sighed and looked at him, really looked at him. Doyoung had been a sweetheart when you first met. He was a clumsy, nervous wreck, but he was endearing. You had your best memories of Paris with him, but he probably had the worst memory of you leaving him with nothing but a note. 

He didn’t deserve the hostility he got from you the first time you saw him again after six long years.

“Emma was sick, really sick,” you confessed. “I didn’t know what to do. I panicked. And for the first time, I thought… maybe she needs her dad.”

You looked away. “But like I said, things got better. So I didn’t have to send those letters after all.”

Doyoung hummed, nodding as he took in the information. “I followed you here, you know. Six years ago.” He said after a few seconds. “But Corsica is a big island and I didn’t know where to look, so, I gave up and went back home.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I wasn’t upset about it,” he chuckled, then paused to think. “Well, I was, a little bit. And it took a while to recover from the bruised ego I got that day.”

He glanced over. “Can I ask you something?” You nodded.

“Did you hate it? That night?” Doyoung let out a shaky laugh. “I just—I’ve thought about it a lot. About how I must’ve said the wrong thing or done something wrong. And I’ve always wondered if you left because of that.”

“No,” you said quickly. “No, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t hate it. I just…”

You took a breath, then admitted quietly, “You scared me. When you said you were in love with me.”

“Huh…” He nodded, seemingly coming to a realization. “I get it. Looking back now, it was kind of a stupid thing to say.”

You snorted. “Yeah. It was.”

“But that’s all in the past,” he declared, exhaling. “And I didn’t come here for a second shot at this, or anything. I just really thought you needed help, and our time might be short, but to me, you’re an old friend. I like helping old friends.”

You smiled at that, genuinely moved. Then he added, “And of course, after finding out about Emma, I had to stay. I needed to stay. The idea that I could be a father is just… I don’t know. Exciting and scary at the same time.”

You didn’t reply right away. Just watched him, this man who used to be a charming, blabbering mess, now standing in your kitchen talking about being a father. “I think you’ll be a good one,” you said at last.

Doyoung smiled, softer than before. “I hope so.”

“Not just with Emma,” you added, and you meant it. “You’ll be a wonderful dad to your kids, Doyoung.”

“Thank you,” he said, bashfully scratching the back of his neck. His ears had turned a little pink. “I’d love me a daughter. I’d spoil her rotten.”

You sighed. “If Emma turns out to be yours, please don’t spoil her too much. She’s already spoiled enough as it is. I can’t even.”

Doyoung snorted. “She’s not that bad.”

You gave him a look. “She threw a fit over popsicle colors. Colors, Doyoung.”

He laughed, loud and boyish. “Right. She did.”

You smiled despite yourself. Just for a second, it felt like old times again—comfortable, uncomplicated, and a little silly. But only for a second.

The night was still and quiet. Cool air clung to your skin as you stepped onto the porch, barefoot, holding a half-empty mug of tea. You’d part ways with Doyoung after a hearty chat, and Johnny was nowhere to be found ever since Emma fell asleep. So, you weren’t expecting to see anyone else.

But there he was, crouched at the edge of the yard, a flashlight balanced between his knees and a screwdriver in his hand, fussing over the fence.

You blinked. “I told you to leave it.”

Jaehyun looked up, startled. “Sorry. Couldn’t sleep.”

You took a slow sip. “Didn’t realize you packed a toolbox.”

He glanced down at the pitiful setup: a multitool, a roll of twine, and what looked suspiciously like a spoon. “Improvising.”

You scoffed under your breath and stepped down from the porch, walking over to the shed nearby. “The toolbox is here.”

He followed you quietly to the shed. You flicked on the light, crouched, and pulled out the battered red toolbox from under a shelf.

“Here,” you said, setting it down at his feet.

“Thanks,” he murmured, kneeling beside it. 

He opened the lid, hesitant, like it felt wrong to accept even this small gesture from you. You turned on your heel to leave, but he spoke before you could take a step.

“You don’t have to stay,” he said. “But I wouldn’t mind the company.”

You considered him for a second, then walked out without a word. He took that as a no. Ten minutes later, you were back with your mug refilled, your sleeves pushed up, and a blanket tossed over one shoulder.

“Is it that hard? Or are you just slow?” you asked flatly.

He didn’t smile, but you saw his lips twitch. “Just trying not to wake everyone.”

You set your mug down on the steps and sat, knees pulled up. You didn’t know why you came back. Maybe it was the quiet, or the way his voice had sounded—not desperate, just inviting.  And familiar.

You watched him work. He was careful with his hands, looping the twine where a nail was missing, reinforcing the base with wood from a broken crate you’d nearly thrown out. He moved quietly, methodically, and with expertise like the handyman that you remembered him to be.

“You still like fixing things that don’t concern you?” you asked before you could stop it.

He glanced at you, surprised. “Only the ones I have a shot at fixing.”

You didn’t reply. But the words stayed with you, nestled somewhere in your chest like a jab you were sure he didn’t mean to throw. “You always did think everything is a fixer-upper,” you mumbled bitterly, looking away and taking a sip.

The night stretched on. A few crickets chirped in the distance. Jaehyun finished tying off the last bit of twine, wiped his hands on his jeans, then came to sit beside you on the steps. Not too close.

“How have you been?” he asked, voice low. “All these years.”

You took a sip of your tea. “Fine.”

He didn’t press. That was how he always was—patient, never pushing. And maybe that was part of the problem. Back then, he’d waited too long to be honest. By the time he said something you needed to hear, it had already been too late.

Now here he was again, waiting. Sitting beside you like no time had passed. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “Emma likes having you around.”

A small smile crossed his lips. “She’s incredible. Bright. Funny. Stubborn as hell. Bet she gets that from you.”

You scoffed, though you were unable to hide your smile.

“She also has a big heart,” he added, looking at you. “And big dreams, like you.”

You looked away. The stars were dull tonight, almost invisible.

“I didn’t think I’d be back here,” he said after a while. “But I’m glad I am.” You said nothing.

“I’ve missed this,” he added, quieter now. “Being around you.”

You looked at him then. At the soft way his features caught the porch light, at the steadiness in his gaze, even when he wasn’t meeting yours. At the man he’d become, or maybe always was, and you just hadn’t seen it through the pain of what didn’t work out.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Jaehyun,” you said quietly.

“I don’t want anything,” he replied. “I just want to be around… if you’ll let me.”

You didn’t respond. Not yes, not no. Just reached for your mug again, letting the warmth seep into your hands, into your chest. It was easier not to go there—not with him, not with anyone. Those memories were too bright and too warm. Too dangerous.

After a while, Jaehyun said, “Sometimes I wonder if I could’ve done anything different. Stayed a little longer. Said something sooner.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t look at him. “I don’t spend time wondering about the past,” you said before rising to your feet and walking away. 

But you did spend time wondering about the past. More often than you cared to admit.

After a restless night and too much thinking, the beach felt like the only place wide enough to hold all the noise in your head. So you walked there early the next morning. The tide was low, and the sand was damp beneath your feet. The breeze smelled like salt and oranges. It was early enough that the sun was still halfway behind the hills, casting a soft glow across the water. You stopped near the shore and closed your eyes for a moment, just breathing it in.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite girl on this island.”

You turned, unsurprised to find Johnny strolling your way—barefooted, linen shirt unbuttoned all the way down, hair a tousled mess like he’d just rolled out of bed and decided to head to the beach first.

“Okay. Second favorite,” he corrected himself. “Emma’s first. Obviously.”

You gave him a look. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

“What could be better than running into you on this fine morning?” he asked back, joining you by the water.

You sighed through your nose and kept walking, letting the waves graze your ankles. Johnny fell into step beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I saw you sneak out this morning,” he said. “Fishy.”

“I wasn’t sneaking out. It’s my house, my home. I do whatever I want.”

“Okay, someone woke up grumpy,” he teased. “What happened? Lover’s quarrel with Shy Boy or Lover Boy?”

You turned to give him a deadpan expression. Johnny grinned. “What? It couldn’t be me. I’m perfect. I’d never quarrel with you.”

You snorted. “You’re many things, Johnny. Perfect is not one of them.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He stretched lazily, arms overhead. “So what are we doing today?”

“We?” you echoed, arching a brow.

“Yes, we. Don’t be selfish. Count me in.”

You shook your head, walking faster, if only to end the conversation. “I came here to be alone.”

“And look how well that turned out,” he said easily, falling into step beside you. “Come on. You haven’t eaten, have you?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t. But your stomach wasn’t the one making noise—it was your mind. Still echoing with words left unsaid on the porch. Johnny was watching you like he already knew that.

“Why?” you asked finally.

“Because I’m starving,” he said, like it was obvious. “And I know this place just around the island. Best pastries I’ve ever had.”

You gave him a look. He gave one right back. “And you could use a distraction. Didn’t they say carbs cure everything? Especially for grumpy women?”

You scoffed under your breath. “No, thanks.”

You turned to continue walking, but a loud, unmistakable grumble made you stop. It was coming from your belly, making you place your hand instinctively over it. Behind you, Johnny chuckled in satisfaction. 

“See? You need to eat. Come on.” He grabbed your hand with a smile, and you let him drag you back to his boat just by the docks. You followed reluctantly, but not unhappily.

Guess this was better than returning to the house. To the quiet rooms and the questions you weren’t ready to ask yourself yet.

The boat was different from what you remembered from summers past, but the vibe was nearly identical—sleek, spotless, with that casual arrogance that seemed woven into the very leather of the seats. A floating extension of Johnny himself.

“What happened to the other one?” you asked as he helped you aboard.

“Sold it,” he replied casually. “It was getting boring, so I had to get a new one.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at his unchanging attitude. “Of course you did.”

He laughed, unfazed, and nodded at the captain onboard. They exchanged a few quick words while you looked around, then the engine rumbled to life, and the boat pulled smoothly from the dock. You leaned against the railing, letting the breeze blow through your hair.

It was strange, how easy it was to fall into old rhythms with Johnny. Like no time had passed at all. But time had passed. Years of it. And not all of them kind.

The ride was short, maybe twenty minutes around the island, but smooth and indulgent—like most things in Johnny’s life. He talked the whole time, mostly nonsense, from complaining about the awful airline food he endured on the way here to ranking the best gelato spots in Corsica. He claimed to be an expert, though you were sure he was mixing up two different towns. You didn’t mind. It was welcome noise, and it kept your mind from drifting too far back into the night before.

They docked at a small port just off the main road, where a sleepy little restaurant with blue-striped umbrellas waited, already smelling of butter and espresso. You chose the table closest to the water. Johnny insisted on pulling your chair out with exaggerated courtesy. You rolled your eyes but sat anyway, draping your blanket loosely over your lap. A waitress brought out a basket of warm bread and two menus.

“I’ll have whatever she’s having,” Johnny said as the waitress approached, his tone casual but his eyes still on you.

You didn’t meet his gaze. “You don’t even know what I want.”

“I know you have good taste. I trust you.”

You glanced up at him then, just briefly. Johnny always said things like that. Like none of it ever cost him anything. “You picked this place,” you said, eyes back on the menu. “Shouldn’t you be the one with recommendations?”

He only shrugged, smiling. “Doesn’t matter. I trust you.”

You rolled your eyes again, but the corners of your mouth twitched. After placing your orders, you took a moment to look around. The restaurant had brick walls and wooden beams overhead, mismatched chairs and wobbly tables, potted plants hanging on the eaves. It had that classic Corsican charm—weathered, warm, and beautiful.

You bit back a smile and looked out at the sea. “This place is nice.”

“It’s better with company,” Johnny said, leaning back with his arms stretched along the seat, completely at ease.

You shot him a look. “Well, obviously you’re always surrounded by company.”

“Not your company,” he said smoothly.

You gave a noncommittal hum, breaking off a piece of bread. “Flirting before breakfast. Bold of you.”

“Flirting? Who’s flirting?” he asked, mock offended. “I’m just appreciating the view.”

You gave him a flat stare. Johnny grinned. “Hey, it’s not my fault you’re easy on the eyes. You should apologize for that.”

You snorted. “You haven’t changed at all.”

He reached for a slice of bread, tearing into it like it was a croissant at a Paris café. “Sure, I have. I’ve matured. I drink my espresso black now. I read the news.”

You raised an eyebrow. He grinned wider. “Okay, I skim headlines. But still. Personal growth.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself, and that only made his grin widen. “There it is,” he said. “I’ve been trying to get a laugh out of you for days.”

You looked at him then, caught off guard by the simple truth of that statement.

“How have you been?” he asked when you didn’t say anything.

You hesitated, but only for a second. “I’ve been okay. Busy. Tired. But okay.”

Johnny nodded. “Motherhood looks good on you.”

You rolled your eyes but felt your shoulders loosen just a little. Maybe it was the sun. Or the coffee. Or Johnny’s ridiculousness.

“What about you?” you asked, cutting into your food. “Still cruising through life with no plans?”

Johnny hummed thoughtfully. “More or less. No wife. No kids. No fixed address. You know me. I like the freedom. Wake up wherever I want. Say yes to whatever I want. No five-year plan. No mortgage.”

You raised a brow. “Living the dream, huh?”

“Something like that.” He gave you a slow smile. “Though… I might be willing to settle down. For the right person. You know, someone who cooks. Someone like you.”

You gave him a look, unimpressed but amused. “I don’t cook.”

“Ah,” he said, feigning disappointment. “There goes my dream.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you took a bite.

“I’m serious, though,” he said, grinning. “Don’t you feel lucky? You could be the one to tame me.”

“I think I’d rather wrestle a crocodile.”

Johnny laughed, tossing a sugar packet at you. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

You shook your head, biting into a still-warm pastry and letting the silence settle for a moment. His words echoed faintly in your mind—the right person—but you didn’t give them space to take root. Not now.

The sun had climbed higher now, and the light on the water shimmered like glass. You exhaled quietly, letting yourself enjoy the moment. Just for now.

The breakfast with Johnny had ended the way most things with him did—on a laugh, with one too many compliments. He walked you back to the docks like a gentleman, offered you his jacket when the wind picked up, and only let go of your hand once he helped you down from the boat.

“You sure you don’t want to grab lunch too?” he asked, hopeful.

“It’s nine in the morning.”

“Exactly. Gives us plenty of time to work up an appetite.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “If you know what I mean.”

You scoffed. “Keep your dick in your pants. Don’t just go around brandishing it to every girl you meet.”

Johnny grinned like he was being tickled. “So territorial. Exactly how I like my women.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “Bye, Johnny.”

Back at the house, you barely had time to slip your shoes off before you heard someone knocking out back. You peeked through the window. Jaehyun, holding a sack of soil in one hand and a small potted herb in the other.

You stepped out, and he gave you a small, wordless smile before heading toward the garden bed like it was the most normal thing in the world. When you asked what he was doing, he only said, “The basil was dying. Figured you’d want fresh ones.”

You didn’t say thank you. But you brought him a glass of water anyway.

That became the pattern. Johnny would show up late mornings or just after lunch, always with something in hand—coffee, pastries, once even a new pair of designer sunglasses he claimed were on sale from the mainland. He flirted shamelessly, but never crossed the line.

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever met who looks good rolling her eyes at me,” he said once, after catching you doing exactly that. “Dangerous, really.”

You swatted him with a dish towel. He looked like he might thank you for it.

Jaehyun, in contrast, never announced his visits. He just showed up. Fixing the busted shutter. Watering the trees before you could. Replacing the broken porch light without saying a word. He never tried to be noticed, which just made it harder not to notice him.

When Emma asked Johnny to help with a school art project, he brought glitter. So much glitter. The three of you spent half the afternoon scraping it off the floor. When Emma asked Jaehyun, he brought her to the orchard, showed her how to press flowers between books. Taught her the names of each one like they were old friends.

You found them that evening at the table, heads bent over an album they’d made from scratch. She called it ‘Island Things That Make Me Happy.’ The last page had a pressed bloom labeled Mom’s smile.

You didn’t ask who picked that one.

Johnny took you and Emma on short boat rides when the weather was good. Taught her how to steer while you sat beside them, bare feet up on the seat, pretending not to enjoy it too much.

Jaehyun walked with you both through the orchard when it was too hot to do anything else. Sometimes he said nothing for minutes at a time. And it wasn’t awkward. It was just peaceful and satisfying.

They were opposites in every way. Johnny loud and golden, like the blinding sun at noon. Jaehyun was quiet and constant, like the breeze you didn’t feel until it was gone.

And you? You kept your heart carefully tucked away and you were starting to feel it stir.

In laughter that slipped out before you could stop it. In the way your eyes found them without meaning to. In the little moments between breath and memory, when it felt almost comforting to imagine what might’ve been if things had gone differently.

“So... who’s winning the boyfriend Olympics?”

You nearly choked on your drink. Amy snorted. “Yeah, we’ve been keeping score.”

You gave them both a flat look from across the kitchen island. “That’s ridiculous.”

But even you had to admit, the past few days had taken a turn. Johnny had declared open season on flirtation, popping up everywhere you went—elbowing his way into your errands, offering dramatic compliments every time you so much as tied your hair up. Jaehyun, though he didn’t say much, would always show up when you needed someone, fixing things around the house and helping in any way he could without being asked.

Different approaches. Same intentions.

“She blushes more around Johnny,” Lea whispered behind her wineglass.

“No, no,” Amy countered, eyes narrowing through the open shutters. “Watch her when Jaehyun’s around. She goes all weird and soft.”

Doyoung, who had been half-listening while Emma played with his shoelaces under the table, finally spoke up. “Honestly? I’m just glad no one’s betting on me. That would be a very sad chart.”

Lea laughed. “Please, you’re clearly the fan favorite in the under-six category.”

Doyoung raised both hands in surrender. “What can I say? Emma has excellent taste.”

“Knock it off,” you told your friends as you sat on the chair next to Doyoung’s. “No one’s winning whatever competition you think is happening here.”

Amy nudged Doyoung’s arm with a mischievous grin. “Come on, Doyoung. If you had to choose—Team Playboy or Team Lover Boy?”

Doyoung blinked. “Why are you asking me? And wait, Playboy and Lover Boy? What’s my nickname?”

“Shy Boy, of course,” Lea replied, and that made Doyoung grimace.

“Come on, Shy Boy. Pick a side,” Amy said cheerfully. “You have to because you’re already here… And because you gave up too easily.”

Doyoung frowned. “I didn’t give up. I was never in the running. Didn’t even have the intention of joining.”

“Oh please,” Lea chimed in, eyes sparkling. “You had a head start. You were the first candidate. First night. First everything. And now look at you—sidelined, like a retired soccer player coaching kiddie league.”

Doyoung narrowed his eyes at her. “Wow. Okay. That was a little offensive.”

Amy cackled, clearly delighted. “Look at him. He’s sulking.”

“I’m not sulking,” Doyoung muttered. Then he paused, glanced down at Emma, tangled around his foot, and sighed. “I’m just a maybe-dad, happily engaged, trying to eat a muffin in peace.”

Lea made a show of whispering in Amy’s ear. “He’s sulking,” she said loudly.

You laughed when Doyoung’s brows furrowed deeper. Then, trying to de-escalate the teasing, you told them to stop. “That’s enough, girls. It’s never gonna happen.”

All three of them looked at you. “They could have pieces of Emma. But none of them are getting another piece of me,” you declared, which was more of a reminder to yourself than to anyone else. You caught Doyoung’s gaze beside you. 

You playfully narrowed your eyes at him and pointed with your index finger.  “Not even you, Shy Boy.”

He groaned dramatically. “Oh, come on! I said I’m not—” he huffed, giving all three of you a flat look. “Whatever,” he muttered finally, biting into his pastry with another huff.

The girls burst into laughter again, and Doyoung muttered something through a mouthful of muffin. Outside, the sun climbed higher over the garden, where Johnny’s lounging by the fountain and Jaehyun kept quietly working in the dirt, unaware—or maybe perfectly aware—of the scoreboard inside.

The night was warm and glittering, the sky clear and wide above the orange orchard as lanterns swayed in the breeze. Lea had gone all out with the decorations, stringing up lights between trees, setting up a long table draped with linen and wildflowers. Music was playing from a speaker, and the air was rich with grilled food, wine, and overlapping conversations.

It was Amy’s last night on the island, and she was determined to make it count.

“Come on, one more round!” she shouted, raising her glass from where she stood atop a chair. “Here’s to endless summers and hoping wrinkles and fine lines don’t show on our faces until we’re eighty!”

Everyone laughed and drank to that—including you, seated between Doyoung and Lea with Emma fast asleep in Doyoung’s lap, a flower crown lopsided on her tiny head. Johnny was across the table, looking like he belonged in a magazine spread—tan, teeth flashing, wineglass in hand. Jaehyun stood near the grill, quietly flipping skewers, but he paused to honor Amy’s toast.

You and Doyoung brought Emma upstairs, making sure she was sound asleep before rejoining the party. The night blurred sweetly—giggles and half-shouted conversations, music thumping louder, Amy pulling you into a spin, Johnny joining with a twirl that nearly knocked over a candelabra.

Past midnight, your girls were lying on blankets under the stars, too drunk to form coherent sentences. Amy had pulled Doyoung onto the grass with them, drunkenly urging him to take a group photo.

You wandered away from the crowd, down the winding stone steps to the beach, where the music faded into background noise. The sea stretched before you, dark and quiet, and the breeze carried the faint smell of salt and sand.

“You’re sneaking off again,” came Johnny’s voice behind you.

You turned to see him leaning against the railing of the stone steps, wineglass still in hand but half-empty now. He looked softer in the moonlight. Less like a flirt and more real.

“And you’re stalking me,” you said, scoffing.

Johnny smirked, stepping closer. “Guilty. But only because every time I blink, you vanish. Starting to think you’re avoiding me on purpose.”

“I am.”

That made him laugh. “You’re very honest. Would it hurt to sugarcoat things a little for my heart’s sake?”

You chuckled, then turned your gaze back to the sea, arms folded loosely over your chest. The waves lapped at the sand gently. “Shouldn’t you be back up there? Being charming?”

“I should be, but there’s no point since you’re not there anymore,” he replied without missing a beat.

You let out a dry laugh. “You are such a flirt.”

He shrugged. “Don’t you already know that?”

“Yes, and it still surprises me every time,” you sighed, tutting. “I gotta get better at that.”

You glanced at him then, and he was already looking at you. The smile he gave you was gentler this time. “Think me sticking around would help you get lots of practice with that?”

“Probably,” you said half-heartedly, shrugging.

“No, but seriously,” he beamed, tilting his head as he looked at you. “Would you?”

You snorted. “You’re not seriously talking about staying, are you?”

Johnny shrugged, pushing one hand in his pocket as he finished the contents of his glass. You blinked, genuinely perplexed. “Whatever, Johnny,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

Johnny fixed his gaze to the sea, considering. “Maybe I’m serious. Or maybe I’m just floating ideas. Who knows, I might finally be ready to be someone’s stable domestic guy. You know? Have kids. Grow tomatoes. Settle down.”

You laughed. “Settle down?”

He grinned. “I could even do the whole marriage proposal surprise thing. Maybe a grand church wedding on top of a hill, too.”

You looked at him, trying to read the expression behind the smile. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.” He laughed lightly. “Okay, maybe I am. But it’s not a bad idea. I’d definitely give it a try for you.”

You stared at him, mouth parted slightly, not sure if you were supposed to laugh or run. He was joking. He had to be. It was Johnny, after all.

Johnny, who flirts like it’s his life’s calling—who didn’t do ‘serious’, who didn’t believe in marriage or love, let alone surprise proposals and weddings on hills. And even if he meant any of it, even a little, you didn’t want to believe it.

He took a step closer, but didn’t touch you. Just looked at you like he was waiting for something. You blinked, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

You didn’t answer. And then he moved slowly, reaching to place his hands on your shoulders. You knew what was coming. Could’ve stepped back. Should’ve.

But you didn’t. You stayed frozen in place, caught somewhere between disbelief and curiosity, until his mouth brushed softly against yours. It was fleeting, too quick, almost like it didn’t happen at all.

When you didn’t move or react, he came back for more.

The next kiss was nothing like the first. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer until your body was pressed against his. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been waiting to taste you all night.

You gasped into him, one hand flying up to grip his shoulder, the other threading into his hair. He groaned when your hips grazed him, walking you backwards until your spine hit the stone wall behind you.

Then his hands started moving. His fingers slid beneath your shirt, his palms hot against your bare skin as they roamed your back, your sides, your hips. You clung to him, legs slightly parting to let him press in closer, and he did—grinding into you with a slow roll of his hips that made your breath catch.

“Shit,” he muttered against your mouth. 

You felt drunk, even though you weren’t. Dizzy, lit up from the inside out. Johnny pulled away just enough to look at you and utter your name like a prayer. 

Then you were kissing him again, deeper this time, like you couldn’t help it. His hand cupped the back of your neck, tilting your face to kiss you harder and rougher. His other hand slipped down, gripping your thigh, dragging it up against his hip—and you let him, desperate for more of that friction, of that hard, raging bulge between his legs.

You were losing yourself. You wanted to lose yourself. And maybe you would’ve—if not for that voice in the back of your head. The one that reminded you of the promise you made to yourself.

You pulled back, gasping, lips swollen and fingers still tangled in his shirt. Johnny’s chest rose and fell against yours. 

“Hey,” he said breathlessly. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. “I can’t… Johnny, I can’t do this.”

He blinked. The confusion hit first, then frustration. “Why not?”

“Because,” you whispered, stepping back, shoving your hands through your hair. “I said I wouldn’t. I can’t. I’m not supposed to—”

“To what?” he asked, voice low. “Feel something?”

Your heart raced in your chest. But you didn’t answer. You didn’t even look at him again. You needed air. You needed distance. You needed to get out of your own head.

You turned and ran barefoot across the sand and up the stairs, heartbeat roaring in your ears. You continued to run up the path until the music was faded and the lights from the party were nothing but soft specks in the distance.

You didn’t stop until your feet hit sand again. Until the beach opened up in front of you again. And you found someone already there—Jaehyun, standing by the shore, surprised at your sudden appearance.

Great, another storm, waiting for you.

“Hey,” he called out, brows furrowing with concern when he noticed your expression. He stepped closer. “Are you okay? Are you—are you crying?”

You hadn’t even noticed the tears. Not until his hand came up to gently brush one from your cheek. You slapped it away, then turned your back to him, dragging your sleeve across your face.

“What are you doing here, Jae?” you muttered.

“I… I was here first,” he said, voice cautious. He tried to close the distance again, but you took a step back. “What happened? What are you running from?”

You laughed bitterly, wrapping your arms around yourself and looking down at your bare feet. “God, don’t start with that.”

Jaehyun sighed, but didn’t say anything. He walked over to you, taking off his sandals and offering it at your feet. You stared at it for a moment, then at him.

“Please. Just take them,” he said softly. “It’s cold.”

You didn’t take the sandals. You didn’t move at all. Just stood there, arms still wrapped tightly around yourself, refusing to look at him. Jaehyun didn’t insist. He just left them at your feet and turned away, hands in his pockets, gaze flitting toward the cliffs.

Above you, perched on the hill, your house glowed faintly through the trees—lit up like a beacon against the dark cliffs. The old haunted mansion, now bright and lively, strung with fairy lights and memories.

“You remember that night?” he said quietly. “We sketched the plans for your hotel on the back of a pub’s order sheet. I can’t believe I’m seeing it all in real life. Well, part of it.” Your hands curled into fists at your sides.

“We were mapping out every room,” he continued, smiling faintly. “You said you wanted a courtyard with a fountain. But not a flashy one, just something simple and charming.”

“Stop,” you said.

He paused. “Stop what?”

“Stop talking,” you replied bitterly. “Don’t stand there talking about floor plans like we built that place together. Like you had anything to do with it. Don’t act like you get to be part of that story.” Your voice was cold, and you didn’t regret a single word.

“But I was part of that story,” he said gently.

“You were supposed to be,” you smirked, turning to face him. “You said you’d stay. You said you’d be here and that you’d build a life here with me. We made plans. And then you left.”

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to speak—but you weren’t done.

“And I know. I know I told you to leave, but that’s not the point. The point was that you never fought for me, Jaehyun. You never fought for us.”

Jaehyun uttered your name helplessly, reaching for you but you stepped back before he could. You took a deep breath, looking up at the sky in hopes that your tears wouldn’t fall. “You didn’t even try to fix it,” you continued, voice breaking. “You didn’t write. You didn’t call. You just vanished. And I waited—God, I waited so long, thinking maybe you’d at least try. But you didn’t.”

“I tried,” he said softly, you almost didn’t catch it.

You scoffed, mocking.“Well, apparently you didn’t try hard enough!”

“I came back!” he snapped. The sudden rise in his voice startled both of you. “I broke off the engagement and came right back!”

That stopped you. His outburst and his confession—it stopped your from talking, your mind suddenly slow at comprehending his words. You gawked as Jaehyun’s jaw clenched before he continued. “I came running back to you because I wanted to make things right. But when I got here, I was told you were off with someone else!”

You blinked at him, stunned. “What do you mean?”

He scoffed. “Oh, so that wasn’t true, then? You weren’t off having the time of your life with some guy?”

“It was true,” you said briskly. “It doesn’t matter. What do you mean you came back here?”

Jaehyun took a step back, hurt and regret were evident on his expression, and the moonlight glinted in his eyes, wet with tears he was holding back. He took a deep breath, ran his hands through his hair and looked out to the vast ocean.

He didn’t say anything for a few moments. Neither did you, still reeling in confusion and hurt at his revelation, your anger unraveling slowly and painfully. You had built this story in your head, over and over—the story where he just didn’t love you enough to fight. But now, all of a sudden, it cracked down the middle.

You had been wrong, and it hurt.

“I made a mistake,” he said after a while, looking down at his feet. “I was scared, and stupid, and I let my pride get in the way. But I never stopped thinking about you. Not once.”

You looked away. The tears were hot again, the ache crawling back up your throat.

“I never got to tell you,” he continued. “That I came back and that I love you. I thought I was too late. I just… I just went home.”

“I went home,” he repeated, laughing at himself. “My fiancee called me a fool and married me to prove it.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you just kept quiet. You just stood there, tired, trembling, toes dug into the cold sand, staring at the man you once thought you’d never see again He took a step forward, close enough for you to feel the heat of his body. He raised a hand, hesitated, then tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I never stopped loving you,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes, letting it sink in. Letting yourself feel it for a second. Then you stepped back. “You’re too late, Jaehyun,” you said. But even you didn’t believe it.

The sun was high and bright when the three men boarded Johnny’s yacht, one after another, as if summoned by some invisible alarm. Doyoung had mentioned that it was about time he had to fly back home for work, and they all knew they couldn’t keep avoiding the topic forever. Not when the answer might change all of their lives.

They sat around the polished table on the deck, a bottle of wine already open but no one had poured a glass yet. Doyoung spoke first. “Are we really doing this?”

Johnny leaned back in his seat, sunglasses perched on his head, his face unreadable for once. “It’s now or never, boys. It’s not like we can just stick around the island forever.”

“You’re right, we can’t,” Doyoung agreed, sighing. “I mean, this place is lovely, but like I said, I have to go back soon.”

Jaehyun didn’t say anything. He was standing by the railing, arms folded, eyes fixed on the stretch of sea. The silence hung for too long before Johnny pushed his chair back with a loud scrape and stood.

“Let’s go see her.”

The three of them walked up to the house together—quiet and a little awkward, like kids on their way to the principal’s office. You greeted them at the door, bleary-eyed and exhausted from the night before, but you didn’t turn them away. Emma was at school, and you weren’t sure if it was a blessing or a punishment that this talk had to happen without her around.

You led them to the sitting room. Nobody sat, but you did. Johnny cleared his throat. “We figured it was time to talk about everything.”

You gave a tired nod. “Okay. Talk.”

Doyoung stepped forward, looking as sheepish as ever. “First of all… sorry. We didn’t mean to corner you like this. We just thought it’d be easier if we were all here. Together.”

“Less yelling that way,” Johnny muttered.

Jaehyun ignored them both. “She looks like you,” he said quietly, eyes on you. You weren’t sure if he meant it as comfort or accusation.

“Yes, exactly,” Doyoung agreed. “And that makes it hard to guess which one of us is her dad, so… I think it’s time we figure that out.”

Johnny chimed in casually. “She laughs like my sister’s kid. They could pass as siblings, to be honest.”

Doyoung shook his head. “Have you seen her nose? That’s gotta be from me.”

Jaehyun raised a hand. “She has dimples.”

“Yeah,” Doyoung agreed, though his shrug said otherwise. “But her voice sounds exactly like my mom’s.”

Johnny scoffed. “Your mom sounds like a six-year-old child?”

Doyoung gave him a flat look. “What about her eyes, then? Don’t they look like mine?”

“No, they don’t. But she has posh tastes,” Johnny replied, smirking. “Pretty sure elegance and class are hereditary traits.”

“More like extravagance,” Jaehyun muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” Johnny questioned, glancing at Jaehyun with a scowl.

“Guys, enough,” you chided, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Are you here to argue resemblances or what?”

Johnny shrugged. “We should just check. Get DNA samples and find out once and for all. Although, I would be totally fine with assuming fatherhood if you guys wanna back out.”

“No one’s backing out,” Jaehyun snapped. “This is a serious discussion. You can’t make jokes like that.”

Johnny turned to him, smirking in amusement. “Okay, Lover Boy. Relax.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Doyoung chimed in, raising a hand. “I, myself, would love to find out if she’s my daughter, but… hear me out. I know it’s gonna sound crazy, but I don’t mind being half her father.”

There was a pause. You looked up at them. Doyoung shrugged, smiling. “Or one-third, for that matter. I mean, we’ve all met her. She’s wonderful. I’d rather have a third than nothing at all.”

Jaehyun sighed, placing his hands on his waist. “Sorry to break it to you, Mr. Kim, but that’s not how the world works. You can’t just claim to be one-third of a dad.”

“Why not?” Johnny said. “She’s already got all of us wrapped around her little finger. What difference does it make who passed on the stronger jawline? And finding out she’s not mine would honestly devastate me, so I’d rather not take my chances.”

Jaehyun was quiet for a long moment. Doyoung looked between the two of them, then back at you. “Two versus one? Guess majority wins?”

You scoffed and rose to your feet, exasperated. “Okay, you know what, guys? You need to shut up, all of you. And get out of my house.”

None of them moved, just stared at you in confusion. Johnny was the first to speak and say, “Don’t you think it’s time we find out which one of us is her dad?”

“No,” you replied smugly, tilting your chin up so you could meet their gazes. “You don’t get to come here and demand to be a father to my child. You may have helped create her, but you don’t get to walk in now and play the father card. It doesn’t work like that.”

Jaehyun called out your name softly but you cut him off, pointing a finger at him. “No. I’ve done well by myself and I didn’t need any of you. I went through everything without you. I’m not gonna need you now that she’s older and my life is better.”

“But you didn’t have to do it all alone,” said Doyoung, making you glance at him at once. He looked over at Johnny and Jaehyun, then back at you. “If you had told me… no, if you had told any of us, I think I speak for all of us when I say we would’ve been there for you. We wouldn’t have let you go through all of that alone.”

You stared at him—at all of them—and for a second, no one said anything. Not even you. Then you turned toward the door. “Get out,” you said. “All of you, get out.”

The house was unusually quiet for a weekend. No laughter echoing from the garden, no sound of someone tinkering in the backyard or somewhere around the house. It was just the soft ticking of the old wall clock and Emma’s tiny feet padding into the kitchen, where you were nursing a cold cup of tea you’d forgotten to drink.

She climbed onto the stool across from you, legs swinging, chin resting in her hands. “Where is everybody, Mommy?” she asked.

You smiled, reaching over to tuck her hair behind her ear. “They’re not here, honey. They must have chores and other things to do today.”

“But they weren’t here yesterday either,” Emma said, pouting as she lay her head on the table. “They said they were taking me out to sea today.”

“Who said that?” you asked softly, brushing her hair with your fingers.

She shrugged. “My dads.”

You blinked, hand pausing. “Your what?”

Emma lifted her head to look at you, eyes bright and serious. “My dads. Johnny, Doyoung, and Jaehyun.”

Your stomach turned. You hadn’t heard those names spoken so casually in the last forty-eight hours—not since you threw them out of your house. You set your cup down. 

“Emma, they’re not your dads,” you said carefully, patting her head. “They’re just friends.”

She tilted her head, confused. “But Auntie Amy and Auntie Lea said one of them is my dad.”

You froze. “They… said that?”

Emma nodded. “They were whispering but I still heard them. I have super ears, mommy. I hear everything.”

“Emma, what did Mommy say about eavesdropping on grown-up conversations?” you asked, trying to keep your tone steady.

She looked sheepish for a second, then brightened again. “But it’s true, right, Mommy?”

You sighed, moving around the counter to crouch in front of her stool. “Emma. Do you… want a dad?”

She shrugged again, legs still kicking back and forth under her seat. “I think so. Everybody has dads.”

You smiled softly, cupping her cheek. “Yes, sweetheart. But having no dad is not so bad. You have me, and Auntie Lea, and Auntie Amy and everyone else in the village who loves you.”

“I know,” she said quickly, then added, “but I still want one. Dads are fun.”

You sat back on your heels, forcing a smile for your daughter. “Are they now?”

She nodded enthusiastically, eyes sparkling. “They buy ice cream and ribbons. They show you all the cool stuff. And they can carry you…” She raised both arms way above her head. “This high!”

You couldn’t help the little laugh that slipped out. God, she was too much sometimes. “I can carry you that high.”

“No, mommy. You’re not tall,” she giggled as you scooped her into your arms.

You carried her out of the kitchen, but her voice dropped again, more thoughtful now. “Leo’s dad picks him up and spins him like this,” she said, arms stretched like an airplane. “It looks like flying. Uncle Johnny did that too. I liked it. It was fun.”

You felt your chest tighten. She wasn’t asking for much—just a little bit of wonder. And here you were, too busy shielding her from the past to even consider the possibility of what a father could mean to her now.

And to be honest with yourself, you weren’t sure if you were doing it for her anymore. Or was it for yourself all along?

“Can I have one?” she asked, small voice in your ear. “Just one?”

You looked at her—your bright, curious, heartbreakingly hopeful daughter—and felt your heart break in two. “Do you have a favorite?” you asked, sitting on the couch with her.

Emma thought hard, pressing her finger to her chin. “Not really. Uncle Doyoung is nice and buys me stuff. Uncle Johnny has a cool boat. And Uncle Jae is strong.”

She sighed, frustration painting her expression and you couldn’t help but laugh. She turned to you with a pout, “I like all of them. You have to pick one for me, Mommy.”

You paused, scrambling for an answer that didn’t exist. Before you could say anything, Lea appeared with a box from her café. “How would you feel about three dads?” she asked, setting the box of cookies on the coffee table and sitting on Emma’s other side.

Emma gasped excitedly. “I can have three dads?” she asked Lea, practically vibrating on the couch.

Lea looked at you with a knowing smile. “Of course. What’s better than one dad?”

She turned back to Emma and winked. “Three dads.”

Emma gasped again, absolutely buzzing in her seat. “Three dads! I want three dads!”

You smiled nervously. “Emma, slow down. You can’t just decide that on your own.”

“Why not?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.

You glanced at Lea, then turned back to your daughter. “Because the dads—uh, the men—have to agree to it too. It’s a big responsibility. You can’t just call someone ‘Dad’ without asking first.”

Emma’s brows furrowed. “But they’ll say yes. They like me.”

Of course they do. It wouldn’t take much to convince those three men, but you had to help Emma manage her expectations. “They do like you,” you admitted, heart softening despite yourself. “But liking you and being ready to be your dad are different things. They don’t live here with us and even if they become your dad, you won’t exactly see them every day.”

Lea chimed in. “But they will come see you as much as they can.”

“That’s okay. I’ll ask them,” she said firmly, arms crossed with a serious pout. “I’ll ask all three.”

Lea let out a laugh. “Well, that should be fun to watch.”

You gave her a look, but there was no real hate in it.

The next morning, just as you were folding laundry in the living room, there was a knock on the door. You hesitated. Emma was still in her pajamas, sitting on the floor playing with seashells. Lea had left earlier to open the café. You weren’t expecting anyone.

You opened the door slowly. Doyoung was standing there with a bouquet of wildflowers. Johnny held a box of pastries from the bakery, and Jaehyun just had that awkward, earnest look on his face that you knew far too well.

“Hi,” Doyoung said, flashing that disarming smile. “We, uh, Lea said you wanted to see us?”

Johnny raised the box. “We brought breakfast. Peace offering. Don’t throw us out yet.”

You stepped aside wordlessly, letting them in. Emma looked up and immediately lit up like the sun. “My dads!”

You shot her a warning look, but the guys all froze. “Oh my, god,” you muttered, facepalming as you turned to hide your face.

“Did she just—?” Johnny asked voice breaking so he had to clear his throat.

Doyoung’s hand was on his mouth. “She said dads.”

“She did,” you muttered, rubbing your forehead and shaking your head, still unable to look at them.

Emma ran over and hugged Doyoung’s leg. “You came back!”

Jaehyun crouched down in front of her, eyes soft. “Did you miss us, munchkin?”

She nodded hard. “Mommy said I can have three dads, if you say yes.”

Johnny let out a quiet laugh and stepped forward. “Of course, we’ll say yes. You don’t even need to ask, princess.”

“Hold on,” you said quickly, gently tugging Emma away from them. You looked at the three of them—her dads. “First, let’s, uh… Let’s talk about this. Follow me.”

All three looked at you but followed you anyway when you went to the kitchen. Doyoung told Emma to stay and promised her it wouldn’t take long.

“Three dads?” Johnny asked as soon as you were out of earshot. He chuckled, like he couldn’t believe it. “She’s okay with three dads?”

You groaned. “Oh, you have no idea.”

You placed your hands on your hips, stomping your feet as you stared at the three men before you. “Okay. I care about Emma more than anything in this world. More than my own life.”

“Of course—”

You raised a finger at Jaehyun. “Let me talk.”

Jaehyun nodded, stepping back. Doyoung mimed zipping his lips. You took a deep breath before continuing. “You can check if you want to. I won’t stop you. Or you can do what you said—you can step up. Be her dads. All three of you. I don’t mind, as long as she’s happy.”

“But she’s going to need consistency. She doesn’t need three men floating in and out of her life when it suits them. If you’re serious, you don’t just show up when it’s fun. You show up even when it’s hard. Even when you don’t feel like it.”

Doyoung nodded. “We know that.”

“I’m not asking you to stay here forever,” you added, more gently this time. “You have lives. Jobs. People waiting for you—Doyoung, you’re getting married soon.”

“I’m not expecting you to drop everything and move to this island. That would be unfair. And Emma doesn’t need you to be here every day. She just needs to know you’ll be there when it matters. That she can count on you, even from afar. If you can do that, then,” you paused, raised your hands in surrender, and sighed. “Then be her dad—Dads! Whatever you want to call it.”

Jaehyun looked down, nodding slowly. “Yeah. We can do that.”

Johnny let out a breath. “Long-distance dad duty. Shouldn’t be so hard.”

Doyoung simply said, “We’ll make it work. Promise.”

You smiled, genuinely this time.  “Okay,” you said softly, nodding toward the door. “Go on. She’s waiting.”

The three of them turned to leave, and Johnny laughed out loud when he spotted Emma peeking from behind the curtains. “Oh no. We’ve got an eavesdropper!” he announced, grinning.

Emma shrieked, bolting from her hiding spot, her giggles echoing through the house as Johnny chased after her. You followed behind, just in time to see her leap into Doyoung’s arms, then reach for Jaehyun’s hand, then tug at Johnny’s sleeve, all while talking a mile a minute.

You leaned against the doorframe, watching them with a strange fullness in your chest. You still didn’t know how any of this would work. But maybe it didn’t have to make sense. Maybe love was enough.

The sea stretched wide and sparkling under the Corsican sun, gentle waves lapping against the hull of Johnny’s yacht as it cut smoothly through the water. Emma was practically vibrating with excitement, darting from one end of the deck to the other, yelling about dolphins that no one else could see.

Doyoung and Jaehyun were lounging at the back, one lazily flipping through a comic book offered by one of Johnny’s crews, the other peeling oranges and throwing slices at Emma who cackled every time she caught one in her mouth. Johnny was at the helm, sunglasses on, wind tugging his hair as he grinned.

You sat near the bow, sunbathing on a sunbed with Lea and a half-empty drink in hand, watching your daughter live a little dream. She had three men completely wrapped around her finger and absolutely no idea how rare that was.

“Amy would’ve loved this,” said Lea, sunglasses perched on her nose. “What do you think she’s doing right now?”

“Drinking Dom on some wealthy investor’s superyacht?” you guessed, grinning.

Lea giggled. “Dressed in something skimpy that’s definitely fit for the yacht but wildly inappropriate for the business transaction she went there for.”

You both giggled, your mind drifting back to sunkissed days on the beach in places you couldn’t even pronounce. Trusting Amy to talk your way into expensive bars where all three of you could charm handsome tourists to buy you drinks. Sneaking into exclusive yacht parties and pretending you belonged there. It all seemed so far away now.

“Wow, we’re old,” Lea sighed. “When was the last time we had fun like we did in college?”

You thought about it. “Probably that summer before we found out I was pregnant with Emma.”

“Right. The summer after college,” she said, then glanced over at the helm where Johnny was. “We were in Johnny’s boat at the time.”

You nodded, remembering the days. “Yeah, we were.”

Johnny had his crew take the day off, so you and Lea had packed food for the trip. At lunch, Johnny grilled fish on the little onboard stove. Doyoung handled the drinks, Jaehyun cut fresh fruit, and Emma supervised them all like a tiny captain. The laughter never died \own. Even you found yourself relaxed, for once—letting your walls down just enough to smile without second-guessing it.

You’d lost count on how many times you had to reapply Emma’s sunscreen because she just kept jumping into the water with Jaehyun. Johnny had the yacht dock at a secluded shore, where Doyoung and Emma spent almost an hour looking for marine life in the shallows and taking pictures of them. The word ‘Dad’ had been echoing all day.

The sun began to dip by the time you made it back to the village. The sky had gone from blue to soft, velvety lilac, and the yacht anchored close to shore for the night. Emma had fallen asleep below deck, wrapped in one of Johnny’s warm blankets and snoring into a pillow. Jaehyun, Doyoung and Lea were still above, playing cards and arguing about the rules of some ridiculous game you’d never heard of.

Johnny brought you another drink and asked if you wanted to sit with him up front, where the sea was quiet and the stars had just begun to wink into view. You followed him. The two of you sat side by side on the padded bench near the front of the yacht, legs stretched out, drinks in hand. The breeze had softened, brushing against your skin like a whisper. Waves lapped gently against the hull. From the back of the boat, you could still hear muffled voices—Lea laughing, Jaehyun protesting something, Doyoung talking over it—but out here, it felt like you were in a different world.

Johnny took a slow sip of his drink, then leaned back, eyes scanning the dark horizon. “Today was nice,” he said quietly.

You nodded. “Yeah. Emma’s probably dreaming of dolphins right now.”

Johnny smiled at that. “She’s a great kid.”

“She is.”

You were both quiet for a moment, just gazing out into the sea and taking in the cool air. Johnny broke the silence first. “About the other night. Amy’s party.”

You turned your head slightly but didn’t say anything. You would rather not talk about it, really, but it wouldn’t be so bad to bring it up now. He shifted, resting his elbows on his knees. “I wasn’t drunk. I know I acted like it, but I wasn’t. I knew what I was doing.”

You hummed, acknowledging him without saying anything. Johnny continued, “And I knew what I was saying. I meant it.”

“Meant what, Johnny?”

He chuckled under his breath. Not the smug kind, the self-deprecating kind. “I meant it when I said I don’t mind settling down with you.”

Your brows furrowed. Johnny glanced at you, more honest than he’d ever been. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I’ve spent years chasing things. Business, money, women, parties, noise. But it’s like I keep coming up empty. Then you wrote to me and it was like a hand was reaching out to me. I thought maybe if I came back, everything would fall into place. I thought maybe you could fix me.”

You stared at the ocean. “You wanted me to fix you?”

“I didn’t think of it that way at first,” he admitted. “But yeah. I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing at first. I told myself it was fate or just some unfinished business. But the truth was I just wanted someone to look at me and see something worth saving. And I thought it could be you.”

Another wave rolled beneath the yacht. You felt the dip and sway of it in your chest.

“I want to be someone better,” he said. “You make people better, you know? You make them want to do things right. I’m willing to change. I’d give up the boat, the business, the whole damn playboy act. I’d stay. If it meant a shot at a different life. A better one. With you.”

You turned to face him. “Johnny…”

He gave a small smile. “I know. It sounds desperate. And stupid. It probably is.”

You hesitated before speaking. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, Johnny. But… I don’t think I can do that for you.”

You meant it. He came here chasing something, and you weren’t what he needed. Not in the way he thought. “I’m not what you’re looking for, John,” you said gently. “You don’t need a relationship to fix you. You need to find meaning on your own.”

He nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “I know. I mean, I didn’t, but I know now.” He chuckled. “It was a mistake coming here thinking you could fix me. Only I can fix myself.”

“But,” he added, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “I don’t regret coming. I met the most wonderful girl in the world and became her dad. That’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Your breath caught. “Johnny…”

He shook his head. “It’s okay. I’m not asking for anything else. You were right to say no. But I still get to be there for her. And that means everything to me.”

You smiled, a little teary now. “She’s lucky to have you.”

“I’m the lucky one,” he murmured.

Your chest tightened. He wasn’t talking about you anymore. And yet somehow… it felt like the most honest thing he’d ever said. “I’m sorry, Johnny.”

“I know,” he replied, his signature smirk appearing on his lips now. He relaxed in his seat, taking a deep breath. “Though I bet you would have wanted to be the one who gets to tie me down, don’t you?”

That made you laugh, genuinely, head lolling back and cackling type of laugh. “I don’t think I would’ve been able to even if I tried.”

Johnny shrugged, “Yeah, but you wish you could, don’t you?” he asked, winking.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t hide how it made you smile. “Fine. I would have considered it an honor to have tied down the menace of a playboy that you are, Johnny Suh.”

Johnny leaned back in his seat, that familiar smirk tugging at his mouth, but his eyes were calm now. You mirrored him, your laugh fading into a sigh as you leaned your arms on the railing again, the sea stretching endlessly beneath the moonlight. It was peaceful. Comfortable, even. Until Johnny’s gaze flicked upwards.

You didn’t notice at first. But then his smirk widened, and he clicked his tongue. “Lover Boy’s lurking,” he muttered.

You blinked, turned slightly—and there he was. Jaehyun. Leaning against the side rail up the deck, pretending to look out at the horizon but very clearly trying not to stare your way. One hand holding a glass he hadn’t touched in a while. The wind catching his hair and blowing it out of his face to reveal a slight crease on his forehead.

You looked away too quickly. Johnny laughed under his breath. “God, you’re so bad at this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said briskly.

Johnny raised a brow. “You don’t even realize you’re lying to yourself. That’s the problem.”

You exhaled. “Johnny—”

“Okay,” he said, groaning as he stood up. “But if you don’t do the follow your heart thing and say yes to him, you’re an idiot.”

You scoffed indignantly. “Since when were you an expert at following your heart?”

“Since I flew out here after getting a letter out of nowhere,” he replied, grinning smugly. “I followed my heart and it brought me to my little girl. Who, speaking of, probably needs cuddles.”

Johnny turned to leave and you called out to him. “What she needs is to be taken back home! In her own bed!”

Johnny raised a hand without glancing back. “On it!”

You stood there a moment longer, palms resting on the cool railing, heart beginning to beat somewhere in your throat. And then you tilted your head up. Jaehyun hadn’t moved. He looked right at you, and his gaze made you swallow something in your throat. You gave the smallest nod, and in the next second, he was gone—probably making his way down as fast as he could.

You hadn’t taken more than a few steps before Jaehyun appeared at the end of the corridor, breath shallow like he’d run down the stairs. His eyes locked with yours, and the hallway spun just a little from the adrenaline thrumming through your chest.

“Hi,” he said, voice low. “I just—I.. You called me over. I didn’t read that wrong, did I?”

You took another step forward, smiling. “No.”

Jaehyun smiled, relief washing over his face as he stepped closer. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you echoed.

“How are you?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“No, I meant…” he paused, chuckling. “The other night, at Amy’s party. We didn’t get to finish talking.”

“Yeah, we didn’t,” you agreed, looking away.

“I meant what I said,” he declared, seemingly holding his breath. “Every word.”

You studied his face. It was written all over him—the years of regret, the ache of what was lost, the unbearable need to be here with you now. Then he reached for you. His fingers brushed your cheek, ever so gently like you would disintegrate right then and there if he held you too hard. 

“I love you,” he said softly.

That was all it took for your restraints to collapse. You grabbed him by the collar and kissed him—hard, desperately, like it was the only thing that could fill the void in your heart. Jaehyun kissed you back instantly, a low groan slipping from him as he cradled the back of your head, angling you just right like he’d done a hundred times in his dreams.

Your fingers curled in his shirt, tugging him closer until his hips pressed against yours and you could feel every inch of him. Jaehyun pulled back only long enough to breathe, his eyes locked with yours.

Then without a word, he kissed you once more. “Come with me,” he whispered against your lips.

He led you down the corridor with a hand at your back and urgency in his steps. He opened the nearest cabin door and pulled you inside, closing it behind you with a soft click. The room was dim, swaying gently with the motion of the yacht. But you barely noticed any of that. The second you locked eyes, you shoved him back against the cabin door and kissed him hard, fingers working fast on the buttons of his shirt. 

You pressed your palm against his bare chest and exhaled sharply. “I swear to God, if this is a dream—”

“It’s not,” he groaned, pulling your dress over your head in one motion. “It’s not, it’s not.”

You kissed him again, slower this time but deeper, your hands tangling in his hair. He held you firmly by the waist, then lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his hips as he walked you to the bed. You landed with a soft thud on the mattress, your bodies still tangled, his lips dragging down your jaw, to your neck. You gasped when he nipped at your skin, clawing at his back.

It was euphoric, the urgency and reverence—a passionate middle ground where every movement was fueled by something you’d long yearned for. His hands roamed your body like he couldn’t touch enough, couldn’t believe you were real and here and his again. All while you arched under him, pulling him closer, hands mapping the curves of his back, the dip of his waist, every familiar part of him you had tried to forget.

His mouth moved over your chest, your collarbones, your stomach. His hand found the space between your legs, cupping and pressing firmly before slipping into the thin fabric of your underwear. You held your breath—waiting for that familiar touch, anticipating.

But Jaehyun paused, looking into your eyes. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, though you could see the desperation in his expression—as if begging you not to.

“Don’t you dare.”

He smirked and dipped his head almost immediately, tugging your panties off before his lips met your cunt. You arched off the bed, biting your lip hard, your hand gripping the sheets while the other tangled in his hair.

He was slow, testing at first, teasing out every sound you could make. Then he went harder, sucked deeper, and both of your hands clutched his hair, hips bucking into his mouth as you chased more of that delightful sensation. He growled something against your skin and climbed back up to kiss you, mouths hot and hungry and impatient.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, grinning. “But I need you. Right now,” he said, kissing you before you could say anything.

You barely noticed anything, too lost in the heat of the moment and the feeling of his lips in yours. You felt him nudge at your entrance only for a second before he slid in with one smooth, desperate motion.

You gasped into his mouth, legs locking around him, and he cursed softly against your shoulder. It felt too much and not enough—all at once. 

“You feel—fuck,” he groaned into your ear, holding you tighter. “God, I missed you.”

“Jae,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “Jae, I missed you too.”

He moved deep and slow at first, soaking in every sound you made, every desperate plea whispered into his ear. But it didn’t take long for the rhythm to quicken, hips snapping into yours with a force that made the headboard thud lightly against the wall.

You closed your eyes and bit down on your lip to keep from crying out too loud—Johnny’s yacht might be big, but not that big—and  Jaehyun smiled at your expression. He cupped your cheek and kissed your forehead, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “Open your eyes, baby,” he whispered, kissing your temple again. “Look at me.”

You met his gaze, and for a moment, the years melted away. It was just him. Just you. And this. Jaehyun kissed you again and his lips tasted like longing, like something once lost and finally found again. He moved inside you slowly, deeply, dragging every second out like he wanted it carved into memory.

Your hips rose to meet his, greedy for more, and he groaned as he sank deeper. “Fuck,” he whispered, kissing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “You feel the same. No—better.”

He moved faster now, each thrust rocking through you in waves. The headboard tapped lightly against the wall, your hand flailing briefly before gripping the pillow to muffle your sounds. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he murmured, hand sliding up your thigh to pull your leg higher around his waist.

His mouth found your breast, tongue swirling over your nipple until you arched into him, crying out softly. He kissed down your sternum and back up to your mouth, whispering, “I never stopped missing you.”

You kissed him again, open-mouthed, desperate. His hand gripped your hip, guiding your rhythm until you matched him thrust for thrust. Every inch of your skin was on fire, every nerve in your body dancing with every drag and press and pull of his body.

When he angled his hips just right, you gasped, back arching, hands flying to his shoulders. “Right there,” you whimpered.

Jaehyun growled, deep in his chest. “Yeah? You gonna come for me, baby?”

You nodded, unable to speak, your body trembling beneath him. He watched you fall apart, eyes dark and locked on your face, his own breathing sharp and erratic. The climax rushed through you, long and loud and blinding. You buried your face in his neck, biting down on his shoulder to muffle your moan as he pushed deeper, losing himself to the heat and tightness of you.

With a few more hard, ragged thrusts, he followed, spilling into you with a grunt and a trembling curse of your name. His body froze, collapsing into you as you both chased your breath.

Silence. Just the sound of your breaths. Tangled limbs. Sweat and warmth and that aching fullness in your chest. Neither of you moved right away. And he held you, lips pressed to your shoulder, his thumb brushing along your jaw.

Softly, you said, “Say it again.”

Jaehyun hummed, lifting his head to look at you. “Say what again?”

You shifted under him, and he moved to lay beside you on the bed, propping his head on his hand. He watched you fondly, smiling. 

“What you told me earlier,” you replied, turning on your side too.

Jaehyun let out a relieved breath, reaching to cup your cheek. “I love you. I never stopped loving you. I love you then, and I love you now.”

“Wow.” You chuckled, heat rising to your cheeks, making you look away sheepishly. “That’s four times.”

“I love you,” he repeated, your name rolling beautifully on his tongue.

“Five,” you muttered, exhaling. “Okay. Enough. I get it.”

“It’s true,” he said, like he needed to convince you.

You took a deep breath and met his gaze again. This time, you were wearing a stern expression. “And if it is? Who’s to say you wouldn’t leave me again? You said you’re married, didn’t you?”

“No,” Jaehyun said quickly. “I mean—yes, I was. But—”

You gasped and sat up in complete shock. “I just slept with a married man,” you blurted, the fact suddenly dawning on you.

“No. That’s not—” Jaehyun chuckled, sitting up too and pulling you into a hug, then planting a soft kiss on your lips. “That’s not what happened.”

You shook your head and were about to say anything but he shushed you. “I was married, but only for a year. We’ve been divorced for five.”

“Oh,” you muttered, nodding and feeling a wash of relief. “Okay. Good. That’s… That’s very good.”

His hold tightened around you, and you hugged him back, melting into his warmth. You stayed like that for a while, just basking in the aftermath.

“So?” he prompted after a few moments of silence. “What now?”

“Now?” you paused, too shy to say it out loud. “Now you stay.”

Jaehyun lifted your chin so you’d meet his gaze. “I will.”

He smiled, genuinely this time, with more relief and confidence. “I will, love. See, you’re gonna need someone to boss you around this island.”

You scoffed, though your heart was full. “If my memory served me well, I think I made it clear to you that I don’t need a man bossing me around my own property.”

“Yeah, you made it very clear indeed, but,” he replied, pausing to tuck your hair behind your ear. “Wouldn’t you want to be dependent on someone from time to time? From what I can see, our dream hotel still needs a lot of work.”

Our dream hotel. The words echoed beautifully in your ears.

You narrowed your eyes playfully at him. “And you’re gonna lend me your expertise for free? No architect fee?”

“All I ask for is a room, my love,” he grinned, kissing the side of your head. “Preferably yours. I like sharing with you.”

You nudged his shoulder with a smile, cheeks flushed. “You’re asking for a lot, Mr. Jeong.”

“Oh, I’ll give a lot,” he murmured. “I’ll give you everything.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, and then quietly, you said, “Okay. I guess we can share a room.”

Jaehyun smiled, watching you with a slight crease on his forehead, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard it right. But you didn’t repeat yourself. You just laid your head on his chest and closed your eyes.

You didn’t make it back to the main deck. Instead, you stayed in that guest cabin, where the night continued with soft sighs, ragged breaths, and tangled limbs. You didn’t stop at once. Or twice. You lost track somewhere in between kisses and confessions, in the way he said your name like a prayer, in the way you held on to him like he was home.

And by the time sleep caught up to you, your body sore and your heart full, you were curled against his chest with the sound of the sea lulling you into the deepest peace you’d known in years.

The door creaked open, sunlight streaming in just enough to make you wince. You stepped out first, hair still damp from a rushed shower. Jaehyun followed, looking fresh but not fooling anyone—his hand brushing the small of your back as the two of you made your way up to the deck.

The first thing you heard was a gasp. A loud, ridiculous, over-the-top gasp from Lea, who sat dramatically sprawled on a lounge chair. Johnny nearly choked on his juice. Even Doyoung was trying not to laugh, hiding behind a magazine she wasn’t reading. Emma, bless her, was too busy coloring beside Doyoung to notice.

“Really, guys?” Johnny deadpanned. “In my boat? Right after breaking my heart too?”

You raised an eyebrow, brushing past him with a smirk. “Your suite is amazing, Johnny.”

Johnny gasped again, clutching his chest. “In my suite?!”

“Yes, where else?” you lied shamelessly, taking a seat and reaching for the coffee pot. “And your dimmers are cool.”

Jaehyun, behind you, was trying so hard not to laugh. Johnny looked personally victimized. “You absolute heathens,” he declared, hand flying to his mouth for added effect. “I’m gonna throw up.”

You scoffed. “Oh, don’t be dramatic.”

Everyone burst into laughter. Even Jaehyun.

And as you sipped your coffee, Jaehyun sitting close, your daughter now leaning against your arm with her sketchpad, and the rest of your chaotic, unexpected little family chatting around you, you could feel warmth blooming in your chest.

The summer was over. And something better had begun.

[fin]

[saythenametotheworld]

Tsunami | c.vn (18+)

You knew you deserved better; you figured that out yourself. But what use is better when Vernon’s all you wanted? A rebound gone wrong. Or maybe right. Depends on who’s asking, really.

Genre: rebound relationship, smut Pairing: Chwe Vernon x afab!Reader Warning: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+), angst. Notes: 16k words. Title is based on Tsunami by NIKI. Prompt for this was from an anon who submitted a request a while back. I hope you like it! Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor do I claim they would ever act irl the way they are portrayed in this story.

Enjoy!

"A roaring tsunami, you came crashing in like an act of God. Shake my earth, suck the air out, burn me down."

They called it the Midterms Party. It wasn’t an official university function, but it was a tradition—it happens every semester, with students or groups of students bidding to get the opportunity to host it. This semester, it was hosted by a posh Fashion and Design senior who had invited every single student on campus to attend the party at a sprawling mansion on the upper side of town.

You haven’t even met the girl, but you sure felt at home in her Chesterfield couches and expensive wool carpet.

“Rich kids sure know how to host a party,” said Vivi, throwing her head back as she drank a shot of tequila. “Hooh! That’s the good stuff.”

“We should take that shot glass home,” you grinned drunkenly, half-lidded eyes trying to focus on the crystal shot glass in Vivi’s hand.

Vivi’s eyes were gleaming when she asked, “Should we?”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Jules interjected, snatching the crystal away. “Did you see those security guards outside? Yeah. Not happening.”

Vivi was about to protest, but stopped midsentence, eyes focusing somewhere across the room. “It’s Vernon.”

“Vernon?” Jules asked, just as you turned to follow her line of sight. “He’s here?”

“Is that why Mina didn’t want to come tonight?” you asked, squinting to find which one was Vernon in the sea of students flooding the entire hall.

Vivi snorted. “Pretty sure it’s because she’s going out with Dean tonight.”

“I don’t see him,” you muttered, still squinting.

“He’s right there, brooding,” Vivi sighed, shaking her head. “Don’t mind him. Let’s go get refills.”

You rose to your feet, letting Vivi tug you by the arm. You made sure to grab Jules by the wrist too, and you made your way through the crowd until you reached the mini bar.

You got a refill while Vivi chattered nonstop about some guy she was eyeing across the room. Jules was only half-listening, distracted by something on her phone. You zoned in and out of the conversation, distracted by the sheer chaos of it all.

You were trying to grab another drink from the mini bar when you accidentally bumped into someone, hard enough that your glass nearly sloshed over the edge.

“Whoa—sorry,” you said quickly, eyes going wide.

It took a second for you to realize it was Vernon. He stumbled slightly, trying to keep his drink in his glass as he locked eyes with yours.

“You okay?” you asked, more out of reflex than concern.

Vernon blinked, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his gaze unfocused like he’d been lost in thought. “Yeah, fine,” he said, his voice a little rough. Well, all of him looked a little rough and messy—his clothes, his hair, the knot between his eyebrows.

“Uh-huh. Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” you added, not knowing what else to say.

He shrugged, and the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Guess that’s the point of the crowd.”

Vernon’s eyes flickered around, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be there at all. Then, as if deciding something in his mind, he glanced at you and nodded toward the back of the room, where people were mingling by the sliding glass doors that led out to the balcony.

“Wanna get some air?”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “With you?”

He blinked, caught off guard. And for a second, you considered taking back what you’d said, but then he smirked, all gleaming teeth and pointed canines. “You’re right. That was so random.”

He sighed, tucked one hand in his jacket pocket, and tipped his glass in the air. “Well then, excuse me.”

You weren’t sure what possessed you to stop him—guilt, curiosity, intrigue—but you found yourself calling out, “Wait,” and following him toward the glass doors.

It was cooler out here, quieter. The music from inside thudded against the closed windows, but it was not as loud. Guess the thick walls of this mansion had other purposes.

You leaned against the balcony railing, arms folded over your chest, while Vernon stood a short distance away, swirling the drink in his glass like it might give him answers. Neither of you said anything at first. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly nice either.

“So,” you said eventually, “you always this cheerful at parties?”

He huffed a laugh. “Only when I’m spiraling.”

You glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at you—just watching the trees sway in the wind. “Okay, Drama King. You’re not doing a very good job hiding it,” you muttered.

He shrugged. “Didn’t really come to hide. Just figured standing around in a new location might change the vibe.”

You smiled despite yourself, small and quick. “Classic coping mechanism. Relocate the sadness.”

He took a sip. “I think I’ve mastered that. Relocation. Repression. Deflection.”

“Big words for a guy holding jungle juice in a red cup.”

That earned a laugh. A real one, low and warm. “Fair enough,” he said, then added, “I’m not usually like this, you know.”

“Well, we all have our days,” you said simply, not to dismiss him but to draw a line. Because maybe he was, or maybe he wasn’t. Either way, it wasn’t your place to say.

After a while, he said, “I messed a lot of things up lately.”

You looked at him again, but his expression gave nothing away.

“I was kind of… stupid,” he went on, casual like he wasn’t slowly peeling a layer off himself. “Or maybe not stupid, just… I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Your gaze drifted back out to the street lights. “Happens to the best of us.”

He gave a small nod. “Still sucks though.”

You didn’t say anything else. You just let the silence fill in the blanks—you didn’t mention Mina, and neither did he, but the echoes of her name lingered in the air anyway.

You stayed like that for a while, leaning against the railing, both of you watching nothing in particular.

“So, what’s next after relocation and repression?” he asked after a while, straightening up and taking a deep breath.

“Why? Are you gonna practice how to face it like a man?” you quipped, chuckling. Vernon chuckled too, shaking his head in amusement.

“Is it denial?”

“Mm,” you nodded solemnly. “Denial is a classic. Works great until you’re crying over leftover noodles at two in the morning.”

Vernon hummed. “Been there.”

“No, you did not,” you sneered.

“Actually, I did.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow skeptically. “Tell me your noodle sob story.”

He shrugged. “Well, for starters, it was supermarket ramen. The eighty-nine-cent kind. Barely edible unless you throw an egg in it.”

“That’s when you know it’s serious,” you said, eyes lighting up mischievously. “Low-grade ramen tears.”

You both laughed. It wasn’t loud, but it felt good. And when the laughter faded, you found him still looking at you. Not just looking—watching, like something about you had changed in the last few seconds, and he couldn’t figure out how or why.

You blinked. “What?”

Vernon didn’t answer right away. He just tilted his head slightly, like the angle might help him understand something.

“Nothing,” he said, though it didn’t sound like nothing. He took a breath, like he was going to say something else, then didn’t.

Your brow lifted. “Okay… why are you looking at me like that?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “You just… caught me off guard.”

You frowned, but not because it upset you. You were just confused—confused and a little too aware of how close you were standing now. The space between you had vanished, like neither of you had noticed yourselves stepping closer.

“Caught you off guard, how?”

Vernon’s gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then flicked back up to your eyes. “You’re kind of funny when you’re not being mean.”

You laughed. “I wasn’t mean.”

“You were a little mean.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Earlier, you said ‘With you?’ like I was some random stranger.”

You stifled a laugh. “Well, you were being kinda random.”

“But not exactly a stranger.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already smiling. And before you could say anything else, he leaned in—not fast, not slowly either. But naturally, like it made sense, like maybe you’d both been leaning this way all along.

And you didn’t pull away. You didn’t even think to.

At some point, you’d gone from the balcony to the backseat of his car. The windows were fogging up with the heat of your breathing, your bodies, and everything building up between you.

Vernon’s mouth was on yours, hungry and careless. His hand was cupping the back of your head, the other gripping your waist. You’d straddled his lap at some point, your knees pressed awkwardly into the cushions, your dress pushed up, and your fingers clutching the collar of his jacket.

It was messy. Uneven. All teeth and tugging and short, shaky breaths.

He groaned softly into your mouth when your hips rolled against his crotch, his hands tightening at your sides. “Fuck,” he muttered, making you push back a little, one hand pressed on his chest.

You stared into his eyes, half-lidded and clouded with desire. You could feel his heartbeat on your palm, or maybe it was yours thudding loud enough to count for both of you. And his lips, god, those lips. You’d want nothing more than to have them on yours again.

“I should go,” you mumbled, trying to be rational despite every fibre of your being not wanting to leave this cramped space.

Vernon’s forehead creased, confused. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Because he’s Mina’s ex-boyfriend, that’s why. Because it’s weird. Because you shouldn’t want this as badly as you do. “I don’t know,” you muttered, your hand curling tighter against his shirt.

He searched your face, his breathing still uneven. “Do you want to go?”

You didn’t answer right away. Maybe you should’ve. Maybe the decent thing would’ve been to untangle yourself, fix your dress, and head back inside like nothing happened. But the pull of his body against yours, the warmth of his breath on your skin, the way he was looking at you like you were the only real thing in his night—it made the decision for you.

Fuck it, you whispered in your head, and then you kissed him again.

This time, it was you who leaned in first. You who parted your lips, who pressed your hands against his chest, who deepened the kiss like you’d never had any doubts at all.

Vernon made a low sound in his throat—like relief, like hunger—and pulled you closer. His hands slid down your waist, gripping your hips like he didn’t trust you to stay. Your thighs clenched around him, the angle was tight and awkward, but god, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered right now except the way his mouth felt against yours and the heat building fast, faster than you could keep up with.

Clothes were soon forgotten. His jacket was shoved off. Your dress was bunched around your hips, his hands sliding up your bare thighs.

You gasped when his mouth left yours, grazing your jaw, your throat, then lower, taking a mouthful of your boobs with the kind of reverence that had no business existing in the backseat of a car.

And then he paused. Just barely. One breath, maybe two. His lips brushed yours again as he whispered, “Do you wanna go out with me?”

Your brows furrowed. “What? Like… sometimes, or…?”

He didn’t answer. He just kissed you again—deeper this time, more urgent. Like the question was real, but this was more real. Like whatever came after this could wait, because right now, all he wanted was you.

And you let him have you.

The rest was a euphoric blur. Your underwear shoved aside, his jeans undone. The cramped space made every movement clumsy and rushed, but that only made it feel more desperate. You could barely breathe, panting into his neck as he pushed into you, a grunted curse falling from his lips when you clenched around him.

It was raw and uninhibited. There was no talking, just looking into each other’s eyes as he drove you to the edge of your sanity. Outside, the music from the party was still faintly audible. Inside, there was only the sound of your breathing, of skin against skin, of your hands scrambling for something to hold onto as the windows fogged and the car rocked beneath you.

You weren’t supposed to want this. Weren’t supposed to have this. But god, he felt good. He felt real. And right now, that was enough. You’ll worry about the other stuff later.

You stirred under a blanket that wasn’t yours, in a room you didn’t recognize. The light was sharp through half-open blinds, and you caught sight of the hardwood floor and the polished furniture around the room.

You blinked, groggy. Your head was a hurting a little, but not splitting—just enough to make you regret the fourth or fifth glass of whatever you’d been drinking last night.

Vernon! You screamed in your mind, memories of last night’s excursions flooding in.

You turned your head to the side and saw a shirtless Vernon, leaning against the headboard, scrolling through his phone like this was just another Tuesday. His hair was messy, sticking up at odd angles, and a few faint red marks stretched across his collarbone. You didn’t need a mirror to know you probably matched.

“Morning,” he muttered, not even glancing at you.

You stared at him for a moment, still trying to piece things together. “Where… where are we?”

“My house,” he said simply.

Your heart kicked a bit. His house?

You sat up slowly, letting the blanket fall to your lap as you looked around. The room was modern and clean—high ceilings, thick curtains, and framed art on the walls that didn’t look like they came from a dorm room clearance sale. There was even a full-sized couch on one corner, and a desk that looked more like a workspace than a dumping ground for laundry.

“What part of town is this?” you asked slowly, eyes narrowing. “Did you drive drunk last night?”

Vernon finally set his phone down and looked at you properly. “No. We both knocked out in the car. I woke up at, like, five and drove us here. It’s not that far from the party.”

“Where is this exactly?”

“Greenview,” he said simply.

Green-fucking-view. Rich people lived here. Football stars and neurosurgeons, and kids who wore designer slides to class. You processed that in silence, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself as you stared at the pristine bedroom.

You looked back at him, brows furrowed. “I didn’t know you lived around here.”

He raised a brow, then shrugged. “Now you do,” he said, leaning to plant a quick kiss on your lips before pushing himself off the bed.

Vernon stretched when he stood, all lean lines and muscle as he crossed the room in nothing but a pair of dark sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips. You stared—not out of curiosity, but out of sheer, involuntary appreciation. He was pretty muscular, not bulky, but firm—defined arms, a sculpted back, and that sharp taper of his waist.

You caught yourself biting your lip and squeezing your thighs together.

Then you shook your head violently and pulled the blanket up like it could shield your shame. Get a grip. This was a one-time thing. A mistake fueled by tequila, dim lighting, and heartbreak. Nothing more.

Vernon glanced at you over his shoulder, smirking like he knew exactly what you were thinking. “Breakfast?”

You ended up downstairs, wearing fluffy slippers and half-swallowed by his hoodie that smelled vaguely of fabric conditioner and him. It hung down to your mid-thighs like a hoodie dress, with the sleeves dangling over your fingers. He set a warm plate of eggs and toast in front of you on a patio table overlooking a private pool—blue, serene, and surrounded by tastefully trimmed hedges. The whole scene felt like something out of a very rich, very confusing Instagram story.

“Thanks for breakfast,” you said eventually, poking your fork through a slice of avocado. “I’m leaving after this. I’ve got errands and evening classes.”

“I’ll drive you,” Vernon replied easily. “You can shower if you want. I had someone wash your dress from last night.”

“Oh, thank you,” you said, relieved. “I was worried I had to go home like this.”

“You don’t look bad like that,” he chuckled, sipping from his coffee like this was the most normal thing in the world.

After breakfast, you padded back into his bedroom, marveling again at how neat everything was, and stepped into the en-suite bathroom that was nearly half as big as your apartment. The tiles were smooth under your feet, and a huge rain shower waited at the far end behind a glass door. You tugged at the hoodie, just starting to lift it over your head, when you caught movement in the mirror.

Vernon was leaning against the bathroom doorway, arms crossed, shoulder propped on the frame. That same smirk played at his lips—mischief, confidence, a hint of sleep still softening his face.

You narrowed your eyes. “What are you doing standing there like a creep?”

“You’re not gonna invite me in?” he asked, his voice low and playful.

“No?”

He shrugged. “Guess I got my hopes too high. We did defile my car last night.”

You tried to scoff, but it came out breathless. “Defile is a strong word.”

He stepped closer, slow and steady like a lion who knew the prey wasn’t running. “Okay. How about sully?”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t stop him when he reached for the hem of your hoodie and tugged it upward. Didn’t stop him when his mouth brushed your shoulder. And definitely didn’t stop him when you both stumbled into the warm spray of the shower, your laughter drowned out by the hiss of water and the sudden heat of his mouth on yours.

The water was already cascading down, steam filling the bathroom like fog. Vernon backed you into the shower, hands on your waist, thumbs dragging slowly over bare skin as he kicked his sweatpants off.

“You always this handsy in the morning?” you muttered against his lips, breathless and teasing.

“Only when I wake up with a pretty girl in my bed,” he shot back, before nipping gently at your lower lip.

You gasped, more from surprise than pain, and your hands curled around his shoulders, feeling the solid, flexing muscles beneath your palms. He didn’t seem like a gym rat, but he was strong and big enough to make you feel small when he pressed into you, chest to chest, with the water pouring down between you.

His mouth moved to your neck, kissing beneath your jaw, then down to your collarbone. “Still not inviting me in, huh?” he murmured, and then dropped lower, crouching slightly as he kissed the space between your breasts.

“What? This isn’t invitation enough?” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut.

He huffed a laugh and pulled you flush against him again, hands trailing down the slope of your back to your hips. You could feel him, hard against your thigh, and god, it was dizzying—how easily your body responded, how warm everything felt, how right it somehow was despite how wrong this should’ve been.

You tangled your fingers into his wet hair as he leaned into you again, one hand gripping under your thigh to lift your leg around his waist. The angle made your breath hitch.

“You good?” he asked, voice hoarse, eyes half-lidded and focused entirely on you.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Vernon didn’t need more than that. He adjusted slightly, one arm bracing behind you against the tiled wall, the other still cradling your thigh. His mouth found yours again—slower now, but deeper, more consuming. You kissed him back just as desperately, your hands wrapping around his back, the other on his neck, nails grazing his skin, and he groaned softly into your mouth.

You could feel him prodding your cunt before he pushed into you with just a little bit of struggle before smoothly filling you up. You gasped sharply against his lips, your back arching instinctively.

The heat of the water blurred the lines between his body and yours, every nerve ending dancing and buzzing alive. He moved steadily and relentlessly—and the wet slap of skin, the shallow sounds of breathing, and the occasional grunt were swallowed up by the sound of rushing water and fogged-up glass.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t slow. It was raw, fast, a little uncoordinated, like you were both still half-asleep and making sense of each other all over again. But there was hunger in it, and desperation, chasing a high you’d once experienced with each other and now can’t seem to get enough of.

“Vernon—” you breathed, fingers tightening on his shoulders.

His response was a grunt and a kiss, messy and off-center as his pace quickened, hot breath fanning your cheek. You could barely think, only feel. With the pressure building, your knees growing weak, and your wet skin sliding against his.

And then it hit, sudden and intense. You clenched around him, gasping, biting down on his shoulder to keep yourself from crying out. He cursed under his breath, holding you tighter, hips stuttering once, twice—then pulling out to finish himself with his hands, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a low groan that vibrated against your chest.

You stayed like that for a second—tangled limbs and shallow breaths as Vernon held you in place to keep your knees from giving out. His hair was soaked, dripping water into your eyes while you were shaking from the aftermath.

Eventually, Vernon let out a breathless laugh. “Bet you don’t regret inviting me in, did you?”

You rolled your eyes, feigning disinterest. “Oh, please. It was just fine. And you invited yourself in, perv.”

He smirked. “Whatever you say.” He caressed your cheek and kissed you slowly.

Vernon dropped you off just before noon. The ride was mostly quiet, but not awkward. You’d both already said what needed saying—or not saying—between tangled sheets and shower steam. When he pulled up to your building, he leaned his arm over the wheel, glanced at you once, then leaned in to press a quick peck on your cheek.

“Get some rest,” he said.

You nodded back. “You too.”

Then you stepped out of his car, smoothed your dress down your thighs, and walked into your apartment like you hadn’t just had sex with your friend’s ex-boyfriend in the backseat of his car, then again in his marble-tiled shower.

Closing the door behind you felt like snapping a chapter shut. No closure, no commentary—just done. It was just a momentary lapse of judgment—a one-time thing. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

You changed, tossed the dress into your laundry hamper like it was evidence, and went about your day like nothing had happened. Like you hadn’t crossed a moral line and then dove over it headfirst.

By the time late afternoon rolled around, you were on campus for your evening classes, hair washed, face fresh, voice steady.

“Jules said you disappeared last night too,” Vivi said as she adjusted her sunglasses—indoors, because fashion. Her grin turned sly. “Let me guess. You found yourself a hot guy and ran off like the good girl that you are.”

You choked on your iced coffee, sputtering into the straw. “What? No. I just—got tired. Turned in early.”

“Turned in early, I see,” Vivi snickered, turning to Jules. “She totally found a hot guy and ran off last night.”

Jules groaned dramatically. “Wow. So both of you left me at that party to fend for myself while you chased boys.”

“Uh-uh. I didn’t chase him,” Vivi said, arching a brow. “He chased me, for the record.”

You laughed along, trying to keep it casual, hoping the warmth in your cheeks wasn’t giving you away. Then Vivi turned back to you, squinting playfully.

“So? Who’d you leave with?”

You opened your mouth—then closed it again. Your brain panicked. Do you lie? Deflect? Pretend you don’t remember? You’d promised yourself this would stay a secret, but you hadn’t exactly prepared a cover story.

“There you are, darlings,” came a familiar voice, cool and clear with a posh London accent. “God, I’m starving. Can we eat before class? Did any of you eat anything at all?”

Your heart did a full-body jolt. Speak of the fucking devil. And what an alluring devil she was.

Mina crossed the green with two of your mutuals trailing behind her, iced matcha in hand and an oversized tote slung over one shoulder. Her long coat fluttered behind her. Her honey-brown hair was pulled into a high claw clip, with a few strands left loose deliberately, and gold hoops on both ears catching the sunlight.

You blinked. Somehow, next to her, you felt…pale. Underdressed in your plain knitted sweater and faded jeans. You’d never really compared yourself to any of your friends before. But now, after Vernon—after last night—you felt that creeping sense of awareness. Mina was beautiful. Magnetic. The kind of girl men didn’t just get over.

“Mimi!” exclaimed Vivi, immediately forgetting about her question as she rose to give Mina a kiss on the cheek. “Tell me everything about last night.”

Mina rolled her eyes and sighed exasperatedly. “Later, love. Food is top priority right now,” she said as she turned to give Jules a kiss, too.

You froze for a second when she turned to you. “Hey,” you said dryly, leaning in as she moved to kiss your cheek.

“You look knackered,” she said, almost kindly. “Late night?”

You forced a shrug, praying no one noticed the spike in your pulse. “Something like that.”

“Oh, she’s had a good night alright,” Vivi teased, nudging your arm playfully. “Wouldn’t tell us who the lucky guy was, though.”

You sighed, feigning indifference. “Give it a rest, Viv.”

“Yeah, leave the poor girl alone. Let’s go get something to eat before we all pass out.”

The rest of the day was torture. Between classes and casual conversation, you nodded along, smiled at the right times. But inside, you were spiraling.

You hated the way your stomach tensed every time Mina spoke. Hated how you couldn’t look at her too long without remembering the weight of Vernon’s body on yours. His hands, his mouth. His raspy voice in your ear.

The guilt sat quietly in your chest, not loud or dramatic, but constant. You’d never really felt it like this before—this itchy, unplaceable guilt that followed you from the café to the lecture hall, even during your brief moments alone between classes. It only left you alone when Mina wasn’t there. When it was just you, breathing in an empty hallway or listening to the professor yap about theories and whatnot.

By the time your final class ended, you were drained in a way you couldn’t explain. The others were already discussing dinner—some new bistro that had opened just a few blocks from campus.

“It’s cute, and they do cocktails,” Vivi said, tugging at your arm. “Come on, you’ve been weird all day.”

“I have a deadline,” you said, wincing at how unconvincing you sounded. “Digital storytelling.”

“Sounds fake but okay,” Jules said, already turning to Mina, who was too distracted flipping through her phone to press.

You waved them off with a tight smile and walked away before anyone could question it further.

The taxi ride home was quiet. You watched the city pass by, lights flickering in windows and street signs. And as the car rolled to a stop in front of your apartment complex, your heart started picking up pace.

There he was, leaning against the hood of his car, hoodie on, hands in his pockets, head bowed slightly as he stared at the ground like he’d been waiting a while. He looked up as your taxi pulled in, his gaze locking with yours through the windshield.

You stepped out slowly, paying the driver without breaking eye contact. “What are you doing here?” you asked, genuinely confused.

Vernon straightened, giving you a half-smile. “Hi. I texted you.”

“My phone was dead,” you replied, standing in front of him, keeping a reasonable distance.

“I see,” he said, nodding. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to grab dinner with me.”

“It’s past nine o’clock.”

He paused. “I know. But I texted you earlier. I didn’t know your class would finish this late.”

You shrugged, arms folding across your chest. “So? Why did you come all the way here?”

Vernon’s brows creased, like he didn’t understand why you had to ask. “I came to see you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Why?”

“Because I wanted to,” Vernon replied, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

You didn’t answer, just looked at him, unsure what to do with the sudden flutter in your chest. It made you nervous.

“You’re standing kind of far,” he said, squinting at the space between you. “That’s not very welcoming.”

Before you could respond, he reached forward and tugged you in by the hem of your jacket, pulling you close until you were flush against him. You gasped, hands automatically landing on his chest. You glanced over your shoulder, scanning the street like someone might’ve followed you.

“Vernon,” you warned, trying to take a step back, but his arms wrapped around your waist before you could. He caged you in, not forcefully, just firmly enough to keep you in place.

“What?” he lilted and then leaned in to kiss you.

It was softer than you expected. Less urgent than last time. When he pulled back, you blinked at him, half-dazed. 

“We are not in the kind of relationship where we can do that in public,” you chided, rolling your eyes. “In fact, we’re not even in any kind of relationship at all.”

He tilted his head. “You sure? ‘Cause I asked you if you wanted to go out with me.”

“When?”

“Last night. You didn’t say yes, but I kind of assumed it was a done deal after this morning,” he explained, smiling.

You frowned. “What—wait. I thought you meant ‘go out’ like hang out sometimes, not a… relationship.”

Vernon scoffed, looking baffled. “No. That’s— come on.” He sighed and shook his head. “Baby, I don’t do hook-ups.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? So you talked to me once and decided you want me to be your girlfriend?”

He chuckled softly, brushing a thumb along your jaw. “Come on now, that wasn’t the first time we talked. We’ve hung out several times before.”

“Oh yeah, there’s that too.” You pushed yourself away from him. “We’ve hung out before when you were still seeing Mina. You know? My friend Mina?”

Vernon sighed, his shoulders slouching as he leaned back on his car again. “Mina and I broke up weeks ago.”

“Doesn’t really change the fact that your ex is my friend.”

His brows furrowed, but you cut him off before he could say anything. “And I know it might seem a bit hypocritical coming from me because, well, I did make the sound decision to sleep with you despite it all. But that was just the moment. Plus the alcohol. We were vibing, having a good time and got carried away. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more?” Vernon repeated.

“I said what I said.”

He paused. “So, it didn’t mean anything?”

“Maybe it didn’t,” you said, softer than you meant to.

His eyes flicked over you, unreadable. “Did it?”

You swallowed but said nothing.

Vernon didn’t press. He just stood there, his gaze steady, lips parted like he wanted to say more but knew better. You looked at him then, properly. The slouched posture, the furrowed brows, the hint of disappointment in his voice. Not the smug guy who had you pinned in the shower hours ago. Just a boy standing by your curb, asking if it meant something.

You could’ve walked away. You should’ve. That would’ve been the responsible thing, the friend thing, the safe thing. But your feet didn’t move.

You did a quick mental math. Vernon, as Mina’s ex: a con. Vernon, as the guy who made your heart race, your knees weak and cooked you actual breakfast: a decent-sized pro.

Mina and Vernon were done. Everyone knew that, even Mina had started going on dates lately. You hadn’t broken any sacred code exactly… right? Maybe there was a statute of limitations on exes. You didn’t exactly plan for this to happen. But it did. Somehow, it did.

And yeah, maybe this was messy. Maybe it would come back to bite you. But maybe it wouldn’t.

You sighed, pressing a hand to your forehead like the thought gave you a headache. “Fine,” you muttered, dropping your hand. “Let’s do it.”

A crooked smile spread across his face, canines peeking through as if he couldn’t quite hide how pleased he was. “You sound like you’re being forced into this.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t say anything. You just turned toward your door and started walking away. You’d taken a few steps ahead when you noticed Vernon wasn’t following you.

“Are you coming or not?” you called out without glancing back.

“I’m coming,” he said briskly, and you could hear him shuffling before you felt his arm around your waist, followed by a soft kiss just below your ear.

Vernon, it turned out, was a pretty decent boyfriend. Not the flowers-and-sonnets type, he wasn’t exactly sweet but he was thoughtful. Considerate. The kind who remembered something you’d said in passing and sent you screenshots of memes that reminded him of you mid-lecture. A little deadpan sometimes, but surprisingly funny when he wanted to be.

You didn’t go out on dates much. Most of the time, you hung out in your apartment. Late-night fast food runs. Coffee breaks in between classes. And those long, lazy evenings where you both lay on the floor listening to whatever playlist he was obsessed with that week.

“I’m telling you,” he said one night, head resting on your thigh as you sat on the floor scrolling through your phone. “This guy’s gonna be the next big thing.”

“Vernon, that’s the third SoundCloud rapper you’ve said that about this week.”

He just grinned up at you, fingers lightly stroking the bare skin under your hoodie. “One of them’s bound to make it. Law of averages.”

He was freaky, too. Always touching, always finding a way to close the space between you. Whether it was sliding up behind you while you brushed your teeth or slipping his hand under your shirt while you were trying to find a movie to stream.

“You’re like a raccoon in heat,” you complained once, swatting him away as he kissed the back of your neck. “You don’t even ask.”

“You never say no,” he muttered into your shoulder, sniffing your skin afterwards like he was addicted to it.

You rolled your eyes, half-laughing. “That’s not the same thing.”

But you didn’t push him away. You never really did.

He was bold, sure, but not pushy. Just… shameless, really. Just always in the mood. Always ready to turn a casual kiss into something steamier. And he made it funny, somehow. Endearing. Like he wasn’t taking himself too seriously, but couldn’t help himself either.

And it wasn’t just about the physicality—he liked looking at you. Really looking. Sometimes it made you squirm, that intensity in his eyes like he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

“You’re doing it again,” you said one evening after, still breathless and sprawled across your bed.

He propped his head up on one hand. “Doing what?”

“You’re staring.”

“I like staring at you,” he admitted. “You’re really pretty.”

You scoffed, tossing a pillow at him. “You are such a liar.”

He laughed and caught the pillow mid-air. “No, seriously. You’re way too good for me. You could do better.”

“Don’t say stuff like that,” you muttered, fixing your gaze on the ceiling. “That’s not funny.”

His smile faded a little, just enough. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just kissed him again. Lightly. Like a thank-you. Like a stop-talking-now.

You never told your friends.

At first, it was just easier that way. Although it did make you feel guilty and anxious. You knew they’d find out eventually—especially since Vernon didn’t seem all that interested in hiding it—but for now, you did what you could to keep things under wraps. Avoided walking too close on campus. Left his name out of your stories.

Anyway, you’d just started. You weren’t even sure if it was serious yet.

You kept telling yourself that. It wasn’t serious. You weren’t serious. Just vibing, having fun, seeing where it went.

Except… day by day, you kept falling for him. Little by little. The way your stomach flipped whenever his name lit up your phone. The way your day never really felt done until you’d seen him.

It was a slow Saturday afternoon when the knock came. You weren’t expecting him—you hadn’t even texted him yet—but when you opened the door in your oversized pajamas, there he was, standing with a plastic bag in one hand and a smug look on his face.

And a buzz cut.

You stared, jaw dropping. “No way,” you blurted, blinking at him like he’d shown up with a new face. “What is that?”

Vernon grinned, stepping inside as he rubbed his head. “A haircut?”

“No, that’s shapeshifting,” you said, clinging to him and tiptoeing a little to poke his head. “Where’s your hair? Where’s my hair? I liked your hair.”

“I just thought I’d cut it for a change,” he said, setting the bag on your kitchen counter like nothing was wrong. “It’s just hair.”

“Wrong. It was beautiful hair,” you argued, crossing your arms. “It was soft. Brown. Touchable. Now you look like you’re enlisting.”

That made him laugh out loud, head lolling back and all. “Come on. I brought snacks.”

You narrowed your eyes at him but then reached up to gently rub a hand over his buzzed scalp, curiosity winning over irritation. It felt... nice, actually. Warm. Neat.

He tilted his head, giving you a little side-eye. “See? You love it.”

You dropped your hand, huffing. “Fine. It looks good on you.”

Vernon smirked. “So, you’re into it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

He stepped in closer, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you flush against him. “I know you like grabbing my hair when I’m down there, but I assure you, the haircut won’t affect my performance at all.”

You snorted, though you decided to play along. “I’m sure it won’t, but what about me then? Where will I hold on to?”

Vernon appeared to think, then lifted your hands to the back of his head. “You can hold onto the head.”

You giggled, pushing him away. “Stay away from me, Private Chwe.”

But you didn’t really mean it. Because a few minutes later, you were curled up on the couch with your legs over his lap, sharing a bag of chips and casually running your fingers over his fuzzy head every now and then.

It was late. You were curled up in bed with Vernon, the room dim except for the soft glow of your phone screen. He’d knocked out not long after your second round, arm slung over your waist and his breath warm against your shoulder. You hadn’t moved, just mindlessly scrolling and letting the post-sex haze stretch a little longer.

He stirred behind you, mumbling something incoherent and making you glance over your shoulder. “Hmm?”

No response. His arm tightened around your middle slightly, and then, just barely awake, he muttered, “Go to sleep, Minmin.”

You froze. It was quiet, almost just a whisper, but you heard it loud and clear.

He didn’t even realize he’d said it. You could tell by how his breathing deepened again right after, like nothing happened, like he hadn’t just called you by her name.

You turned back to your screen, but the words there blurred. Your stomach twisted tight and cold. You knew it wasn’t on purpose. Knew he hadn’t meant it. Knew people said weird shit in their sleep all the time. But still.

You locked your phone and willed yourself to sleep after that.

From the start, you told yourself it was fine—Mina and Vernon were over, she was moving on, you hadn’t done anything technically wrong. But “technically” was doing a lot of heavy lifting. Because the truth was, Vernon wasn’t just some guy you met. He was Mina’s ex. Mina, your friend, the sweetest girl you’d ever known.

You hadn’t pried into their relationship much. Mina liked to keep those things private—she wasn’t the type to air out dirty laundry unless it was already halfway down the street. But in a friend group like yours, sometimes things slip. You knew they were on-and-off for two years. Knew that sometimes she’d show up to brunch with puffy eyes and a thin smile. Knew she once admitted she loved him, but called him exhausting in the same breath.

As her boyfriend, Vernon never really hung out much with all of you. He was always just a name, a shadow in the corner. Mina liked to keep her worlds separate: her friends, her boyfriend, her self. Clean boundaries. Maybe that’s why it was so easy to pretend he was just your Vernon now.

Until he sleep-mumbled her name. After that, you started seeing her everywhere.

In his car—her music taste still in the saved playlists on his stereo. A cracked compact mirror in the glove box. One of those pink hair ties looped around the gear shift.

In his phone—random photos of her mixed in with others. Her caller ID and photo still unchanged. Even in Vernon himself. Mannerisms. Phrases. Words he’d unintentionally—maybe even unconsciously—say with an accent. You hadn’t noticed it before, but now, in your ears, it was unmistakably her. Mina rubbed off on people that way.

But it was his house that really got you.

The first time you stayed over, you didn’t notice much. You were too wrapped up in the moment, in him. But when you started spending more time there—sober, dressed, paying attention—you saw her. In the closets. The bathroom drawers. Earrings in the dish on the nightstand. A polaroid photo tucked in the back of a book you grabbed off his shelf. Her smile. His arm around her.

They were everywhere, those little echoes. Maybe he didn’t even know they were still there. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t care enough to clear them out.

And that was awful because it meant you were walking through a space still haunted by someone else. Living in the leftover corners of someone else’s love.

You hadn’t said anything yet. You weren’t sure if you would. But ever since that night, since Minmin slipped out of his mouth and his arms curled around you like it didn’t mean a thing, something had changed. You couldn’t unsee it.

You couldn’t unfeel it either.

“Okay, spill. Who is he?” Jules demanded one day, putting her cup down a little too firmly.

You were halfway through your iced coffee, huddled in the corner booth of your usual café. “Who?” you asked dumbly.

Jules and Vivi exchanged a look like they were tired of your bullshit. “The guy you’ve been sneaking around with,” Vivi said, folding her arms. “Don’t act clueless. You’ve been weird for weeks. Dodgy. Distracted. Glowing.”

“Glowing?” you scoffed, aiming for a laugh, but it came out strained.

“Yes, bitch. Glowing. And don’t think we haven’t noticed how you vanish every weekend,” Jules added, leaning in. “We want a name.”

“I don’t vanish every weekend, not all the time,” you said quickly, but they weren’t buying it. You tried to keep your voice casual. “I’ve just been… busy.”

“Busy getting laid,” Vivi muttered into her straw.

You rolled your eyes. “Can I have some privacy?”

“Sure,” Jules said. “But you’re making it weird by being so cagey. We just wanna know who’s been putting that look on your face.”

You could feel the walls closing in. They meant well—you knew that. But their faces were too expectant, too trusting. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t drop the name and watch their expressions change. Couldn’t say Vernon and watch Jules flinch, or Vivi blink twice and say “Mina’s Vernon?” like she’d misheard.

So you laughed and said, “It’s nothing serious. Just someone I’m kinda seeing. No labels or anything.”

Jules groaned. “Ugh. Boring.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You deflected just enough to wriggle free, changed the subject, let the attention drift elsewhere. But even as the conversation moved on, something in you stayed stuck.

Because the truth sat heavy in your chest, pressing down harder now.

Your friends weren’t dumb. They’d figure it out eventually. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but they will. And what then?

You hadn’t meant to pull away, but you could feel it happening. You texted less. Skipped the group chats more. Turned down plans with vague excuses. Not because you didn’t love them—but because it was easier to not be around them. To not have to lie.

And yeah, it was the guilt.

Not just because Vernon was Mina’s ex, but because it was all happening behind their backs. The secrecy made it feel worse. Like every kiss you shared with him, carved a little more distance between you and the people who used to know you best.

You didn’t want to imagine what they’d say. How they’d look at you. Whether they’d be angry, or just… disappointed. You didn’t want to imagine Mina’s face at all.

So you didn’t. You smiled. You laughed. You swallowed the guilt.

On one sunny Sunday morning, you were stretched out on a lounge chair, legs crossed, eyes fixed on the glistening ripples on the pool. Vernon lay next to you, arms behind his head, chest rising and falling slowly, with a small towel draped over his eyes to block the light.

“Are your parents away?” you asked, squinting at the house behind you. “I haven’t really seen them around.”

He hummed, slow and lazy. “Yeah. Dad’s busy with business. Mom’s a diplomat so she’s not around much.”

You nodded, letting that settle for a second. “Do you have siblings?”

“I have a younger sister. Sofia. She’s in high school back in Seoul.” 

“Are you close?”

“Pretty much.” He pulled the towel down briefly to peek at you. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” you said with a shrug. “I’m nosy.”

He smiled faintly and pushed the towel back over his eyes. You watched the pool glimmer and shift in the sunlight. You picked at a thread on your cover-up. “It’s a nice house.”

“Yeah. A little sterile, though. My mom decorated it like a hotel.”

You gave a short laugh. “It kinda does feel like a resort.”

He hummed again. “No one’s around much anyway.”

Silence fell between you, broken only by the low splash of water against the pool's edge and the occasional rustle of leaves overhead.

You turned your head toward him. “You know… I ask a lot of questions.”

“Mmm?”

“You don’t really ask me much,” you said, watching him carefully.

Vernon peeled the towel off and cracked one eye open at you. “Huh. Yeah. I guess I don’t.” There was no apology in his voice. No defensiveness either. Just a simple sort of agreement, like you’d pointed out the weather.

You pushed up slightly on your elbow. “Why not?”

“I just… don’t ask a lot of questions,” he said with a shrug, propping himself up a little too. “I usually just let people talk and pick up on stuff naturally.”

That made your stomach twist a little. “So… you’re not curious about me?”

“It’s not that,” he said, glancing at you with a casual smile. He reached to cup your face, pressing a soft kiss on your lips before saying, “I like being around you. I don’t need to interrogate you to figure you out.”

You stared at him for a moment. He looked utterly at ease, like this was just another afternoon in a long string of afternoons. And maybe for him, it was.

But for you, it wasn’t. You wanted to be known. To be seen.

You tried to swallow the ache rising in your chest, brushing it off. “Right. I just—yeah, okay.”

He reached over absently, fingers brushing your knee. “I’m sorry. I suck at talking sometimes.”

You nodded. Smiled even. But your heart didn’t quite settle. Because he was right. He did suck at talking sometimes. But the problem was, you didn’t. You liked talking, you liked getting to know him.

And his indifference, for you, was starting to feel like rejection in disguise.

The days that followed were… good. Objectively speaking. Late brunches that turned into grocery runs that turned into him falling asleep on your couch while you watched something he picked but never finished. Evenings spent trying new recipes in his too-perfect kitchen, burning things, laughing about it, ordering pizza instead.

You had your routines. A shared toothbrush at both houses. A playlist that lived in his car, mostly because it was your Spotify account and you liked to DJ from the passenger seat. He never complained. He liked what you liked, or at least pretended to.

There were always the moments, too. The soft ones. Like when he laced your fingers together without thinking about it. Or when he reached out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear while talking about something completely unrelated. Or when he’d murmur, “Come here,” and pull you against him with a kiss that felt like it could break you in half. In the best way.

And still, you couldn’t stop your brain from running circles around itself. Because he’d say things like “This café’s got the best chai latte—I used to come here all the time,” and your stomach would drop.

Used to. With who?

He’d point at a movie on your screen and go, “Oh, I’ve seen this already. Mina made me watch it like eight times,” and not even flinch.

He didn't even seem to notice. And maybe that was what made it worse. That he could speak her name like it was just another fact. Like it didn’t send you into a spiral. Like it didn’t feel like being poked in a bruise you were trying hard to pretend didn’t exist.

You never told him when it happened. Never asked him to stop. You didn’t want to seem petty. You didn’t want to be that girl—the one who made everything about the ex.

But sometimes it would stick with you the whole day. Sit heavy in your chest like something sharp you accidentally swallowed. And you’d try to shrug it off while you were sitting across from him at a café, laughing about something stupid he said. Or in his bed, legs tangled together, your heart beating a little too fast, hoping he didn’t notice the way your smile faltered every time he kissed you and wondered if he was seeing you or someone else.

You hated how jealous you were. Not of Mina herself—but of the time Vernon had spent with her. How embedded she was in his life. How the memory of her clung to everything, like faint perfume on old clothes.

And the worst part? He wasn’t trying to hurt you. You knew that. He was just being Vernon. Which only made it harder to justify how mad you felt. Because how could you fault someone for not reading your mind?

“You okay?” Yuna asked, tugging you out of your musings.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Yuna didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t push. You were on campus, sitting on a bench seat at the quad, sipping your matcha when Jules and Mina strolled over mid-convo.

“—she looks like she’s going through something,” Jules was saying, phone in hand. “I saw her IG story. She bleached her hair again.”

“Again?” Mina snorted. “What is it with women and changing our hair every time we feel feelings?”

Yuna laughed. “It’s girlhood, babe. We don’t need a reason for it.”

“You know who else had a hairstyle change lately?” Vivi joined in, showing her phone screen for everyone to see. “Vernon Chwe.”

You almost spat your drink. Luckily, they were all too focused on Vivi’s phone to notice. 

“Oh my god, he got a buzz cut?” Mina exclaimed, chuckling. “It looks good.”

Vivi hummed. “Yeah, well, he’s lucky he’s blessed with good looks. But it definitely looks like he’s processing.”

“Or that he’s moved on with his life,” Jules said matter-of-factly. 

“What’s he even doing lately?” Yuna asked, turning to Mina. “Has he been trying to talk to you again?”

Mina shook her head, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “Nope. And thank goodness. We are absolutely, completely over.”

That should’ve been reassuring. Should’ve been your green light. But instead, you just sat there, fingers clenched around your cup. Mina didn’t sound hurt. She sounded like someone who had moved on. You should’ve felt relieved. Instead, you felt small.

The rest of the day passed in a fog. You made excuses to go home early, told Vernon you had to work on something, even though all you did was sit in your room, scrolling your phone and staring at nothing.

You hadn’t told your friends. You hadn’t told anyone. But now, even without opening your mouth, it felt like the secret was slipping out anyway.

And the worst part? You were starting to feel like you didn’t belong anywhere—too dishonest for your friends, too temporary for Vernon. Teetering, always, on the edge.

The annual interdepartmental sports meet was always full of energy and chaos in the best way. Overcrowded gyms, matching shirts in clashing colors, and a week’s worth of trash talk between departments that took themselves way too seriously. You weren’t exactly a hardcore athlete, but when your department needed players for the volleyball team, you and Jules had said yes before thinking twice. It was supposed to be fun. A way to bond with classmates and rack up a few points for team spirit.

But now, standing courtside with sweat already gathering at the back of your neck and nerves tying knots in your stomach, it felt bigger than that.

Because Vernon was there.

You spotted him just before warm-ups ended—seated halfway up the bleachers, water bottle in hand, eyes focused on you. He didn’t cheer or wave. He didn’t need to. Just knowing he was there made you happy.

On the opposite side of the gym, your friends were already making a scene. Mina, in her oversized jacket and Vivi in sunglasses, even though you were indoors, were yelling like it was the World Cup. The others were scattered around them, with poster board signs in hand. They had no idea Vernon was here. They probably spotted him, but they definitely didn’t know he was here for you.

The whistle blew, and the game began.

The PE department had always been a formidable opponent. Every serve they hit came in like a missile, and you were convinced one of their blockers had arms made of steel. Still, your team fought back—scrambling, diving, shouting encouragements across the net.

Vernon didn’t look away once.

You scored a couple of solid points—enough to get your friends hollering your name from across the court—and for a moment, you forgot about everything. The guilt, the secrets, the constant balancing act. All you cared about was the high of the game and the thrill of being seen.

But the PE team was too good, and the final set ended with their victory. Just like that, it was over.

You were still catching your breath when your friends swarmed you.

“You. Are. Insane!” Vivi said dramatically. “Be honest, you guys have invisible wings, don’t you?”

“No?” you chuckled, smiling apologetically as you watched Jules wipe her face when your sweat smeared her after a hug. 

“But you girls were flying!”

“Yeah? Well, wings or not, we lost anyway,” Yuna pouted, shoulders sagging.

Mina rolled her eyes. “Darling, it’s PE. Athletics are rigged in their favor every year.”

“Or they’re just that much better than we were,” you said matter-of-factly.

Mina shook her head disapprovingly. “We’re getting celebratory boba anyway, win or lose.”

Their affection came in shouting, hugging, someone sticking a phone in your face for selfies. And in all the noise, all the praise, you glanced up toward the bleachers.

Vernon was already standing. He met your gaze across the gym and lifted his hand in a small wave. Your heart flipped. You wanted to run to him. To hear what he thought of the game, of you. But you couldn’t. Not here, anyway.

So you waved back, just once, hoping it said all the things you couldn’t say out loud. Then your friends pulled you in another direction and Vernon disappeared into the crowd, just like that.

You’d spent the whole day surrounded by friends, moving from post-game snacks to the campus fashion exhibit where Vivi was showing off her latest collection. The group had squealed and clapped when she won a prize, and you were just buzzed enough from pride and fizzy drinks to forget for a little while that Vernon was waiting.

But there he was, leaned up against the stairwell railing in front of your apartment when you finally got home. Hoodie, backwards cap, and a grin that’s smoother than butter.

“Took you long enough,” he said, stepping forward to help carry your tote. “Didn’t think watching models in boxy dresses would take this long.”

You snorted. “They were avant-garde, thank you very much.”

Inside, you kicked your shoes off and beelined for the bathroom. “Give me ten minutes to rinse off before I pass out,” you called behind you.

Vernon’s voice floated in casually. “Make it five. Any longer and I’ll assume you’re crying over your loss.”

You rolled your eyes in the shower.

By the time you emerged, skin damp and cozy in a fresh set of shorts and a cropped tee, he was sprawled on your bed, scrolling on his phone. He looked up the moment he heard you, his head cocking slightly as his eyes ran over your still-wet hair and bare legs.

You dropped down beside him with a dramatic sigh. “Everything hurts.”

“Your pride?” he chuckled. “Those PE girls are a different breed, it’s not your fault.”

“My back, you clown,” you muttered, flopping forward onto the mattress.

“I’d be surprised if it didn’t. You were all over the court.” He put his phone down and shifted closer. “Good thing I’m excellent at back rubs. Among other things.”

You turned your head to give him a look. “How excellent?”

“Guess you’ll have to let me show you,” he said, pushing you gently on the bed so you were lying on your belly. 

He climbed over you, straddling your thighs as he pressed his hands on your lower back, kneading slow circles over your aching muscles. The pressure was good, soothing in the first two minutes, until you noticed his hands kept creeping under your shirt.

“I can smell your ulterior motives from here,” you said into the mattress, eyes closed and basking in the relaxing pressure he was putting on your muscles.

“Ulterior what?” he said innocently, still kneading with one hand while the other shamelessly cupped your ass.

You let out a soft laugh. “You’re such an animal. I should sue you for this.”

He leaned forward until his chest brushed your back, lips right by your ear. “Come on. Let me make you feel good.”

You could feel his hard-on against the back of your thigh, his breath warm on your neck. You gave a whine of protest, but it was already dissolving as he kissed down the curve of your shoulder, teeth grazing lightly, hands moving more intentionally.

“Turn over,” he murmured, voice a little rough now.

You obeyed without thinking, shifting under him until he was settled between your legs, tugging your shirt up and over your head. He looked down at you for a second, eyes dark with desire, but there was something tender there too. Admiration, affection.

“You really killed it today,” he said, thumbs stroking the skin just under your bra. “Even if you lost.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Were you even watching the game?”

“I was watching,” he grinned. “Not the game, though.”

Your forehead creased and he kissed that space between your brows.

“You in those shorts, jumping around? I almost embarrassed myself on the bleachers,” he added, grinding against you.

You gasped, smacking his arm. “Vernon!”

He caught your wrist, guiding it down between your bodies. “Here. Feel what you did to me.”

Your breath hitched as your hand grazed him through his sweats, thick and hard and hot under the fabric. You curled your fingers around him, watching his jaw flex as he pressed into your touch.

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as your hand started to move. “You’re not helping my self-control right now.”

You smiled, tilting your head up so your lips grazed his jaw. “Since when did you have any?”

That earned you a low laugh, one that vibrated through his chest as he tugged your shorts down your hips, leaving you in just your panties. He dipped his head to kiss your stomach, then lower, his mouth leaving a warm trail on your skin as his hands gripped your thighs to spread them apart.

“Were you thinking about this in the shower?” he murmured against your underwear.

You let out a breathy moan, fingers threading through his hair as he nuzzled you. “I was thinking about sleep.”

“Liar.” He grinned up at you, wicked and boyish, before dragging his tongue along the edge of your panties, making you twitch.

When he finally pulled them aside and licked a long, slow stripe up your folds, your back arched off the bed. His hands were firm on your thighs, keeping you open, keeping you still, even as you writhed. He worked you over with maddening control, slow flicks of his tongue, then deep, insistent sucking, then back again. You were already panting, hips rolling into his mouth, desperate for more.

“God, Vernon—” you gasped, fingers digging into his nape.

He hummed in response, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight through your spine. One of his fingers slipped inside you, curling just right, and your breath broke. He added another, fucking you slow and deep while his mouth stayed busy, tongue teasing your clit until your thighs started to tremble.

“Come on, babe,” he whispered against you. “Let me have it.”

Your orgasm hit hard, blinding and hot, a shuddering wave that tore through you as you cried out his name. He didn’t stop until you were twitching, breathless, pushing weakly at his head.

He crawled back up your body, grinning smugly. “How’s your back?”

You were too dazed to answer, grabbing his shirt and yanking it up over his head. “Take your pants off.”

“Ooh. Bossy.” He complied without hesitation, kicking off his sweats and boxers. His cock slapped against his stomach, flushed, thick and already leaking. You stared for a second before reaching for him, but he caught your wrist.

He grabbed one of your legs, hooked it around his waist, and lined himself up. “Ready?”

You nodded, lips parted, and he slid in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open until he was fully inside. You clung to him, gasping into his shoulder.

“Fuck, you feel unreal,” he growled, holding still for a second as if trying to compose himself. Then he started to move.

His thrusts were deep and slow at first, but it didn’t take long for him to pick up speed. You locked your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, chasing that burn, that fullness. The room was filled with the sound of skin on skin, of breathless moans, and the creak of your bed frame.

He kissed you between thrusts, messy, open-mouthed, like he couldn’t get enough. His hand found yours above your head, fingers lacing with yours as he pushed harder, faster, hitting that perfect spot over and over again until you couldn’t help but pull away from his lips so you could moan out of ecstasy.

“I love it when you make that face,” he panted, canine grin gracing his face. “Like I’ve got you losing your mind.”

You were losing your mind. You were close again, tighter and wetter and needier than before, every nerve ending on fire. You clutched his hand tightly, clinging into it like a lifeline.

“I’m gonna—” you barely managed.

“I know,” he murmured, biting at your jaw. “Come for me again. I’ve got you.”

And you did—body locking up beneath him as you came hard, muffling your scream into his shoulder. He followed with a low, broken groan, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, his whole body trembling with it.

He collapsed on top of you, panting, sweaty, and smug. After a few minutes of catching his breath, he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“How did you like my ulterior motives?”

You couldn’t even speak. You just let out a soft, dazed laugh, chest rising and falling beneath his.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he grinned.

You lay together on the messy bed, his arms wrapped around you while your head rested on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. You could feel the sticky warmth between your legs, the light throb of overstimulated muscles, but none of it felt uncomfortable. Just, intimate. Like all of him was still inside you somehow, even after he’d pulled out.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured, lips brushing your forehead.

You hummed and closed your eyes. “Barely. You ruined me.”

“That’s my love language,” he said smugly, lifting your chin so he could kiss you.

Your eyes fluttered open. “You’re so annoying.”

He grinned. “You say that, but you never kick me out.”

“Because my legs don’t work right now.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You let out a quiet laugh, turning onto your side to face him. He looked like a handsome mess—his skin flushed, lips still kiss-swollen, and somehow, in this disheveled, post-sex haze, he looked lovely. Boyish. Completely unguarded. It made your chest ache with affection.

He stared back at you, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek. “You were really good today. At the game, I mean.”

Your brow arched. “Are you saying I wasn’t good just now?”

“Hey,” he said quickly, laughter in his voice. “You were great just now. I’m still seeing stars. I’m just saying… I was proud of you. Watching you out there.”

The words hit somewhere deep in your chest, too warm, too sweet. You looked down at his hand, now resting over your ribcage. “You didn’t even sit on our team’s side of the court.

“Well, your friends were there. I thought you wouldn’t want me somewhere near them,” he admitted. “Since they don’t know about us.”

You nodded. You didn’t need the reminder. The guilt still lived under your skin like a bruise that hadn’t healed.

“I’ll tell them soon,” you said, mostly to yourself.

Vernon didn’t push. He just leaned in and kissed your temple. “Take your time. I quite enjoy feeling like someone’s dirty little mistress.”

You chuckled heartily, letting your eyes fall shut again, breathing him in. You stayed like that for a moment, pressed against him, warm and full but still not entirely at peace. His “dirty little mistress” joke echoed in your head. Not because it wasn’t funny—it was, in a Vernon kind of way—but because it reminded you of the reality you kept tucking under the rug. That this was still a secret.

“Hey,” you said after a pause. “Can I ask you something?”

He glanced down at you, relaxed. “Go ahead, baby. You always ask me something anyway.”

You ignored the tease. “What really happened between you and Mina?”

Vernon blinked, visibly surprised, but not thrown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… why did you break up? Like, for good.”

He didn’t answer right away, and part of you hoped he wouldn’t. That he’d brush it off. But he didn’t.

He sat up a little, leaning back against your headboard, his hand sliding away from your waist. “We just… stopped making sense, I guess. At first it was great. But I kept fucking up. I wasn’t always present. She needed consistency, and I was all over the place back then.”

You stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“I didn’t even realize how much I was hurting her until she’d already started checking out. We kept going in circles. Break up, I try to figure out what I did wrong, get back together, repeat. I guess she got tired. By the time I got serious, she didn’t want it anymore.” He let out a laugh, one that was bitter and self-deprecating. “She said loved me. I loved her too. But love doesn’t mean shit if you don’t put in the effort to make it work.”

You watched the way his face softened, the way his gaze drifted toward something far away, something not in this room. You wondered if he even realized it.

“I used to wish I was better, you know,” he added quietly. “For her.”

Something twisted in your chest. You sat up, pulling the blanket to your chest even though you weren’t cold. “You still wish that?”

His eyes flicked to yours. “What?”

“For her. You still wish you were better for her right now?”

He blinked, confused. “No. That’s not what I meant.”

“But it’s what you said.” You tried not to sound hurt.

He sat up straighter, brow furrowed. “I know, but it’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I meant I used to wish I was— wait. Are we gonna fight about this?”

“No,” you said quickly. “I just—” You faltered, heart racing, lump forming in your throat. “I just wanted to know if you’re over her.”

“I am.”

“You don’t sound like it.”

“Because I said I used to wish I was better?”

“Because you said it like you still do.”

His expression hardened, just a little. “Baby, I told you, that is not what I meant. Hold on. You asked me to tell you. And now you’re mad because I did?”

“I’m not mad,” you said, voice rising. “I’m just— I don’t know. I thought hearing you talk about it would make me feel better.”

“Okay…? Where is this coming from?”

“I don’t know, Vernon.” You laughed, hollow. “Maybe from me pretending not to notice that your whole life still has her fingerprints all over it.”

Vernon stared at you like he didn’t know what to say and that silence only made your chest ache even more.

“I knew I was a rebound,” you said, voice lower now. “I’ve always known. But I’m so tired of feeling like one.”

“Come on, you’re not a—”

“Don’t lie to me and say I’m not, Vernon.”

His brows pulled together, but he didn’t argue and just sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

He ran a hand on his head, frustration starting to leak into his voice. “You never said anything. You never told me it bothered you that I’d just gotten out of something.”

“Because I wasn’t even planning to date you, Vernon!” you snapped, the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them. “You’re the one who had to go and make me your girlfriend. You didn’t even give me a chance to think about what any of this meant before it already meant something.”

That shut him up. Completely. He stared at you, lips parted just slightly, as if he’d been mid-sentence but forgot how to make a sound.

“Come on, baby,” he said softly, a bitter laugh escaping. “You’re acting like I dragged you into this.”

“You didn’t drag me,” you snapped. “You just… pulled me in so fast I didn’t have time to realize I didn’t want this.”

His expression cracked, like you’d just confirmed the worst thing he suspected about himself. “So what, this whole time you’ve just been regretting it?”

You didn’t say anything. You just looked at him. Steady. Honest.

“Oh,” he said quietly. “Got it,” he added, voice tight as he reached for his hoodie on the chair. “Loud and clear.”

“Vernon…”

“It’s fine,” he said, already walking toward the door. “You don’t have to explain.”

You stood too, blanket falling from your shoulders. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just… I don’t know what to do anymore.”

He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Yeah. I think that makes two of us.”

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he. The door clicked shut behind him.

The silence that followed was louder than anything you’d heard before. You stood there for a moment, staring at the door like maybe he’d come back, but the hallway stayed quiet. The echo of the door clicking shut still rang in your head.

You sank onto the edge of the bed, pulling the blanket around you again, but it didn’t help. You were still cold and it had nothing to do with your naked body and everything to do with what just left the room.

Your breath hitched as the first tear fell. Then another. And another. Until you couldn’t stop them, until your chest shook and your hand clutched the blanket like a lifeline.

You pressed your palm to your mouth, trying to quiet yourself, but it was no use. Your sobs still filled the entire apartment.

When you woke up the next day, your eyes were heavy and puffy. But you had classes later, so you tried your best to bring the swelling down and look completely normal. It worked; your eyes returned to normal, except for the redness on the corners that you couldn’t do anything about, no matter how much you tried.

And so you willed yourself to calm down, to face this day without the burden of the fight with Vernon weighing you down. To leave it all behind in the confines of your apartment.

But the moment you stepped into the deserted lecture hall where your friends were hanging out, you immediately felt the air around you change. Their attention immediately shifted to you, and you could already feel nervousness creep up your chest.

Vivi raised an eyebrow, her phone held up for you to see, and Mina—of course, it had to be Mina—was the first to speak.

“You and Vernon, huh?” she asked with a lilt in her voice, but you didn’t recognize that.

Your stomach dropped. You didn’t want to answer. Of all the timing in the world, this had to be the worst. You didn’t want them to know. Not like this. You were still spiraling from the fight with Vernon, trying to piece together what had just happened, and they were about to walk straight into the wreckage.

“Yeah, I’m seeing Vernon,” you snapped, more harshly than you intended. The words tasted bitter as you spat them out. “Mina’s Vernon.”

The moment you said it, it felt like the entire room was holding its breath. You could feel your palms sweating, your heart racing. They’d seen the Instagram story Vernon posted the day before. And they’d recognized you. It was so obvious, your reflection in the glass, the way you had been with him just the day before. But this wasn’t how you wanted them to find out. Not after the mess with Vernon.

“I didn’t want to tell you guys,” you snapped, the words tumbling out, sharp and jagged. “Because I knew you’d think I’m a terrible friend, that I’m some kind of asshole for getting with my friend’s ex. But I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, okay? It just did.” 

You felt the words spill out in a rush, but it didn’t feel like relief. It just felt like more of a mess. More of a disaster that you couldn’t control. “I was just having fun with him, alright? But now it’s all complicated, and I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing anymore. So sue me for being an asshole!”

The group exchanged glances. Vivi blinked, clearly caught off guard, but instead of the judgment you had prepared yourself for, she just scoffed. “You’re not an asshole. Calm down. Geez.”

She walked toward you, cautious at first, as if she feared you might lash out, and gently patted your shoulder. “It’s no big deal, really.”

“It’s a bit weird, yeah, but what does it matter?” Jules chimed in, glancing at Mina. “They’re broken up. It’s not like you’re trying to date him while they’re still together.”

Yuna nodded nonchalantly. “No one thinks you’re an asshole. If it feels right to you, who cares?”

You blinked, caught off guard by her acceptance. It wasn’t exactly the response you’d expected, not the condemnation you thought you’d face, not the judgment.But it didn’t matter much what they thought. It was Mina you were more worried about.

Mina, who had been silent the entire time, stood up and without a word, pulled you into a tight hug. You didn’t know how long you stayed there, in the comfort of her embrace, but it was long enough for you to start crying again. She didn’t say anything else. She just held you, as though she knew something had happened, as though she understood that this confrontation was a result of all the emotions you hadn’t let out before.

When she finally pulled away, you saw the understanding in her eyes. “You alright, love?”

You nodded, still sobbing. “Are you?”

“I’m fine, silly,” she said softly, smiling. “You’re not the first person to date someone’s ex, and you’re not doing anything wrong.”

You expected to hear some kind of anger, some kind of hurt, but instead she just sounded resigned.  After spending all those days worrying that you were a horrible friend, you needed more from her. You needed her to be mad, or at least to tell you that you were making a mistake.

“But... don’t you think it’s kind of—” You swallowed hard. “I don’t know, Mina, don’t you think it’s fucked up?”

She gave you an apologetic look, like she was trying to gauge how much of this you needed to hear. You saw her glancing over at Vivi, her face unreadable. “It’s not fucked up. If you’re happy with him, then you’re happy. I don’t see the point in holding on to grudges about who dates whom after a breakup. It is what it is.”

You could feel your heart sinking. The validation you had been searching for from her wasn’t coming. You almost wanted to scream at her, tell her she was wrong, that you had no idea what you were doing, that this was all so messed up. Everything felt like it was spinning out of control. And yet, she wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even mad. She was just unfazed.

And for some reason, that lack of anger felt like a thorn being plucked from your chest.

“Okay, girls, this is obviously something we need to unpack,” Jules said, slapping Vivi and Yuna on the back. “Let’s ditch class and blow off some steam.”

You chuckled bitterly, wiping your face as you tried to compose yourself. “Let’s not. It’s okay. I’m fine.”

Jules shook her head, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “No, you’re not.”

Vivi scoffed lightly. “You’re just looking for an excuse to run off.”

After a round of glances and a half-hearted protest from Yuna about attendance, the group had collectively decided that, for the sake of everyone’s emotional well-being (read: yours), the day should be devoted to ‘girlhood’. No lectures. No readings. No pretending everything was fine when something had clearly almost rattled your friend group.

You wound up spending the afternoon doing what you always did when one of you was getting some drama thrown your way—retail therapy, greasy food, dumb photo booth pictures you’d all cringe at later. The mall wasn’t particularly exciting, but it was the place you and your girls were most familiar with. You tried on sunglasses you didn’t intend to buy, stole fries off Mina’s plate, let Vivi drag you through every store offering a SALE. 

No one mentioned Vernon. No one had to. He wasn’t part of this detox, not part of this girlhood.

By the time evening rolled around, you’d collected a half-dozen shopping bags and a little more peace than you’d started the day with. The group voted on takeout from your favorite Korean fried chicken restaurant and decided to eat it at your place.

“Honestly, can’t remember the last time we hung out at your place,” Vivi said as she linked her arm around yours, peeking at your face with narrowed eyes. “I wonder why...”

Jules smirked. “It’s the boy, obviously.”

“Did that dude have you on lockdown?” Vivi asked, not even trying to be subtle.

You rolled your eyes, shifting the paper bag in your arms. “It’s not like that.”

But the teasing stopped as soon as you turned the corner onto your street. Because Vernon was there. Sitting on the steps outside your building, hoodie on, elbows on his knees, and eyes on the ground. He looked up at the sound of your voices and immediately stood.

You froze, the breath catching in your throat. Your friends didn’t.

“Absolutely not,” Vivi snapped, stepping in front of you before you could say anything. “Turn around.”

“What are you doing here, Vernon?” Mina added, moving to block his view of you. 

“I just wanna talk to her,” Vernon said, hands up like he knew exactly how bad this looked.

“Hmm, I don’t know about that,” Vivi grimaced, feigning an apologetic look. “We have a thing and you’re not invited.”

You could see his jaw tighten at that, but he didn’t argue. 

“Go home, Vernon,” Mina said. “Maybe use this time to reflect, yeah?”

Vernon sighed. “How do you know this is my fault?”

Mina shrugged, glancing briefly at you. Vivi replied, “Doesn’t matter whose fault this is. It was you who made her cry. We don’t want you here.”

“Guys, this is between me and her, please.”

Your friends all turned to you with inquiring looks, suddenly making you feel nervous. You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled. “Let’s go inside, girls.”

Vivi didn’t move until you did. Even as you stepped forward, she stayed close, her arm brushing against yours like a silent signal: “Just say the word, and I’ll swing.” Before trailing after the others, she paused just long enough to glance at Vernon over her shoulder.

You didn’t look at him. Not once. Just kept your eyes on the entrance, heart hammering, keys slipping slightly in your sweaty grip as you ushered the girls inside and shut the door behind you.

And for a while, everything felt normal again.

There was fried chicken on the table, open soda cans scattered across every surface, and someone had put on a feel-good playlist that kept the room alive with laughter and off-key singing. You danced barefoot on your living room floor with Yuna, both of you losing it over Vivi’s ridiculous two-step. Jules was perched on the back of your couch like a cat, chewing on a piece of tteokbokki and pretending to be unimpressed with everyone’s moves. Mina laughed so hard at one point she had to clutch her side and collapse onto a throw pillow.

You didn’t know who brought him up first. Maybe it was Jules, maybe it was Vivi throwing a not-so-subtle glance your way when the laughter finally began to quiet down. Either way, it was inevitable. You’d made it through the mall and dinner and two hours of messing around in your apartment without saying his name—but that silence had started to feel loud.

“So… Vernon,” Jules said, curled up on the far end of your couch, chopsticks dangling between her fingers. “Are we gonna talk about it or keep pretending we didn’t see the human roadblock outside earlier?”

You sighed, resting your chin on your hand. “There’s not much to say. We hooked up once, drunk, and it just kind of… kept happening. We were dating, I guess.”

“Just like that?” Vivi frowned. “He broke up with Mina, what, two seconds ago?”

“Exactly.” You let out a humorless laugh. “He said I wasn’t but I really felt like I was a rebound. Like he was just killing time with me until he figured his shit out. He didn’t ask questions about me, didn’t really seem interested in the things I liked. He said he liked being around me, said he liked me a lot and stuff—but it never felt like he was trying to know me.”

You sighed slowly, heart lighter now that you were able to talk about this. But there was something still catching in your throat. Something you couldn’t say. That it wasn’t just about how he acted—it was how you felt every time Mina’s name came up in conversation, or worse, when it didn’t. Like you were constantly living in the shadow of a relationship that you hadn’t witnessed but couldn’t stop imagining.

You didn’t say any of that. Your damn pride wouldn’t let you.

There was a pause. Yuna blinked and said, “Well, shit.”

“I mean,” Jules began slowly, “that’s valid, babe. It makes total sense you’d feel like a rebound. The whole situation was set up to make you feel that way.”

“He probably has commitment issues,” Vivi added with a scoff. “That or he didn’t take it seriously from the start. Not even trying to know you? That’s a red flag. Come on.”

But Mina, who had been quietly picking at the leftovers of dinner, surprisingly had other opinions.

“Vernon’s not really like that,” she said calmyl. Not defensive, not biting—just honest. “He’s not big on questions. He gets to know people by doing things with them, being around them. Not through twenty-questions or late-night heart-to-hearts.”

You glanced at her and it was Jules who asked, “So he’s not deep?”

“No, he is,” she said. “He just doesn’t show it the usual way. It took a while before I realized he liked me back then. He’s spontaneous. And he doesn’t like wasting time on things that don’t matter to him. So if this was just a rebound… that would actually be kind of weird for him.”

That made your chest tighten. The way Mina talked about him like she really knew him. Somehow, you thought it would be painful, but instead, your heart was tightening for an entirely different reason. 

Affection, and pride. Like a mom hearing other mothers praise your child for being well-behaved and smart.

“But,” she added, tone shifting slightly, “he does love bomb a little. When he’s into something, or someone, he throws himself all-in, fast. And sometimes it fizzles out just as fast. So maybe you’re right. Maybe it was temporary. But only Vernon knows how he really feels.”

There was a second of silence. Yuna finally muttered, “That’s so frustrating.”

“Tell me about it,” you mumbled.

Still, you appreciated Mina’s honesty. Her ability to speak about Vernon without bitterness, even if part of you wished she had been bitter. You wished someone had been angry enough to make you feel like you weren’t just spiraling alone.

“You want me to tell you something?” Jules said sternly, pointing a fork at you. “You deserve better.”

“Hear, hear!”

You knew that. You didn’t need people to tell you. You were smart enough to know you deserved better. That you shouldn’t be in a relationship if it feels unstable and uncertain.

But what use is better if Vernon is all you want? If, despite everything, you still wanted to be with him? 

You could unpack this with your girls, knowing they’d have enough angles and perspectives for you to help make a decision. But you didn’t wanna do that because this was something you had to figure out on your own. This was something only you and Vernon could talk about. This was between the two of you.

And your friends were good. They didn’t push further. They let you rest your head against the couch cushions again and made plans to sleep over next weekend. Normal things. Safe things.

And then, it was time to go. You walked them downstairs, one by one, clinging to the lightness you’d clawed back during the day. But the second you stepped outside, that lightness evaporated.

Because Vernon was still there.

Sitting in the exact same spot, hoodie pulled up, expression unreadable in the glow of the streetlights. He stood the second he saw you. You could hear your friends making surprised sounds and murmurs around you.

“You’re joking,” Vivi said flatly.

He didn’t speak. Just looked at you as if he couldn’t see anyone else.

“Should we stay?” Mina asked quietly, her fingers brushing your arm.

You hesitated, then nodded. “No. It’s okay.”

The others weren’t so sure. Jules gave Vernon a sharp look. “You sure you don’t want us to stay?”

“It’s fine,” you said again, firmer this time. “Really.”

With reluctance and a few more side-eyes at Vernon, they said their goodbyes. Vivi mimed her two-finger “watching you” gesture. 

Jules even pointed at Vernon’s feet and said, “Stay,” like he was a dog.

And then, finally, you were alone with him. He didn’t speak right away. Just stared, like he wasn’t sure you’d come out at all.

“I didn’t know if I should wait,” he said eventually. “But I didn’t wanna leave without trying.”

You stepped out, slowly. “Okay. Try.”

The wind blew and the cool air made you hug yourself. It was getting late and the night had gotten colder. You wondered how long he was waiting there. Had he really been sitting there the whole time?

“Can we talk inside?”

“No,” you replied before you could even think about it. “I don’t trust myself to be alone in private with you right now.”

“Right, I understand,” he nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Um, that night, when we fought… I, uh… I shouldn’t have left like I did.”

He paused, eyes softening as he met your gaze. “It’s just, when you said you didn’t want… this—” he motioned at the two of you— “us, dating. It kind of got into my head. I was a little upset because I thought I dragged you into something you didn’t want and that everything that happened was just…”

He paused again, looking away and then chuckling in a self-deprecating way. “Anyway, I don’t wanna make excuses. Point is, I understand now why you were upset. Why you felt like a rebound and what I did… and didn’t do to make things better. I understand the Mina thing. I understand why you thought I didn’t like you enough because I didn’t ask much about you but…”

You raised an eyebrow, urging him to continue.

“But you were wrong about something,” Vernon said, stepping closer, his voice low, not pushing, just stating a truth. “ I know you. We haven’t been together long, but I’ve known enough about you.”

He paused, glancing up like he was searching for the right words. Then, almost awkwardly, he started counting off on his fingers.

“You hate ketchup. Like, viscerally. You always wipe it off your burger before eating it. You set three alarms every morning but never wake up until the fourth, which is somehow always a voice memo of you yelling at yourself to get up.” A small smile tugged at his lips. “You like watching horror movies but always cover your eyes during the scary parts. You don’t like soda but you always steal sips of mine.”

You felt yourself go still. Not because he was saying anything particularly grand, but because it was clear—he’d been paying attention. More than you thought. Maybe more than you let yourself believe.

“You read too fast and finish books in a day, then spend the next three days depressed about it. You dance in your seat when your food’s good. You always fall asleep during car rides unless you’re the one driving. You get quiet when you’re thinking too hard. You ramble when you’re nervous.” He smiled faintly. “Like on the day of your volleyball tryouts. You talked about how avocadoes are a scam.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “They are though. Four bucks for something that goes bad in a day.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “Point is, I notice. I might not ask a million questions about your childhood or your star sign, but I see you. And I like you. A lot.”

He stopped, letting those last words sink in. His eyes were on you, not pleading, but open and vulnerable.

“I’m not gonna promise you anything I’m not sure I can keep. But I know I want you. I know I care about you, and that’s not just me saying it because I’m scared of losing you, even though I am. I just…” he sighed. “I don’t want this to be over before we even tried, baby.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Just watched him, arms crossed, heart thudding in a way you were trying hard to ignore. Because you wanted him—but you weren’t sure if you could trust him yet. Or yourself, for that matter, to stop letting your insecurities eat at you.

But you didn’t tell him any of that. Instead, you turned away, slowly walking to your door.

You unlocked it, paused with your hand on the knob, and glanced back over your shoulder. “Are you just gonna stand there all night?”

Vernon blinked. “No, I… um, I’ll leave you alone if you want me to.”

You huffed, stepping just inside the doorway. “Come on in,” you said simply, not looking at him. “It’s cold and you’ve been sitting out here like an idiot all night.”

It took him a second, but then you heard his quiet footsteps behind you, following you in.

Inside, you paused in the middle of your apartment, took a slow breath, and turned. Then you threw yourself into his arms. Vernon nearly toppled over, but managed to steady you, arms wrapping around your back, one hand cradling the back of your head.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled into his chest, sighing like it physically hurt to get the words out. “I overreacted. Got a little over dramatic. Just… got in over my head.”

Vernon shushed you gently, kissing the side of your head and tugging you closer. “Don’t be sorry. I get it. You can be a little crazy sometimes, and I think I can deal with that.”

You pulled back just enough to smack him lightly in the chest. Vernon just chuckled, throwing his head back before pulling you back into his arms.

“I’m kidding, baby. It’s not your fault,” he said, nose brushing your temple. “I missed you so much. You had no idea.”

You rolled your eyes despite the flutter in your chest. “Liar. It hasn’t even been a full day.”

“You sure about that?” Vernon murmured, pulling back just enough to kiss your forehead. “Felt like five weeks.”

You scoffed. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Says the girl who cried when I left,” he chuckled, “even though she’s the one who picked a fight with me.”

You tried to pull away again, but he tightened his hold. “Don’t worry about it. I like my women emotional.”

You groaned, letting your forehead fall against his chest. “Shut up or I’ll kick you out for real.”

“Please don’t,” he replied, arms still wrapped tightly around you. “I missed you too much.”

You didn’t respond, just closed your eyes and listened to the steady beat of his heart. For a second, neither of you moved. The room was warm, and so was he. And even if you were still a little mad, and still a little scared, it felt good to be in his arms again.

He lifted your chin up, gaze dropping to your lips, then back up. “Can I kiss you?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” you said, before pressing your lips to his.

He kissed you like he meant it. Like he missed you. Like he was trying to remind you of every reason you’d let him in to begin with. His hands moved up to cradle your face, gentle, a little desperate. Yours were still fisted in his hoodie, keeping him close. Just in case he changed his mind. Just in case you did.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you a little breathless and grinning, he rested his forehead against yours.

You didn’t believe in neat resolutions. Relationships didn’t fix themselves overnight, and a kiss wasn’t a magic bandage for everything that had gone wrong. Maybe nothing would change. Maybe you’d still fight, still misunderstand each other. But for now, your walls were down and his arms were around you.

And that was enough. You weren’t going anywhere. Not unless one of you said it was over.

“I’m still mad at you,” you whispered.

“I’d be worried if you weren’t,” he murmured back, brushing your cheek with his thumb before leaning to kiss you again.

[fin]

[saythenametotheworld]

is it new year's yet? | l.mk (18+)

Synopsis: Coming home for Christmas is your least favorite part of the year. But this time, you're up for a pleasant surprise when you get introduced to your cousin's friend from uni, Mark Lee. Genre: holiday fling, smut Pairing: Mark Lee x afab!Reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit content (18+) Notes: 9.7k words. Listening to is it new year's yet by Sabrina Carpenter. A little late holiday treat for you all! I miss writing for Mark sm. I'm on vacation so I've been MIA and will be MIA for a few more days. ALSO if you see a different version of this fic on a different account for a different idol, it's me. I have decided to open a different blog for other groups. xoxo, cal.

ENJOY!

Holidays are for family reunions and coming home to bond with your loved ones. Bullshit. You’d rather be anywhere but here.

Here being your family home, bright and cheerful with Christmas decors and merry chatter from relatives and family friends. The sweet smell of cinnamon and gingerbread permeated the halls and the Christmas songs playing from the speakers your mother had strategically placed around the house were grating on your nerves, making you dizzier than the champagne you were drinking. 

You didn’t hate your family—far from it. You loved them with every fiber of your being. But that didn’t make the family tradition of hosting a horde of relatives and family friends for Christmas any less unbearable.

Home. Familiar, warm, and somehow... suffocating.

You should be used to it by now, considering how your mother had always made it her mission to be the ultimate hostess. What might have seemed magical when you were a kid now felt so unnecessary. As you grew older, it became harder to tolerate the endless stream of insufferable relatives and their even more insufferable commentary.

“Did you lose weight?” a distant aunt asked, her eyes raking over you like you were a mannequin in a store window. “You need to eat more. You’re so skinny.”

Just call me fat, why don’t you? you thought to yourself, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “I know. I did it on purpose,” you replied curtly before tossing back the last of your champagne. You didn’t wait for her reaction. You simply walked away, the bubbles fizzing in your throat as you searched for somewhere to hide.

You wove your way through the crowd, dodging overly familiar pats on the shoulder and sidelong glances that screamed When are you graduating? or Where’s your boyfriend?

The living room was packed with people swapping stories you’d heard a hundred times before. The scent of pine from the overdecorated tree blended with the warm spice of wine and sugary sweetness from the dessert table. The whole atmosphere was so perfect and festive that it made it a little hard to breathe. 

You needed air. Or another drink. Although, both are fine too.

In the kitchen, you poured yourself another glass of champagne and leaned against the counter, fishing out your phone to scroll mindlessly. A part of you considered texting Yeonjun—the guy you couldn’t stop thinking about. He was probably back in the city, having the time of his life at some glittering party—champagne in hand, gorgeous people all around, someone to kiss at midnight.

“Fuck this,” you muttered under your breath, stuffing your phone back in your pocket as you walked out of the kitchen.

Rounding the corner too fast, you slammed into someone—a steady grip caught your arm before the champagne could spill. 

“Easy there,” he said, his voice low and warm. You glanced up and found a stranger: jet-black hair with an undercut, sharp jawline, and an easy smile that contrasted with the chaos around you. He looked your age, maybe a bit older.

“Thanks,” you muttered, eyeing him curiously. You could not remember seeing him anywhere before, so naturally, your immediate assumption was that he was a guest’s plus one. He could be a cousin’s boyfriend or something and you were just about to ask him that when your cousin Hendery appeared beside him.

“Oooh, look who showed up!” Hendery said, tilting his head with that playful glint you always found irritating.

You rolled your eyes. “I always show up.”

“Of course you do.” Hendery leaned against the wall, arms crossed and grinning. “You hate it here, don’t you?”

You tilted your head at him, pretending to think. “What gave it away? My overflowing enthusiasm?”

“Come on, it’s not that bad,” Hendery teased. “A little family bonding with your favorite aunts would be nice. Aren’t you supposed to pack them a gift each?”

You drained the last of your champagne, letting the fizz linger as you looked at your cousin. “I’d rather die.”

Hendery laughed, nudging Mark with his elbow. “This is my cousin. She’s the resident Grinch. But don’t worry; she’s fun when she wants to be.”

“I can hear you,” you gloated.

“I know,” he said, his grin widening. “So? Are you going to spend the whole night sipping champagne like a miserable bore?”

You gave him a flat look. “Oh my god. You can read minds?” you deadpanned.

“Well, perfect! You’re already dressed for the occasion,” he quipped, gesturing vaguely at your casual attire. He laughed but stopped when you didn’t even crack a smile. “Tell you what, Mark and I are heading out. You’re welcome to join us if you want to.”

“No.”

“Come on. It’s gonna be fun.” Before you could refuse again, Hendery slung an arm around your shoulder and turned to Mark. “She’ll come. She just likes to play hard to get.”

“I really won’t,” you retorted, trying to shrug him off. “I don’t feel like tailing you two all night.”

“What else are you gonna do—sit in a corner and glare at people?”

You rolled your eyes, but the answer was obvious. Staying inside meant more questions, more relatives, more everything you were trying to avoid.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But if you drag me into something ridiculous—”

“You’ll have fun. Promise,” Hendery interrupted and then turned to Mark. “She’s coming.”

Mark’s smile was easy, almost reassuring. “No pressure. It’ll be chill.”

You smirked. “You clearly don’t know Hendery.”

With that, Hendery led the way, practically bouncing out the door. You followed, stuffing your hands into your coat pockets as Mark fell into step beside you.

The winter air hit you like a slap, crisp and biting, slicing through the lingering scents of cinnamon and pine. It was a relief, though, clearing your head from the stifling warmth of the house. You walked down the quiet streets with Hendery, Mark, and a few friends you used to hang out with growing up. They led the way, cracking jokes and tossing playful banter back and forth, while you stuck closer to the back with Mark.

“I can’t believe they’re still dating,” you muttered, eyeing a pair in front of you.

“Who? Them?” Mark asked, making you glance briefly at them.

You nodded. “They started dating when we were sophomores in high school. And they’re still together.”

Mark hummed. “They must really like each other then.”

You grimaced, eyeing the lovey-dovey couple in front. “I don’t know. They used to break up and make up. It was exhausting. Everyone thought they’d break up for good after graduation. But, well… here we are.”

“Guess they like running in circles,” Mark said lightly, shoving his hands in his pockets. He glanced sideways at you. “What about you? Do you think people like that can actually work out?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, unsure if the question was casual or probing. “I think it depends on how much drama you can stomach. Personally, I’d rather avoid it altogether.”

Mark tilted his head thoughtfully. “No drama, huh? That’s a pretty high bar for relationships.”

You smirked, knowing how ironic it was for you to say this despite having a relationship drama. “Tell me about it,” you mumbled.

It was easy to figure out Mark’s intentions. The whole time, he didn’t try to hide it, nor did he try to send mixed signals. It was pretty clear with how close he was standing beside you, how his shoulder almost brushed yours. The way Mark’s eyes lingered on you when you spoke, the way he tilted his head when you laughed, like he was committing the sound to memory. How, even when you weren’t talking, he stayed within arm’s reach, his gaze flickering to you every now and then. How his focus remained on you.

And then there was the way he leaned in just slightly when he made a comment, his voice low, his words meant only for you.

He was attentive in a way that surprised you, even in the most casual moments. As you explained how you and your friends used to kill time in this sleepy town—late-night drives to the lookout point, sneaking snacks into the single-screen movie theater, racing bikes down the old dirt trail—Mark listened with genuine curiosity, his eyes lighting up with every story.

“So, let me get this straight,” he said when you were alone at the swings. You sat comfortably on the swing while he pushed you gently. “Not only did you race down a hill that sounds like a death trap, but you’re telling me you were the reigning champion?”

You tilted your head, feigning offense. “Why do you sound so skeptical?”

“Oh, I believe you,” he said, his smirk widening. “I’m just wondering how many people you bribed to throw the race.”

You gasped playfully. “Excuse me, I won fair and square.”

“Sure you did.” His laughter was low, warm, the kind that made you feel comfortable with him.

You smirked. “Why else would I bring it up? Go ask them.”

He chuckled, nodding his head. “You seem really confident… I believe you.”

You were quiet for a while, with only the creaking sound of swing filling the silence. The tip of your shoes dragged lightly with every swing, carving the damp ground underneath.

Mark asked after the silence stretched out. “So, is that all you did for fun around here?”

“Pretty much,” you said with a shrug. “Lame, huh?”

“Not at all. It’s simple but it has its charm,” he said softly, pausing as he held the swing tight to stop it. “It says a lot about you though.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him with a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “Are you calling me charming?”

“Maybe,” he said, his voice light but his gaze unwavering. “What would you do if I was?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Depends. Is this small-town charm talking, or do you actually mean it?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Trust me, I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

“Well, aren’t you a smooth talker?” you teased, though your voice had softened, your usual sharpness dulled by the way Mark was looking at you.

He grinned, leaning just a little closer, his voice dropping lower. “Only with the right company.”

You held his gaze. “Right company, huh?” you murmured, your heart thudding as you tilted your head, meeting his eyes.

He smiled faintly, his voice dipping lower. “You know I mean it.”

His gaze lingered on you, his head tilting ever so slightly as he leaned closer. You barely noticed the chill in the air anymore, not when the space between you seemed to shrink. His hand brushed the chain of the swing, his fingers close enough to graze yours. His breath mixed with yours, the faint scent of his cologne and the crisp night air filling the gap. Slowly, as if testing the waters, he leaned in, his focus entirely on you.

Your fingers twitched on the swing’s chain, almost brushing his. His lips hovered near yours now, and for a moment, everything else faded away—

“Yo, there you are!” Hendery’s voice broke through the stillness, loud and completely unbothered.

You flinched, the spell breaking as you turned toward the sound of footsteps crunching against the gravel. Hendery and the others were strolling toward you, their laughter cutting through the quiet.

Mark straightened quickly, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as he ran a hand through his hair. “Ah, that’s too bad,” he murmured, his voice low enough just for you. “I thought we’d finally lost them.”

A quiet laugh escaped you, even as warmth lingered on your cheeks. “I didn’t know we were doing that.”

He shrugged, a glint of mischief in his eyes, so you swatted his chest lightly, the playfulness easing the tension.

Hendery raised an eyebrow as he approached, his gaze flicking between you and Mark. “What, were you two having a moment or something?”

“Not even close,” you shot back, sharper than you intended. “What do you want?”

“Lori was asking if your mom baked a fruitcake this year,” he said, pointing toward your friend Lori.

You glanced at her, catching her expectant grin. “You know what,” you said, rising to your feet, “she did. You should grab some before it’s gone.”

Lori and the others cheered. Though your mom’s fruitcake wasn’t your favorite—too sweet for your taste—you still felt a swell of pride knowing it was the highlight of every Christmas. It was this pride that made you wanna bring them over, so with Hendery leading your group, you headed back to your house, noisy and in high spirits.

Like opposite sides of magnets, you and Mark found each other again and fell behind the rest of the group. He leaned into your ear as he asked, “Are we gonna pick up where we left off?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Depends on how charming you are for the rest of the night.”

He held your gaze, his smile softening. “Challenge accepted.”

You felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you let the confidence he’d drawn out of you take hold. “You’ve been following me all night. You like me, don’t you?”

Mark didn’t even bother denying it. His smile widened, his voice steady as he replied, “Can you blame me?”

You chuckled. “Don’t fall for me, though. I’d hate to break your heart once the holidays are over,” you told him, grinning playfully before walking faster to rejoin your friends.

Mark stayed back for a moment, watching you. Too late, he thought. You really should’ve warned him sooner.

“If this was a uni party, someone would’ve spiked the eggnog already,” you mumbled, your eyes scanning the room filled with family, friends, and all the usual holiday chaos.

Mark’s voice was low beside you, cutting through the noise. “Really?”

You nodded, not looking at him. “Oh yeah. If you want to survive the night here, you have to make your own fun.” You shot him a side glance, half-smiling. “Otherwise, it’s just... this.”

For a brief moment, Mark said nothing, but you could feel him shifting beside you. Then, in a voice laced with amusement and mischief, he said, “I’ll be right back.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Alarmed, you grabbed his arm and yanked him back before he could get too far. “No, Mark!”

He turned toward you, his grin dangerous. “What?”

“No, seriously,” you whispered urgently, trying to keep your voice down. You scanned the room quickly, then pointed across it with dramatic flair. “Old people.”

Mark’s brow furrowed, clearly confused, so you leaned in just a little closer. “That’s my great-uncle,” you said, nodding toward an elderly man in a faded cardigan who was snoozing away in the rocking chair. “He’s 84 and can’t have alcohol. But he’s obsessed with eggnog. Let’s not ruin this for him.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, fighting back a laugh. “That’s not so Grinch of you.”

“I make exceptions for people I like,” you said, your voice dropping to a playful whisper.

His smile deepened, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Is that so?” he asked, teasing but warm. “What exceptions have you made for me so far?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop your smile from widening. “I’m not answering that.”

“So there is something, then?”  He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek, as if the answer were hidden in your response.

“I’m not answering that either.” You chuckled, taking a step back with an exaggerated sigh. You started heading toward the patio, but Mark’s long strides quickly caught up, his footsteps just behind you.

The cold night air hit your skin as you stepped onto the patio, but the firepit’s warmth immediately enveloped you. Your friends and cousins gathered around, roasting marshmallows and swapping stories. You sat on the same bench as Mark, his presence adding warmth and comfort. You joined the conversations with the others, while occasionally having your own little talks with Mark.

The more you talked, the closer he leaned toward you, his eyes never quite leaving your face as if he were soaking in everything you said. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the heat of both the fire and his proximity. 

As the night wore on, the laughter around the firepit thinned out, your companions dispersing one by one to retire for the night. Soon, it was just you, Mark, and Hendery—both guys occupied with something on Hendery’s phone.Left to your own devices, you scrolled aimlessly through social media, eventually landing on a friend’s Instagram story.

Yeonjun appeared in the group photo, looking happy and festive at what seemed like a rowdy party. You checked your inbox, hoping for a message, but he hadn’t even read the last one you’d sent. A sigh slipped from your lips louder than you intended, and Mark glanced up at you.

“You okay?” he asked quietly as you quickly turned your screen off. His cheeks were flushed, likely from the cold and the alcohol, and his eyes looked a little sleepy from the late hour. The sight of him brought a comforting warmth to your chest.

“I’m fine,” you mouthed, holding his hand that rested on your arm.

Suddenly, Hendery shot up from his seat with a sharp exhale. “Let’s get out of here. I’m about to lose it with this Mariah Carey song they’ve got on repeat.”

“You go ahead. I’m gonna stick around for a bit,” Mark replied, squeezing your arm before rubbing his thumb against your jacket.

Hendery noticed your joined hands and narrowed his eyes at the two of you. “You guys are getting cozy.”

“Are we?” you teased, glancing at Mark and shrugging. You leaned against his chest playfully and added, “I hardly noticed.”

Mark played along, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer. Hendery shook his head, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “If you’re gonna have sex, don’t do it in our room.”

The comment made you roll your eyes. “This is my house, Hendery. We can do it in my bedroom!”

Hendery didn’t respond, only raised a middle finger at you two before walking away. You laughed, watching him disappear into the house. But beside you, Mark had stopped grinning, his expression shifting to something more serious, his eyes wide with shock.

You raised an eyebrow. “What? I was just joking.”

Mark blinked a few times, looking away as he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I know.” His voice was a little more strained, and you noticed a blush creeping up his neck.

You couldn’t resist teasing him further. “Did you think I was serious?” you asked, leaning in just a little closer.

Mark turned his head slightly, his eyes flickering toward you for a brief moment before he fixed his gaze on the fire. “Not at all,” he replied quickly.

“Oh? So you’re not interested?” you pressed, enjoying the sight of him flustered.

“I didn’t say that,” he responded too eagerly, too quickly.

The sudden shift in his tone caught you off guard. You hesitated for a moment, watching him carefully before you let out a soft laugh. “Okay,” you said, wanting to ease the tension. “I was just messing with you. Relax.”

Mark didn’t answer immediately, but you saw his posture stiffen, his hand slipping from your shoulder as he cleared his throat again. The air between you two felt thicker now, charged with something neither of you wanted to bring up.

You let the silence hang there for a few moments before turning to look at the house, your smile a little softer. “Anyway,” you muttered, standing up, “let’s get back inside.”

Mark didn’t say anything as he followed you, the air between you was thick with tension, but neither of you said much as you both walked toward the staircase leading up to the upper floors. It was past midnight. You had intended to hang out with him a bit more, but the night suddenly started to catch up with you after that awkward exchange with Mark.

It shouldn’t be a surprise. He clearly wanted you, at least based on how he’d been flirting with you all night and how you almost kissed at the playground earlier. And to be honest, you were entertaining the idea of a holiday fling with Mark. He was very attractive and he’d done nothing to raise any red flags so far. So why did the sudden sexual tension seem to make things awkward between you?

As you reached the hallway, you turned to him with a small smile. “Well, guess it’s time for me to call it a night,” you said, your voice a little quieter than usual.

Mark nodded, but there was something in his expression that suggested he wasn’t ready to say goodnight just yet. “Yeah… sure,” he replied, his eyes focused on you.

You both stopped in front of your door and there was a silence that stretched longer than either of you anticipated. When you reached for the doorknob, Mark didn’t say anything, though you could see the dejected look in his eyes that he failed to mask with the smile he was wearing.

“See you in the morning?” you suggested, offering him something to look forward to despite the seemingly disappointing end to the night. “That is, if you’re still here by then,” you added, a low key attempt at asking what his plans were for tomorrow.

Mark smiled warmly. “I might have volunteered to be tomorrow’s Santa Claus, so I think I’d still be here.”

You chuckled, the tension easing just a little. “Are you serious?”

“No,” he chimed with a playful grin, reaching for your hand and brushing his fingers lightly across your skin.

The touch was so small, yet it felt electric. Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. His eyes locked with yours, holding a silent intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. You found yourself leaning in, just a little bit closer, your breath shallow.

“Mark, I—” you began, only to cut yourself off because you didn’t really know what you were gonna say. Or if you should even say anything at all.

But then you both understood without words. Your nerves seemed to settle, and without another sound, Mark leaned in, his lips pressing gently against yours.

It was soft, almost questioning at first, but the moment it happened, everything else seemed to fade into the background. The lingering discomfort from the teasing, the unsaid words—everything disappeared. For that one exhilarating moment, there was nothing but the warmth of him against you.

When the kiss broke, you both stood there, breathless, eyes wide. You let out a nervous laugh, still trying to gather your thoughts. “That didn’t just happen,” you chuckled.

Mark’s gaze softened, his lips curling up into a small, almost sheepish smile. “Was that too fast?” he questioned playfully.

You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head. “Not really, but… let’s just pretend it didn’t happen,” you said, trying to play it cool, but your heart was still racing.

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Good idea.”

You stood there for a whole minute, staring at each other in the quiet, with only the faint sound of Christmas carol from the living room filling the silence. “Good idea,” you echoed quietly, but your eyes were fixed on his lips, plump and inviting.

Before you knew it, you were kissing again, this time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate, the kind that made your knees a little weak. His hands settled gently on your waist, making you hyper aware of the way your bodies are pressed against each other. For a moment, you let yourself forget about everything else—the holiday chaos, your family, Yeonjun.

When he pulled back slightly, his gaze was intense, searching yours. “You good?” he rasped, his breath warm against your face.

“Totally,” you replied, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him back in for another kiss.

You kicked your bedroom door open, tugging him inside without breaking the kiss. In no time, you found your back pressed against the wall right by the door, Mark’s lips ravaging yours with a kiss that made you go feral.

When his hand slipped under your shirt, you held it tightly, debating whether to let him go there—caught between wanting to retreat and wanting to give in. As your hesitation stretched, Mark took it as his cue to pull away—not completely, just enough to press his forehead against yours and cup your cheeks

“Is that a ‘no’?” he whispered, his voice laced with playful warmth.

You chuckled, still a little drunk on his lips—on him. “Are you hurt?” you asked playfully, though your concern was sincere. “Your ego, I mean.”

“Hmm, not really,” he replied, shivering under your touch when your hand ran from his arm to his neck. “I’m more hurt somewhere else.”

That made you laugh and hit his chest playfully. Mark caught your hand, keeping it on his chest as he closed his eyes—forehead still pressed against, his breathing steady but deep, his lips lifted slightly in a faint smile.

You planted a soft kiss on his lips and took a small step back. “Aren’t you leaving?”

Mark clutched his chest, feigning a pained look. “Ouch. I’m getting kicked out too? This is torture.”

The sound of Christmas carols from the living room filtered through the door, a reminder of the world just outside, but neither of you seemed in a rush to leave. Mark looked around your dimly lit bedroom, studying the space as if familiarizing himself.

“I don’t want to push my luck,” he said, his voice low as he glanced back at you. “But this is much cozier than the guest room I’m sharing with Hendery.”

You smirked, catching the insinuation in his statement. “It’s a no, Mark.”

Mark winced visibly. “Is that final?” he asked, making you chuckle.

“We only just met.”

He shrugged, nodding thoughtfully. “That’s fair. It was worth a shot, though.”

You had to admit, you considered it. Just the idea of being in Mark’s arms stirred something inside you. A feeling that, if you were being honest, you weren’t expecting to feel at all when you boarded the train home for the holidays. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe the loneliness of the night creeping in, but right now, you felt more alive than you had in weeks.

Mark tilted your chin, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips once more. “Good night?”

“Good night,” you chimed, holding his hand against your cheek.

But he made no move to leave, he just stood there, staring at you as if it would physically pain him to look away. Then he leaned in for another kiss, and you were more than happy to oblige.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he teased, forehead pressing against yours.

“You’re one to talk,” you retorted, rolling your eyes playfully, though your smile was soft, just a little more sincere now.

The next morning, breakfast unfolded in a much quieter manner than last night’s festivities with everyone still half-asleep and quietly eating. Across the table, Mark seemed perfectly at ease, though you couldn’t ignore the occasional glance he sent your way—or how your gaze sometimes lingered on him longer than it should.

Your mom’s attention was on him, which was understandable since he was the only new face around the dining table. Your mom said she didn’t get the chance to properly get to know him because yesterday was hectic. Mark didn’t seem to mind, he was polite and spoke with courteousness and a charming demeanor. 

You got to know a few things about him from their conversation. He’s a Music major at the same university as Hendery, he’s Korean but was raised in Canada. And he came with Hendery because he couldn’t fly back home for Christmas.

“So, Mark,” your mom began to add as she reached for another piece of toast, her tone light but curious. “How do you know Hendery?”

You smirked, glancing at your cousin. “Yeah. You seem too cool to be hanging out with this dork.”

Mark glanced at Hendery, who was already grinning as if he knew what story Mark was going to tell. “We met during our first year,” Mark said, chuckling. “I was waiting for a class to start, and out of nowhere, he sat down next to me and just… started talking.”

“Talking about what?” your mom asked.

Mark hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… pigeons.”

“Pigeons?”

“Yeah,” Mark replied, his laugh a little sheepish. “He was convinced that pigeons were government drones or something, and he just kept going on about it. For like, twenty minutes. I thought he was messing with me, but he was dead serious.”

Hendery piped up from further down the table. “They are drones, by the way.”

The table burst into laughter, while you shot Hendery an incredulous look. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

Hendery looked unbothered. “Oh, I do. As a matter of fact—”

“Nevermind,” you interrupted, cutting him off. “Forget I asked.”

Mark was grinning. “Honestly, I didn’t know what to think at first, but it was kind of refreshing. Everyone else was so uptight, and here’s this guy just dropping pigeon conspiracies out of nowhere.”

Your mom laughed again, shaking her head. “Well, that’s one way to make a friend.”

“And now you’re stuck with him,” you teased, looking at Mark.

“Pretty much,” Mark agreed, his gaze flicking to you with a warm smile. “But hey, life’s never boring with Hendery around.”

You smirked. “You’re too kind. Just say he’s an idiot. He doesn’t mind.”

Hendery waved his fork in the air, scoffing at you. “Joke’s on you. Mark would never say something so mean.”

Mark shrugged. “Well, he’s kind of… an idiot.”

Hendery gasped dramatically. “What have you done to my friend?” he accused dramatically.

The conversation soon shifted from playful banter to lighter topics as the meal wound down. You mostly stayed quiet, stealing occasional glances at Mark, who somehow managed to charm your family without even trying. When breakfast ended, your mom handed you a towel. “You’re on dish duty today,” she said with a kind smile.

Mark stood without hesitation. “I’ll help.”

“Very gallant of you,” your mom quipped, her tone amused as she watched you carry the dishes away.

When your family was out of earshot, Mark leaned in close, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Figured I’d earn some points.”

You chuckled, shaking your head but not protesting as he followed you into the kitchen. He rolled up his sleeves with ease, taking the stack of plates from your hands and grinning like this was second nature to him. The two of you fell into a quiet rhythm at the sink, you rinsing while he dried.

“So,” he began after a moment, breaking the silence with his usual casual tone. “Your mom’s cool. Super curious, though.”

You snorted. “That’s her way of being welcoming. Consider yourself officially part of the family.”

“Is that so?” he asked, his tone teasing. “Guess that means I have to stick around,” he added, bumping his elbow against your arm.

You rolled your eyes, recognizing the playful hint. “Only as Dery’s friend, though.”

“What do you know? She might upgrade me to Son-in-Law once she sees my dish-drying technique,” he quipped, his shoulder brushing yours as he reached for a dish and started wiping with exaggerated flourishes.

“Son-in-Law is a pretty big leap from Nephew’s College Friend.”

He grinned with mock confidence. “I’m Mark Lee. Anything’s possible.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Alright, Golden Boy.”

“You’ve got a pretty lively family,” Mark said after a pause, his tone softening. “They remind me of mine.”

“Oh, yeah?” You glanced at him, curious. “Big Christmas crowd?”

“Not as big as yours, but yeah. We do the whole chaos thing. My mom insists on playing charades after dinner, even though none of us can act to save our lives.”

You chuckled at the image, your hand brushing his as you passed him a plate. The touch lingered for half a second too long, enough to make your heart skip a beat. When you looked at him, Mark was already watching you, his voice dropping to something quieter as he leaned closer to whisper in your ear.

“By the way, you look lovely this morning.”

The compliment hit harder than it should’ve, leaving you momentarily flustered. You managed to play it off with a teasing smile. “Trying to earn more points?”

“Maybe,” he replied with a grin, leaning just a fraction closer.

You rolled your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “Just dry the dishes.”

His soft laughter warmed the kitchen, the hum of last night’s lingering tension sparking again between you. By the time you handed him the final dish, there were no more “accidental” brushes—Mark took your hand outright, pulling you gently forward to steal a quick, mischievous kiss.

You gasped, heat rushing to your face as you slapped his arm. “You sneaky little—”

Before you could finish, he leaned in again, catching you in another kiss, quick and light, as if testing the waters. Then he turned back to the towel like nothing had happened, leaving you standing there, your thoughts a flustered jumble.

Exhaling a mock exasperated sigh, you gave up on playing it cool. Closing the small gap between you, you slipped your arms around his waist, letting your cheek rest briefly against his shoulder as he put the last plate away.

“This is nice,” he murmured, discarding the towel and turning to face you. His arms wrapped around you naturally, pulling you close. “Makes us look like boyfriend and girlfriend, don't you think?”

You scoffed, stepping back slightly. “Don’t push your luck.”

But when you turned to leave, Mark caught your wrist, pulling you back into a tight embrace. “Where are you going? Stay.”

You hesitated for half a second, then melted into his hold, your hands settling lightly on his waist. “What are we even doing?” you asked, chuckling lowly.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, resting his chin lightly against your hair. “But it’s nice.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It kinda is.”

The moment was broken by the faint sound of singing from the direction of the main door. Mark’s brows rose as he glanced toward the sound. “Carolers?”

“Yeah,” you replied, pulling away and jogging toward the door. Outside, a small group of children and teenagers stood assembled like a festive choir, their voices harmonizing in cheerful Christmas melodies. Your family was already out there, listening with smiles on their faces.

Hendery noticed you standing beside him and leaned in. “Tell me why I can’t punch the carolers.”

You snorted. “Because it’s not their fault you didn’t pass the auditions.”

“Right,” he mumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Dude, what? You auditioned for this?” Mark asked, his expression bewildered.

Hendery smirked, unbothered by the attention. “I’m a man of many talents, my friend. They fumbled real bad when they decided to reject me.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, exasperated. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love me for it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. Christmas morning chaos, as always.

The rest of the day unfolded in a series of warm, chaotic moments. After the carolers left, your family gathered in the living room, eager to keep the festive spirit alive.

Someone—probably Hendery—suggested a game of charades. It started out as a reluctant group activity but quickly spiraled into uncontrollable laughter as your aunt wildly flailed her arms trying to mimic Jaws, and your dad confused everyone by acting out Titanic with interpretive dance.

Mark fit right in, his easy humor making him an absolute hit. He was surprisingly good at charades, though you suspected he was just adept at playing to the crowd. When it was your turn to act, he leaned over to Hendery and whispered something that had both of them laughing under their breath—probably a jab at your complete lack of acting skills. You shot them a mock glare, but it only made Mark grin wider.

When the game wound down, your mom announced it was time for gifts. You handed your parents the small, thoughtful presents you’d prepared—a new mug for your dad’s coffee addiction, and a designer brand scarf you’d picked up for your mom.

“You shouldn’t have,” your mom said with a soft smile, wrapping the scarf around her neck immediately.

Others exchanged gifts, too, and to your surprise, a few came your way: a box of chocolates from your aunt, fuzzy socks from Hendery, and a cute notebook from a younger cousin. You hadn’t expected anything from anyone other than your parents, so it warmed you more than you cared to admit.

Mark, meanwhile, didn’t seem fazed by the lack of a gift exchange between the two of you. Instead, as the wrapping paper chaos settled, he nudged your arm.

“Guess we forgot to plan this part, huh?” he said, his tone light but his eyes searching yours.

“Yeah, well,” you replied, shrugging, “we didn’t exactly have time for shopping.”

Mark leaned back against the couch, thoughtful. Then his face lit up with an idea. “How about we exchange something else?”

“Like what?” you asked, curious.

He reached for his phone, pulling up a playlist. “Music,” he said simply. “I’ll share a song I love, and you do the same. It’s like a tiny window into who we are.”

You hesitated for a moment but nodded. “Okay. You first.”

He scrolled through his playlist before handing you one of his airpods. The track was a mellow, soulful tune with heartfelt lyrics, and as it played, you found yourself surprised at how much it suited him—genuine, unpretentious, and quietly warm.

“I like it,” you admitted, handing the phone back.

“Your turn,” he said, leaning closer as if to make sure he wouldn’t miss a beat.

You picked something a little more upbeat but with a nostalgic edge. The second it started, Mark grinned, nodding along to the rhythm. “Good choice. I can see why you like it.”

For the rest of the evening, the two of you exchanged little pieces of yourselves—stories, favorite movies, quirks. It wasn’t the traditional gift exchange, but it felt like something better, something that fit the budding connection between you.

Later, as the family settled down for a Christmas movie, Mark ended up beside you on the couch. The warmth of him sitting close felt comforting, and somewhere in the middle of Love Actually, his hand found yours under the blanket draped over your laps. It wasn’t showy or obvious; no one else noticed.

As the movie played on, you felt your phone buzzing on your lap. You picked it up in a heartbeat, a force of habit that made you feel a little pathetic. Letting out a sigh, you tucked your phone away, refusing to check what the notification was about—or who it was from.

Mark leaned closer, his voice low but curious. “Who is he?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“The guy,” he clarified. “The one who keeps making you wait for him.”

You chuckled nervously. “There is no guy.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. You sighed. “Fine. There is—was, actually. I think I’m done waiting for him.”

“Why is that?”

You tilted your head slightly, taking a very good look at the beautiful man before you. A smile crept across your lips. Why, he asked? It was because you met him—Mark Lee, who wanted you and made it clear. Mark Lee, who gave you signals and acted on them. Mark Lee, who not only spoke honestly about how much he liked you but also went out of his way to show it. Mark Lee, who gave you more in two days than Yeonjun had in three months.

“You staring at me like that is making me wanna kiss you right now,” Mark said softly, cutting through your reverie.

You grinned. “Do it then.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His lips brushed yours, warm and soft, and for a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

Across from you, Hendery grimaced, letting out an exaggerated groan. “Guys. Just get a room already.”

You pulled back, laughing, your cheeks warm with embarrassment. Mark didn’t seem fazed, his smirk playful as he leaned closer, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Ignore him,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

You giggled, the giddiness bubbling up despite yourself. “He’s right, though,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “We should probably get a room.”

Mark’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Okay,” he said, as if it was the easiest decision in the world. “I’d never say no to that.”

Hendery let out another theatrical groan from across the room, muttering something about needing bleach for his eyes. But neither of you paid him any attention as you shared a knowing glance, the warmth between you now impossible to ignore.

Laughter spilled from your lips as you and Mark slipped out of the living room to the quiet halls upstairs. The muffled sounds of the movie still playing below faded with every step. Mark stayed close, his hand brushing yours until he tugged you gently back, spinning you to face him.

“Come here,” he murmured, stealing another kiss, his lips warm against yours.

You giggled, pulling away just enough to tease him. “Have some restraint, will you?”

He grinned, leaning in to whisper in your ear, his voice low and mischievous. “That’s too much to ask of me, you know?”

Your laughter filled the empty corridor as you took a step back, only for Mark to chase after you. His hands found your waist, pulling you close before kissing you again, slower this time, his lips lingering like he had all the time in the world.

By the time you reached your bedroom door, your cheeks ached from smiling, and your heart was racing. You kissed him there, leaning against the doorframe, your fingers tangling in his hair as his hands rested firmly on your hips. The kiss deepened, heat building between you as your breath hitched.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made you both freeze. You pulled apart to see your old uncle shuffling past, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing as he continued down the hall.

Mark pressed his forehead against yours, biting back a laugh. “Think he’ll tell your mom?”

You snorted, pushing him lightly. “Does it matter? Bet everyone knows there’s something between us by now.”

“Touche.”

With a shared grin, you twisted the doorknob and pulled him inside. The door clicked shut behind you as you stumbled into the room, your lips finding his again in the quiet.

With a shared grin, you twisted the doorknob and pulled him inside. The door clicked shut behind you as you stumbled into the room, your lips finding his again in the quiet.

His kiss was unhurried, deliberate—gentle hands cradling your face as his lips moved against yours. When he pulled back, his eyes met yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath hitch. His touch trailed to your chin, guiding your head slightly as his lips pressed softly along your jaw.

You tilted your head instinctively, granting him access, and he didn’t waste the opportunity. His kisses wandered down to your neck—soft brushes, playful nips, and teasingly light touches. Each one sent sparks skittering across your skin, your pulse quickening under his attention.

When his tongue flicked against the sensitive spot beneath your ear, you giggled, stepping back slightly. The sound was as much a reaction to the ticklish sensation as it was to the heat pooling low in your belly.

“Sorry,” he said, his warm laugh brushing against your skin. “I thought you’d like it.”

“Oh, I like it,” you admitted, brushing your hair aside to bare your neck again. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

His fingers lightly traced the column of your neck. “Why not?”

“I’m… ticklish,” you said shyly, rolling your eyes to downplay your embarrassment.

Mark chuckled, the sound rich and low, sending butterflies racing in your stomach. His smile softened as he leaned in, teasing, “Noted.”

You sighed dramatically, unable to keep the playful glint out of your eyes. “Did we come up here just so you could tease me like this, or…?”

His eyes narrowed, his expression turning mock-exasperated. “Dude, why are you ruining the moment?” he asked, pulling you by the nape of your neck for another kiss. A deep one—heated, fervent, intoxicating, leaving you heady and utterly captivated.

Carefully, he lowered you down the bed, his lips not leaving yours. With one swift motion, he pulled your shirt off and tossed it aside. Then he paused, his gaze sweeping over you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Desire burned in his eyes—raw and unmistakable—leaving no doubt about how much he wanted you.

“Well? Don’t just stand there and stare,” you whined cutely, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment but trying to keep your composure.

Mark exhaled sharply, crawling on the bed to kiss you again. “Can’t help it.”

His lips traveled the length of your neck and collarbone, nipping and sucking, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. With his mouth, he traced the line between your breasts, down to your stomach, until he reached your navel. Mark didn’t stop there. He undid your jeans and tugged it down before pressing his nose on your sex and taking a long sniff.

“Mark,” you whispered, the pressure from his nose making your body burn with anticipation. 

He knew exactly what he was doing, pushing your underwear aside and licking a stripe at the pooling wetness between your legs. He continued with expertise, making you writhe and moan in ecstasy. You tried to close your legs when the stimulation became too much, but Mark’s grasp of your thighs were tight, prying your legs open so he could continue what he came to do. All you could do was whimper and grab a handful of his hair. 

Your mind was screaming for him to stop, but your mouth could only utter his name as your hips bucked forward, eager for more.

Then he suddenly stopped, leaving you momentarily confused. He came back up, hovering over you with a proud smile on his face. You thought he was done but before you could utter a word, two of his fingers slipped into your cunt, making you gasp.

Mark didn’t say anything, he just grinned wider, seemingly proud of how good he was making you feel. His fingers slid in and out in a steady pace, growing more rapid and urgent the more he saw your face contorting with pleasure and euphoria. 

“Yes!” you exclaimed, your back arching as you felt the familiar knot in your belly. “Don’t stop!”

And then came a euphoric wave engulfing your entire being. You froze for a moment, your mouth gaping open as you relished the momentary high that washed over you. Mark’s fingers were still inside you as he kissed your forehead.

“That’s it. Good girl,” he lilted before capturing your lips in a fervent kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you met his kiss with a hunger that bordered on desperation.  Everything else faded, and before you knew it, the two of you were naked on the bed, moving together like it was the only thing that mattered.

The air was thick with the sounds of your shared passion—your breathless moans, his deep groans, and the unmistakable sound of skin slamming against skin. Mark was a perfect fit, his every thrust reaching a depth that had spiraling into an irrational desire for more. More, as though he hadn’t already completely consumed you.

Your fingers dug into his back, your grip tightening with every surge of pleasure. When he pinned your wrists above your head, your body arched instinctively, your hands grasping at the sheets as you gasped for him to keep going.  When his teeth nipped at the sensitive curve of your neck, your entire body lit up, every nerve alive with overwhelming pleasure. And when he murmured your name, his voice rough and breathless, it was enough to push you closer to the edge, leaving you lost in a desperate, dizzying need for him.

Mark was a vice. He unraveled you, body and mind, until nothing existed but the maddening ache of him and the desperate, spiraling desire to never let this moment end.

“Oh, Mark.”

“What do you want, baby?” he asked in a low, deep and raspy voice sending pleasant shivers down your spine.

“Harder, Mark. Please.” you cried out, not even caring to hide how needy you were.

“Fuck,” he grunted, spurred on by the need in your voice. “You’re so...” 

He didn’t finish his sentence, instead, he kissed your lips and picked up his pace. Rocking with more force and intensity. Drilling deeper with every thrust. Fucking you senseless until you were crying out his name and begging him not to stop.

The knot in your core coiled tighter with every thrust, your body trembling beneath him as you clung to the last shreds of control. His movements grew more frantic, each one sending shockwaves through you that built higher and higher.

“Mark,” you gasped, your nails dragging down his back as the heat between you burned hotter. He groaned in response, low and guttural, the sound sending you further into overdrive.

When his mouth trailed down, teeth grazing your nipple just right, your world seemed to have shattered. A wave of pleasure crashed over you, your body arching into his as you cried out, completely undone. He followed moments later, a broken sound leaving his lips as he buried himself deeper, his own release spilling into you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, both catching your breaths with your foreheads pressed together. The world slowly shifted into focus, the haze of what had happened between you lingered in the air as you found yourself coming back down from what had felt like an incomparable high. Soon though, the weight of his body pressing against yours made breathing slightly harder. 

You gave him a gentle nudge, your voice soft. “Mark, you’re heavy.”

He grinned, rolling onto the bed beside you with a contented sigh. “Better?” 

You nodded, meeting his gaze as he brushed a few stray hairs from your face. “You okay?” he asked, his tone quiet but sure.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice coming out quieter than intended. “You?”

Mark’s smile widened. “Never better.”

Before you could think of something clever to say, he leaned in, his lips grazing yours in a way that made your heart flutter all over again. The two of you stayed like that for a while, stealing quiet, intimate moments in the privacy of your bedroom. Eventually, you both knew you couldn’t hide away forever.

When you finally slipped back into the hallway, your cheeks were still warm, and you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Mark stayed close, his shoulder brushing against yours as you rejoined your family in the living room.

For the rest of the day, his presence was a constant. Whether he was cracking jokes with Hendery or leaning in to share a private comment that made you laugh, it felt like he’d completely settled into your orbit—and you didn’t mind.

It didn’t take long for everyone else in the house to notice your growing closeness with Mark. Your cousins teased you relentlessly, joking that Mark was the Christmas Miracle who made you shed your Grinch fur. Even your parents joined in.

“Had I known all it would take for you to stop grimacing every year on Christmas was a boyfriend,” your dad quipped, “I would’ve asked your mom to set you up on blind dates ages ago.”

“Ew, Dad. That’s so lame,” you replied with a grimace, though a pang of guilt flickered in your chest. For years, they’d put up with your reluctance to embrace the holiday spirit, and it hadn’t been fair to them.

Later, while Mark was off chatting with your cousins, your mom quietly pulled you aside. “I like him,” she said with a knowing smile. “He seems like a really sweet guy.”

“He is,” you admitted softly, hesitating. “But we don’t know much about each other. This is probably just… some temporary holiday fling.”

“Is that what you think?” she asked, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Well, sometimes those ‘temporary’ things surprise you. It’s just nice to see you happy.”

Her words replayed in your head, even as the evening unfolded into more teasing, laughter, and the occasional stolen glances between you and Mark. It felt effortless, the way he was seamlessly pulled into your family’s fold—laughing with your cousins, charming your parents, and somehow always finding his way back to your side.

At one point, as you leaned against the porch railing, your gaze wandering to the clear night sky, Mark appeared at your side. His hand brushed yours before his fingers slipped between them, the motion casual but deliberate.

“Wanna get out of here?” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“And go where?” you asked, your voice just above a whisper.

“Anywhere,” he said with a crooked smile, hazy with the warmth of the evening—or maybe just you. “I just wanna be alone with you.”

You didn’t even have time to answer before Hendery, lounging on the couch nearby, cut in with exaggerated indignation. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he sighed.

“But now that it is happening, I guess all I can say is fuck you guys and please get out of my sight,” Hendery added, rolling his eyes. “You have no respect for the single loners hanging out with you, did you know that?”

You snickered. “This is why you bring your girlfriend home for the holidays, not a hot friend.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Hendery retorted, crossing his arms.

“And whose fault is that?” you teased with a grin.

Hendery shot you a pointed look. “Don’t act so smug. You’ve been a Christmas Grinch for years. I’m not taking any advice from you.”

“Fair,” you admitted with a shrug, wanting so much to keep taunting him but deciding against it because he was right.

Your cousin cut in from across the room. “Dery, when did you say you were leaving again?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he replied.

“Already?” you asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” he continued, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction. “We have a New Year event at uni. Mark’s needed for some important technical stuff. And me? Well, they need me for my invaluable presence.”

The chatter around you faded into the background as Mark tugged you closer. “You should come see it,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with intention.

You tilted your head, curious. “Is it fun?”

“I hope so,” he said with a small, crooked smile. “If it’s not, I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

You giggled when he kissed the side of your head. “How are you gonna do that?”

“Well, for starters…” He paused, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered in a voice full of promise, “I’ll take you somewhere private and show you a really good time.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Lame,” you quipped, pushing his face away.

Mark threw his head back laughing. “Okay. I’ll try to come up with something better.”

And just like that, the night became a blur of moments—each one filled with laughter, teasing, and kisses that were never fully explained, only given and received with a kind of sweetness that felt both comforting and thrilling.

It happened again. And again. The gentle pull of his lips on yours, the warmth of his touch, the way he always found a way to stand just a little too close. By the time the night had fully settled into the quiet of the late hours, the two of you were tangled up in your bedroom again, tipsy, comfortable, and perhaps a little too far gone to really care about the next morning.

The train ride back to the city was as mundane as ever, but there was a sense of excitement buzzing in the air this time around. You sat back comfortable, looking out the window at the snowy landscape that blurred past. The past few days felt like a dream, a Christmas full of laughter, teasing, and beautiful moments with Mark. 

Your phone buzzed in your hand, pulling you from your thoughts.

Mark: See you Wednesday?

You smiled to yourself, the memories of the past few days flooding back—his easy laughter, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room, and the way his touch always seemed to leave a mark on your skin. It had all gone by so quickly, but in the best way possible. Everything had felt easy, comfortable, and natural in a way you hadn’t expected.

The holiday season had come to an end, but what you’d shared with Mark was just starting to unfold. There was something about it that felt like fate, or maybe just the simple truth that it was time for you to stop waiting for something that had no guarantee would ever happen.

You quickly typed your reply, your fingers moving almost instinctively.

You: Can’t wait.

When you hit send, you leaned back into the seat, letting the train’s rhythm settle the buzz in your busy mind. The thought of seeing him again made your chest tighten in the most pleasant way.

You couldn’t wait for Wednesday. For fuck’s sake, you couldn’t wait for the New Year.

[fin]

[saythenametotheworld]

dear reader... | dy, jn, jh (18+)

You came seeking permanence in a place known for its impermanence.  Instead, three men showed you what one unforgettable summer can teach about love, adventure, and letting go.

Genre: destination au, strangers-to-lovers, smut Pairing: NCT Doyoung/Johnny/Jaehyun x afab!reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) MDNI Notes: 20k words. Loosely based on the 2018 movie, Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again!. I was rewatching the movie (for the 9868th time) and thought it would make a great fic because it's messy and dramatic, you know what I'm saying? Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life the way they were portrayed in this fic. If you see the same exact fic in a different blog, for ENHYPEN, that is me. I did not plagiarize myself. Otherwise, pls let me know.

Enjoy~

Paris, 2007

At a small restaurant tucked into a corner in Paris, you sat across from a guy who hadn’t stopped talking since the wine arrived. His name was Doyoung. You’d met him earlier that afternoon at the hotel. Or more accurately, you’d bumped into him just as he was coming back from lunch, with his paper cup of cold coffee spilling all over your shirt.

He’d looked horrified and started rapid-firing: “Oh god, I’m so sorry—I didn’t see you—are you okay? Did it burn? No, wait, it’s iced. Still—fuck—hang on—”

You were still blinking the splash out of your eye when he lunged forward with a bunch of napkins, dabbing at your sleeve in a panic. That only led to a series of increasingly awkward brushes and even more frantic apologies. At one point, his hand grazed your left boob and he practically launched himself backward.

“Shit—I wasn’t trying to grope you, I swear! I’m not a strange man!”

You were flustered and maybe a little annoyed. But the whole thing was so ridiculous that you just started laughing. Doyoung, still red in the ears and neck, had let out a breathy, nervous chuckle of his own. For a few seconds, he just watched you laugh with a slight crease on his forehead and a confused but curious smile on his lips.

You’d eventually stopped laughing and started waving your hand dismissively. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. It was just… oh my god,” you trailed off, looking away so you don’t laugh again.

“I know this is probably the worst possible timing but—would you, um—” He paused, cleared his throat, and in one breath blurted, “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

And now here you were. He was still rambling.

“It’s just been a mess since I got here. First, the hotel mixed up my reservation, then I couldn’t figure out the train system, and don’t even get me started on the guy at the station who yelled at me in French. I really thought this trip would be like… I don’t know, healing or something?”

He paused only to take a sip of wine, then set the glass down with a sigh.

“I’m not even the spontaneous type, you know? I plan everything. But I thought, hey, maybe I’ll go off the grid for once. Have my little adventure. And so far, it’s just been a lot of me getting lost and getting sworn at in French.”

“They were probably just saying ‘hi,’” you offered, shrugging.

“Oh, they were not. No. But I probably should’ve just stayed home,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Watched dating shows, or something.”

You rested your chin on your hand, half a smile tugging at your lips as you watched him go on. He talked a lot about himself, but not in a way that he was trying to impress you. He was just nervous. A little frantic, even. But there was something about the way he talked earnestly and a bit self-deprecatingly that made you want to lean in and listen. It was kind of cute.

He was kind of cute.

Doyoung glanced up mid-sentence. “Sorry, I’m talking too much, aren’t I? I don’t usually talk too much, but I can’t help it. You’re just so…” he trailed off and sighed. “Is it boring? Am I boring you?” he added, looking a little apologetic.

You shook your head. “Not at all. Please, I like listening.”

He smiled, relieved, and you found yourself smiling back.

Two days ago, you’d been somewhere else entirely. Standing at the airport with your two best friends, both trying not to cry, both saying you were being dramatic, that you were running away. Maybe you were. But you liked to think of it as ‘starting over’ instead.

The moment your graduation cap hit the floor of your shared apartment, you knew your youth was over, and that perfect, cookie-cutter life waiting back home would catch up to you. You didn’t want that. So you packed your bags and chose your own path.

Corsica. An island off the coast of France, where you could be whoever you wanted and do whatever you wanted.

You hadn’t made it to Corsica yet. You hadn’t even figured out how to get there. But you weren’t in a hurry. So for now, you wandered Paris. And somehow, you’d ended up here—with a very cute stranger who couldn’t stop talking.

After dinner, you ended up walking along the Seine and Doyoung had stopped talking.  The silence was a little startling, like someone had hit pause on a very fast, very chaotic radio broadcast. But it wasn’t awkward. He kept close but not too close, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, his shoulders hunched slightly against the wind.

The city lights reflected on the river, making it glimmer as you basked in the quiet and the beauty around you. Paris looked like something out of a movie, and you found yourself slowing your steps just to take it all in.

“Paris is magical,” you said, just to say something.

Doyoung nodded slowly, then said, “It’d be a lot more magical if the people were a little nicer.”

You laughed. “Still mad about that guy at the train station?”

“He called me a donkey.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“Un âne,” he said, in a terrible accent, pulling out a small dictionary from his coat pocket. “I looked it up later.”

You laughed harder, and he gave a self-pitying sigh that only made it worse. “I don’t even know what I did. I think I just stood too close to him.”

You kept walking, your steps in sync without meaning to.  It seemed like Doyoung had finally gotten comfortable around you. He’d stopped yapping and the nervous crease on his forehead had disappeared at some point. He asked where you were from, how long you were traveling, what made you pick Paris. You answered casually, carefully. Bits and pieces. Enough to keep the conversation going without opening up too much.

But it was a good conversation, and a good walk. You enjoyed talking to him and hearing his thoughts. And from the way he looked at you when you talked, it seemed like he enjoyed it too.

When you finally made it back to the hotel, Doyoung lingered with you in the lobby, fidgeting with the room key in his hand. He was getting nervous again, you could tell by the way his forehead was creased, and how he couldn’t look you in the eyes.

“What?” you prompted.

Doyoung scratched the back of his neck. “Hey, um,” he said, voice suddenly a little lower, “do you… wanna go out with me tomorrow?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Are you gonna spill another drink on me?”

“No,” he said quickly. Then added, “Not on purpose.”

You bit back a smile.

“I just—” he exhaled, looking a little too earnest, “Meeting you was kind of the only good accident I’ve had this whole trip. So, if you don’t have plans, how about spending the day with me?”

That sold it. You smiled and said, “I would love to, Doyoung.”

He looked relieved, grinning at the carpet before finally meeting your eyes again.

You didn’t bother setting an alarm. When you wandered downstairs the next morning, Doyoung was already waiting in the lobby, sipping a cappuccino and tapping his foot like he wasn’t sure whether he was early or late.

His eyes lit up when he saw you. “Hey,” he said, standing up a little too fast. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

You raised a brow. “I said I will.”

“Yeah, I know, but sometimes people say yes and don’t mean it. And I’ve been ghosted before. Not that I thought you would. Just—anyway. Hi.”

You laughed and said hi back.

“You look good today,” he said, smiling toothily. “And yesterday too. I’m sure you look good every day.”

“Dude, stop,” you chuckled, already making a beeline for the exit. “Let’s just go.”

“Of course! Yeah!”

The plan, if there was one, was to wing it. You both agreed on no maps and no real agenda. Doyoung suggested museum-hopping, and it sounded good enough. He brought a little foldable tourist map “just in case,” which you teased him for.

You wandered through halls of oil paintings and marble statues, whispering observations like you were museum critics. Doyoung tried to guess what every sculpture was about—usually something tragic or wildly inappropriate. He made you laugh loud enough to earn a few shushes from other people.

“‘Femme Étendue avec un Chien.’ Sounds like a thriller.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s a woman napping with her dog.”

“Still. Could be a thriller. The dog murdering its master kind of thriller.”

You got shushed by a woman in a long wool coat. Doyoung mimed zipping his lips but started talking again five seconds later.

After that, you ended up in Montmartre, where artists lined the cobbled square, painting everything from landscapes to caricatures. Doyoung insisted you both get one drawn together by a grumpy man with yellow-tinted glasses who didn’t say a word the entire time. When he finally flipped the sketch around, Doyoung let out a strangled noise.

“Is that my nose? I look like a pelican,” he grimaced. 

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “It’s caricature. And I kind of love it.”

While you were there, a man tried to sell you a tiny Eiffel Tower keychain for twenty euros and Doyoung got so flustered trying to say ‘non merci’ that you ended up dragging him away before he accidentally bought three.

You shared a crepe from a street vendor and walked into luxury boutiques, the kind where everything smelled expensive and the saleswomen looked allergic to budget travelers. You ran your fingers along a buttery-soft leather purse with no visible price tag.

Doyoung hovered behind you, blinking at the rows of gleaming handbags.

“How much do you think this is?” you asked, holding up a small purse.

“Mm… two hundred?”

You tilted the bag to find the tag. “Try two thousand.”

Doyoung recoiled like it burned him. “Does it read your mind? What are we paying for?”

“The aesthetic, obviously,” you said, striking a mock-model pose.

In another shop, you pointed at a pair of heels that looked like crystal. Doyoung pointed at a maroon scarf and said, “You’d look good in this.”

You scoffed. “If I can afford it.”

Doyoung tilted his head as he searched for the price tag. “Oh, I think this is the only thing we can afford from here.”

You hummed, narrowing your eyes like you were actually considering it. “Exactly how many crepes can we buy for one of those?” 

He shrugged. “Twenty, give or take?”

“Yeah, nope.”

“Big nope,” he agreed, carefully putting the box back on the shelf.

By late afternoon, your feet were starting to ache. You tried to hide it, but Doyoung noticed.

“I know you’re tired, but we have one more stop. We’re gonna need to take a train, but I promise it’s worth it.”

You grimaced, and for a second, Doyoung looked like he was about to give up, but he shook his head and put on a determined face. “You can’t come to Paris and not see the Eiffel Tower.”

That made you nod. “Yeah, okay. That makes sense.”

He took you to the Eiffel Tower. It wasn’t part of the plan. Yeah, you didn’t have one in the first place, but you weren’t expecting it. You’d caught glimpses of it during the day, rising above the city like a paper cutout, but standing under it at dusk felt different.

It glowed. That was the only word for it. Golden lights stretched up into the sky, and there was this hush, like the whole city had quieted just for a moment to let you take it all in.

You ended up on the lawn across the street from the Eiffel Tower, eating sandwiches from a shop you passed on the way there. The sky was turning lilac. You chewed slowly, taking it all in—lights blinking, the faint sound of a violin from somewhere down the street, the grass slightly damp beneath your coat.

“I used to think I’d work for a big hotel chain,” you said after a while. “You know, like… the Four Seasons or The Ritz.”

Doyoung turned his head to look at you.

“But later on, I decided I wanted one of my own,” you went on. “A little hotel. Cozy and nice. Something that feels like home for people who are far away from theirs.”

Doyoung hummed thoughtfully, swallowing a bite before saying, “I’d stay there.”

You turned to him. “You would?”

He nodded. “But only if there’s room service. And robes. I’m very fancy.”

You snorted. “We’re eating 2 euro sandwiches in probably the most expensive city in the world.”

“Only for now,” he replied proudly. “We’d both be doing much better and earning much more by the time you’ve built that hotel.”

You didn’t say anything to that. You just smiled at your sandwich and took another bite.

In your dimly lit hotel room, you sat on the edge of your bed, laughing at something Doyoung had said. You were leaning your head against the four-poster as you watched Doyoung in his spot on the carpeted floor, fumbling with the wine bottle and the paper cup.

He’d brought it out casually in the elevator, half-joking that he’d bought it on his first day here to take back home, but he was willing to share it with you. One thing led to another, and now here you were, drinking warm Bordeaux out of paper cups and toasting to the kind of day that felt too good to leave unfinished.

Doyoung finally managed to pour without spilling and handed you your paper cup.

“So were drinking wine in Paris, but in paper cups,” you said, shaking your head. “That doesn’t sound right.”

“Of course it doesn’t sound right. It’s sacrilege, is what it is,” Doyoung replied, smirking as he took a sip of his wine. “I wish this place at least had room service.”

“You should’ve gone to a posh hotel then,” you teased before taking a sip.

It was fruity, a little warm, and probably not very good, but in that moment, it felt perfect enough.

You talked less now. The day had wrung most of it out of you. Doyoung had leaned back against the bed, long legs stretched out in front of him, his head tilted toward the ceiling as he listened. He was just there—warm and a little flushed, wine-stained paper cup cradled in one hand.

He let out a contented sigh. “I don’t think I’ve ever walked this much in one day.”

You snorted. “You say that like you didn’t make me climb half of Montmartre.”

Doyoung gave you an indignant look. “I did make you climb, but it was me who almost died trying to keep up with you.”

“You’re such a baby,” you laughed, nudging his knee with your foot. He caught it in his palm.

You looked down, and so did he. Neither of you said anything.

Then his hand slid up, fingers wrapping loosely around your ankle—carefully, almost cautiously. You watched the way he tilted his head to meet your eyes, searching, communicating something you could understand clearly, oddly enough.

You could say it was the alcohol, willing you into something you usually wouldn’t do sober. But you knew that would be a lie. You weren’t drunk, not even tipsy. You knew what you were doing when you gave him the same look he was giving you.

Your heart picked up as Doyoung’s hand traveled up your leg, pausing at your knee. He leaned in, soft and slow, and planted a kiss on your skin.

You didn’t say anything. And to him, your silence—and the way you were looking at him—was encouragement enough to keep going.

He kissed the side of your knee again, a little firmer this time. When you still didn’t stop him, he shifted closer. His hand slid up your leg, pausing just above your knee. 

“Tell me if this is—if I’m reading this wrong,” he said softly, his voice lower than before but you could hear he was a little nervous.

“You’re not,” you said softly, offering a shy smile.

Doyoung gave a small, almost bashful smile, like he was relieved but still a little uncertain. Then he leaned in, placing a hand beside your hip as he kissed you. He missed your mouth the first time, catching the edge of your lip.

“Sorry,” he muttered under his breath.

You laughed a little against his mouth. “It’s fine. Come here.”

That helped. He kissed you again, properly this time, one hand cupping the back of your neck while the other propped him up on the bed. Still, even as it deepened, he wasn’t rushing. You could feel how careful he was, like he didn’t want to startle you or like he wasn’t sure this was really happening.

When you tugged his shirt up, he hesitated for a second before helping you take it off, eyes darting to yours like he was checking again.

“You sure?” he asked in a whisper.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He let out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah. Just… kind of feels unreal.”

That made your chest ache in a good way. You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his cheek, and said, “It’s real.”

He let out a breath, nodding as he touched your waist, thumbs brushing your skin like he wanted to be gentle even now. His shyness didn’t last long once you pulled him close again, his confidence creeping in the moment he saw you responding with your hands on him, and your breath hitching under his touch.

Doyoung took care of the rest, his hands sliding under your top with more certainty now. His palms were warm, fingertips grazing up your sides, over your ribs, until you raised your arms and let him pull the fabric over your head. His gaze flickered downward, then back up again, clearly trying not to stare but staring anyway.

You felt beautiful under his gaze, the kind of beautiful that didn’t come from lighting or lingerie or timing, just the way he looked at you. Like he wanted all of you, and genuinely so.

“You’re—” he started, then bit his lip, trying to compose himself. “You’re beautiful.”

You reached for him, pulling him in until your lips met againr. When you moved further up onto the bed, Doyoung followed, crawling up between your legs as you tugged at the waistband of his jeans. He was quiet but not passive. His hands were all over you now, exploring, touching, squeezing with a gentle firmness that made your heart skip.

As he pulled your bottoms down and tossed them aside, his gaze trailed over every inch of bare skin with eyes of adoration and amazement. He hesitated just long enough for you to notice. His fingers were brushing the top of your thigh, his lips parting like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

You reached for him instead, undoing the button of his jeans with more confidence than you felt. “Doyoung,” you prompted.

“Yeah,” he murmured, forehead resting against yours. “Yeah, I’m here.”

He kissed you again, one hand traveling down from your boob to your belly, and futher down to cup your sex. He worked you up for a few moments, fingers circling your clit clumsily but with just enough pressure to make you moan.

And when he finally decided to push into you, he did it painfully slow, still being cautious. He held still, breathing hard, his hand sliding under your thigh to pull you closer. His other hand gripped the sheet near your head like he needed something to hold on to. 

You let out a soft gasp, your back arching as you adjusted around him, and he kissed your shoulder, your neck, anywhere he could reach.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded again. “Yeah. You can move.”

He obliged and moved slowly at first, deeply, the kind of slow that made your toes curl.  He kept it up until the tension coiled tight in both your bodies, until his restraint began to slip. The room was soon filled with breathy, lewd sounds—your moans, his whispered curse when you clenched around him, the muffled thump of the headboard as his thrusts grew more desperate.

You bit your lip, eyes shut tight as you tried not to be too loud. The hotel was cheap, and the walls were unforgivingly thin.

“Doyoung, please,” you whimpered, mouth parting but barely making a sound, even as he drove you to the edge.

“Please what?” he asked softly, brushing a thumb over your cheek and kissing your forehead.

You gripped his arms tighter, holding his gaze. “Harder.”

He didn’t hesitate this time. With a low grunt, he adjusted his grip on your hips and drove into you harder, the rhythm picking up, deeper now, less cautious. Your head tipped back against the pillows, a sharp moan slipping out before you could stop it. Doyoung buried his face in your neck to muffle his own.

Each thrust made the headboard knock just slightly louder. You barely registered it anymore. All you could think about was the heat of his skin, the stretch of him inside you, and the desperation in the way he held you like he couldn’t get close enough.

“God, you feel so—” He cut himself off with a breathy groan, hands sliding up your sides. “You okay?”

You couldn’t answer with words. You just nodded frantically and wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, drawing him in deeper. He gasped, nearly losing his rhythm.

Your hand tangled in his hair as your other clawed at his back, trying to hold yourself together as he kept hitting just the right spot. The coil in your belly wound tight. You were close. His movements turned erratic, one hand slipping down to your clit, clumsily rubbing in tight circles until your body seized around him.

Your orgasm hit like a wave, crashing over every nerve. You clung to him, gasping out his name, your entire body tensing, shaking, unraveling.

Doyoung didn’t last much longer. The second your walls clenched around him, he let out a strangled groan, buried as deep as he could go, and spilled into you. His whole body trembled with it, the hand near your head fisting the sheet like he needed to anchor himself to something.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you said anything and it was just the sound of your breathing, oddly too loud in the quiet room.

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then your cheek. And finally, your lips—slow and breathless and almost shy again.

Then, quietly, Doyoung asked, “Did you like it?”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. His cheeks were flushed, his hair was messy, and he looked so earnest that your heart squeezed a little.

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. I really did.”

He let out a relieved breath, then grinned bashfully, like he couldn’t quite believe this had happened.

“Good,” he said, tucking his face into the crook of your neck again. “’Cause I really liked it too.”

You chuckled. “You did well.”

He let out a soft laugh, forehead pressed to yours. “I think I just saw stars.”

He fell on the space beside you, staring at the ceiling as you both caught your breath. You curled up beside him, nuzzling against his chest that was still damp with sweat. You wanted to say something, but sleep was already catching up to you.

Doyoung wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then he let out a deep, contented breath.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he said, barely above a whisper.

You blinked, suddenly wide awake. You shifted to look at him, but his breathing was already slowing, his features softening.

He was fast asleep before you could say anything.

The wind blew at you as soon as you stepped off the bus, salty and cool and strong enough to tug at your sun hat. You held it in place and squinted up at the sky. It was bright and beautiful, the vivid blue hue decorated with scattered clouds.

You adjusted the handle of your carrier and followed the other passengers toward the ferry terminal. A seagull screamed overhead. Someone lit a cigarette beside you. Around you, people were chattering in what you could make out was French and some Italian. It was much noisier here than it was in Paris. Less posh and polished, more human and real.

The morning felt raw, a little too bright after a night like that. But you didn’t look back.  Corsica was next. That was the plan. That had always been the plan.

The port was small—just one wooden pier stretching out into the water, a few moored boats bobbing gently with the current. It was a far cry from Paris, or even the bus station you’d left this morning. Everything here moved slower, like time itself had decided not to keep up.

You walked up to the small booth, eyes darting to the analog clock above the door. 17:05.

Last Departure - 17:00Next Departure - Tomorrow, 06:10

The sound of ferry horn made you whip your head. “No, no, no,” you muttered, quickening your pace. 

You shoved past a wobbly gate that probably wasn’t meant to be opened, lugging your bag behind you. “Wait!” you screamed at the ferry, your voice cracking as you sprinted along the creaky wooden pier.

“Wait for me!” you shouted, flailing your arms like a maniac.

The ferry let out a long, mournful horn and continued to pull away, the wake rippling through the still water.

“Turn back!” you shrieked, weaving past a stack of plastic crates and an unimpressed fisherman. “Turn back! Damn it!”

You reached the end of the pier, panting, face red, chest burning. The ferry was already further on the horizon.

“Seriously?!” you yelled, flailing your hat in the air. “You couldn’t wait five more minutes?!”

You dropped your suitcase with a thud and bent over your knees, catching your breath. “Merde.”

“Missed your boat?” said a man from behind you.

You straightened, whipping around with a glare reserved for backhanded comments and people who cut in lines. “Wow, what gave it away?” you deadpanned. “The shouting or the visible despair?”

The tall man with a large physique smiled smugly. His dark hair was pushed back neatly, and on his nose sat a pair of sunglasses you could swear you’d seen on display at Prada yesterday. The buttons of his shirt were completely undone, revealing toned pecs and abs underneath. 

Definitely not a local. And definitely not someone who’d taken three buses in the past ten hours.

“Just a wild guess,” he said, tilting his head. “Too bad though. The next ferry isn’t until tomorrow.”

You sighed, all the fight draining from your body at once. “Yeah. I can read.”

He clicked his tongue, stepping closer to the edge of the dock beside you. “Wouldn’t it be nice,” he said, “if someone had a boat that could take you to the island?”

You let out a dry laugh. “It sure is. But it’s a little early to start hallucinating.”

“Mm,” he hummed, eyes flicking over you with mild amusement.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked past you, toward a gleaming white yacht docked not ten feet away.

You blinked.

He stepped onto the deck like he’d done it a hundred times before, then turned back to look at you with an infuriatingly pleasant smile. You lifted your chin, brushed your hair out of your face, and stepped forward.

“Looks like someone did have a boat that could take me to the island,” you said, flashing your best smile. “If only the owner was nice enough.”

He glanced at the yacht behind him, then back at you. “Oh, this isn’t mine. I just stand here pretending it is so women will fall for me.”

You snorted. “Gross.”

“Maybe,” he said, grinning. “But it works.”

You scoffed, laughing under your breath as you waved him off and turned away. “Right. Bye, then.”

“I’m kidding,” he called out, still laughing. “Come aboard. My boat’s heading that way too, and I’ve got spare rooms.”

Your feet moved before your brain could offer a single warning, climbing onto the docked yacht without hesitation. No passport check, no credentials, no double-take at the stranger with movie-star hair and designer sunglasses. Just vibes. Your mother would’ve had a stroke.

Or, more likely, she would’ve shaken her head and muttered something about how you always liked to fuck around and find out.

The man turned just in time to help you onto the deck, his hand warm around yours. “I’m Johnny, by the way.”

You told him your name and he chuckled. “Next time, you might wanna do a double-take and get to know people before getting into their boat,” he said. 

You laughed at that, though you agree he was right. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

You glanced around the yacht. Sleek, white, and clean enough to eat off of the floor. A compact galley gleamed to the left, and a staircase led to what you assumed were the sleeping quarters.

“This is Captain Marion,” Johnny said, nodding to a man in a white polo who gave you a quick salute before going back to his maps. “That’s Sofia, our cook. Pierre and Manu help out with navigation and maintenance. Don’t worry, they’re all very well-paid and only mildly resent me.”

Sofia gave you a wink as she passed with a basket of fruit, and Manu barely looked up from where he was scrubbing something on the deck.

“Nice setup,” you said, setting your suitcase down with a thunk that felt very out of place on such pristine floors.

Johnny smiled. “It’s not huge, but it gets the job done.”

“That’s what they all say,” you quipped, giggling.

His grin widened. “I like you already.” He turned and motioned for you to follow him below deck. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

You followed him down a narrow staircase and into a hallway of sleek wood and soft lighting. He opened a door to a small but clean room with a porthole view and a surprisingly fluffy-looking bed.

“This one’s cozy,” he said. Then, casually added, “Mine’s a bit nicer though. Bigger bed. Better sheets. Better lighting, if that matters.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Bet the women loved the lighting in your room.”

Johnny leaned on the doorframe, still grinning. “They loved me more, but yeah, the lighting did suit their taste too.”

“Great.” You stepped into the room, tossed your bag onto the bed, and gave him a sweet smile. “I like dim rooms like this one better.”

But Johnny wasn’t backing down yet. “You’d be surprised how effective dimmers can be.”

You gave him your fakest smile and nodded to the door. “Thanks for accommodating me. Please close the door on your way out.”

Johnny chuckled and pushed off the doorframe. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll be dimming the lights in advance.”

He disappeared down the hall, leaving the scent of some expensive cologne lingering behind him. You looked around the room again, shook your head, and flopped back onto the bed.

The sun had set by the time you made it up to the deck. The sky was starry and cold, and the sea was calm, stretching endlessly in all directions. Dinner had been set on a small table with linen napkins, wine glasses, and even candles.

Johnny looked up from the magazine he was reading, straightening up when he saw you walking in. “Good evening. How was your nap?” he asked, motioning to the seat across from him.

“Refreshing,” you replied, eyeing the setup. “First, you tried to seduce me with good lighting. Now it’s sea bass?”

He laughed. “Can’t a guy just offer dinner without an ulterior motive?”

You sat. “Sure, he can. But to me, you’re a walking ulterior motive.”

“Please,” he chuckled. “I just like to make my guests feel special.”

“How many guests have there been?”

Johnny poured you a glass of wine and handed it over. “Too many. You’re my favorite, though.”

You smirked as Sofia walked over to fill your glass with wine. “You’re really going for it, huh?”

“Just enough to keep you entertained,” he replied smoothly, taking a sip of his wine. “If I go too hard, you’ll run. If I don’t try, I’m wasting this view.”

“You mean the sea or me?”

He tilted his glass toward you, smirk never leaving his lips. “Both can be true. Though you’re slightly more distracting.”

Dinner was actually good. The fish was cooked perfectly, and the wine was expensive and tasted like it. Every so often, a crew member drifted in and out, clearing plates or topping off wine like it was just any ordinary day. Johnny, for his part, didn’t stop flirting for more than thirty seconds at a time.

“So where exactly were you running to before you missed the ferry?” he asked, leaning in like he actually wanted to hear the answer.

“Some small village in Corsica,” you said, twirling your fork. 

“Vacation?”

You shrugged. “Immigration. I’m moving there.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “Why?”

“Identity crisis?” you offered with a chuckle. “Nothing really. Just trying to figure things out. Make something for myself.”

“Ah,” he said, sipping his wine. “My favorite kind of woman.”

“I’m sure you say that about every kind of woman.”

“Not to every kind,” he replied, smirking. “Just the ones I like.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help chuckling.

“Anyway,” he said after a beat, cutting into his food, “I may not look like it, but I’m kind of figuring things out too. So… I get it.”

“Thanks,” you said. “I’m sure you’ll get there eventually.”

“I feel like we should toast to that,” he said, lifting his glass. “To starting over and making something of ourselves.”

You clinked yours gently against his. “To strange men and questionable decisions.”

After dinner, the two of you drifted toward the front of the yacht. You leaned against the rail, watching the faint outline of the horizon and the stars dotting the night sky.

Johnny stood beside you, close but not touching. His wine glass dangled loosely in his fingers. “Not a bad way to spend a missed ferry, huh?” he said.

You hummed. “Could’ve been worse. I could’ve ended up on a fishing boat with no wine.”

“Or worse,” he said, “with someone boring.”

You glanced at him. “Fine. I’ll concede and say you’re not that boring.”

Johnny smirked, eyes on the sea. “I can already imagine how broken my heart would be once you leave this boat tomorrow.”

You snorted. “Did that line ever work for you? Don’t tell me it did, because I know it didn’t.”

He chuckled. “Oh, you’d be surprised. It’s my best line.”

“No, it’s not,” you replied, shaking your head and taking a sip from your glass. 

“It is, though,” Johnny insisted, bright grin gleaming under the light. “Although, I can see that it doesn’t work on you, and that’s just making me fall in love with you even more.”

“Stop,” you chided softly, nudging his arm with your elbow. “I won’t have sex with you.”

“Why not?”

You gave him an incredulous look, like the answer should have been obvious enough. “We literally only just met.”

He bumped you back with a grin “And you’re not that kind of girl?”

“Absolutely not,” you said, then paused. “Usually,” you added, looking away.

Johnny chuckled heartily, taking one step away. “Fine. But it is true that I’m falling in love with you.”

“Yeah,” you sniggered, rolling your eyes. “I get that a lot.”

The next day arrived with the soft rock of the yacht and sunlight pouring through the porthole window. You stirred awake at noon, disoriented for a second before remembering the events of the day before—missed ferry, expensive yacht, handsome stranger with a very alluring physique.

By the time you made it to the deck, the coastline of Corsica was already coming into view. It was closer now and you had specifically pointed out a tiny village by the coast when the captain asked where you wanted to be delivered to.

The village was small, charming in that rustic way travel blogs loved to romanticize—whitewashed walls, terracotta roofs, little boats bobbing in a quiet harbor. It looked peaceful and safe. Like the kind of place where things might finally slow down for you.

Johnny was already up, leaning casually on the rail with a coffee in hand and sunglasses perched on his nose like he hadn’t stayed up half the night trying to charm you out of your room.

“Sleep well?” he asked without looking.

You stepped beside him and inhaled the salt-thick air. “Like a sloth. Must be the ocean breeze. Or the sheer emotional exhaustion of your flirting.”

He chuckled. “You wound me. I’m not a flirt, I’m a charmer.”

“Does saying that help you sleep better at night?” you asked, stretching your arms over your head.

“Most of the time,” he said, grinning. Then he nodded toward the dock. “You’re up next. Corsica awaits.”

You glanced at the approaching land, heart flickering with something between nerves and excitement. “Oh, it’s a beauty. Are you sure you won’t stop by and explore the island before you head to Sardinia?”

“I’d love to, but I’m afraid I’m a little behind schedule.” He turned to face you fully, just for a moment. “It’s a shame, though. I was starting to enjoy your company.”

“Was?”

“Am,” he corrected, gently. “Though I suspect I’ll be enjoying the memory of you more than anything else.”

You rolled your eyes but found yourself smiling anyway. “Well, thanks for the ride. And the fish. And for not being a strange man who liked to kidnap unsuspecting tourists who missed their ferries.”

Johnny laughed a little too hard, head lolling back. When he recovered, he was wiping small tears from the corners of his eyes. “We’ll see each other again, though. I’m sure of it.”

You blinked at him. “That sounded oddly ominous.”

He winked. “Then I said it right.”

The yacht bumped gently against the dock. A crew member waved you toward the exit. You gave Johnny a last look, one corner of your mouth lifting in amusement.

“Take care, Playboy.”

“You too, Miss Not-That-Kind-of-Girl.”

You descended the ramp with your suitcase thumping behind you, the sun warming your shoulders and your next destination waiting just ahead.

Behind you, the yacht peeled away from the dock and disappeared around the curve of the coast. But Johnny’s last words echoed anyway.

We’ll see each other again.

The village was even lovelier up close. Narrow stone streets wove between crumbling old buildings, flower boxes popping color out of every window. Locals moved slowly, like they had all the time in the world. It felt like a place untouched by urgency, like nothing truly bad could happen here.

You wandered without direction, letting your feet take you uphill, away from the port and toward the cliffs that framed the coastline. The sea stretched endlessly below, crashing in soft rhythms. For a while, you just stood there and stared at it, arms folded loosely, wind tugging at your clothes. You could already picture the postcards.

Then, further ahead, something caught your eye.

It sat like a relic from another lifetime: a grand, slightly crumbling mansion with tall shuttered windows and ivy crawling halfway up the walls. The gate stood open, a “FOR SALE” sign bolted crookedly to the wrought iron. Grass had grown wild, and the gravel path was broken and overgrown, but the bones of the place were beautiful. In your mind’s eye, you could picture the grandeur and the majesty of the place.

You hesitated for a second, then stepped through the gate. The front door wasn’t locked and inside, the air was stale but not unpleasant. The ceilings were high, the rooms wide and flooded with light from broken windows. It smelled faintly of dust and sea. You moved carefully, your footsteps echoing across tiled floors and creaking wood.

In your mind, it all changed. You saw fresh white paint, wide glass doors, airy curtains that fluttered in the breeze. You pictured soft linens and warm breakfasts, travelers coming in from the harbor with sand still on their skin. You could almost hear the clink of plates in a bright little dining room and laughter echoing through the halls.

You gasped at the sheer excitement of it all, covering your mouth as you looked around the place. Then you shrieked and started twirling around. You stopped just in time, breathless at the edge of the stairs.

“This is it,” you muttered to yourself, eyes still wide. “This is the place.”

You turned to leave, determined to find out if the place was still for sale and if your savings was enough to buy it. But just as you were stepping out of the big double doors, large drops of rain started hitting the floor and your head.

The downpour came instantly, heavy and fast, drenching the gravel path before you. You froze at the doorway, then stepped back inside. The once quiet halls were filled with the sound of raindrops battering the roof and the old windows, sheets of it cascading off the eaves. There was no point trying to make a run for it.

So you wandered a little deeper into the house, hugging your arms to yourself. 

“Just for a few minutes,” you murmured aloud, brushing a cobweb off a dusty banister. “I’m sure it’s just passing by.”

But hours passed and the rain didn’t let up.

What started as a drizzle had turned relentless, and by late afternoon, it was hard to tell whether the sky was getting darker from the storm or the approaching dusk. The old house groaned occasionally with the wind. Water pelted the windows like tiny stones.

You paced for a bit, hugged your knees for a while, then tried pacing again. The floorboards creaked. Somewhere upstairs, something thudded. It could’ve been the wind. Or ghosts. You chose not to think about it.

“I love this place,” you muttered to yourself. “I just don’t want to die here.”

With the rain still going strong and no sign of stopping, you resigned yourself to the possibility of staying the night, miserable, damp, and slightly haunted. You pulled your bag closer, rummaging for something that could function as a light source. Cellphone? Dead. Flashlight? Obviously, you didn’t have one. You were sure you had a lighter, though. It was your friend’s that you’d nicked at some point before leaving for France.

Just as you were deep into your luggage looking for the lighter, you heard footsteps. Your head jerked up. Then another footstep, then the sound of the front door creaking.

You froze. You weren’t imagining it—someone was inside!

Your mind raced. Was it the owner? Were you about to be arrested for trespassing? Was it a real estate agent with unfortunate timing? Or worse, some awful drifter who wandered into empty buildings looking for lone women to murder in cold blood?

The footsteps were getting closer. Your heart jumped into your throat.

Without thinking, you grabbed the closest thing—a splintered piece of wood from a broken table leg—and backed into the shadow of the stairwell, gripping it like a weapon.

They were coming down the main hall with steady, heavy steps. When the figure appeared in the doorway, you lunged.

Or, well, tried to.

A startled yelp came out of both of you as the man blocked your swing just in time, catching your wrists with both hands. “Whoa—whoa—hey!” he gasped. “I’m not—! I’m not here to rob you! Or—or murder you!”

You stared at him, breathless, wood still clutched in your hands. “Then what the hell are you doing here?!”

“Trying not to die of hypothermia,” he said quickly. He had a soaked jacket, a backpack slung off one shoulder, and water dripping from the ends of his hair. “And, uh—avoiding flying furniture, apparently.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m—I’m Jaehyun! Jeong Jaehyun!”

You didn’t relax yet. “Are you the owner?”

“No,” he said. “Are you?”

You hesitated. “…No.”

He slowly let go of your wrists. You slowly lowered your arm. The two of you stared at each other, breathing hard.

“Well,” you said after a few seconds, sighing in relief. “This is definitely not how I imagined meeting someone today.”

He blinked. Then laughed. “Yeah, me neither.”

You both stood there for a while, listening to the rain hammering the roof like it had no plans of stopping. You glanced at him. “Think it’ll let up soon?”

Jaehyun didn’t even look outside. “Nope.”

“…You sound so sure.”

He shrugged out of his wet jacket. “I just know a thing or two about weather.”

“Okay, Weatherman.” You made a face. “Fantastic. So what, we just wait it out? Sit on the floor until morning?”

“There’s probably a fireplace somewhere,” he said, tugging off his shoes and shaking out his soaked sleeves. “A place like this has to have one.”

You sighed, shuddering at the sight of him in wet clothes. You then turned to your suitcase and flung it open. You first found the lighter, turned it on, and rummaged through your clothes for a t-shirt.

You found a plain white oversized sweater and handed it to him. “Here.”

Jaehyun hesitated. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“You said so yourself. The rain isn’t letting up anytime soon.”

He sighed, but he looked grateful when he accepted it. “Thanks.”

You turned away as he got dressed, fixing your gaze on a hallway up ahead. “I think I saw the fireplace over there earlier.”

Walking together, with the lighter illuminating the dark halls, the two of you found the old, soot-caked hearth in what might’ve once been a formal sitting room. Tall windows lined the walls, and you could see lightning flash beyond the horizon. The fireplace was cold and cobwebbed but intact.

“Found our survival base,” you said, voice echoing off the high ceiling.

Together, you gathered anything burnable—splintered chair legs, bits of an old table that looked way beyond repair. Jaehyun kicked apart a broken door with a little too much enthusiasm.

You raised an eyebrow. “You do this a lot?”

“Breaking and entering?” he asked, dragging a long covered couch across the room. “No. But I’m good at winging things.”

He tugged the white cloth off the couch and sent a thick cloud of dust into the air. Beneath it, the upholstery was surprisingly intact—floral velvet with only one visible tear on the side.

“Not bad,” he said, flopping down. “Way better than the inn I stayed in last night.”

You scoffed. “I appreciate your optimism.”

You dropped your bag nearby and pulled out your meager stash of chips, two chocolate bars, and a slightly squished croissant. You held them out. “Dinner?”

He held up a hand to his chest solemnly. “It’s an honor.”

You shared the food while he coaxed the fire to life. Soon enough, warmth began to seep into the room, and a yellowish glow illuminated your faces and the walls.

“Not the worst way to spend a storm,” he said, stretching out his legs toward the fire.

You gave him a look. “You realize we’re in a haunted-looking mansion, right? With barely enough food and no cell service?”

“Yeah,” he grinned, tilting his head back against the couch. “But at least we’re warm and dry, and not dead yet.”

You laughed quietly, pulling your knees up to your chest. The fire crackled between you. Rain kept pelting the windows, but in here, it was manageable. Almost safe. You were both quiet for a while, chewing in silence, listening to the fire crackle and the storm rage outside.

Then Jaehyun spoke. “I used to be scared of thunder.”

You glanced over. “Really?”

He nodded, glancing over his shoulders out at the tall windows. “I was maybe six or seven. My mom told me it was just the clouds yelling at each other.” He smiled faintly. “So I’d yell back. Thought it made me brave.”

You grinned. “Did it work?”

“Only when she was in the room.”

The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney. He leaned back, his gaze on the flames. “You ever have something you were embarrassed to admit you were scared of?”

You thought about it. “I’m scared of spiraling out of control.” You chuckled. “You?”

He looked over, brows lifted slightly. “Me? I don’t know,” he said, then looked away. “I think I’m scared of staying still.”

You didn’t say anything at first, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, you asked, “Did you… run away?”

“Not exactly,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if I’m running away or taking a break. I had this perfectly reasonable life mapped out for me. Job, partner, apartment, future. All very respectable.” He let out a dry laugh. “But none of it felt like it belonged to me.”

You nodded slowly, understanding without needing every detail.

“So I left,” he added. “Just picked a spot on the map and left.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then you said, “Good for you.”

He looked at you. “Yeah?”

You smiled. “Yeah. Sometimes walking away is the braver thing.”

You took a deep breath and fixed your gaze on the fire. “I ran away, too. Everyone back home had some plan for me. What I’d study. Where I’d work. Who I’d be. And I went along with it because it was easier than fighting. Until one day I looked around and realized nothing in my life felt like mine.”

You felt your chest loosen after saying that out loud, like something unknotted inside you. A long pause followed. Then you added with a smile, “Still doesn’t explain why I walked into a random old mansion.”

“It’s a beautiful one,” he said. “Kind of poetic, really. You leave your life behind and walk straight into a ghost of someone else’s.”

You chuckled, leaning back into the couch. “Well, when you put it that way…”

The wind howled outside, but the room felt warm. Not just from the fire—something else, too. Something like understanding. You looked at him again, really looked this time. He was soaked, probably tired, and definitely not what you expected to find when you first stepped through those gates.

But somehow, running into him made perfect sense.

You woke up to sunlight pouring in from the tall windows. The high ceiling and the dust floating in the rays of morning light reminded you where you were—an abandoned mansion where you got stuck waiting out a storm.

You sat up slowly, noticing that the spot on the couch beside you was empty.

“Jaehyun?” you called out, but there was no response. 

You stood up, stretching your sore arms, and glanced around. The place was as quiet as it had been the day before. The broken furniture. The high windows. The eerie vibe.

You had almost thought Jaehyun wasn’t real. That he was just a figment of your imagination that your brain cooked up out of fear of being alone in this big house, but then your eyes landed on a denim jacket hanging near the fireplace, still a little damp.

You smiled a little. He was real after all.

But where was he? You had no idea. Maybe he’d left as soon as morning came and simply forgotten his jacket. Not that you were expecting him to stay, but you had assumed he would at least bid you a proper goodbye.

Well, it was no use sitting around waiting for him to come back and explain himself, so you decided to start your day. After gathering your things and running a hand through your hair, you made your way out of the mansion and back through the village path. The rain had washed the streets clean, and the morning had that fresh-after-a-storm feeling.

At the heart of the village, you found the inn. It looked like it hadn’t been updated in a decade, but it had flower pots on the window sills and a hand-painted sign out front that read Chambres.

The woman at the front desk wore a knit vest, bright lipstick, and had the energy of someone who’d wrestle a bear and win. She welcomed you like you were an old friend who’d finally come home, offered a nice room, and a hearty breakfast.

By noon, you were freshly showered, had eaten something good, and were strolling through the village looking for the real estate office. You found it near a patisserie, and the woman behind the desk raised an eyebrow when you mentioned the old mansion.

“That place?” she said. “You sure?”

You told her you were, and that you had the money ready.

She blinked, then smiled. “Well, no one else was ever interested in buying it, so it’s yours if you really want it. Paperwork will take a while, but you can go ahead and start fixing it up. No one’ll stop you.”

You were halfway through signing the first form when she added, “Funny. Someone else asked about it earlier today. Young man. Seemed curious but didn’t seem interested in buying.”

“Why was he asking about it?”

“Who knows? First-time visitors to this town are always curious about that place.”

You paused for a second, then shrugged. “As long as he’s not a potential rival buyer, I’m good,” you said with a smile.

“I assure you, Miss,” the lady said, stepping out of her desk. “No one wants that place. Why do you think it’s much cheaper than it’s supposed to be?”

The real estate agent handed you note after the paperwork, tapping her nail against the words written on it.

“Since the place is gonna need to be fixed up, I suggest you talk to Jean-Luc. He’s a mason, but he has a group of carpenters working for him. He does a pretty good job, though he can be a little nosy.”

“Thanks. I was just wondering where to start looking for help,” you said, smiling as you examined the name and address on the note.

Before leaving the office, the agent told you what Jean-Luc’s daily rate was and to call out his bullshit if he ever asked for more than that. You thanked her again and turned in the direction of Jean-Luc’s shop. 

You met him at his shop, a wiry old man in suspenders and a flat cap. He asked a few questions, but he seemed to know more about the place than you did.

“I’ll come by tomorrow morning to have a proper look, then we can negotiate.”

After that, he pointed you to a local supply shop, where you bought items you could use in the meantime, including some sturdy brooms, a pair of gloves, a few rags, and a bucket. You debated getting bleach but settled for lemon cleaner and optimism.

By the time you made your way back up the winding road to the mansion, your arms were aching from the weight of the supplies. But there was something satisfying about the ache, the breeze, and the faint scent of damp earth left by the storm.

You were surprised to see a motorbike parked outside the gates. The rain from the night before had washed the dust off the path, and the sun lit up the gravel as you stepped through the front doors of the mansion again.

Inside, the sound of hammering echoed faintly through the halls.

You followed it to the study, where the fireplace was. Jaehyun was crouched beside a wooden table, sleeves pushed up, hair damp at the temples. He held a hammer in one hand and was steadying a broken leg with the other, completely focused.

He looked up when he heard your footsteps. “Hey,” he said, straightening. “You’re back.”

You blinked. “You’re here?”

“So are you,” he said, setting the hammer down gently. “I thought you’d left for good.”

“I thought you left,” you replied, stepping inside.

He wiped his hands on his jeans. “Just went out to grab some food. When I came back, you weren’t here.”

You looked around. A few chairs had been repaired. One of the broken shelves stood straighter than before. He’d clearly been busy.

“You’ve been fixing things?” you asked.

He nodded. “I had time. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to help the place along a little. The woman at the real estate office said I could come do this if I wanted.”

You raised a brow. “You went to the real estate office?”

“Yeah. She was friendly.” He looked sheepish, then smiled. “She said no one was ever interested in the place.”

You smiled back. “Well… someone is.”

He paused. “You?”

You nodded. He let out a short breath, like he hadn’t expected that. Then he gave a small, thoughtful smile. “Then maybe it’s good I didn’t leave.”

You tilted your head. “Why is that?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna need extra hands around here.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, no thanks. I don’t need a man bossing me around my own property.”

“No, I don’t mean it like that.” Jaehyun laughed. “I’m an architect, you see. I know my way around structures. If you’re planning to restore the place… I could help.”

You studied him. He didn’t seem to be lying. “…I don’t know how much I can pay you,” you said.

“Well, you fed and dressed me last night, so I’m basically alive because of you.”

That made you snort. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Just a little,” he replied, laughing. “But I’m serious. If you don’t mind having me around… I’m happy to help. That’s all.”

You were quiet for a moment, then reached into your bag and pulled out a broom. “Alright, then. Since you’re so eager… how about we start with the floors?”

He took the broom from you with a smile. “Sure.”

The first few days were chaotic in the most exciting way. You had dust in your lungs. Paint flakes in your hair. And the occasional clatter of tools or startled yelp when someone stepped on a loose board made the once eerily quiet place into a rowdy construction site. 

Jean-Luc’s team of local carpenters moved in and out with efficiency, restoring what could be saved and gutting what couldn’t. 

You did what you could afford. No grand hotel transformation just yet because your savings wouldn’t allow it, but enough to make the place safe, clean, and standing. You patched up what you could and left the heavy lifting to people who actually knew what they were doing. Jaehyun floated somewhere between both worlds, neither a hired worker nor idle guest.

He showed the carpenters the original layout you’d uncovered, and offered suggestions they actually listened to. You noticed the way they nodded when he spoke, how they looked to him when unsure.

One day, when the particularly exquisite wooden double doors leading to a grand ballroom broke down, everyone said your idea of putting them back in place wasn’t possible. The broken hinges had chipped a piece off one of the two doors, making it hard to put it back.

“We can repurpose the other one. Use it to replace the library door. Then maybe forgo the doors and keep the ballroom open?” Jaehyun suggested, tilting his head as he examined the doorway. He turned to you. “What do you think?”

“You’re full of solutions, aren’t you?” you said, only half-teasing.

He shrugged. “Comes with the degree.”

The architect thing came up again and again—not because he bragged, but because he made it quite useful. He knew how to brace the weakened staircase, how to check for mold behind plaster, and how to tell the difference between salvageable and unsafe. And when you asked how he knew all this labor stuff when he was supposed to be an architect, he always said, “It comes with the job.”

Together, you made progress. Slow, sweaty, stubborn progress.

You’d sweep out a room while he cleared debris. He’d rig up temporary lighting while you picked tile samples you couldn’t afford yet. Some afternoons, you’d sit together on the back steps, drinking orange juice from the orchard behind the house. 

Other times, when your arms were too tired to scrub anything else, he’d ask, “Want to get out of here for a bit?”

You rode behind him on the motorbike, hands wrapped around his waist, wind whipping at your hair. The roads curved sharply along the cliffs, opening into views of the sea that looked almost too blue to be real. You dipped your toes in hidden coves, ate greasy fish sandwiches by the pier, and once spent a full hour watching an old man play the accordion in the town square.

Sometimes he pointed things out—a crumbling lighthouse, a fig tree blooming near the bend—and you found yourself asking about the island, even though you knew he was as new to the place as you were.

The nights were quieter. Sometimes you cooked, sometimes you didn’t. Once, when the electricity went out, you shared a bowl of fruit by candlelight and listened to the wind sweep through the shutters. He told you about a vineyard resort project he’d worked on in Nice. You told him how you’d found this little village by accident a few years ago on a trip you were never supposed to take.

Opening up to him was oddly easy for someone like you who liked to keep to herself and not let people in. He was easy to be around. Charismatic without trying. Quiet, but never cold. 

You soon noticed how he always let you talk first. How he’d fix something for you without being asked to, or wipe his shoes before stepping inside even if the floors were already filthy.

The house slowly took shape. And so did whatever this was between you.

Jean-Luc’s crew was just wrapping up for the day when you stepped out, putting on your jacket and smoothing down the skirt of your dress. You’d taken the time to pick it out, simple, soft blue, not too fancy, but it was much more sophisticated than your usual work shirts and sun-stained jeans.

Jean spotted you instantly. “Ah,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag and giving you a once-over. “That dress is new.”

You gave him a look. “I had this dress for years.”

He grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You dressed up nicely for your date.”

“It’s not a date,” you said, out of habit more than conviction. “We’re just eating out because I didn’t wanna cook.”

The guys had heard Jaehyun earlier in the day when he invited you to eat at the pub in town. He did it because you complained about being too tired to make food, but Jean and his crew decided it was open to interpretation.

“Mm-hmm.” He raised a brow. “Sure. Too tired to cook, but not too tired to wear perfume, eh?” he added, glancing at his crew, who all started whistling.

You rolled your eyes, laughing under your breath. Their teasing had become a daily ritual ever since they started working in the house. You’d learned about Jean’s nosy nature from the get-go, but were surprised at first when you saw it firsthand. He’d asked you almost everything there was to know about you, from your education, your parents, and your decision to move into a foreign land and buy a haunted mansion.

Still, he didn’t pry too much and wasn’t annoying, so you took it all in stride. And as for his assumption that there was something going on between you and Jaehyun, well, you didn’t think much of it. If Jaehyun knew or was clueless that he was being shipped with you, you wouldn’t know because you never really talked about it.

“How about I hitch a ride to town?” you asked, already getting into their truck. “Would be a waste walking downhill in this dress, don’t you think?”

“It would be an honor to deliver you to your prince, mademoiselle.”

By the time you stepped out at the curb near the pub, the sun had dipped low, gleaming orange and gold across the sea. You caught your reflection briefly in the window and frowned. It was a nice dress. But why did you take the time to look pretty? You’d even put on lipstick, and for what? A casual dinner?

It’s just dinner! Right?

Or is it? You shook the thought away before you could overthink it.

Inside, the pub was lively but cozy, with fairy lights strung on wooden beams, a small local band playing mellow jazz near the back. Jaehyun was already seated at a corner table, nursing a glass of something amber. He looked up when you walked in and smiled.

“Wow,” he said, standing as you approached. “You look…”

He paused, and the way he searched for a word made you feel self-conscious. You hid your nervousness behind a smirk. “Weird? Disproportionate? Wicked with a hint of witchcraft and sorcery?”

He laughed. “Beautiful. Definitely beautiful.”

You smiled, sliding into the chair opposite him. “Thanks.”

He looked good, too. He’d shaved. Maybe even styled his hair. A waitress came by, dropped off menus, and you both skimmed through them, ordering a round of food that was heavier than you needed but comforting all the same. The band was playing a soft instrumental, and you leaned back in your seat, letting the atmosphere settle.

Jaehyun had been at the house every day this past week, but it occurred to you now how little you knew about his nights. He didn’t stay there, not even once. He always left just before dusk, riding off on that old motorbike. You never asked where he went, but vaguely assumed he was probably resting in his room at the inn. You were curious, but it didn’t matter much.

Until now.

Tonight, he was different. Still warm, still easy to talk to, but something in the air felt a little off-script. The way his eyes gleamed, the way he smiled when you caught him looking. It made you nervous and giddy at the same time.

“Didn’t take you for a dress person,” he said, sipping his drink.

You raised a brow. “And what kind of person did you take me for?”

He tilted his head like he was thinking of the answer. “Sawdust. Paint stains. And boots.”

You scoffed. “So… a disaster?”

“I didn’t say that.” His smile widened. “I like disasters. They’re more fun to fix.”

You narrowed your eyes, half-laughing. “Did you just call me a fixer-upper?”

“Well, no…” he trailed off, then blinked like he’d surprised himself. “Wait, did I? Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—you're actually kind of perfect.”

You laughed under your breath. “Okay, Charmer. Slow down.”

He leaned in, elbows on the table. “You’re blushing. I think you’re charmed.”

“It would take more than that to sweep me off my feet, Jae,” you said, taking a slow sip of your drink. You smiled at him as you placed your glass back down. “But you’re on the right track.”

“Am I?” he asked, grinning, canines and dimples on full display. “Good to know. I’ll try harder then.”

He didn’t usually talk like this. You didn’t either, not with him. But neither of you stopped.

When the food came, the conversation didn’t stop either. It slipped in with the wine, with the melodic music in the background, with the occasional brush of his knee against yours beneath the table.

“You really didn’t have to dress up,” he said at one point, glancing at you over his fork.

“I didn’t,” you said. “This is me on a regular day. You should see me on a real date.”

He leaned back in his seat. “Am I not getting the real date version?”

“That depends. Is this a date?”

His brows lifted slightly, as if surprised you said it out loud. But his answer came quickly.

“I don’t know.” He smiled. “You tell me.”’

You sighed, feigning frustration. “Ugh, no. Wrong answer.”

Jaehyun winced, propped an elbow on the table, and buried his face in his hand. “Crap. Can I try again?”

“Nope,” you teased, giggling behind your glass.

The flirting stopped by dessert, and you fell into a conversation about the house and its grand architecture. Jaehyun talked about the dating of the design and the timelessness of it. At some point, you’d told him your plans of converting it into a hotel. It would take time since money was obviously a huge factor to consider, but you laid out your renovation plans, your vision, and the whole dream behind the project.

“For now, it’s just a dream,” you said, smiling as you stirred an olive in your drink. “But the first step was buying the place, and that’s a box ticked in my list.”

“That’s actually a big start.”

“Right?” you chimed, eyes gleaming. “I still have a long way to go, but it is something, right?”

“It is,” he replied, a smile gracing his lips as he watched you.

You kept talking, hands moving animatedly as you described the lounge you envisioned, the garden terrace, the way the morning sun would hit the breakfast room just right. And Jaehyun just watched you.

At first, you didn’t notice, too caught up in your own excitement. But then you glanced at him and caught the way he was looking at you—soft and focused, like he wasn’t listening at all but watching.

Your smile faltered slightly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He blinked, leaned back, and shrugged with a small grin. “Like what?”

“Like that,” you repeated, heat creeping to your cheeks. “I know you know what I mean.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you, eyes glinting under the dim pub lights. “No reason. I just… I’m just really proud of you.”

Your pulse raced at the way he said it. Like he meant it, and the affection in his voice wasn’t a figment of your imagination. You looked down at your drink. “Well. Thanks.”

He tilted his head. “That made you nervous.”

“No, it didn’t.”

He laughed under his breath. “You always get defensive when someone compliments you. It’s cute.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling now. “And you’re acting really out of character tonight. What’s up with you?”

Jaehyun straightened up in his seat, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, a little too casually

Before you could say anything, he flagged down the server, asking for a pen and paper. A few minutes later, the order sheet was in front of him, along with your full attention.

“Alright,” he said, uncapping the pen. “Show me what you see.”

“What I see?”

“For your dream hotel,” he replied, beaming. “I’ll do a free sketch for you since you came here looking all pretty tonight.”

You laughed at first, but took him up on his offer. You walked him through it—the courtyard, the check-in desk, the sunlit breakfast room. He listened closely, nodding along, his hand gliding over the paper with precision. He added soft curves where you imagined sharp lines, windows where there were none, and little alcoves you hadn’t even thought of.

“This is where I’d put the courtyard,” you said, tapping the center.

“With some trees?” he asked. “A fountain?”

“Exactly,” you said. “But not a flashy one. Justone that’s charming and pretty.”

He sketched it in. You leaned over the table to get a better look, your shoulder brushing his. He didn’t pull away. You didn’t either.

When he finished, he slid the paper toward you. “It’s rough, but… this is what I see when you talk about it.”

You stared at the sketch, warmth blooming in your chest. “It’s kind of perfect.”

“You’re kind of perfect,” he said, and this time, he didn’t soften it with a laugh or a tease. 

Your heart thudded. He was looking at you like that again—like you were the only one in the room, like it would hurt him to peel his eyes away, like he wanted to just stare at you as much as he could.

“So… what now?” you asked, one hand hugging yourself. You felt nervous under his gaze, and not in a bad way.

“I should drive you back, but…” he paused, leaning a little closer. “Do you want to take a walk before we call it a night?”

You nodded, slowly. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Outside, the air was cool and the streets mostly empty. The band’s music faded behind you as you walked side by side, a little closer than usual, not talking much. His hand brushed yours once, then again—until he finally just reached for it and laced your fingers together.

When you turned the corner and saw his bike down the road, he looked at you once with a smile before letting go of your hand.

“Will you be alright?” he asked as he mounted his bike and handed you one of the helmets. “You’re in a dress.”

“Yeah. I can manage,” you said, letting him help you put the helmet on.

His hand lingered on your jaw even after he’d fastened the helmet in. For a second, you thought he was gonna kiss you, but he just took a deep breath and turned back to his bike.

The ride was cool and quiet. You held onto him as usual, arms wrapped around his torso, balancing yourself behind him, making sure you didn’t fall. For some reason, despite the considerable distance of the town from your old mansion, the drive ended too quickly. 

You stopped in front of the gates but as you handed him his helmet back, something heavy settled in your chest. You didn’t want the night to end.

Neither did he, apparently. You could tell by the way he just sat there on his bike, staring at you and not saying anything but not moving to leave either.

“Do you want to come in?” you asked quietly after a minute.

He didn’t answer at first, just looked at you as if he was looking for any hint of doubt on your face. Then, with a smile, he said, “I would love to if that’s alright with you.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You didn’t need to. Because all the overthinking, the second-guessing, the usual mental tug-of-war you went through whenever something felt too close and too good just stopped.

There was only the cool night air, the sound of crickets in the distance, and Jaehyun looking at you with that steady gaze of his, like he’d wait forever for your answer if he had to.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped forward and kissed him. And he kissed you back like he’d been waiting for this all night. His hands came to your waist, holding you. One of them slid up your back, pulling you in a little closer. You felt him smile into it, and that was the moment your knees nearly gave out.

Because it was soft and sweet and beautiful and just so so melting.

When you finally pulled back, breath slightly uneven, he didn’t let go of you. “Is that a ‘yes’?” he whispered teasingly.

You giggled, eyes still closed. “Yeah. That’s a yes.”

He kissed you once more. Urgently, this time, like he couldn’t help himself, before reaching past you to unlock the gate.

Inside, the house was quiet, the lights were dim. You didn’t bother flicking them on. His hand found yours as you kicked your shoes off by the door, and you led him through the dim hallway like it was instinct. 

You weren’t rushing, pausing every now and then at some corner to kiss and embrace each other like you couldn’t get enough.

In your room, you both paused not from hesitation, but awe. Jaehyun looked around the once lifeless space that now felt lived-in and warm. And then his gaze returned to you, and it softened, like you were the most beautiful part of the room.

“Are you nervous?” he asked quietly, holding your hands.

“A little,” you admitted, stepping close. “But not the bad kind of nervous.”

He smiled, reached up and cupped your face in both hands, drawing you in again. The kiss this time was different. Slower, surer. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel the way his breath hitched when your fingers brushed the back of his neck.

His touch was careful and tender, like he was asking permission with every move. You helped him out of his jacket, then reached behind yourself to pull the zipper of your dress down, but his hands stopped you gently.

“Let me,” he murmured.

You turned, and his fingers found the zipper. You felt the brush of his knuckles against your spine, the drag of fabric slipping from your shoulders. When you turned back to face him, he just stood there for a second, eyes roaming slowly over you.

“God,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

He didn’t say it like he was trying to seduce you. He said it like he meant it. Like he’d never meant anything more.

You reached out, pulled him back to you, mouths meeting again as your hands slid down his stomach to the front of his jeans. He hissed when you pressed your palm to the bulge there, already hard for you. “Fuck,” he muttered against your lips. “Please don’t tease.”

“Sorry,” you whispered, grinning.

He picked you up gently and carried you to the bed. The sheets were cool beneath you, and the room warm around you. You pulled him down with you, mouths meeting again. His kisses grew deeper, needier, as he settled between your legs, grinding slow against your clothed sex.

You could feel him through the layers, thick and hard, and it made your body pulse with want. He slipped a hand down between your thighs, pressing the heel of his palm against your core. You moaned, soft and breathy, hips tilting up to meet him.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, his lips grazing your throat. “Just from kissing me?”

“Don’t get cocky,” you mumbled, but your voice cracked on the end.

He smiled against your skin, then kissed down your body—between your breasts, your navel, lower—until he reached the edge of your panties. He looked up at you then, waiting.

You nodded.

He pulled them off slowly and settled between your thighs. The first stroke of his tongue made your back arch off the bed.

He took his time, licking deep, sucking hard until you were gasping his name. One arm wrapped around your thigh to keep you open, the other hand slid up to lace your fingers together on the sheets. You came like that—shaking, eyes squeezed shut, hand clinging to his—his mouth still on you, working you through it.

When he kissed back up your body, you were trembling. “You good?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded again. “Please.”

“Condoms?”

You shook your head. “I’m on the pill.”

He kissed you again, harder this time, and then positioned himself between your legs, his jaw tight like he was holding himself back. He slid into you languidly, lubricated by your own cum and his saliva.

He sank in slowly, with a deep, ragged breath, forehead pressed to yours. “Fuck,” he groaned. “You feel so good.”

You felt full, stretched in the best way. Your arms wrapped around his back, fingernails grazing his skin as he started to move—shallow at first, then deeper, rolling his hips in smooth thrusts that made your toes curl.

He kept whispering your name, like he couldn’t stop himself. Kept asking if you were okay, if it felt good, if he should go slower—and every time, your only answer was to hold him closer.

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t frantic. It was deep. Hot. And overwhelming in the most delightful way.

You kissed through it, tangled in sweat and soft moans and the sound of skin meeting skin. Your second orgasm built slowly, until he shifted your hips up just right, and you cried out, gripping his back as you came again.

He followed not long after, burying his face in your neck with a choked sound, holding you so tightly you could hardly breathe—and you didn’t want to, not if it meant letting go.

He stayed inside you for a moment after, catching his breath, lips brushing your shoulder. Then he pulled out gently and lay beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms again.

No one spoke for a while. You didn’t need to.

His fingers traced soft shapes of your back as your breathing slowed. Your cheek rested against his chest, where you could feel his heartbeat still thudding fast.

“I really like you,” he said eventually, voice low, almost shy.

You closed your eyes. “I know.” And you did. “I like you too.”

The next morning, Jaehyun made coffee while you stood barefoot in the kitchen, hair messy, wearing only his oversized shirt from the night before. He’d found the beans in your pantry, ground them by hand, and hummed under his breath while the moka pot hissed on the stove. When he handed you a cup, it was with a kiss to your temple and a sleepy smile you wanted to keep in your pocket forever.

He didn’t leave that day. And the day after that. And then again the next. It wasn’t even a conversation—it just happened. One minute, he was supposed to return to his little room at the inn. The next, his toothbrush was on your sink and his boots sat neatly next to yours by the door.

“I guess I live here now,” he said with a shrug one evening, holding up a bundle of clean clothes he’d brought over.

You tried to act unbothered, but your chest felt light and strange and full. “I guess you do,” you replied.

Days spilled into each other like honey, slow and golden.

You worked the orange orchard together, side by side under the sun. He taught you how to check the fruits for ripeness, how to prune gently, how to tell if the bees were happy. You teased him for being too serious about it. He teased you for wearing perfume to pick fruit. He stole kisses in the shade of the trees, juice sticky on your fingers, the scent of citrus clinging to your skin.

“You’ve got a bit on your mouth,” he’d say, only to lean in and lick it off with a grin that made you drop the basket you were carrying.

Sometimes you ended up lying in the grass instead of working. Talking about the past, the future. Tracing invisible lines on each other’s arms. Learning the things that didn’t come up in early conversations—how he hated raisins, how you cried watching documentaries, how neither of you had felt like this in a long, long time.

Nights were warm. He’d light a fire when it got cold and pull you into his lap while you ate dinner on the couch. The two of you would read—him with his architectural journals, you with whatever novel you’d found at the local shop. Your legs tangled. His hand on your thigh. You’d fall asleep with your cheek on his chest more often than not, waking up only when he carried you to bed.

He made love to you like he was discovering something new each time. Slow. Intentional. Always watching your face like it told him a secret he didn’t want to forget. There were times he didn’t say a word, just kissed you like he meant it, like he needed it, like he’d been waiting to do it forever.

Sometimes it was lazy. Sometimes passionate. Sometimes soft, with laughter in between. One time, he brought oranges into the shower, peeled them as water ran down both your backs, fed you slices from his fingers before pressing you up against the glass.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” you told him one night, your voice quiet in the dark.

He rolled over to face you, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded with sleep. “Me neither.”

You explored the island on foot and by his bike, visited hidden beaches and ate at local tavernas where he introduced you as his “partner”—not girlfriend, not roommate, just something simple and solid and true.

He drew plans for your hotel idea, left them pinned up on your fridge, updated them with sticky notes that said things like “maybe French doors here?” or “do you like this arch style?”

You found yourself setting the table for two without thinking. Buying his favorite snacks when you went into town. Pulling his shirts from the laundry and holding them to your chest like a fool.

There was a routine now. A tenderness. A life. And it felt like forever.

One day, you were sitting on the dock just past the cove, legs dangling over the edge, fishing rods in hand and an old bottle of white wine between you. Neither of you knew much about fishing, but Jaehyun said that was part of the fun.

You’d caught nothing. He’d caught seaweed. Twice.

“Okay, but it looked like a fish,” he said defensively, flicking the green tangle off his line. “For a second.”

You laughed, tipping your head back as the breeze brushed your cheeks. You couldn’t remember the last time you laughed like this with someone other than your best friends. He looked over at you, half smiling, the way he always did when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

A peaceful quiet settled between you for a minute. Then you broke it.

“I’ve pictured this place for years,” you said softly. “Not this exact dock, or this exact sunset… but the idea of it. Of being somewhere like this.”

Jaehyun didn’t respond right away. He just turned his head to listen.

“I’d imagine buying a house on some forgotten island, fixing it up myself, turning it into a little bed and breakfast or a hotel. Starting something that was just mine. A place to breathe. A place to stay.”

You swallowed, not nervous, just careful. “And I was always alone in that picture. I wasn’t lonely, I was content. I thought that’s what I wanted.” You looked at him. “And then I met you.”

His eyes stayed on you, steady. Patient.

“And now when I picture it again… I see you. Just—there. Beside me. Part of it.”

You gave a small shrug, cheeks warm. “I know it sounds crazy. We haven’t known each other long, and there’s still a lot I don’t know about you, and maybe this is too fast, but… I was wondering if you’d like to be in that picture. For real. If you’d want to try building something together.”

Jaehyun didn’t answer right away. He just set down his fishing rod, then reached for your hand, fingers lacing between yours.

“Doesn’t sound crazy to me at all,” he said quietly.

You looked at him. He looked at you. And in that silence, something deep and certain was decided between you. Llike two pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place.

The fish still weren’t biting. But it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

That night, you lay tangled together in bed, skin still warm from the day’s sun and each other’s touch. The windows were open, and the sound of the waves slamming against the cliff below was oddly soothing despite its violence. Jaehyun’s arm lay heavy across your waist, fingers lazily stroking your bare stomach. It was quiet, the kind of silence that usually felt safe with him.

“I have to tell you something,” he said quietly.

You turned slightly to face him. “What is it?”

“I love you.”

You giggled, closing your eyes and nuzzling your nose back on his chest. “Okay, Lover Boy. I heard you.”

“And I’m engaged to someone else,” he added, making you force your eyes open.

At first, you didn’t react. The words didn’t quite register in your head. You blinked up at him, waiting for a punchline. But he just looked back at you, his eyes open and serious.

“What?”

“It’s not what it sounds like,” he said quickly, propping himself up. “It’s arranged. My family—back home—they… they set it up. I didn’t choose it. I barely know her. I’ve met her maybe three times. I don’t have feelings for her.”

Something cold seeped into your chest. You pulled away from him. “And when were you going to tell me?”

“I—I didn’t know how. I didn’t think it mattered at first. But then everything with us…” He reached for you, but you slapped his hand away. “I should’ve told you sooner. I know.”

You sat up, dragging the sheet around yourself. “You didn’t think it mattered? Are you hearing yourself?”

“I didn’t plan any of this,” he said, sitting up too. “I was just here for a little break. I didn’t plan to meet you and fall for you.”

You laughed bitterly. “Don’t you dare say that. Don’t stand there and talk about falling for me like you didn’t lie by omission every single day. You let me build a whole dream around you. Around us. And you were promised to someone else this whole time?”

“It’s not real—”

“It’s real enough,” you snapped. “I don’t care if you love her or not. I don’t care if it’s just paper. You’re someone else’s, Jaehyun.”

He looked like he’d been punched. “I don’t want it! I choose you.”

“No. You don’t get to choose! You knew this would happen and you let it happen anyway.” Your voice broke then. You didn’t mean for it to, but it came out in a tremble. “Get out.”

He froze. “Please… Don’t do this.”

“Go. Just get the fuck out! Please,” you said, turning away and moving to the corner of the room.

You buried your face in your hands and sobbed, shoulder trembling, voice breaking. You could hear the soft sounds of Jaehyun’s footsteps approaching you, then his hand on your shoulder but you swatted it away.

“Just leave, Jae!”

He left. And he never came back.

You hadn’t slept. Not really. You’d kept your eyes closed through most of the night, but your mind never let you rest. You could still feel the ghost of his arm around your waist, the weight of his words sitting heavy on your chest.

“And I’m engaged to someone else.”

The sun had fully risen and the ocean looked far too cheerful for how you felt. You opened the door to see Amy’s familiar grin and Lea’s arms already opening for a hug. They were glowing with excitement, sunglasses in their hair, bags slung over their shoulders, and not even an ounce of awareness that your world had collapsed less than twelve hours ago.

“There she is!” Lea beamed, pulling you into a tight squeeze. “God, it smells like citrus and freedom out here. I’m never leaving.”

“You look like you haven’t slept,” Amy said with a teasing frown. “Don’t tell me you and Lover Boy were up all night doing—”

You let out a soft laugh—more exhale than amusement—and stepped aside to let them in.

The massive house felt too full suddenly. Their voices bounced off the walls, light and warm. They talked about the flight, the heat, the funny guy at customs. You listened. Smiled when appropriate. Nodded at all the right times.

It wasn’t until you’d served them fresh juice on the patio that Amy tilted her head and said, “So where is he? You were going to introduce us, right? We were ready for the whole ‘meet the boyfriend’ thing.”

You looked down at your glass, then out at the sea. “He’s not here anymore,” you said quietly. “We’re done.”

Both of them froze. “What?” Amy asked, gently.

“He’s engaged to someone else. Back home. Doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

You didn’t look at them, didn’t want to see the sympathy you knew was coming.

Lea reached across the table and touched your hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You sighed, unwilling to get into the details but wanted to share. “It’s really nothing. We were having a good time and I thought I’m in love with him. Now that he’s gone, I think it was just the moment, you know what I mean?”

Lea tilted her head, looking unconvinced, but Amy beside her nodded in understanding. “Totally get it. I mean, two beautiful people together in a beautiful island? I’d think I’m in love too,” said Amy.

Lea shook her head. “No. It was serious when you told us about it on the phone. You sounded so… sure.”

“No, darling.” Amy tapped Lea’s cheek gently. “It was the weather. You have no idea how easy it is to mistake good vibes with being in love.”

They argued about it for a while, but they didn’t press. They didn’t ask for more than what you were willing to divulge. They simply shifted the conversation, as if by instinct, pulling you back into safer waters.

But even as they talked about their plans—about beach days and wine nights and helping you with the orchard—you couldn’t help but glance at the seat across from you. The one that had been his just yesterday.

It was supposed to be good day. You were gonna introduce him to Amy and Lea, your best friends, your true family. But that was a bust. And now it was just you again.

But at least you weren’t alone.

The days that followed blurred into a sun-soaked montage of tequila shots, sandy hair, and late-night laughter. With Amy and Lea around, it was impossible to sit still for too long. They pulled you out of the house, out of your head, and out of the quiet grief you hadn’t yet figured out how to deal with.

Amy dragged you away from the village and into the other side of the island where the beaches were packed with tourists, loud music, and overpriced mojitos. You danced barefoot in the sand, lip-synced into beer bottles, flirted with strangers you had no intention of remembering. You let the lights and noise and sea carry you for days—numbed and glowing all at once.

Amy flirted with every fine European men who so much as looked her way. Lea got into a tipsy argument with a street performer about astrology. You laughed so hard you nearly cried.

It didn’t make the pain disappear. But for a little while, it drowned it out.

And then, one afternoon, as you lay on a beach towel by the docks, the sand warm beneath you, skin glowing, a little drunk on Aperol spritz and good company, the sun suddenly vanished from your face.

You blinked up at the abrupt shadow.

And found a man holding an umbrella over your head like a knight with absolutely no armor, just absurd confidence and expensive taste. Linen shirt unbuttoned all the way down. Sunglasses pushed up into brown hair. Smirk painted across his face like it had been there since birth.

“Hi there,” he greeted casually, his voice ringing with a familiarity that hit straight in your chest.

You pulled your own sunglasses down your nose and squinted up at him. “What are you doing here, Johnny?”

He chuckled lightly. “It’s good to see you too.”

Amy and Lea looked between the two of you like they’d accidentally stepped into a scene from a movie they hadn’t seen the beginning of.

“No, seriously.” You sat up slowly, brushing sand off your legs. “What are you doing here?”

“Official business is concluded, so I’m heading home. But I figured I’d drop anchor for a bit.” He lowered the umbrella handle toward you. “And maybe see a friendly face.”

You blinked at him again, mouth parting slightly. This wasn’t just some coincidence. Johnny was here. Johnny, with his yacht and smirk and maddening presence, had found you again.

“I knew it was weird when you said we’d be seeing each other again,” you said, narrowing your eyes playfully.

He grinned wider. “Miss me?”

“In your dreams,” you replied, standing up. “How long has it been?”

“Oh, just thirty-three days, give or take,” he shrugged, closing the umbrella. “It’s not like I was counting the days till I see you again,” he added with a grin.

Of course. That was the Johnny you knew. Shamelessly flirty, smooth about it, and tries to talk you in sleeping with him every chance he gets. You rolled your eyes and turned to your friends, both still looking clueless. “Oh, these are my girls, Amy and Lea.”

“Hi,” said Lea.

“Lovely to meet you,” said Amy, offering a hand to Johnny. “I’ve heard nothing about you,” she added, glancing knowingly at you.

You gave her an apologetic scrunch of your nose.

“Ladies, I’d hate to disturb you, but,” Johnny nodded toward the water, past the dock where his boat was glistening under the sun. “How would you like some cocktails on a boat?”

You chuckled at his blatant attempt at impressing your girls. Amy perked up immediately. “A boat? That boat?” she asked, pointing at Johnny’s yacht.

“Yes, Ames,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes at Johnny. “Did I mention he’s got a yacht?”

Lea was already grabbing her tote. “Let’s go before he change his mind.”

You shook your head, laughing as Johnny offered you a hand up like he was inviting you to a gala. Dramatic, as always. You didn’t take it, but you did follow him, the three of you trailing after him barefoot across the sun-warmed dock.

Amy nudged your arm discreetly. “Who is he?” she whispered.

Lea leaned in on your other side. “He’s hot.”

“Hotter than the fucking sun,” Amy added.

You smirked, keeping your eyes ahead. “He’s just someone I met a while back. He helped me out when I first got here.”

Amy gasped softly. “That’s the boat guy? You never said he looked like that.”

“I barely said anything,” you muttered.

“Exactly,” Lea said. “Suspicious.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. Johnny was ahead now, glancing back to make sure you were all still following. He tossed you a wink and kept walking.

Amy nudged you again, lower this time. “Okay but for real—are we allowed to flirt with him or is that off-limits?”

You gave her a look. “Behave.”

“Not a no,” she sing-songed.

You sighed dramatically. “He’s a player. If you can handle someone like him, then go ahead.”

They both exchanged a knowing glance. Amy shook her head. “Yeah, no. It’s pretty obvious he came all the way here to see you, specifically.”

You had a small yacht party, just the four of you, plus Manu, Johnny’s crew member-slash-silent bartender who somehow knew exactly when to top up a drink or disappear entirely. There were expensive bottles, platters of seafood and fruit laid out by the excellent Sofia, and music drifting softly through the deck speakers. You laughed, drank, danced barefoot under string lights, and watched the sun dip into the sea.

By the time night fell properly, Lea had passed out on one of the long couches, clutching a throw pillow like a lifeline. Amy had disappeared below deck with Manu about thirty minutes ago and hadn’t been seen since.

Which left you, barefoot at the railing, half a drink in hand, ocean breeze blowing your hair, talking to Johnny.

“Today, you became Amy and Lea’s favorite person,” you teased, glancing over your shoulder at him. He was leaning beside you, one arm braced casually against the rail.

He gave a lazy shrug, that usual smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “As I should be. I did try my best. Although my main guest of honor’s a little harder to impress.”

You chuckled, but didn’t say anything.

He chuckled too, eyes glinting as he looked at you for a long moment. “You look different,” he said. “Not in a bad way. Just… different. Your eyes don’t shine like they did when we first met.”

The sudden comment caught you off guard. He smiled and added, “Must’ve been hard for you after I left.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you turned back toward the dark water. “Not at all,” you said. “But… a lot’s happened since then. Been kind of a rough patch lately. Don’t really wanna talk about it. I’ll just bore you.”

He didn’t press. Just nodded, like he understood. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “But for what it’s worth—I know you’ll be fine. You’re the strong, independent type. You don’t need anyone.”

You smiled faintly, touched by the unexpected sincerity.

Then, with perfect Johnny timing, he tilted his head and said, “How was it? Am I sweeping you off your feet? Are you considering checking out my suite now?”

You turned to him, arching a brow. “Wow. Very subtle, Johnny,” you said flatly.

He grinned, shrugging with fake innocence. “Can’t be too forward. You might think I’m desperate to have sex with you.”

That made you laugh, and he watched you with a fond smile on his lips. After a few seconds, you handed him your empty glass and said, “Lead the way, then.”

He blinked once. Then let out a short breath of disbelief, like he was laughing at his own luck.

“Damn,” he said, cocking his head. “Didn’t think you’d actually bite.”

You raised a brow, feigning nonchalance. “So? Lead the way.”

Johnny paused. The smirk was still there, but it faltered a little. He avoided your gaze, then he leaned back just slightly, voice dropping lower.

“Nah,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Can’t mess around with drunk girls. Bad karma.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Still not gonna happen.”

You tilted your head. “That’s your excuse?”

He gave you a crooked grin, but he wasn’t meeting your eyes anymore. “It’s called principle, thanks. I’m being a gentleman for once, but don’t get used to it.”

You stared at him, trying not to laugh at his face. He was flustered. Johnny, king of confidence, was caught off guard. He probably hadn’t expected you to actually call him on his bluff. And now he was scrambling, all cool exterior but twitchy tells.

“Wow,” you teased, enjoying his struggle. “You’re not as smooth as I thought.”

“Well, whatever,” he deadpanned. “I’m gonna go make sure no one’s thrown themselves off the side of the boat.”

And with that, he turned and walked away. You smiled to yourself, shaking your head. Score one for you.

The next day was supposed to be a group outing. Johnny had invited all three of you on his boat again, planning a full day of sightseeing, drinks, and whatever else the ocean had in store.

But that morning, when you stepped out in your swimsuit and cover-up, your hair still damp from the shower, Amy and Lea were both lounging on the patio, coffee mugs in hand and suspiciously smug looks on their faces.

“What are you guys doing? We have to go,” you said matter-of-factly.

Amy hummed as she shook her head. “You’re going alone.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You need this, girl,” Lea said simply. “He’s hot. You’re heartbroken. And we’re tired of watching you mope.”

You scoffed indignantly. “I did not mope. When did I—”

“Go,” they said in unison.

So you did.

Johnny greeted you with a grin as you boarded his boat, wind tousling his hair and sunglasses perched cockily on his nose. “No entourage today?” he asked, helping you aboard.

“They bailed,” you said, shrugging. “No idea why.”

He smiled, clearly pleased. “Smart girls.”

You pointed a finger at him. “No funny business, Johnny Suh.”

Johnny raised his hands in surrender. “I’ll try, but no promises.”

The day unfolded like something out of a travel magazine. The sky was endless blue, the sea even more so. He took you to hidden coves and quiet stretches of beach, pointing out rocky cliffs and ancient ruins. You swam in the clearest water you’d ever seen, laughed until your stomach hurt, shared cold drinks and warm glances.

By late afternoon, you were stretched out beside him on the deck, towel beneath you, the sun dipping lower in the sky.

Johnny turned his head toward you, that lazy smirk still in place. “I know you don’t believe me, but my heart will definitely shatter once you leave. Although, I guess it’s worth it if it’s you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. Romantic.”

He chuckled. “I can be, if that’s what you’re into.”

You didn’t answer. Just looked at him, lying on his side, head propped on one hand, salt still glistening on his chest and sunglasses perched perfectly on his nose.

“I’ve been dying to be alone with you,” he said quietly.

You didn’t look away. “And now that you are?”

He gave a half-shrug, his smile softening. “Now I’m trying not to fuck it up.”

You smiled, leaned in just a little, and said, “Then don’t.”

It was all the permission he needed. With one swift motion, he hovered over you, his body blocking the sun as he looked down at you.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Are you?” you asked back, challenging him. “Or are you gonna get all flustered and adorable for me again?” you added, fingers tracing the curve of his abs.

“You’re playing a dangerous game here, sweetheart,” he challenged.

“So what? Too hot for you?”

eJohnny smirked, visibly impressed. His eyes flicked to your lips then briefly back to your eyes before diving in to kiss you. It was warm, salty, sun-drenched. His hand was confident when it landed on your waist, rubbing, feeling. Yours curled into his damp hair as the boat rocked gently beneath you, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

Below deck, the second the door shut behind you, Johnny had you pressed against it.

He kissed you deep, dirty, all tongue and teeth, his hands greedy as they found your waist and pulled you closer. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the seawater still drying in patches along his chest, the faint taste of liquor on his tongue. You reached down, tugged on the waistband of his shorts, and he laughed into your mouth.

“Impatient, are we?” he murmured, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth.

You kissed him hard, arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he groaned low in his throat as his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you to the bed like you weighed nothing. Your bare legs locked around his hips. Your thighs met the warm sheets and you gasped against his mouth when he bit your lip.

“God, I’ve been thinking about this all fucking day,” he muttered, kissing down your jaw, his hands roaming greedily over your sides. “You’re so goddamn sexy when you tease me.”

You tugged at his hair. “When did I do that?”

He smirked into your neck. “You obviously had no idea, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure you feel very, very sorry about it.”

His lips were on you again before the words even registered. Kissing you deep, kissing you slow, until you were squirming beneath him. His hand slid up your thigh, pushed the fabric of your swimsuit aside, and his thumb brushed where you were already soaked.

“Wet and excited,” he muttered. “Just the way I like it.”

“Johnny, stop talking and get on it,” you panted, hips chasing his hand.

Johnny grinned. “Alright, since you asked nicely.”

You shot him a glare, but it melted fast when he dropped to his knees. Pulled your bottoms off with one fluid motion and threw them somewhere behind him. 

You tipped your head back the moment his mouth touched you, one hand bracing on the edge of the bed, the other tugging at his hair again. “Johnny—fuck—”

He moaned into you, rough and obscene, like he wanted you to know just how much he was enjoying it. The room was filled with wet, messy sounds, your breathy gasps echoing above it all. You gripped his hair, trying to stay still, but your body had a mind of its own, hips rocking up into his face.

“I can’t—” you choked out, thighs trembling. You came embarrassingly fast, clenching hard around nothing as you gasped his name.

Johnny stood and kissed you, still tasting like you, and his hands were already pushing his shorts down. You reached for him, touched him, and he hissed in approval.

“Come here,” he growled, and then you were being turned, hands braced against the mattress, his chest pressing against your back. He slid inside you with a groan so guttural it made your toes curl.

The stretch stole your breath. “Oh, fuck—Johnny—”

Big, was what you wanted to say but you couldn’t choke the words out. Too big!

“God, you feel unreal,” he breathed against your shoulder, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise while the other slipped between your thighs again. “You gonna take it like a good girl or do you want to tell me what to do?”

You tried. You really tried. But every time you opened your mouth, he hit something inside you that made your thoughts scatter.

“Uh-huh,” he chuckled darkly. “That’s what I thought.”

The pace turned relentless. Fast and deep, the sounds of your bodies slapping together echoing off the cabin walls, your breathy moans mixing with his filthy praise. He told you how good you felt, how gorgeous you looked, how he’d been dreaming about this since the day he met you. You cursed, clutched the sheets, back arching, completely unraveling beneath him.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, pulling out and flipping you around.

He hovered above you, kissed you slow again, positioning himself between your legs. “You wanna ride me?” he asked, teasing.

You nodded, lips brushing his jaw. “Yeah. I do.”

He rolled onto his back immediately, hands behind his head. “Be my guest.”

It didn’t last long. You straddled him, sank down slowly, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. “Jesus Christ—”

You tried to find a rhythm, something steady, but the way he felt inside you—thick, deep, rubbing every spot perfectly—made it impossible. Especially with the way he kept watching you, mouthing dirty praised between clenched teeth, hips bucking up to meet yours.

“You’re so fucking tight—shit—look at you,” he groaned. “If you can only see yourself right now.”

His hands gripped your ass, helping you move, but then he sat up, mouth finding your collarbone, your shoulder, and suddenly he was thrusting up into you, hard and fast, stealing every ounce of composure you had left.

You clung to him, moaning shamelessly as he fucked you from below, his voice rough in your ear. “That’s it, baby. Come on. Cum for me, you know you want to.”

You did, again, harder than before—crying out as you clenched down around him, lightheaded and spiraling in euphoria.

Johnny swore under his breath, then flipped you onto your back in one fluid motion. “One more,” he rasped, driving back into you, not giving you time to catch your breath. “You’ve got one more in you, don’t you?”

You didn’t even answer. Just held on tight, nails digging into his back as he slammed into you, rough, messy, perfect. He kissed you through it, swore again when he felt you start to come undone, and then with one final thrust, he spilled into you, gasping your name against your mouth.

The silence after was satisfying. Heavy with heat and broken by his occasional grunts and your panting. You stayed tangled, sweaty and half-laughing, while he buried his face in your neck and caught his breath.

“Well,” he said eventually, voice hoarse. “I’m amazing, aren’t I?”

That made you laugh. “You’re alright.”

He laughed and kissed your shoulder. “Okay, liar,” he quipped before rolling onto the bed beside you.

You said goodbye to Johnny at the dock, the same spot he’d first said goodbye to you after taking you to this place. He helped your friends load their bags onto his yacht, cracked a joke about how he wasn’t running a taxi service, and kissed you once—quick and easy, no lingering promises. You smiled at him, genuine and grateful, and then he was gone, taking the laughter and chaos and comfort with him.

And just like that, you were alone.

You hadn’t truly been alone since you arrived in France. Doyoung had been with you in Paris on your first day, cute and shy. Jaehyun was on this island the day you got here, charming and kind, offering you help and himself. When he left, your friends arrived with wine and sunhats, and then Johnny swept in like a storm, all noise and heat. But now the house was truly empty. You hadn’t expected the silence to feel so loud.

For a while, you didn’t do much. You walked around barefoot, let the days pass lazily, ate too much fruit, and stared at the ocean. You were scared, not of the house, not of the work ahead, but of the loneliness. You’d never admitted that before. But there it was, pressing into your chest like it intended to suffocate you.

Still, you carried on.

Since you didn’t have the finances to convert the mansion into a guesthouse yet, you found work in town. Mornings were spent in a café near the harbor, brewing coffee and scribbling names on cups that always got smudged. Tourists liked you, maybe because you smiled even when you were tired, or maybe because you looked like a tourist yourself if one would take away the uniform and the beret.

At night, you waited tables at corner street restaurant, where the wine was relatively pricey and the seafood never disappointed. The hours were long, but the pay was fair, and the staff became familiar. You didn’t tell them much about yourself, just that you were from a small village a few miles away and saving up for something big.

You kept working on your plans when you got home—sketching interior designs, tallying costs, researching permits and licensing. Some nights you fell asleep with your laptop still open on your stomach. Other nights you walked down to the beach alone, letting the cool sand soothe your body and mind.

It wasn’t a glamorous life. But it was good.

And slowly, you started to feel less fragile. You didn’t miss Jaehyun, not exactly. What you missed was the closeness, the feeling of someone else’s warmth in the bed beside you, the distraction from your thoughts. But you were proud of yourself too. You were building something. Even if it wasn’t a hotel yet, even if it was just a new version of yourself.

Two months passed like that.

Work, sleep, plan, repeat. The days folded into each other like pages in a worn book—some soft and golden, others heavy with fatigue. You had slipped into a routine without realizing it. Maybe that’s why you didn’t notice at first.

Your period was late.

It didn’t hit you until one morning at the café, when the espresso machine was hissing in the background and a wave of nausea hit you out of nowhere. You brushed it off, blaming the heat. But the feeling stayed until you had to leave because you couldn’t take it anymore without throwing up. 

And then came the other things. The tenderness, the fatigue, the strange aversion to the smell of coffee that made your coworkers laugh but made your stomach turn.

You tried not to spiral. Maybe it was stress. You’d read that stress could delay periods. You'd been busy and tired. But still, something gnawed at you. So you had to check. 

On afternoon, after your shift ended early, you walked into a clinic two towns over, where no one knew your name. You filled out the form with shaky hands and let the nurse lead you through the halls, your heart racing in your chest.

And then came the results that were impossible to misunderstand. You were pregnant.

When you stepped back outside, the world was too bright, the sound of cicadas were roaring in your ears. You sat on a bench just outside the building, phone clutched in your hand but no one to call.

Because now came the real question: Who? Which one?

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought of it. The possibility had been there, but hearing the confirmation made it real. And now your mind spiraled through the summer like a montage, playing back every moment, every night, every touch.

Doyoung. Jaehyun. Johnny.

You weren’t reckless. It wasn’t about that. You had been careful—or at least you thought you had. But the lines blurred in your memory now, and all you were left with was the truth.

You were carrying a child, and you didn’t know who the father was.

You sat there for a long time. Just breathing. A little girl passed by holding her mother’s hand, chattering about ice cream. A breeze lifted your hair. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughed.

And you were still sitting. Still not sure what came next. But that night, you knew you needed to call Amy and Lea.

“This is why I always tell you to wrap it up,” Amy said immediately.

Neither of them knew what to say at first. You didn’t blame them. It wasn’t exactly news you could prepare them for.

“The raw way might be toe-curling, head-spinningly amazing,” Amy went on, “but it’s not worth it if it’s gonna get you knocked up out of wedlock.”

Lea scoffed audibly on the other line. “Shut up, Ames. You’re the one who always said condoms are cock-blockers and everyone should experience the ‘sheer delight’ of raw sex at least once.”

“I meant once, not—” Amy cut herself off. “Okay, never mind. We’re not talking about me.”

“You’re literally always talking about you.”

“Lea.”

“Sorry, sorry. Focus,” Lea said, clearing her throat. “So who do you think is the father?”

“Johnny Suh?” Amy ventured.

“Or Jeong Jaehyun,” Lea added. “You did say he was hot and brooding and emotionally intense, right? That sounds like potent baby-daddy energy.”

“Mm,” Amy mused. “But Johnny has the boat and the abs. I’m leaning Johnny.”

You sighed. “Guys.”

“Don’t ‘guys’ us,” Amy said. “You invited us into the drama, now let us live in it.”

“Okay, but there’s someone else…”

They both went quiet. “...Don’t tell me you slept with someone else after Johnny left?” Amy finally said.

You winced. “Actually, it was before. I met a guy named Kim Doyoung in Paris. Before coming to Corsica. Things happened.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, then both of them erupted in squeals.  “Three guys in just one summer?” Amy shrieked.

Lea was laughing. “You are an icon. How does it feel to be the main character of an erotic French film?”

“I feel nauseous,” you muttered.

“Pregnancy symptom,” Amy deadpanned.

“I’m serious,” you said, running a hand over your face. “What if it was Doyoung and I was just insane this whole time? Like, genuinely hormonal and insane. What if that’s why I got so swept up with Jaehyun? I couldn’t keep my hands off him. Maybe I was already pregnant then. Maybe I wasn’t even in love—just horny and mental.”

“Hormones do make you horny,” Amy said thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t be the first woman to fall in lust under the influence of progesterone.”

“No, girl. You cried over him,” Lea reminded gently. “And you don’t really cry over guys unless it’s real.”

“Yeah, but pregnant women are crazy women. How would I know what’s real and what’s not?” you whispered. “I just thought it was love but then it wasn’t. It was just me being reckless and careless and—”

“Babe,” Amy cut in. “I know what you’re doing. You’re denying that it was real. Even if it was love and even if it wasn’t, you’re allowed to have feelings. You don’t need to justify your heartbreak to anyone. Especially not to yourself.”

You were quiet for a second. “Thanks, Ames.”

Amy added, “And I still say it’s Johnny. Jaehyun probably pulls out. He sounds like a good guy. Good guys pull out.”

“Oh my god,” Lea said, cracking up. “On that note, I’m hanging up before Amy gives this baby a horoscope reading.”

“Wait, I totally should—”

Click. You stared at your phone, smiling faintly.

And then you weren’t smiling. You were just sitting again, alone in your big bedroom. A child is growing inside you. A thousand things left to figure out. But at least you had friends who made you laugh along the way.

You didn’t know what to do at first. The test had been positive, the signs were there, but your thoughts had scattered into every direction at once. You considered everything—your finances, your future. Your pride.

The sheer humiliation of having to call any of the three men, let alone all of them. What would you even say? That you had a summer full of crap decisions and now needed help guessing which one was the father?

No. Just the idea made you shrink into yourself.

You kept the secret close to your chest, rolling it over and over, sleepless nights spent making pro and con lists in your head. You had reasons—dozens of them—for why you couldn’t keep the baby. And everytime you came close to making the call, to booking the appointment, something stopped you.

And then it was too late to even consider it.

You gave birth to a healthy baby girl in a cool winter night, with the help of kind women in the village who knew what to do. They guided you through labor with gentle hands and wisdom, and when you finally held your daughter in your arms, all the noise in your head quieted down.

Your daughter was perfect. Warm and pink and wailing, with one little fist curled around your finger.

You named her together. Amy and Lea had flown in as quickly as they could, flustered and crying and loud as ever, and from that moment on, the baby was theirs too. Theirs and the village’s, because it really did take a village to raise a child. The baker who always snuck pastries into her bag. Old man Jean-Luc who carved her a cradle. The innkeeper who watched the baby when you picked up extra shifts.

The little girl grew into a sweet, curious child with wide eyes and smart wit. Everyone said she looked just like you. You were near-twins, people would say, shaking their heads fondly. 

“She’s your spitting image. Her dad’s genes didn’t even try!”

You raised your daughter with love. You taught her to be soft with the world but never small. To be good but not naive. To be strong but not unkind.

Meanwhile, you built the bed and breakfast from the ground up—slowly, with scraped knees and secondhand furniture, but with pride. It was small but beautiful. Cozy but polished. Tourists came, then returned, drawn by the warmth of the place and the magic of the island.

It wasn’t always easy—there were long nights, missed opportunities, tired tears—but it was yours. And you were happy.

Not the kind of happy that came with a man’s hands around your waist or whispered promises in the dark. The kind that looked like laughter over breakfast, like sun-dried sheets, like a child’s muddy footprints on a kitchen floor.

You didn’t need a man, and neither did your daughter. You had built a life of your own and it was enough.

“Mommy! Someone’s here!” your daughter called from the front door.

You had two hours left before guests would arrive for her birthday party. You were in the kitchen icing cupcakes when the doorbell rang, so you called out for her to answer it, assuming it was a parent dropping off a gift early—or Amy and Lea showing up with something too big to carry alone.

“I’ll be right out!” you called, wiping your hands on a dish towel as you jogged toward the front, hair tied up in a bun, frosting smudged on your arm. “Who is it, honey?”

You froze the moment you saw who she was staring at.

Standing on your porch were three men you hadn’t seen in years.

Doyoung, in a navy suit and tie, holding a bouquet of flowers. Johnny, sunglasses perched on his head, casual as ever but visibly hesitant. And Jaehyun, expression unreadable, eyes flicking from your face to the hand you’d unconsciously placed on your daughter’s shoulder.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

Then you let out a stunned, almost exasperated laugh.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

[the end... or is it?]