#chwe hansol

[97latte]

request for vernon high sex drive but like make it nonchalant but it becomes too high he just breaks??

high sex drive!vernon headcanons

high sex drive!vernon is suuuuuper nonchalant. like maybe sometimes too nonchalant. to a point where it seems like his willpower is godlike—but in reality, it is not.

high sex drive!vernon doesn’t seem to bat an eye when you wear those short, short skirts of yours, when he “accidentally” catches you naked after your shower.

high sex drive!vernon lets you have your way during sex, letting you dictate whether you want to be on top, or be a pillow princess for the night. it seems that he simply does not care.

high sex drive!vernon, in truth, has been holding back his sex drive and his sexual fantasies from you.

high sex drive!vernon who clenches his fists so hard in his jean pockets when he sees you in those skirts. Oh how he just wanted to bend you over the dinner table and fuck you raw in front of all of your friends.

high sex drive!vernon who tries so hard to keep the image of your naked body burnt in his brain for days so when he is fucking his fist for the third time that day, he can pretend he’s cumming deep inside of your gummy walls again and again.

high sex drive!vernon who simply just cannot hold himself back anymore. he sees you get up to shower off his cum off of your back and his cock twitches—a signal that he is not done, yet.

high sex drive!vernon who has your arms pinned behind your back as he pistons himself in and out of your pussy, grunting and breathing raggedly in your ear. “fuck—you have no idea how much i’ve been holding myself back from fucking you like this. breaking you like this.”

high sex drive!vernon who cums for the second time, now making it a point to do so inside of you so he can watch it ooze out of your swollen lips as he roughly jacks himself off. he’d use his middle finger to scoop up the dripping cum, then pushing it right back into you again.

high sex drive!vernon who instructs you on how to move your hips as your knees give out from beneath you. he’d let out a moan when your sloppy movements rub his cock just right - gripping your hips hard as he tried to recreate that sensation without asking too much from you. he’s pinching your nipples, caressing your cheek, smacking your ass—his hands never leave your body.

high sex drive!vernon who feels his high coming for the third time and gets a little whiny. “y’gonna milk me dry baby? you gonna let me fill you up again?” he’s making eye contact with you, eyebrows scrunched up slightly, lips parted in breathy moans. pulls you down to messily make out with him as he filled you up for the second time.

high sex drive!vernon who is panting now, both of you slumped on top of your wet bed sheets—“fuck, i’m hard again.”

a/n: why is he so goddamn hot???!!! also i did not proofread this 😌 ty for the request, i had so much fun with this one 😛 <33

[seungcheorry]

“did you know…”, you begin, tracing vernon’s neck as he hums in delight.

“know what?”, the vibration of his throat reaches your lips.

“they say that your moles mark the places your soulmate liked kissing you in your past life”, your words come out calmly, even though your heart is beating loudly inside your chest.

vernon chuckles, firmly wrapping an arm around your waist in a silent plea of ‘please, don’t stop’.

“that’s kinda cute.”

“it is”, you nod, breathing in his scent. “and i think it’s true, that would explain why you have so many moles on your neck.”

“do i?”

vernon pulls back a little, just enough to look you in the eyes. he tries not to focus on how red and plump your lips are right now.

“you do. one on the left side, one on the right side, and one on the back”, you say with a little smile, like you had his body memorized by now - which you did.

he smiles softly. “and you’re the one who did it?”

“i mean…”, you bite back a smug smile. “who else could have loved your neck in the past life as much as i do today?”

“no one”, he says in a heartbeat. “plus, you only have one soulmate.”

you lean forward to peck his lips, humming when he deepens the kiss.

“and that’s me?”, you whisper against his lips.

vernon laughs. his eyes are closed, and you melt in the way his thumb is caressing the skin of your waist underneath your shirt.

“you said it yourself”, he whispers back. “who else could it be?”

a/n: i am just a girl with a heavy crush on her bias, pls forgive me.

[chwedout]

where to go? where to stay?

[horahae]

The Wedding Date - Chwe Hansol Vernon

Pairing: neighbor!vernon x f!reader

Summary: when your ex invites you to his wedding, your recluse neighbor, hansol, offers to go with you as your fake boyfriend. what starts as a meaningless weekend trip, turns into something so much more.

W.C: 12.4k

CW: strangers to best friends to lovers, starts kind of angsty but then turns pretty fluffy and stays fluffy the rest of the time, heavy romcom vibes, reader and vernon are frequently smoking, alcohol consumption, swearing, seungcheol is your ex and kind of an ass (sorry cheol), fake dating trope, kissing, reader and vernon have a lot of fun banter and they're just overall v cutesy together hehe hardcore mutual pining as well bc they're down bad for each other i fear

A/N: got the idea for this after a dream i had um so…yeah. do with that what you will LOL the ending is lowkey a little rushed, but i'm still satisifed with it i think. - dividers by @uzmacchiato

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It was a quiet evening, with nothing but the sound of the cars below the terrace passing by every several minutes. This time of night was your favorite, because it meant the noise of the world was off. Most people hated being alone with their thoughts, but it was the only way you could cope with the insomnia that usually took over your nights. Thinking, processing—working through whatever the day has given to you. 

You are hugging your knees against your chest, feeling the cold metal of the fire escape against your bare neck as you lean your head against the brick of your apartment building. There is a warm breeze passing through. Closing your eyes, you feel it fan your cheeks as you draw in a deep breath. 

Today wasn't much different than any other day, other than the fact that you received an invitation to a wedding you didn't want to attend. 

Which, fine, in hindsight, that made the day pretty shitty. 

It was one thing when your ex broke up with you, but for him to have the audacity to send you that invite just crushed you. You'd known he had moved on for a while, now. Seungcheol was never shy about showing off his significant others online, as you were once familiar with. When he began posting with his new girlfriend (Yuna, you think her name was), it was easy to deal with because he didn't live near you anymore. But then that pretty little envelope was stuffed into your mailbox today, and you weren't even sure why he felt inclined to send the invite. Did he feel bad for you? Was it some kind of pity invite, seeing as life hadn't been as kind to you since the breakup that it was to him?

When you open your eyes again, you hear a slight rattling coming from above you. Turning your head up, you notice your upstairs neighbor, Chwe Hansol, climbing out of his window. You'd never spoken to him much outside of a quick nod in the hallway, or typical "weather" small talk in the elevator. But you did know that he was a fellow insomniac. This had become an unspoken routine between the two of you: you'd climb out first, spend a few minutes alone. Hansol would follow suit, light a cigarette, and offer you one. Then you'd just...sit in silence. You were always the first to leave, the second that dawn started to break. Hansol always stayed a few minutes after you left before retreating to his own apartment. 

Your gaze turns back to the alley below, and you can hear the flicker of Hansol's lighter. When the smell of the smoke invades your senses, you hear him cough slightly. 

"You want a cigarette?" He asks hoarsely. He had either just woken up or been crying before joining you. You don't know him well enough to make a verdict, however. 

You push yourself to your feet and begin climbing up the stairs to the landing by his apartment. He passes you a cigarette, then quietly lights it.  When you press the butt to your lips, you sit. Your legs hang off the landing as you lean forward against the rail. 

"You look rough," Hansol observes aloud. 

You take a slow drag of the cigarette, then look over to him. "What happened to silence?"

"I don't want silence tonight." He answers. "Is that a problem?"

"I guess not." You shrug. The smoke curls out of your nostrils as you exhale and look ahead again. "Yeah, it was a rough day. What about you?"

"Same." Hansol presses his lips into a thin line. 

The silence returns, and in a way, you're thankful for it. It's not that you had anything against Hansol, but this was unfamiliar. Talking wasn't something the two of you ever did, so why now?

You take another drag of the cigarette, letting the breeze take the smoke away with it. After a few moments, Hansol sits next to you. His shoulder bumps yours momentarily before he quickly moves away. 

"What's your name?"

You laugh, flicking the ash off the end of your cigarette. It falls through the fire escape as you look over to him. 

"I know your name."  You comment. "All these months of living next to each other, and you never figured it out?"

"I guess I never paid attention before." He admits. 

Rolling your eyes, you give him your name. Hansol repeats it, like he's engraining it into his memory. 

"Pretty." He mutters. "It suits you."

You choose to ignore the compliment. "Hansol suits you. I guess, as much as I can assume."

"I guess," Hansol repeats as a smile creeps up onto his face. "You want to talk about your shitty day?"

The truth was, talking about it would be really nice. But you didn't know Hansol well enough to feel like you could dump your issues onto him. So you opt to keep things vague. At least for now. 

"I heard from someone today." You spoke slowly. "I, uh, haven't heard from them for a while. It kind of felt like a slap to the face, you know?"

He hums in agreement. "I get it. Did you say anything back?"

"It wasn't like that." You clarify. Sighing, you decide ‘fuck it’. "My ex is getting married. He sent me an invitation, and I don't know why."

That gets Hansol to look at you. His eyes are widened in amusement, and you almost want to wipe the dumb grin off his face. 

"Fuck," he laughs in disbelief. "What an ass. I'm sorry."

You shrug. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Why was your day shitty?" You clarify. "You can't expect me to share and think you'll get away with not sharing as well. You're the one who wanted to talk."

"Right." He mutters. He reaches behind the two of you, grabbing the ashtray. You both put your cigarettes out, then turn your gazes back to the alleyway. "My girlfriend broke up with me. Work sucked, too. I guess the universe has it out for me right now."

"For both of us." You grunt. "I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about the breakup?"

"Not really." He says casually. It's like he's unaffected by it, which seems odd to you. You push the thought away, though. "It was a matter of time. We weren't good for each other. I guess I was expecting to do it before she did, though."

You scoff at that. "What, you got a bruised ego now?"

"So what if I do?" Hansol retorts. "Besides, it seems like you're not much better off. Your ex invited you to a wedding–one that isn't with you, by the way."

It's quiet for a second, and then you laugh. It catches Hansol by surprise, but you couldn't help it. It bubbles out of you before you have the chance to stop it.

"Fuck." You manage through your laughter. "What a bunch of losers we are, huh?"

That elicits a laugh from Hansol. "Well, she called me a scumbag, but loser works, too."

"They're interchangeable." You fire back as you look over to him. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm sorry you had a shitty day."

"Yeah." Hansol sighs, meeting your gaze. "You too."

The two of you fell back into your normal routine after that night. A week passed without any conversation, but there was a shift in the air: like you both understood each other a little bit more, now. 

Meanwhile, the RSVP on your table remained. It is gradually approaching the date to send it back, and you aren't yet sure which path to take. The idea of asking Hansol his thoughts left as quickly as it came. You weren't sure if the conversation from last week warranted a pass to ask him for life advice–especially when it was about your ex. 

The rattling of a window pulls you from your thoughts. You glance at the clock on your stove.

6:43 pm.

He was early...eight hours early. Your feet begin to move before you can think twice about it. The window sticks a moment before you get it fully pushed up. You're greeted by Hansol walking down to your window, looking flustered and angry.

"Can I rant?" He asks, a bit winded from making the descent to your apartment. 

You blink a few times. "Sure."

Stepping to the side, Hansol hesitates before climbing into your apartment. As you close the window again, you catch him studying the inside of your home. You're suddenly very aware of the fact that you let a stranger into your living room, and begin to pace back to your kitchen table. Back to the invitation.

"Nice place." He comments. 

"Thanks." You mutter. You like to keep things minimal. The place consists mostly of white decor and furniture, with a few pops of color here and there. Everything is always kept clean, and clutter is always tucked away. 

Hansol clears his throat before collapsing onto your couch. "I'm sorry for just showing up. I don't really have any friends in the area anymore, and I just need to get this out of my system."

"Don't worry about it." You wave him off. "Do you want something to drink?"

He thinks for a moment. "What do you have?"

You pad into your kitchen, then open the rickety door on your fridge. It squeaks slightly as you peek inside. 

"I have sparkling water." You announce. "I also have soju and–"

"I'll take the soju." He quickly cuts in. Then adds, "please."

Grabbing two bottles, you kick the door closed again, then meander back towards him. He happily takes the drink from you as you sit on the opposite side of the couch. You both drink in silence, almost as if the two of you were allowing the space to be made before approaching the topic. When Hansol pulls the bottle away from his lips, you see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows.

"My ex called me today." He finally says. "Not for any reason. Just to pick an argument."

"Over what, exactly?" You glance at him. He runs a hand through his hair, then takes another drink. 

"I still have some of her shit at my apartment." He explains, meeting your eyes. "I told her last week to come get it. When she ignored my texts about it, I stuffed it all into a garbage bag. I didn't want to look at it anymore, you know?"

You nod to let him know you're listening. He continues.

"Anyways, she finally came over about three hours ago to get it." His gaze shifts down to his lap. "She called me fifteen minutes ago to accuse me of throwing one of her stupid shirts away. Then, she went on a whole tangent about how I never took care of her things and how careless I am. She told me that my carelessness was what drove her away from me, and some other bullshit after that. She barely let me get a word in, and just hung up before I could say anything."

"Jesus." You grumble, taking a sip of your drink. 

"Yeah." Hansol scoffs. 

The silence returns, and this time, you're not sure if you should offer him anything else. He's sunken lower into your couch, like he's trying to be swallowed whole by the cushions. His expression is blank, and you're not entirely sure what to make of it or him right now. You take another swig of your soju, then set your half-empty bottle on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Um, I know we don't really know each other," you lean back, looking over to him. His attention is still on his lap. "But I think it's good you're not in that relationship anymore. Not that it's my place to say, but you shouldn't be with someone who talks to you like that."

Hansol lifts his head towards you, then takes another drink as he holds eye contact. When he pulls the bottle away again, he drags his tongue across his bottom lip. You're not sure you like the way he's looking at you. There’s something behind his eyes that you aren’t quite sure how to read. Shifting slightly, you decide to change the topic. 

"If it's any consolation, things aren't much better for me, either," you laugh bitterly. "I have to RSVP by the end of the week for my ex's wedding."

Hansol laughs. "You're considering going?"

"I don't know." You say softly. Your shift in tone causes his laughter to slow, as he realizes that the thought was actually weighing on you. You groan, then lean back against the cushions. "I just feel like he's expecting me not to be there. He knows that I've been dealt a shitty deck of cards since he left, but my pride wants to prove that things aren't as bad as they really are."

"So, what, you want to go pretend like things are okay?" Hansol questions. 

"Maybe?" You roll your head to look at him. He is already staring at you. "I don't know. I don't care if everyone else knows how bad things are, but I just want him to think they're good. Kind of like rubbing it in his face that I'm fine without him."

Hansol pauses. "You're not?" 

"Obviously not." You roll your eyes. 

Your voice catches slightly, so you will yourself to look up at the ceiling. You were not about to cry in front of a man you hardly knew. It's Hansol's turn to be quiet. The gears in his head were practically audible; you could tell he was trying to think of something to say. You didn't necessarily need advice, but talking about it helps. Even if you're not sharing the full story. 

"Would it help if you had someone go with you?" He finally asks. 

You hadn't thought about that. Even if you did, though, you didn't exactly have friends to ask. There was Jun, your cubicle neighbor. You've gotten coffee with him a few times, but never enough to call him a 'friend'. Aside from that, your best friend, Joshua, recently moved back to the States to be with his family. Between the two of them, you were pretty isolated.

"Maybe." You respond. "But, much like you, I don't really have anyone around here. I don't have anyone I could ask."

He shrugs. "I could go with you, if you want?"

It's your turn to laugh. You sit up, then shift your body so you're facing him. He quickly sits up in response. 

"As far as I know, you could be a serial killer." You quip, grabbing your soju again. 

"Please," Hansol scoffs, but there's hardly any bite to it. Instead, a coy smile is painted across his face. "If I were a serial killer, I would've killed you by now."

"Hm," you hum as the soju trickles down your throat. You swallow, then rest the bottle in your lap. "Not a coaxing type, huh?"

"Nah," he shakes his head. "I think I'd be right to the point about it. I mean, why coax if I'm just gonna kill you anyway?"

The smile that creeps its way onto your face is easy. If you'd known Hansol was this fun, maybe you would've taken the chance to talk to him sooner. Then again, maybe that was just the alcohol talking. You were starting to feel the slight buzz as you took another drink. 

"I mean it, though." He adds. "I know it's, ah, weird to go with someone you just met, but, I dunno, we could play it up, I think."

You press your brows together. "What do you mean?"

Hansol clears his throat, then shifts his body to face yours. "Well, you want to make it seem like you've got your shit together. Right?"

You nod. 

"So, if I go with, we could both clean up real nice," he explains. "I could pretend to be your new boyfriend for the weekend. It gets me away from my ex, and paints a pretty little picture for yours."

The words don't form right away. It wasn't exactly a bad idea, but would it even work? You haven't really been secretive about the fact that you've been a sinking ship for the past couple of years, but you've also never been one to post your relationships online–so it could work in that capacity. 

Would Seungcheol even buy it? 

As if Hansol is reading your thoughts, he leans in slightly. Your knees brush. "You're overthinking it. It'll be foolproof. I'm a great actor, you know?"

"In case you’ve forgotten, we just met." You deadpan. "Plus, don't you think it'll be, like, weird traveling with someone you don't know?"

"Only if you make it weird." He shrugs. "It's obviously your call."

You take a moment to absorb Hansol's appearance. Part of you was really questioning if he truly could clean up well–you'd only ever seen him wearing the same pair of ratted, grey sweatpants and matching hoodie. You were also pretty positive the beanie he tends to wear had never been replaced. Did he own any other clothes? Now that you really thought about it, what did he even do for work? Hobbies? Obviously, he's had at least one relationship before. If you decide to take him up on his offer, you guys would really have to get to know each other.

Because right now, you knew nothing. 

Finally, you ask, "What's your favorite color?"

He falters for a moment. "Why?"

"If you're supposed to be my fake boyfriend, I need to know you." You counter. "I don't know you, Hansol."

"Oh, right." He nods. He tosses the last of his soju back, then sets the bottle down on the table. "Um, well, I like all colors, truthfully. I guess I lean towards red and black the most."

You don't even realize you're making a face until he smiles in amusement. 

"What's wrong with those?" He argues. "What’s yours?"

"Pink." You answer quickly. "I like blue, too. But pink has always been my favorite."

"Pink." He repeats. "I could've guessed that."

"Oh yeah?" You quip. "On what grounds?"

Hansol kicks his legs up, making himself at home on your couch. Without hesitation, he stretches his legs across your lap, as if he'd done it a million times prior to this moment. You should be weirded out, but much to your own surprise, you don't mind it too much. You find yourself warming up to Hansol's easy personality as you finish off your own soju and set the bottle beside his. 

"You're always wearing something..." he trails off, folding his arms across his chest, "...pretty."

"Pretty?" You raise your eyebrows at him. 

His eyes widen momentarily. "No, not like that. I just mean, you're always wearing something so girly."

You hum. "I am a girl, you know."

"I know." He groans. "God, I just mean that your wardrobe is so frilly and bright. Do you even know how surprised I was when I found out you smoked?"

That was an argument you couldn't counter. He wasn't wrong: your wardrobe has always consisted primarily of dresses or skirts. God forbid a girl likes to dress nicely. Even your pajamas, which Hansol often found you in, were 'frilly', as he worded it. You like matching sets and very seldom wear mismatched clothes. Nighttime was no exception to that. Even now, sprawled across your couch, you were donning a tank top and pants set you had gotten from a small boutique a few weeks ago. 

"I'm a woman of many surprises." You wink as you kick your own legs up onto the coffee table. "I got into smoking back in high school. I guess I thought I could try a rebellious phase, but it didn't work. The nicotine addiction ended up staying, though. Seungcheol hated it."

"Seungchoel?" Hansol frowns. "Is that your ex?"

"Yeah." You sigh. "But you'll meet him later. You're not missing out on anything exciting, really."

Hansol perks up at that. "Later?" He asks. "So, we're doing this?"

You stare back at him, silently cursing yourself for the slip of tongue. But really, it couldn't be all that bad. Conversation seems to flow easily with him, and this trip could be a good opportunity to get the closure you fully need. Having company would be nice to handle any fallout that might happen afterward, too. 

What's the worst that could happen?

"What the hell?" You sigh. "Sure. You can be my date to this wedding."

Hansol bites back a smile. "Cool."

You were juggling a handful of groceries when you felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket. You curse slightly before dropping everything onto your kitchen table, not even caring that your new bag of apples just fell onto the floor. You push the door shut with your hip, then pull your phone out.

Seungcheol.

He must've gotten the RSVP. Your breath hitches as you hold the device to your ear. "Um, hello?"

"Hey." He exhales, like he wasn't sure if you'd really answer. You couldn't blame him for that, though. You weren't even sure when you last spoke to him. An awkward silence fills the air between the two of you, as you try to debate whether you let him talk himself silly, or if you try to manage a conversation. He beats you to the decision. 

"Uh, Yuna and I got the RSVP!" He exclaims a little too loudly. "A plus one, huh? Is Joshua coming?"

"No, he moved back to California." You answer. "I'm bringing my boyfriend."

There's no response. You smirk in victory as you begin to clean up your groceries and put them away. There's a light tap on your window, where Hansol is waving back at you. You silently wave him in, as Seungcheol draws in a deep breath. 

"You're seeing someone?" He questions. "That's...wow. Nice."

"Yeah, I am." You respond as Hansol walks over to you. He's carrying something under his arm, but you can't tell what it is. It looks like some kind of clothes. He gestures to your phone, and you mouth 'Seungcheol' to him. He chuckles.

"What's his name?" Seungcheol asks. 

You roll your eyes. "It's on the RSVP, Cheol. Hansol. If you don't need anything else, he just got here. I'd like to spend time with him."

"Oh, sure." He almost sounds disappointed, but you don't let yourself dwell on it. "Yeah, uh, we'll see you in a month, then."

"See ya." You hang up before he can try to say anything else, then toss the phone onto your table. 

"No pajamas?" He gestures to you. 

"Hansol, it's only four." You reply. "I just got off work. I see you’re already comfy, though."

He grins at that. "Yeah, I had the day off. I found some old suits, and I didn't know what you were wearing. I figured we needed to match." 

"What do you even do for work?" You question, carrying a handful of bags into your kitchen. Hansol hesitates before grabbing the remaining bags and following behind you.

"I manage a skate shop." He answers. "The one downtown? It's next to that coffee shop that Mrs. Lee owns."

"Oh, I think I know what you're talking about." You nod, picturing it in your head already. The downtown area has always been pretty worn and grungy-looking, but it's also one of the oldest strips in the city. You wouldn't have imagined Hansol owning his own business, but you were pleasantly surprised with that answer. A skate shop suited him, too. 

"What about you?" He asks, setting his bags down on the counter beside him. He begins to unload the groceries as you put them away. You fall into a good rhythm before you look over to him. 

"I don't do anything exciting." You grin. "I'm a secretary for a law firm."

"Gross." Hansol teases. "Have you always wanted to do that?"

You shake your head. "Not necessarily. But it pays well, and I get my weekends off."

He nods as he watches you put the last of the items away. You pat down your dress, then look over to him. He's staring absently, like he isn't sure what to say next. 

"So, uh, your suits?" You remind him. "What do you have?"

"Oh." He looks under his arm, where the clothes were still neatly tucked away. "Right. Yeah, I haven't worn these in forever. I hope they still fit."

"I can alter them if you need." You shrug. "My mom taught me how to sew, you know."

The two of you make your way to the living room again, settling on the same couch you sat in several nights ago. 

"I didn't know that." Hansol comments. "But I guess I could see it. It fits you."

When you were a kid, your mother was a firm believer in teaching you basic life skills. You’d learned everything between cooking, sewing, gardening, baking–whatever she deemed would be necessary to live in case of emergencies. 

"Okay,” Hansol announces as he unfolds and lays out the clothes, “I've got two options. I have this plain black-and-white one, or a tan suit jacket with matching pants. I could wear a white button-up under it?"

You lean in closer, running your hand along the material of each outfit. They both look fine, but you hadn't even taken inventory of your own closet yet to find something to wear. It was almost endearing how eager he was to go on this trip. You push the thought away. As you try to make a decision, you remember a nice cocktail dress you had bought shortly after your breakup with Seungcheol: it fell just above the knees, and was a very nice shade of brown. An elegant color that complemented your skin tone nicely. If you remember correctly, Seungcheol's invite also had a dress code. Earthy tones. 

"Let's go with the tan one." You look up at him to find him watching you intently. You scoot away from him again. "I have a dress that will match."

Hansol clears his throat. "Yeah, cool."

The two of you fall into your usual silence. Hansol glances out the window, where you notice the faintest shimmer of silver dangling from his ear. You gasp, playfully shoving him. 

"An earring?" You ask as he turns to look at you. "I didn't know you had your ears pierced."

"All these months of sitting next to each other, and you're just now noticing?" He smirks. "Yeah, I've had them for a while. Will I need to take them out for the wedding?"

You quickly shake your head. "No, no. They're fine. I was just surprised to see them, I guess."

"I am a man of many surprises." He winks. "What're your plans for the rest of the evening?"

Really, you hadn't thought that far ahead. You figured your usual terrace-time (as Hansol has now dubbed it) would be on the agenda, as it was every night. They were enjoyable now, too. The new conversations are always enjoyable, but now, the company is growing on you, too. It was funny how Hansol already had a slot in your day-to-day life, but somehow managed to fit himself into it even more. Not that you were complaining. You were nowhere near complaining. 

"Not much." You answer. "I mean, probably change and make some dinner. Then, of course, terrace-time."

Hansol laughs. "Uh, how would you feel about skipping terrace-time?"

"What, why?" You frown. 

"I was thinking," he draws in a deep breath, "since we have to play these...roles...what if we just hung out today? Like, a normal hangout. No wallowing on the fire escape and smoking. I'm talking about proper conversation. I can make dinner."

You stare back at him, a little taken aback at the suggestion. If you didn't know any better, that would sound an awful lot like a date. But you knew it wasn't. It was strictly business, of course. It was probably smart, too. You knew the two of you needed to come up with a fake story about how you met and how long you'd been dating... you'd need to flesh out any details now so it didn't bite you in the ass later. 

"Is that too much?"

You blink a few times, realizing you spaced out on him. You quickly shake your head, then push yourself to your feet. 

"No, sorry." You smile at him gently. "I'm just tired. I think that would be a good plan, though. The more we know about each other, the better. Right?"

"Right." He quickly agrees.

You hesitate for a moment when you realize you're still in your work clothes. 

"Um, I'll change, then." You announce awkwardly. "If you want to get the stuff for dinner...?"

Hansol's eyes widen. "Oh, right." He quickly gathers the suits again. You watch as he retreats back out the window and disappears up the fire escape.

By the time the dreaded weekend rolls around, the realization that you’re seeing Seungcheol again settles like an unwelcome guest in the pit of your stomach. You’re sitting on the airplane beside Hansol, who is bobbing his head along to whatever music plays through his headphones. 

The only plus side is that, within the last month, you and Hansol have gotten fairly close. You’ve learned a lot about him, and you guys came up with the perfect cover story for your fake relationship. You’ve both recited it a million times by now: you’d run into each other one day when you were both coming home from work. When you found out you were neighbors, you started spending more time together, and Hansol finally asked you out. 

You were just hoping the story would be enough to get through this weekend. 

As you sink lower into your chair, you feel Hansol tug on the sleeve of your hoodie. You roll your head to look at him, and he takes his headphones off. 

“You okay?” He asks. 

Shrugging, you look back out the window. “I haven’t seen Seungcheol in almost five years. I’m just nervous about what kind of emotions I’ll feel when I see him again. It’s been easy to avoid him since we didn’t live near each other, but now…” You trail off. Below, the sky is clear and blue. 

“You won’t be alone, though.” Hansol nudges you gently. “I’ll be there with you. Besides, we can make fun of how gross the food is and how fancy everything will be compared to our shitholes of apartments.”

You snort at that. “Knowing Seungcheol, the whole place will probably be dripping in his parents’ money.” You sit up to face him again, and his body is already facing yours. 

“God, to have that kind of money.” Hansol clicks his tongue. “You think I’ll ever reach that point selling skateboards?”

“Highly unlikely.” You respond. You don’t remember when the two of you got closer, but you don’t mind. His knee occasionally bumps your leg as you talk. “But it’s okay, because I won’t make that much answering phones, either.”

He laughs, laying his head back against the headrest. “Damn, we won’t have terrace-time this weekend.”

“Hm,” you sigh, “what’re the odds our hotel room has a balcony?”

Hansol crosses his fingers as he turns his attention back to his phone. He doesn’t move away from you, though, as he gently leans against your shoulder with his own. You close your eyes, trying to get comfortable. Having Hansol here may actually be really nice, you think. 

And maybe, hopefully, having him with you means this weekend will be manageable instead of intolerable. 

Good news: the hotel room has a balcony.

Bad news: it only has one bed.

You and Hansol have been standing in the entryway for a few minutes now, unsure of what to say or do. You couldn’t exactly fault Seungcheol for booking it this way, though, because he was under the assumption that you were coming with your boyfriend. You just didn’t account for the fact that hotel rooming would be an issue until now. 

“Okay,” Hansol finally speaks, taking a few steps into the room, “we can be mature about this, right?”

“Right!” You reply, but the way your voice wavers hardly hides the fact that this makes you nervous. Maybe if you just slept really close to the edge of the bed, it wouldn’t be noticeable that your friend was only a few feet away from you.

Hansol tosses his suitcase into the chair in the corner of the room. You watch as he opens up the blinds, then steps onto the balcony. Trailing behind, you set your suitcase on the bed and flop down beside it. 

“Damn, who knew that Hawaii would be so…” Hansol trails off. “Hm. Hot?”

A laugh bubbles out from you as you hear him wander back inside. He flops beside you onto the bed. 

“What were you going to say?” You ask, turning your head to look at him. He shrugs, then brings his hands up behind his head. 

“I was going to say cool, but we’re supposed to hate this trip, right?” He replies. “Or, at least hate the person who booked it and invited you.”

You hum. “I don’t think Hawaii needs to catch our smoke because I’m mad at my ex.”

“True.” Hansol agrees, then shouts, “Sorry, Hawaii!” Out the window. 

You playfully smack his side before sitting up, but Hansol is laughing. When you glance down at him, his laughter slows and something shifts. 

It wasn’t noticeable immediately. It starts with your stomach flipping at the way he is looking up at you. Then, your heart quickens and you can feel your smile falter. It seems like Hansol feels it, too, because you see the corners of his mouth twitch and the tips of his ears turn pink. 

In all the months you’ve known him, you’ve never realized how attractive he is. Sure, you always thought he was decent-looking. But right now, as he stares up at you with his soft eyes and messy, brown hair, it really registers to you that Hansol is beyond cute. Beyond handsome. You’re not sure you have a word to describe it. 

You clear your throat and stand, quickly pushing whatever that feeling is out of the way. It has to just be the change of location, right? Don’t people usually have flings when they go on vacation? You’re nervously tucking your hair behind your ears when you hear him stand from the bed. 

“Um, do we want to shower and go check out the beach?” You ask, not daring yourself to look at him just yet. Your cheeks feel hot, and you’re not even sure why you’re blushing. Nothing happened. He just looked at you, and you feel a bit ridiculous for letting it fluster you so much. “I think I want to freshen up, but then I figure we can explore? There’s supposed to be a bar somewhere in here.”

“Sure.” Hansol says, his voice low. “Uh, you can shower first. I think I need a smoke break after the plane ride.”

God, you’d kill for one, too. But you think you need the distance from Hansol more, as you slide into the bathroom to start the shower. 

Yes, distance will be good. 

You’re finishing off your second margarita as you and Hansol sit in the sand. The waves crash against the shore, bringing a refreshing breeze with it. Beside you, Hansol is pressing the butt of his cigarette to his lips and inhaling slowly. When he pulls it away again, he glances over to you. 

“You know, I think this beats our fire escape by a long shot.” He states. “The air here feels more fresh.” 

You set your empty glass in the sand next to you, then lay back. Your hair fans out behind you. “That’s because the air pollution in Korea is so much worse than here.” You pause. “Plus, we’re on vacation. I think everything feels better on vacation.” 

Hansol sighs, and your usual silence falls between you once again. It’s a clear evening, making the stars totally visible from where you lay. You can make out a few constellations like the big dipper and orion’s belt. As the alcohol settles in your system, you can feel the tequila catching up to you as your head begins to feel light. 

The shower earlier helped, and you think that fleeting moment in the hotel room was just a combination of exhaustion and all the extra time you’ve spent with Hansol. The rest of the night has felt normal, and you were grateful for it. It’s not like you have anything against him, but you’d be lying if you said a portion of you wasn’t nervous to get involved in anything romantic again. 

Assuming that was what Hansol felt too, anyway. 

“Hey,” he says as he stretches out and lays beside you, “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to but…what happened between you and Seungcheol?” 

You shift slightly. “Oh.”

“Sorry if that’s crossing some kind of boundary.” He quickly adds. “I was just curious. It seems to be weighing on you a lot, so—“

“It’s okay,” You reassure him. “I don’t care that you asked. I just haven’t talked about it in a few years.”

Hansol is quiet, as if to give you the space you need to either share more or stop the conversation all together. You draw in a deep breath. As if the margarita has made a decision for you, you begin to feel the words spill out before you can stop them. 

“Seungcheol and I first met at university.” You explain. “He was going for law, and I was going for business. We shared a few classes, and started going out in our second to last year of our undergrad programs.”

Hansol is quiet, so you keep going. 

“Things were fine for a while,” you continue as you fold your hands across your stomach. “We dated for three years. I guess somewhere along the way he decided that he didn’t love me anymore. He just forgot to tell me that before he started seeing someone else.”

You hear Hansol sit up beside you. You turn your head to find him frowning. 

“He cheated on you?” He asks. 

“More or less,” you shrug. “Anyway, the girl he’s marrying is who he did it with. That’s why this whole invitation has felt like some sick joke.”

Hansol’s jaw tightens, as he looks out at the ocean in front of you both. “What a dick.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it.” You scoff. “But, yeah. I’m really appreciative that you offered to come with me, though. It’s only been eight hours, but I’m having fun so far.”

When he turns to look at you again, you feel the same shift as you did back in the hotel room. With the tequila in your system, though, the feeling is a lot more intense. His features seem amplified in the moonlight as the breeze sweeps through his brown hair. 

“I’m having fun, too.” He replies as a smile teases at the corners of his lips. “It’s easy to have fun with you. I haven’t had that for a while.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Oh. Well, good. I’m glad. Me neither.” 

Hansol stays like that for a beat before laying down again beside you. You’re suddenly very aware of how close his arm is, and how it brushes against yours when he moves or shifts in the slightest. You don’t move, though, and neither does he. 

Desperate to break the silence this time, your tipsy mind begins to scramble for a topic change or something else to bring up entirely. You try to swallow down your nerves, but it doesn’t do much. 

“Uh, Hansol?” You turn your head to look at him. “Why do you think it took us so long to finally talk to each other?” 

“Hm,” He muses, stretching his arms out before folding them across his chest. It’s his turn to stare up at the stars, and you wonder if he sees the same constellations you had a few minutes ago. “Well, do you want the truth?”

“Depends on what the truth is.” You mumble nervously. 

Then, completely serious, he says, “I was coaxing.”

You blink, not understanding initially. When Hansol turns his head to face you, it’s obvious he’s trying (and failing) to hold in his laughter. That’s when you remember the serial killer joke you’d made to him when you first met. You gasp, and the laugh practically bursts out of him. 

“I knew you’d be the coaxing type!” You exclaim, quickly scrambling to sit up. “You’re too nice to kill right away. You know? I think you’d need to warm up to the idea first before giving yourself enough courage to do it.”

His laughter slows as his smile falters for a moment. “Yeah,” he says, his tone softer than before, “I’d definitely need the courage, first.” 

“Just, do it in my sleep, okay?” You tease as you push yourself to your feet. “If I need to go out, I’d rather not be awake for the whole suffering part.”

Hansol hums. “Noted.”

The morning sun seeps through the curtains in the hotel room, and you’re unbelievably warm. As you shift to push the blankets off of you, you begin to register the fact that half of Hansol’s body is currently draped over you. Your legs are a tangled mess, and he has his arm strewn over your stomach with his head in the crook of your neck. 

It takes all but sixty seconds to fully process its Hansol before your breath catches in your throat. You freeze, unsure if you should move or not. You definitely did not fall asleep this way–in fact, you were so close to falling off the bed when you first got in last night, that you were wondering if it would actually happen. Not this. Not the exact opposite.

When Hansol shifts slightly, you feel your heart drop completely. He lifts his head enough to look down at you. You watch as he goes through the same motions you just had: letting his eyes adjust, realizing where he is, and registering the position he’s waking up in. His eyes widen as he quickly scrambles back. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” He says, his voice low and groggy from waking up. “I did not mean to–”

“No, it's fine.” You sit up. “Um, it just surprised me is all, you know?”

Hansol nods, running a hand through his messy hair. The silence is awkward as you both sit across from each other, unsure of what to do next. You dare a quick look at him, as he is distracting himself with his phone. He’s got bags under his eyes, and you wonder how long it has been since he got a full night’s rest like that. You knew for yourself it had been a while. More specifically, since Seungcheol left. 

You didn’t even remember falling asleep last night. The last thing you remembered was laying on the edge of your side of the bed, and laughing at some horrible reality show that Hansol had put on the TV in the room. When you laid down, you were out cold. The craziest part is you slept really well. It was a heavy kind of sleep that made you actually feel well-rested and not just more tired. 

Glancing at the digital clock on your bedside table, you realize just how long you guys had slept. 

11:38 am.

You got into bed around nine o’clock last night, which means you slept for fourteen hours. The thought makes you laugh before you fall against the mattress again. Hansol’s attention shifts towards you as he lowers his phone into his lap. 

“What?” He asks, laughing lightly with you. 

“It’s just been forever since I’ve slept.” You reply, looking up at him. “Did you even see what time it was?”

The corners of his mouth twitch. “Yeah, uh, I did.” He says. “We missed breakfast, though.”

“Do you usually eat breakfast?”

He grins at that. “Nope.”

You laugh again as Hansol lays beside you once more. The screen door to the balcony was left open last night, and you can hear the sounds of people talking outside and cars driving past. Something about the laziness and simplicity of the morning makes you feel light–like you were getting everything with Hansol you could’ve had with Seungcheol. 

You’d talked with Seungcheol in the past about moving in together. Sleeping in like this or wasting the day away in bed were the things you used to daydream about with him, but here you were, sharing it with your next door neighbor instead. Truthfully, though, Hansol was now past the point of ‘just your neighbor’. He was more, but the capacity of which wasn’t fully clear to you. If you’d asked the week prior, you’d say platonic in a heartbeat. But now, you weren’t sure. It was muddy. You wondered if Hansol felt the same. 

“You know what I’d love, though?” He blurts.

You look at him, and he’s already staring back at you. “What is that?”

“I’d love some terrace-time.”

After each taking a quick shower, you and Hansol find yourselves comfortable on the loveseat that sits on the balcony. Hansol is leaning back against the wall behind you, while you’re leaning forward, looking at the view of the beach below. Despite the atmosphere being a bit more cozy than the fire escape, you almost miss the rickety stairs and sketchy landing outside of his apartment. 

“What time is Prince Charming’s dinner tonight?” Hansol muses as he finishes off his cigarette. He tosses the butt into the ashtray, then lifts his head to look at you. 

You glance at him over your shoulder. “I think he told guests to be there at five.”

“So, we’ve got some time?” He checks the time on his phone. “They have rental bikes at the beach. I was looking at them last night. How would you feel about a bike ride around the island?”

You smile, pressing your own cigarette into the ashtray. “Is this more coaxing?”

“Oh, well, of course.” Hansol nods. “Gotta get your guard down.”

“I guess a bike ride could be fun,” you hesitate, “but I haven’t rode one in years.”

He laughs, then leans forward with you. His knee bumps yours, and your heart skips a beat. “You gonna crash and burn on me, or do I need to teach you how to ride one all over again?”

This is flirting, right? This has to be flirting. Or maybe you were reading too much into the past twenty four hours. You aren’t even sure anymore. Your thoughts are moving faster than your brain is able to catch up, at this point. Deciding to test the waters, you choose to tease him back. 

“Maybe I’ll need you to teach me.” You say lightly, trying to match his tone. “I think I’ve forgotten all of it.”

Hansol clicks his tongue as a smirk plays on his lips. “Tragic. I guess I’ll have to, then.”

When he leans back again, you feel your face warm. Hansol is flirting. Chewing on your bottom lip, you turn your attention back to the beach. 

You find out very quickly that you definitely did forget how to ride a bike, as your foot is planted firmly on the ground beside you. As embarrassing as it is, you’re terrified to push off and the worst part is Hansol can tell. 

Once his helmet is on, he glances back at you, trying to hold back any laughter that might come out. You groan. “Seriously, I don’t even want to hear it.”

“I didn’t say anything.” He replies, his grin becoming more apparent. 

“You were thinking about it.” You pout, sitting down on the seat. “I mean, I’m almost thirty and I can’t ride a bike. That’s a little pathetic.”

“Nah,” Hansol waves you off as he props the stand, then rests his bike on it. He walks over to you, patting the helmet on your head. “We’ve all got our quirks.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, what’s yours, then?”

He thinks for a moment, then says, “I’m allergic to peanuts.”

“That’s not a quirk, that’s just a fact.” You argue. He laughs as he walks behind your bike, then leans forward. 

“If you’re done, I’m ready to get this show on the road.” He announces. “You wanna put your hands on the handlebars?”

“Not really.” You sheepishly admit. You shift in your seat, feeling how close he is as his black t-shirt gently brushes your back. You swallow nervously, feeling grateful he can’t see the blush creeping up onto your face. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” He reassures you. “I won’t let go until you’re ready.”

After a few grueling seconds, you lean forward to grab the handles. At the same time, Hansol leans forward, resting his hands on yours. Your heart skyrockets at the touch, and you wonder if you’ll go into cardiac arrest on the spot. The two of you sit like that momentarily, before he clears his throat. 

“Okay,” he says, “when you push off, I want you to pedal. I’ll keep you upright and help you steer, so don’t worry about that.”

“What if I’m already worrying?” You turn to look at him, when you about bump your head into his from how close he was. It clearly catches you both off guard, as Hansol blinks a few times. Then, he manages to give you a smile. 

“Just trust me, okay?” He replies. “I’m not going to let you get hurt.”

The statement feels like it carries more weight to it than just riding a bike. You feel it settle deep inside of you, like it’s trying to make a home in the parts of your heart that still haven’t healed from Seungcheol. All you’re able to muster is a meek nod, as you look ahead at the sidewalk again. 

“Ready?” Hansol asks. 

“Ready.” 

Drawing in a deep breath, you push off and bring your feet to the pedals. The bike wobbles at first, but Hansol keeps it steady like he said he would. You go slow at first, when slowly the motions start to come back to you. 

As you gain a bit more confidence, Hansol says, “the left handle is your break. You want to try stopping?”

He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, which does nothing to calm the nerves that have been brewing since you got here. You do as he says, though, and slowly press down on the break. The bike comes to a stop, prompting you to sigh in relief. 

“You did it!” He exclaims. You look up at him, unable to contain the smile on your face. He returns it, then sticks his hands into the pockets of his joggers. “Told you I’ve got you.”

“Yeah,” you laugh a little breathlessly. “That wasn’t too bad.”

“Want to try it on your own?” He hums. “I’ll stay right by your side for the whole ride.”

This time, it feels easier to believe him. So, you quickly nod, already prepping to push off. 

“Ready when you are.”

You and Hansol sit outside of the restaurant when you arrive as you stall for time before walking in. Just beyond those doors was Seungcheol and the same girl he left you for five years ago. You hadn’t faced either of them since, and you were feeling a bit sick to your stomach. Thankfully, Hansol was in no rush as he stood beside you. 

The two of you cleaned up, and put on some nicer clothes before coming here. Contrary to your initial doubt, Hansol cleans up very well. It was almost weird to not see him in his usual comfy clothes as he wore some nicer jeans and a button-down top. His hair was pushed back slightly, but still had the endearing messier look that you’ve grown fond of. It was true to him, and familiar to you. Kind of like a nice reminder that despite the facade, this is still the same Hansol you’ve sat next to for almost a year and spent all your sleepless nights with. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks as he leans against the wall behind the two of you. 

“Sick.” You laugh. “I don’t really know what to expect when we go in, you know?”

He hums, then holds his hand out. “Good thing you’re not alone, remember?” He reminds you coyly. “Just think about it this way: the faster we get this over with, the faster we can go back to the hotel for some much needed terrace-time. Maybe another reality show–?”

You make a face at that. “God, no more reality TV. But terrace-time sounds nice.”

Tentatively, you put your hand in his. Hansol smiles down at you before giving it a squeeze, then leading you both into the restaurant. It’s a nicer venue, with dim lights and light jazz music playing. The hostess directs you to the back party room, where the rest of the wedding guests are already mingling and drinking. Hansol pulls you closer to him as the two of you navigate towards an empty table to sit. Your eyes begin to wander, when you find Seungcheol at the front of the room. He’s laughing with Minghao, one of your mutual friends. 

“That’s him,” you lean towards Hansol, tugging on his sleeve. He follows your gaze towards Seungcheol, and his jaw tightens. He mutters something under his breath, but you don’t have time to register it before your ex notices you, and begins walking over. 

Your eyes widen, and Hansol is quick to throw his arm around you, pulling you into his side. Seungcheol offers an awkward smile as he looks between the two of you. He looks the same as he did five years ago, only his age is beginning to show on his face a bit. 

“Hey,” he breathes, “you made it!”

“I did RSVP.” You reply, forcing a smile. “Uh, Cheol, this is my boyfriend, Hansol.”

Seungcheol takes one look at Hansol, and his demeanor changes instantly. He straightens his back a bit, then extends a hand towards him. 

“Hey, man, glad you could make it.” He says evenly. You almost laugh. 

Hansol shakes his hand, and is quick to drop it. “Yeah, congrats.”

“Well, we aren’t married yet.” Seungcheol laughs awkwardly. “But, uh, I’ll take the early congrats. Thanks. So..how long have you two known each other?”

Before you have the chance to reply, Hansol cuts in, “almost a year. We live in the same apartment building.”

“Ah,” Seungcheol’s expression twists as he looks over to you, “is it still that shitty place near downtown?”

“Well, not all of us can live off our parents’ wealth.” Hansol retorts. “Besides, it’s not that terrible. You know, if you’re humble enough to acknowledge that it’s a roof over your head.”

Oh god, you want to hide. You’re not sure what kind of stand-off these two were starting, but you did not want to be in the middle of it. You can feel Hansol’s grip on your shoulder tighten slightly. Seungcheol folds his arms across his chest. 

“You’re right.” He nods curtly. “I should be more mindful of the fact that I’ve grown up a bit more privileged than others. Sorry to offend.”

His tone doesn’t quite match the words he’s saying, and Hansol seems to notice. You don’t want to give either of them the opportunity to keep arguing, so you decide to butt in. 

“I’m sure you have a lot of people to catch up with.” You say with a gentle smile. “You know, people you know better than us? I mean, Hansol and I are here all weekend. We can talk more later.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol sighs, glancing between the two of you again as if to size Hansol up. Then, he returns your smile. “Really, I’m happy you could make it. I’ll just…see you around, then?”

He hesitates before leaving, but once he does, you sink into Hansol’s side and let out a breath you didn’t even realize you had been holding in. Your head rests against his shoulder. Hansol stiffens slightly at the gesture before relaxing. 

“Well,” you announce, “that was fun.”

Hansol laughs, sinking lower into his chair. “He sucks.”

You can’t help but laugh in response as you pull away from him. He looks over to you as the annoyance washes off his face, turning into a lopsided grin instead. 

“I think we need some drinks.” You comment. “I’d definitely like to drink.”

“Awesome.” Hansol quickly nods. “I’m right there with you.”

“Whoooaa,” Hansol steadies you as you both stumble back into the hotel room. 

You’re laughing and everything feels good. Your head has the perfect amount of buzz, and you feel warm and happy and the stress of the weekend is miraculously gone. As you flop onto the bed, you kick your heels off and stretch. 

“They made some good cocktails,” you hum. “Really strong.”

“A little too strong.” Hansol teases as he sits beside you. “You should drink some water.”

“I’m fine.” You slur, rolling your head to the side to look up at him. His focus is on his shoes as he slides them off, but the only place your drunken mind can wander to is how good he looks.

You think about how nice he’s been, and how fun it was riding bikes today, and waking up beside him, and how hot it was when he stood up to Seungcheol. You tug lightly on his sleeve, prompting him to look back at you. 

“What is it?” He asks, leaning back on his hands. “You want me to go grab you some from the front desk? I think they’re selling water bottles. I thought I saw some Gatorade, too–”

“You’re so pretty.” You coo happily, cutting him off from his sentence. “You’re so nice, too. So nice to me.”

His smile falters for a second, like you caught him off guard. He laughs a little breathlessly. “You’re so drunk.” 

“Mmm but I think that when I’m sober, too,” you muse. “I wish we talked sooner.”

“Yeah.” Hansol mumbles. His gaze softens. “At least we are now, right? Better late than never.”

Your eyelids begin to feel heavy as the alcohol threatens to let sleep take you over. Bringing your hands to your eyes, you attempt to rub away the fatigue. It doesn’t work. 

“Can we sleep together again?” You ask as you sit up. 

Hansol blinks. “Like, what, cuddle?” 

You nod as you push yourself to your feet and stumble towards your suitcase for some pajamas. As a yawn slips past your lips, you look back over to him. 

“It was comfy,” you hum. “The only time I've ever slept well was with you.”

Hansol hesitates as he watches you close your bag again. Finally, he clears his throat and says, “Yeah. That’s fine.” 

After clumsily changing in the bathroom, you drag yourself into bed, where Hansol already sat, watching the TV. He changed into his familiar sweatpants and hoodie combo that you usually saw him in, and you felt your heart flutter. The longer you were around him, the more he began to feel like home. 

Though, maybe in a way he always had been. 

The headache you wake up with is violent, and out to seek vengeance on you for the amount you drank the night before. The sunlight in the room is too bright, the soft whirring of the AC is too loud, and you want nothing more than to hide and stay in the room. 

Beside you, Hansol’s presence is warm and grounding. He’s still snoring lightly, with his arms lightly wrapped around your waist. Your face is cozy against his chest, and he smells like a linen closet. No overbearing cologne like Seungcheol would always wear, just fresh and clean and comfortable. 

You softly grab ahold of his hoodie, pulling yourself closer to him. If you could live like this for the day, you’ll be content. But then Hansol stirs, and your heart breaks a little that it’s over already. When you don’t lift your head immediately, you feel Hansol’s grip tighten just the slightest. 

“How hungover are you?” He mumbles, his voice low and gravelly from waking up. 

“Too much.” You groan. “I hope I didn’t do or say anything stupid yesterday.” 

Hansol is quiet. Then, “You don’t remember anything?” 

“I remember leaving the restaurant.” You yawn, accompanied with a shrug. “I don’t really remember coming back here, though. It’s a bit fuzzy.”

“Oh.” Hansol says. 

You frown, then finally lift your head to look at him. “Why did something happen? Did I say something horribly embarrassing?”

The corners of his mouth twitch before he finally smiles. It doesn’t fully reach his eyes, though. But you figure it’s probably because he’s still waking up. “Nah,” he reassures you. “Nothing too crazy.”

Before you can ask what he means, he’s pulling away and it almost hurts when he does. Hansol rolls onto his back, then reaches for his phone on his bedside table. You sigh, then follow suit, grabbing your phone from under your pillow. It’s already almost ten, and the wedding starts in three hours. 

“I’ve been sleeping so well since we got here.” You announce, glancing over to Hansol. He’s scrolling on his phone mindlessly. 

“Yeah, uh,” he looks at you briefly before his attention flicks back to his phone, “me too.”

You discard your phone again, then roll on your side to face him. “What do you think our sleeping habits will be like when we get home?” You ask. “I’m holding out hope they’re going to get better.”

“I don’t think they will,” he admits with a laugh. “Besides, what’ll we do with terrace-time if our sleep schedules get fixed?”

“Damn,” you click your tongue. “Can’t give that up. It’s too precious to me.”

You’re staring at him, hoping for something–anything. A reaction, an agreement…you begin to wonder if maybe the vacation was just getting to you both. You’ve heard countless times of friends falling into weird situationships when they’re away from home, so maybe you’ve clung onto Hansol since he’s here with you and it’s easy. Except, the amount of times you try to tell yourself that, it doesn’t fully feel true. 

“I think I’ll shower and start to get ready.” He states, setting his phone down again. “Unless you want to go first?”

You shake your head, rolling onto your back. “No, you can go. I think I need a little bit longer to wake up.”

He says something else to you, but you don’t register it. Instead, you absentmindedly watch as he gathers his suit, then disappears into the bathroom. Once the water turns on, you bury your face in your hands. 

Maybe you just need to get over it. It’d be embarrassing if you tried to push the matter further only to find out Hansol never reciprocated those feelings. Besides, now that you knew each other beyond terrace-time, you didn’t want to lose him completely over some silly feelings from the adrenaline of vacation. He’s a good person, and good people have been hard for you to come across lately. That’s something you didn’t want to take for granted.

Poking your head around the corner, you see Hansol smoking on the balcony. His suit jacket is draped over his shoulder, as he stares out at the beach below. You can’t get your dress zipped and you feel a little embarrassed by it, but you also can’t exactly show up with your bare back on display and the risk of the dress falling off. 

“Uh, hey Hansol?” You meekly call out. He glances over his shoulder towards you. “I, uh, need help with my dress.”

He tosses the remainder of his cigarette into the ashtray, then meanders over to you. After draping his suit jacket onto the bed, you push the door open slightly. You’re holding the front of your dress up with one hand, giving a lopsided smile. 

“I can’t get it zipped.” You laugh nervously. 

Hansol doesn’t say anything at first. But his eyes drag over your body before meeting your gaze, and you feel your face flush. He swallows. 

“Yeah, okay.” He nods. “Um, you need to turn around, though, so I can zip it.”

“Oh!” You chirp. “Right. Sorry.” 

You spin to face the mirror across from you in the bathroom. Hansol hesitates before grabbing your waist with one hand, and the zipper in the other. His knuckles are cold as they gently brush against your spine while he zips. You hold your breath when he’s done, and neither of you move for what feels like several minutes. His hand is still at your waist, and you wonder if he can hear how loud your heart is beating.

“Hansol–” You stop, not really sure what you were going to even say. He lifts his head, meeting your gaze in the mirror. 

“Yeah?” He whispers, his breath hot behind your ear. 

“I, uh,” you shake your head, like that’ll snap you out of it. You settle on giving him a smile. “Thanks.”

He returns your smile. “All I did was zip your dress.”

“No, I mean,” you turn to face him, “thanks for coming with me. This definitely wouldn’t have been as fun without you.”

“Oh,” he nods. “Yeah, for sure. It’s been great. It’s nice having a new friend gained from all of this, you know?”

Friend. “Yeah.” You agree. “Although, I do miss our own spaces. I think terrace-time at the beach feels a little too luxurious for me, you know?”

“Definitely.” He gives your waist a quick squeeze, before dropping his hand at his side. “What do you think, should we get this wedding over with?”

“Please.” You groan, following him out of the bathroom. “Do not let me drink as much tonight, okay? Unless something horribly awful and dramatic happens, then I’ll probably want to forget it.”

“Heard.” He nods, slipping on his suit jacket. “Only getting plastered in case of an emergency: you got it.”

The venue is about as lavish as you were expecting it to be. There’s a gorgeous, floral archway at the end of the aisle, and elegant green, beige, and white decorations everywhere. The second that Seungcheol is in Hansol’s sight, he grabs your hand and tugs you closer to him. 

You take your seats towards the back, and settle as the last of the crowd trickles in. Despite being out of his line of sight, Hansol keeps your hand in his as he traces lazy circles on the back of yours with his thumb. His hand is larger than yours, but seems to mold perfectly against it. 

“What kind of food do you think will be at the reception?” Hansol asks, leaning close to you. 

You snicker, turning to look at him. “Probably something fancy that I’ve never heard of.” You whisper back. He’s close and your heart is beating at a million times per second, you’re pretty sure. You wonder if he can tell. 

“I just hope it’s something edible.” He grins, his voice low. “I’m a picky eater. What if there’s peanuts?” 

“If there’s peanuts, then I guess I’m killing you first.” You comment. “I’d have the high ground.” 

Hansol’s eyes widen. “I thought I was the one doing the killing here?” 

Instead of saying anything, you give him a wink and face forward again as you hear music begin to fill the venue. Hansol squeezes your hand gently, but doesn’t bother letting go. Not yet, anyway. But you’re really hoping he doesn’t. You like the way it feels in yours—warm and grounding. 

The two of you watch the families shuffle into place along with any remaining guests who have yet to sit. A few minutes pass before the ceremony begins, and everyone stands. The wedding party seems to take their sweet time walking down the aisle, couple by couple, until finally Yuna begins to walk with her father.

She looks beautiful. Even prettier in person, and seeing her eyes light up when she sees Seungcheol makes you feel…at peace, almost. You let your gaze follow hers to where Cheol is standing, with tears threatening the corners of his eyes. They look so happy. And a sudden feeling washes over you that since meeting Hansol, you haven’t spent your nights thinking about Seungcheol anymore. You realize that seeing them commit to each other like this was the exact closure you needed. 

But you also realize that you’re pretty sure you have feelings for Hansol. 

You forget his hand is in yours until he lets go and begins to lightly rub the small of your back. For a moment, you wonder if he thinks you’re hurt by the scene playing out before you. But when you glance back at him, whatever expression you’re wearing seems to clear it up for him. He smiles as everyone sits again, then shifts his arm so it’s wrapped around your shoulders. 

You like Hansol. 

Whatever the officiant is saying quickly becomes background noise, as your mind begins to spiral. This whole time you’ve been trying to write it off by the amount of time you’ve spent together, but you’re truly not sure if that’s the case anymore. He’s kind, and funny, and seems to know how to cheer you up despite you not ever verbally telling him. You glance over to him, but his attention is on the ceremony. As if he can feel your gaze on him, he looks over briefly, then smiles. 

‘What?’ he mouths. 

You grin, shaking your head. ‘Nothing’ you mouth back. 

After some obligatory introductions to some of Seungcheol’s family and friends, you and Hansol wander outside of the venue for a smoke. The butterflies in your stomach have not left since your realization during the ceremony, and part of you really wants to ask Hansol his thoughts about…well, everything. Getting closer to each other, this trip, and every interaction in between–you know in your heart that there had to have been something simmering this whole time. 

“I’m almost sad to go home tomorrow.” Hansol suddenly says as he leans against the wall beside you. “This trip has been a lot of fun. Quick, but fun.”

You hum, flicking some of the ash off your cigarette. “It’s been…” you trail off, not really sure where you were going with your sentence. Finally, you say, “Hansol, are things going to go back to normal when we get home?”

“What do you mean?” He asks, pushing himself off the wall to stand in front of you. “Define ‘normal’.”

You shrug. “Like, not seeing each other or hanging out everyday. Terrace-time being quiet…” you clarify. “I just–I guess I don’t really want to leave here and lose all of that when we get home.”

Hansol studies you for a minute, and you feel your cheeks warm. He presses the butt of the cigarette to his lips, inhaling slowly, before pulling it away again. When he exhales, he offers you a gentle smile. 

“To be quite frank, I don’t think I can even try to force myself to go back to that.” He admits. “Uh, but I would like to ask you something. I just need to know if it’s true or not.”

“Anything.” You reply quickly, suddenly growing nervous. 

He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, clearly nervous as well. “When you were drunk last night, you told me you thought I was pretty.”

“Oh my god–”

“Hey, I’m not done,” he laughs, tossing his cigarette into the ashtray beside the two of you. “You said you would say it sober, too. When you said you didn’t remember anything from last night, I kinda wondered if it was true or not.”

At this point, your face is probably bright red. Hansol seems to notice as he bites back a smile, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. 

“Jesus,” you laugh nervously, turning your head down towards your heels. “Uh, that’s really embarrassing on my part but…yeah. I do.”

When he doesn’t reply right away, you’re scared he’s going to reject you or tell you he thinks of you only as a friend. You force yourself to look up at him when a few moments pass, and his smile is gone, replaced by a much softer expression. 

“Good.” He finally says, taking a step closer to you. “Because I think the same thing about you.”

“Wait, really?” You straighten your posture, putting the rest of your own cigarette out in the ashtray. “Oh my God, I thought I was imagining things.”

Hansol presses his brows together. “You knew?”

“No!” You quickly say. “Not really. I mean, I thought you might’ve been flirting with me this whole time, but I was kind of worried it was just because of the fact we were on vacation and had spent a lot of time together. I didn’t think you really–”

You barely have time to register the fact that his lips are on yours before he’s cupping your face, and backing you into the wall. Your eyes flutter closed as you melt into his touch almost immediately. His lips are soft as they move against yours, slowly and carefully like he’s savoring every moment of it–like he’ll never get the opportunity again. 

But, really, you’d like to do this every second of every day with him now that you know what kissing him feels like. 

Hansol pulls away momentarily, prompting you to open your eyes. His chest is quickly rising and falling from the adrenaline of suddenly kissing you. His own cheeks are flushed, but the way he’s looking at you makes you weak in the knees. It’s in a way that not even Seungcheol has looked at you: with so much adoration. 

“So,” he sighs, his breath fanning against your face, “do you want to be my real girlfriend or whatever?”

You shrug lazily, trying to be nonchalant with him. But your giddy grin gives you away when you say, “I mean, I guess I will. Or whatever.”

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[minniesfiles]

ALWAYS YOU

After being stood up and leaving you heartbroken, Hansol spirals with guilt while you shut down into silence. Desperate to fix what he ruined, he confronts the damage he caused and fights to earn back your trust and love.

❧ PAIRING; hansol x reader

❧ GENRE; angst, hurt/comfort

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; established relationship, arguments, tears, reader is kind of stubborn, Hansol in an idiot, swearing, happy ending, lots of tears and kisses, maybe quite dramatic (LOL)

❧ WORDCOUNT; 12.1k

[ part of the Silent Treatment series ]

𐚁₊⊹

▎27 NOVEMBER 2021

You were known to have the patience of a saint. It was an almost uncanny ability you had to stay calm in situations that would push most people past their limits. Some admired you for it, even envied you.

“I could never hold my tongue like that,” or “I’d have snapped ages ago” they’d say.

But others didn’t see it as a strength though. They said you were too lenient, or too soft. They’d say how it allowed people to walk all over you and mistake your tolerance for weakness.

And maybe, sometimes, they were right.

There were moments when you looked back on situations and questioned your silence. You would wonder if your refusal to speak out had cost you something. Respect, peace of mind or justice. You would pride yourself on not reacting impulsively and staying level-headed when emotions ran high. You told yourself that staying silent was strength and not cowardice.

But deep down, there were times you wished you had the confidence to just say what you were thinking. Perhaps not out of anger, but out of self-respect. You weren’t looking to lash out, you just wanted to be heard.

There was never really a middle ground in how people saw you. But the truth is, you lived in that gray area. You tried to be kind without being small, and tolerant without being invisible.

And today was your breaking point.

Angry tears welled in your eyes as you stared at your phone for what felt like the hundredth time. Still nothing from your boyfriend. There were no messages or any missed calls, let alone an excuse as to why he still didn’t show up yet. Just the same empty lock screen that mocked your patience.

Hansol promised to take you out for a fancy dinner at the Lotte Tower, a proper date you were both too busy to have for weeks. You even made the effort of dressing up for it. You did your hair just right, applied light make-up and sprayed the perfume he once said he liked. But now, an hour passed, and you were still sitting alone at the table he claimed to have reserved.

You felt so ridiculous.

The waiters approached your table several times and each gentle interruption only deepened the pit in your stomach. They asked politely if you’d like something to drink, perhaps a small starter while you waited. But you would smile tightly each time and shake your head while repeating the same line, “I’ll wait until my boyfriend arrives.”

That was only if he came.

It felt more like a lie each time you said it. A part of you held on to the hope that he’d walk in, flustered and apologetic. But with every minute that passed by, that hope thinned into bitterness.

The staff tried to hide their sympathy, but you saw it anyway. The last thing you wanted was anyone’s pity.

Not only were you overwhelmed with embarrassment, but the sting hurt deeper knowing it was your own boyfriend who left you hanging. While other couples around you enjoyed their meals together and how happily they laughed amongst themselves, you couldn’t help but feel like a complete fool who still waited for someone that wasn’t even going to come.

And if the night didn’t humiliate you enough, you opened Instagram. Just to distract yourself. And that was when you clicked on Hailey’s story, Hansol’s best friend. It was posted five minutes ago.

It was a photo of your boyfriend who was fast asleep on Hailey’s unmistakable pink sofa, body curled slightly and one arm wrapped around a purple whale plushie. His hair was a mess and his mouth was slightly open, completely at peace.

But what really hit you wasn’t the image itself. It was the caption. “Supposed to be looking after me but I’m looking after him instead,” followed by a deadpan, unamused emoji. Like it was some kind of joke. Like you weren’t sitting in a restaurant across town, checking the door every five minutes, still half-believing he might walk in with an excuse.

Instead, he was passed out at her house. It wasn’t even the lack of decency from him to let you know he couldn’t make it that stung the most. It was how casual it all seemed to them.

To say you were absolutely livid would be a gross understatement.

You weren’t just angry, you were shaking with it. It was a white-hot rage bubbling just beneath your skin that was ready to explode within you.

Your jaw was clenched so tightly it hurt, and your heart pounded against your ribs like it was trying to escape. Every breath you took felt shallow, that made your chest tight with disbelief. You were boiling down to the core, like a volcano seconds from erupting.

It blurred your vision and made your ears ring.

Your hand gripped your phone with so much force, it was a miracle the screen didn’t shatter right there in your palm. You swore you heard a small crack, but perhaps it was the plastic or glass protesting under the pressure of your clenched fingers. But you didn’t loosen your grip. You couldn’t. Because letting go felt too much like surrender, and right now, you were clinging to any scrap of control you had left.

The tears that were brimming in your eyes finally came flooding down. You tried to blink them away, but it was no use. They kept spilling over, trailing down your cheeks in silence. And you didn’t even bother wiping them. You didn’t care at this point. You just let them fall. You just let the whole damn restaurant see. What did it matter now?

Your eyes were still stuck on the photo. And her caption…the smug nonchalance of it was enough to make your blood run colder than the North Pole. She knew. She had to know. And if she didn’t, then maybe that made it worse.

Your body was trembling. Every limb of yours was buzzing with energy that had nowhere to go. You felt like you could scream, throw the table across the room, or smash your phone right into the tiled floor.

But you didn’t. You just sat there, paralysed, like a statue made of nothing but anger and heartbreak.

Everything around you became a blur. It all faded into background noise, meaningless against the storm inside you. You were breaking, right there in public, and yet the world just kept turning.

You were furious. But more than that, you were hurt. Deeply and irreparably hurt.

So what do you do now? Honestly, you had no idea.

Your brain was still catching up to everything your heart had just been dragged through. But your body moved on its own, like it was acting on instinct. There was no plan, no thought. Just motion.

You reached into your purse with shaky fingers, pulled out a few bills, and placed them on the table beside your untouched mocktail.

It wasn’t much, but it felt like the least you could do. It was a silent gesture to thank and apologise to the staff for the time you’d taken up sitting there alone waiting for someone who never came.

Without a word, you pushed the chair back and stood. Your legs felt numb and heavy, but you forced them to move. You didn’t look at anyone. You didn’t owe anyone an explanation. All you could do was storm out, heart thudding in your chest like a war drum.

The atmosphere in the elevator felt suffocating as it descended, and the mirrors reflected the tear-streaked version of you that you didn’t want to see. You simply stared straight ahead, refusing to blink.

Then, as the doors slid open and you stepped into the lobby, your phone buzzed with a notification. The sound shot through you like a jolt. Part of you hoped that it was Hansol, but it wasn’t, it was your older brother Joshua.

[JOSH]:

Are you done with your little date? Mum’s bugging me to get her tangerines but I’m too lazy to go out now😴

The message lit up your screen as you walked through the quiet lobby. You stared at the notification for a few seconds, and the absurdity of it made your lips twitch. Despite the ache sitting heavy in your chest, you broke into a small, crooked smile through the tears still clinging to your lashes.

Your mother and her eternal obsession with tangerines. No matter the season, no matter the day, she somehow always needed more. It was ridiculous. But comforting in her sense.

[YOU]:

Got stood up. But I’ll pick some up on my way👍tell mum to tolerate her cravings for a bit lol.

You hit send before you could think twice about how blunt it sounded. And the reply from your brother came almost instantly.

[Josh]:

???

[Josh]:

What do you mean you got stood up?

You stared at the screen. The question felt like salt in a raw wound. Reading his name again hurt more than you expected. You could practically hear the disbelief in Joshua’s voice, like he couldn’t even begin to process the idea.

And honestly? You couldn’t either.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard. You thought about explaining. But it all was too much. You didn’t want to relive it, not right now. You didn’t want to see the pity, or the anger, or the judgment — not even from your brother.

So instead, you just turned off your phone and shoved it deep into your coat pocket. Maybe silence felt easier than trying to explain heartbreak.

╴╴╴╴╴

You regretted not bringing your car. Deeply. At the time, it seemed like the better option. You thought you’d have Hansol to drop you home. But now, walking alone in the cold with swollen eyes and a heart that felt like it had been wrung out, it was painfully clear that you miscalculated.

It wasn’t that you didn’t have options. You could’ve taken the bus, hopped on the subway, or even called a taxi. But the idea of crying in a crowded space full of strangers while your eyes burned and your chest ached? You couldn't do it. You didn’t want sympathetic looks or awkward glances. You didn’t want to be seen at all.

You didn’t trust yourself to hold it together. Not when every second of silence from Hansol felt like another shove deeper into the hollow pit growing in your stomach.

There was still not a single message. Not one missed call. Not even a lame excuse.

You stood outside a brightly lit convenience store as you held the weight of a full bag of tangerines which was dragging at your arm. Your fingers were freezing around the plastic handles, but you didn’t care.

With a sigh, you fumbled for your phone again and dialed Joshua’s number. You knew he didn’t want to come out.

He’d said as much earlier, “too lazy” and too comfortable, typical Joshua. But you were going to make him come anyway. He didn’t get a choice. Not tonight.

After a few rings, he finally answered.

“Can you pick me up?” you asked tiredly and almost bluntly, not even giving him a chance to greet you first.

There was a beat of silence on the other end before your brother spoke up.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You could hear the worry in his voice, and it cracked something in you.

You bit down on your lip, hard, before answering. “Yeah, I just…I don’t know Joshua,” you said, your voice starting to waver despite your efforts to stay composed.

There was another pause. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head, and him grabbing his keys already.

“Can you please come and get me?” you whispered, softer this time. Less demand, more desperation.

“I’m coming,” he said firmly. “Where are you right now?” he then asked.

You shared your live location with him and he muttered a hum before ending the call. And for the first time that night, you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

You knew he didn’t want to come out, and on normal days you wouldn’t have bothered him. But right now, there was no one else in the world you needed more than your brother.

Growing up, you and Joshua had always been close. Closer than most siblings, even. Even as kids, you stuck to each other like glue. While other siblings grew apart or bickered over everything all the time, the two of you built your own little world. He was your best friend, and above all, he was your safe place.

Joshua always knew how sensitive you were. He knew despite how tolerant you were, you’d easily get hurt and how deeply you felt things. And while some people might have dismissed that as weakness, he never did. If anything, it made him more protective of you. He knew the world wasn’t kind to people with soft hearts. So he became your shield.

He became some sort of your silent, stubborn bodyguard who would take on the world if it meant keeping you from crying.

You used to tease him about it. Told him he was too overbearing, that he needed to chill out and stop treating you like you were five. He’d just smirk and say, “You’ll thank me one day.” And truthfully, you always did.

Even when he annoyed you, when he pushed your buttons just for fun or gave you dumb nicknames you swore you hated, you never once doubted that he’d be there when it mattered. No matter how big or small the problem was, you could always run to him. He never made you feel like a burden.

And in this moment, with your heart aching and your hands full of tangerines, you were more grateful than ever to have a brother like him in your life.

╴╴╴╴╴

You hadn’t even realised Joshua had arrived until he was suddenly in front of you, gently shaking your shoulder. Not only had the cold numbed your senses, but your mind was too fogged to register anything clearly. You jolted slightly at the contact, eyes wide with confusion until they finally focused and landed on your brother.

“Hi,” he said softly, a little breathless. But the small smile he attempted didn’t last as his face fell. He took in the sight of you and his brows knitted together.

Your eyes were red-rimmed and glossy, cheeks streaked with dried tears, but what stood out the most too him was the lack of spark that usually lived in your eyes. They were simply hollow.

Joshua’s chest tightened as panic crept in. Your breathing was shallow and too quick. Your eyes were wide and glassy, brimming with fresh tears that threatened to spill over.

You looked like a balloon stretched too tight and ready to burst.

“Bubba, what’s wrong?” he asked as his hands moved up to cradle your face gently. His thumbs hovered under your eyes like he could stop the tears before they fell, but it was already too late.

Just the sound of that nickname that only he called you hit you like a wrecking ball. And it was just enough to break you completely.

A choked sob tore from your throat as you collapsed into his chest. His arms were open before you even reached him, wrapping around you and catching everything you couldn’t hold together anymore.

Joshua’s heart pounded hard beneath your cheek as he pulled you close, his hand rubbing circles on your back. You gripped his hoodie like your life depended on it as tears soaked into the fabric almost instantly.

“Hey, hey hey,” he murmured, rocking you gently.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you, okay?”

But your cries only grew louder and heavier.

“Is this about Hansol?” he asked. Though his voice was still soft, the way his jaw was tightening ever so slightly spoke another story.

You didn’t answer him. You just cried harder as your sobs violently shook your whole body.

“I just want to go home,” you choked out between sobs.

Joshua pulled you into a tighter hug and held you like he could somehow absorb the pain radiating from your body. He rested his chin lightly on top of your head and gently rocked you side to side.

“Shh, it’s okay. We’re going home now,” he murmured into your hair low and soothingly, almost fatherly. His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, like he used to do when you were a kid waking up from the nightmares you had.

Though he didn’t need the full story, at least not yet, he knew enough.

The past few days didn’t feel right. You hadn’t been yourself. You smiled less and conversations were shorter. Joshua noticed how you started spacing out more often, zoning out during family dinners or giving half-hearted responses when he cracked jokes.

You were still there, but the dimmed version of yourself, like a light on low battery.

He had a gut feeling Hansol had something to do with it, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Now, standing here with you crying your eyes out in his arms, he wished he had trusted that instinct sooner.

He felt guilty. He wished he had asked more questions, pressed you harder when you told him everything was “fine.” He should’ve protected you before you reached this point. Because seeing you like this right now lit something violent inside him.

╴╴╴╴╴

When Joshua finally pulled into the driveway, the sky had long since darkened. He looked to his right and found you fast asleep in the passenger seat with your head tilted awkwardly against the window. The position looked anything but comfortable, yet you didn’t stir.

Joshua’s heart ached as he took in the dried streaks of tears on your cheeks, clear that you cried yourself to sleep in silence.

He didn’t miss the way you’d shut down during the drive home and how you gave no responses, not even small nods or mumbled agreements. He tried to talk, or at least distract you with light conversation with jokes that usually earned at least a small smile. But you gave him nothing this time.

He knew you didn’t mean it. You just wanted to be left alone, and so he did. But not really, because he was still there, watching every tremble in your breath and every clench of your fingers. He was still there as he silently stayed present even when you needed distance.

With a soft sigh, Joshua parked the car and turned off the engine. The sudden quiet that followed was too loud. He sat there for a moment, just looking at you. Then, without a word, he unbuckled his seatbelt before stepping out and walking around to your side.

He opened the door and carefully unbuckled your seatbelt before sliding his arms under your knees and back. Unironically, he felt like his seven-year-old self again holding you in his arms for the first time when you were born. He lifted you and held you gently as if you were made of glass. Your body relaxed into his hold, head resting against his shoulder.

He shut the car door with a soft kick before heading to the house. And as if timed perfectly, the front door opened.

Your mother stood there with her expression instantly shifting to concern at the sight of you in Joshua’s arms. “Is she okay?” she asked, eyes locked on your sleeping face.

Joshua let out another sigh. “I don’t think so. She had a long night” he answered tiredly.

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t want to dump everything on her, especially when you weren’t awake to speak for yourself. All she needed to know was that you were safe, and he had you.

“I’m just going to let her rest for now,” he added, stepping past her and making his way upstairs.

He brought you into your room and gently lowered you onto the bed, careful not to jostle you. But barely moved regardless. He took off your shoes, then your coat which he folded neatly to the side.

He crouched down beside the bed and reached out, brushing your hair from your face. His thumb lingered at your temple for a moment. Then, with a tenderness that said more than words ever could, he leaned forward and placed a light kiss on your forehead.

As he straightened up, he looked at you for a long moment. You looked peaceful, but the mark that was left by the pain you carried was still there.

“If Hansol did something,” he thought, jaw tightening, “I swear I’m going to rip his head off” he silently promised.

After making sure you were tucked in comfortably, Joshua gently pulled your blanket up to your shoulders. He stood there for a second longer, just watching you sleep.

With a quiet exhale, he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him with care. As it clicked softly, he sighed, again.

Heading back downstairs, he slipped his shoes back on and stripped outside again. The cold outside nipped at his skin, but he ignored it as he made his way back to the car. He opened the door and grabbed your small shoulder bag, along with the now slightly squashed plastic bag filled with tangerines you got for your mother.

There were a series of vibrations coming from your bag that made Joshua freeze, then frown. One vibration. Then another. And another. The sharp buzzing continued almost nonstop.

He unzipped the bag and pulled the phone out. Joshua cursed under his breath for remembering your phone’s password to unlock it, but he promised himself it wasn’t snooping. He had to make sure nothing was wrong.

The screen lit up with message after message from one name only.

Hansol.

His frown deepened. There were fifteen missed calls and tons of messages, some that were still coming through as he watched.

[Hansol]:

Baby!

[Hansol]:

Please answer me

[Hansol]:

Fuck, I’m so sorry I completely forgot. I know how bad that sounds, but please let me explain

[Hansol]:

Hailey sprained her ankle at work. She called me crying, saying she couldn’t walk or get a ride, and she didn’t know who else to call. So I left to go get her

[Hansol]:

She was in a lot of pain, and I couldn’t just leave her there so I took her to the doctors. I had to get her meds and ice packs and whatnot before helping her get back to her apartment

[Hansol]:

I know I should’ve messaged you. I should’ve called you right away. I just got caught up making sure she was okay and I didn’t check the time until it was already too late

[Hansol]:

Baby, I know what this looks like. I know how it feels. And I know I’ve let you down before, but I didn’t do this on purpose. I didn’t forget about you because I didn’t care. I was just trying to help my best friend in pain

[Hansol]:

But I swear to you, I wasn’t ignoring you

[Hansol]:

I know I told you this time would be different. That I would make more time for. And I wanted to, I swear I did

Joshua saw another incoming call flash across the screen with Hansol’s name lighting up yet again. He stared at it for a moment with his jaw clenched as his thumb hovering over the answer button. He really fought to answer it and curse him out, but he didn’t want to act out of instinct. So, instead, he pressed decline.

But that only led to more messages to flood in. One after another. Clearly Hansol wasn’t letting up. He was frantic at this point.

[Hansol]:

Shit, baby, listen. I know you saw Hailey’s Instagram story, but I promise it’s not what you think

[Hansol]:

It’s nothing like what you’re probably imagining right now. Please don’t overthink it

[Hansol]:

I swear

Joshua’s frown deepened. A low breath escaped his nose. What the hell is he talking about now? He hadn’t seen any story. But the way Hansol rushed to mention it, defend it even, somehow made him rile up even more.

Curious, and now increasingly irritated, Joshua unlocked your phone again and opened your Instagram. And a few taps later, he clicked on Hailey’s story.

Joshua stared at the screen as he tried to process what he was seeing. His lips curled into a slow, humorless scoff. He shook his head in absolute disbelief.

The audacity.

You were sitting in a restaurant, alone, trying not to cry in front of strangers. Meanwhile, your boyfriend was passed out at another woman’s place like he couldn’t be bothered to show up for you.

Before he could even react further, more messages came in.

[Hansol]:

I don’t know when I fell asleep. I didn’t mean to forget, I swear

[Hansol]:

Are you still at the restaurant? Just tell me and I’ll come right now. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Five if I speed. Please

[Hansol]:

Or if you already went home, just text me so I know you’re safe. I’m begging you baby

[Hansol]:

I’m so fucking sorry

[Hansol]:

Please pick up the phone baby. Just talk to me

Joshua watched as the screen lit up again with another incoming call. But he didn’t answer. He just stared at it with a dark expression. His thumb hovered for half a second before he declined it once more, and put the phone back in your bag.

The sheer nerve. The desperation wasn’t what got to him, it was the timing. The panic only came after the damage was done. After you’d already shut down. After your brother had to come find you and carry you home.

Joshua slammed his car door shut and made his way back inside the house. With his jaw locked so tight, he could feel his pulse thumping in his neck.

Joshua knew, deep down, that this was a personal matter between you and your boyfriend. Something that should be handled between the two of you. He didn’t want to cross boundaries or get too involved in something he didn’t fully understand. That simply wasn’t his style, and he certainly wasn’t overbearing. He respected your independence.

But after today, especially after the way you completely broke down in his arms, Joshua couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine when it wasn’t.

It was damn near impossible to hold himself back. He didn’t want to sit on the sidelines anymore. He needed answers. He needed to know what the hell was happening to you and why the sister he knew was suddenly closing herself up.

╴╴╴╴╴

The moment Hansol blinked awake from what he thought would be a ‘short nap’, his eyes drifted lazily to the clock. Until the time hit him like a punch to the chest. His eyes widened in shock, practically bulging from their sockets as the time sank in.

It was the realisation that it was two hours past the time he was supposed to meet you which made his heart stop.

His body reacted before his brain could even catch up. He bolted upright so fast that the plushie in his arms fell to the floor. His mind scrambled in complete chaos as he reached for his phone, which he nearly dropped in his haste.

The screen lit up with five unread messages and two missed calls, all from you, two hours ago.

“Fuck,” he cursed, as guilt hit him like a truck.

He remembered. Of course he did. He remembered every word of the argument, the conversation afterwards where he promised he wouldn’t mess this one up this time.

But somehow he had.

And now he didn’t know how to fix it this time.

▎25 NOVEMBER 2021 — two days ago

“What could have been so important this time that you had to cancel on me again, Hansol?” you snapped.

You weren’t usually the one to raise your voice or start fights. You were patient and understanding. Maybe a little too understanding.

This was the fifth broken promise in two weeks. The times you got ready for something he planned, you’d sit and wait until your phone lit up with another last-minute excuse.

And this time, you were done pretending it didn’t rile you up.

Hansol blinked, already on the defensive. “Babe, you know I’m not doing this on purpose. It’s just that Hailey—”

You cut him off instantly with a scoff, head shaking like you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. But deep down, you did. You expected it. Of course it was Hailey.

“Hailey this, Hailey that,” you snarled as your eyes narrowed. “It’s always her.”

Hansol flinched a little at your tone, but you kept going. The anger that had been simmering under the surface was breaking through.

“When does she ever not need you? It’s comical how she always seems to need something when you’re with me. Does she not have any other fucking friends besides you? Huh?”

You took a breath, but it didn’t cool the fire.

“Why do you always jump to her side over every little thing? Is she really that helpless? Is she that dumb and incapable of doing anything on her own, Hansol?”

You couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. This wasn’t you, because you weren’t the type to talk about people like that.

You didn’t even realise how harsh the words were until they already came out. They sounded bitter and personal. And maybe they were. Because you weren’t just angry at Hailey. You were angry at your own boyfriend for putting her before you. Again.

Hansol didn’t respond right away, but when he did, his voice was just as sharp as yours.

“She’s my best friend, Y/n,” he snapped back. “I’ve known her for years. Of course I’m going to be there for her if she needs me.”

“I know that!” you couldn’t help but raise your voice as the frustration boiled over.

“And I’ve always respected the fact that you guys are close. I know you’ve known her longer than me. I know she’s important to you.”

Hansol opened his mouth to speak, but you kept going.

“And trust me, the last thing I’ve ever wanted to do is come between you and your friendship with her” you said.

“But what about me?” The question itself was small, but held so much weight.

“What about me, Hansol?” you repeated, quieter this time as your voice trembled. The sting behind your eyes was impossible to ignore now as tears threatened to fall.

You hated arguing with him, but it had been weeks since you were being sidelined or brushed off. All over someone who you could guarantee could take care of herself without needing your boyfriend all the time.

“What if I need you just as much as she does?” you asked, your voice cracking as the tears finally escaped.

“Why is it that her needs always come before mine? Why can’t you choose me just once instead of her?”

Hansol stood there, frozen. He looked at you with a mix of confusion and worry, but he didn’t speak. His silence only hurt more.

You took a shaky breath and tried to compose yourself even as everything inside you wanted to scream. He looked at you like he didn’t understand, and that made your heart sink.

“Y/n…” he finally said, hesitantly stepping towards you.

“Where is this coming from?” he asked with a calm but cautious tone, like he was trying not to set you off further.

You broke eye contact and looked down. You didn’t even know where to begin. How do you explain the slow burn of feeling like a second choice? How do you measure all the little moments where you smiled and swallowed your disappointment just to keep the peace?

“I just…” you trailed off.

“I just want to feel like I matter to you the way she does.”

“But you do matter to me baby” he tried to assure you.

You looked back up at him, with a mocking smile. The ache in your chest was too big to hide.

“I know I do. But I’m getting tired Hansol” you whispered. “I’m tired of being treated like I’m always second place.”

“Call me jealous. Call me insecure. I don’t care anymore,” you continued, blinking back the rest of your tears.

“But I’m your girlfriend for god’s sake. I should feel like your girlfriend” your voice broke completely then.

“I get that she’s your best friend. I get it. And I get that you care about her. But there’s a line, Hansol. There has to be a line, right?”

You then let out a shaky breath.

“And when I have to fight for your attention, when I have to constantly wonder if I’m even a priority to you, that’s not a relationship. That’s loneliness with a title.”

Hansol’s heart dropped. It was like the floor beneath him gave way and he was free-falling. Your words replayed in his head on a loop, and the more they sank in, the heavier the guilt became.

He realised that he didn’t just hurt you by accident, he neglected you without even thinking. And that realisation alone made his stomach turn.

He couldn’t believe this was all brewing inside you. That you felt so alone and pushed aside for so long. And he didn’t notice. Or worse, he already noticed little things but brushed them off thinking you’d be fine.

He thought your love was unshakable enough to withstand being constantly sidelined. But how stupidly and utterly wrong he was.

He exhaled a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling too fast as he took a step forward and gently took your hands in his. Your fingers were cold and shaking slightly in his grasp.

He hated that. He hated that he made you feel this way.

He pulled you closer until your chest rested lightly against his. You didn’t resist, but you didn’t lean in either. You just stood there quietly sniffling while your eyes cast to the floor.

His hands moved slowly, almost hesitantly, up to cup your face. His thumbs brushed along your cheeks, catching the fresh tears rolling down your skin. Your lips were quivering and your jaw was tight, like you were still trying to hold back everything that wanted to break free.

“Baby,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Please look at me.”

You sniffled again, and your eyes flickered up to meet his.

“I didn’t know,” he said softly, barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t know you felt this way. And I hate that I had to hear it like this, for it to reach this point and for me to finally listen.”

He paused and drew in a breath to steady himself, but it didn’t help. “I thought I was being good to you. I thought you knew how much I loved you. But love isn’t just words, is it? It’s what I do. And I haven’t been showing it. Not in the way you deserve.”

You closed your eyes, biting down hard on your lip.

“I kept running to Hailey because I told myself she needed help. Because I thought you’d understand. And every time I did, I told myself you were okay and that you’d wait. That you knew how important you were to me. But I wasn’t showing you. I was showing you the opposite.”

His voice wavered. “I made you feel second. And that’s the last thing you ever should’ve felt.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. Your throat felt constricted.

“I’m so sorry baby” Hansol whispered as his forehead lowered until it touched yours.

“I’m sorry I made you feel small. I’m sorry I made you feel like your feelings didn’t matter. I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t my priority. Because trust me baby, you are. You always have been, and I was just too blind to prove it.”

A tear rolled down his cheek now, but he didn’t care.

“I’ll do better, I promise” he said, and pulled you just a little closer.

“I love you.”

Hansol stared at his phone and the endless row of his unanswered messages and ignored calls. He stared down at it like it might suddenly light up with your name. The dozen attempts to reach out to you were simply left up in the air.

There was not a single read receipt. Not even the little “typing…” bubble that always gave him a sliver of hope when you both argued in the past.

And that was what scared him the most.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging it back in frustration before gripping the back of his neck. His skin was clammy and his heartbeat was a deafening thud in his ears. The anxiety gripping his chest was unlike anything he ever felt before. It wasn’t stress. It wasn’t him being overdramatic.

This was fear. Total, haunting fear.

Because this wasn’t like you. You weren’t the type to shut him out. Sure, you’d argue and get upset. But you were never the type to just disappear into silence without at least letting him know you needed time.

You’d always give him some sort of a signal or reassurance that as angry or hurt as you might be, you hadn't walked away completely.

But this time, there was nothing. Not a single word.

And this complete void scared the hell out of him.

What if something had happened? What if you were too hurt to want anything to do with him anymore?

He couldn’t sit still as these thoughts ran wild in his head.

Hansol shot up from the couch and grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair with more force than necessary. His movements were quick and clumsy as he tried to hurry. He barely even noticed Hailey watching him from the living room with confusion written all over her face.

She furrowed her brows. “Hansol? Where are you going? Why are you so— what’s going on?”

“I don’t have time to explain. I have to go,” he said firmly, not even sparing her a glance as he shoved his feet into his shoes.

“Is this about—” she started again, but he cut her off.

“Just— take care, okay?” he said over his shoulder while already halfway to the front door.

He grabbed his car keys off the counter and flung the door open before dashing out.

He didn’t mean to be cold or dismissive, really, but at that moment, there was only one thing, one person, on his mind.

You.

Everything else blurred into background noise. Because if there was even the slightest chance that you were hurting alone, especially because of him, he wasn’t going to waste another second standing still.

He just hoped he wasn’t already too late.

╴╴╴╴╴

Hansol didn’t know if he parked the car straight, if it was even on the driveway, or if he left the engine running. He didn’t care. None of it mattered compared to the mess in his head. What mattered was finding you and fixing things somehow.

He already knew you wouldn’t be at your shared apartment. That would’ve been too easy, because you never stayed there when you were upset, especially not after a blow-up. He knew your patterns too well, when things went south, you always ran to your brother. Joshua was your safe place. Hansol had banked on that instinct.

He slammed the car door shut hard enough to rattle the windows and jogged across the dark, quiet street to your house. All the lights were off, but it didn’t stop him. His fingers hovered over his phone, itching to text you again, but instead, he rang the doorbell.

Once. Nothing.

Twice. Still nothing.

On the third ring, a hallway light turned on. Hansol felt his stomach tighten. The front door swung open with force, revealing Joshua, shirt rumpled, hair a mess and eyes blazing with fury.

“What the fuck do you want Hansol?” he growled. Hansol’s mouth went dry, and swallowed the thick lump in his throat.

“Is Y/n here? I need to see her,” he said quickly, his voice cracking at the end.

Joshua’s expression didn’t change. If anything, it grew colder. His body stiffened like he was preparing for a fight, but instead of throwing a punch out of instinct, he let out a humorless laugh.

“If she is, what makes you think I’ll let you meet her?” he said, every word laced with venom.

Hansol opened his mouth but nothing came out. If Joshua knew even half of what happened, he was screwed. Completely screwed. Seeing you would be next to impossible with your brother standing in the way like a wall of fire.

“Go home Hansol,” Joshua snapped, stepping forward.

“Before I break your fucking nose. After the shit you pulled? You think I’ll let you anywhere near my sister? You’re not even gonna breathe in her direction.”

Hansol stood frozen. His heart was thundering, while guilt ate him alive. He had no plan nor backup. Only one truth, that he needed to see you. But Joshua already made it clear.

He wasn’t getting through that door.

At this point, all Hansol could do was beg. He looked like a mess with his hair disheveled, eyes red and guilt sitting heavy in his chest like bricks. He dropped his head, fists clenched at his sides and jaw tight with frustration. Whatever pride he had shattered the moment he saw Joshua’s face.

He wasn’t here to win a fight, he was here to fight for you.

“I didn’t do it on purpose, okay?” he said almost urgently, finally lifting his eyes to meet Joshua’s glare.

“I’m already beating myself up over this. I know I couldn’t keep my promise to her, and yeah, that wrecks me. But I didn’t flake on her just to hurt her. I was helping my friend out. And I…I lost track of the time. That’s it,” Hansol explained while his voice cracked slightly.

He then paused with his chest heaving.

He took a shaky breath and added, “you know how much I love her—”

Joshua didn’t let him finish. “Yeah, clearly,” he snapped, voice dripping with sarcasm.

The words stung more than they should have, but Hansol bit down his anger and cursed under his breath. Getting defensive wouldn’t help now. Not when he was already on thin ice.

“I just…I just want her to know I didn’t mean to keep her waiting,” he said, his voice growing smaller with every word.

“I want to apologise. She deserves that. She deserves the truth, not this tension and silence between us. I hate that I hurt her, even by accident.”

He looked at Joshua again, but this time there was no fire in his eyes. Just defeat.

“I won’t be able to sleep tonight knowing she probably hates me. I need to explain, even if she doesn’t forgive me,” he whispered. “I need to talk to her. I need her to know she still means everything to me.”

His voice cracked as he finished, barely able to breathe through the tight knot in his throat. “I don’t want to lose her, Joshua. Please. I don’t want to lose her.”

Joshua stood in silence. His anger wasn’t completely gone, but it was slowly simmering down into something else. He stared at Hansol, who looked like he was unraveling at the seams.

Joshua hated how familiar it felt. He hated that he could see the sincerity in Hansol’s misery. The guy looked wrecked. And as much as Joshua wanted to keep holding on to the fury, to slam the door in his face and make him pay, something in him hesitated. Because it was clear now, Hansol wasn’t here to make excuses. He was here to bleed if that’s what it took to make things right.

Joshua let out a long breath. His hand gripped the edge of the door tighter as he stared at the ground. And when he finally looked up again, his eyes met Hansol’s, and for a moment neither of them spoke.

Then Joshua huffed, eyes narrowing. “She’s sleeping right now, come back tomorrow” he said firmly.

Hansol opened his mouth, but Joshua held up his hand. “Don’t push it,” he warned.

He took a step back to leave just enough space to breathe. The tension didn’t disappear, just changed shape.

“But I’m telling you this now. I can’t promise anything, Hansol,” Joshua said. “You showing up, saying sorry, hoping to fix things, that’s not up to me. Whatever happens next, it’s Y/n’s call. Hundred percent. If she tells me she never wants to see you again, then that’s it. You’ll have to live with that.”

He paused as his voice dropped lower.

“And I’ll stand by her no matter what she decides. Because she has every right to be upset. Every right to not forgive you. You hurt her.”

Joshua took one last glance at Hansol, at the guilt and desperation, before gently closing the door between them.

▎28 NOVEMBER 2021

It was nine in the morning, and Hansol barely managed three hours of restless and broken sleep. The rest of the night was a torture as he tossed and turned in his bed that he normally shared with you, mind plagued with guilt.

He tried to come up with something, anything, that might fix the damage he caused. But every option felt futile. He knew words alone weren’t going to cut it this time. There was no perfect apology, and no grand gesture could undo what he did.

Hansol knew he fucked up badly, and there was no right way to fix things other than to fall at your feet and cry for forgiveness. Because losing you would be the end of his world, and didn’t want that.

Reaching over to check his phone again, Hansol stared at the screen for the millionth time, hoping that somehow this time he’d see a new notification, or at least a sign that you read his messages.

But every single text he sent sat unopened.

He let out a sharp breath and tossed the phone onto the mattress beside him, before burying his face in his hands. His palms dragged down over his face, then up into his hair, gripping the roots in frustration. His jaw clenched as he cursed under his breath. He didn’t know what to do. He never felt this lost before.

Suddenly, his phone lit up and began ringing. His heart leapt into his throat as he scrambled to get it thinking you had finally responded.

But to his disappointment, the screen read Hailey’s name instead. And he deflated instantly.

Nevertheless, he swiped to answer as he exhaled a long sigh while dragging a tired hand across his face.

“Hey,” he croaked out, voice rough from the lack of sleep. He pressed two fingers to his temple as he tried to ease the tension building in his skull.

“Hey, are you okay? You didn’t seem alright last night when you left,” Hailey’s worried voice came through the line.

Even though Hailey had been his best friend for years, Hansol wasn’t in the right headspace to talk to her about his relationship issues. Not when his thoughts were consumed by you. Maybe he was embarrassed to tell her that he messed up again. Maybe he didn’t want to tell her that she was part of the reason why this was happening. Or maybe he just didn’t want her to know every detail of his relationship with you.

He knew she meant well, and that she was only calling because she cared. But her voice, her questions, even her concern, it all just felt like noise to him. All he could focus on was the silence from your end. It was too loud. And the longer the silence stretched, the more it chipped away at him.

All Hansol needed was a sign from you. Even a simple “okay” would’ve been enough to give some sort of relief.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Something urgent came up. Sorry I left you like that,” Hansol apologised as he rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t mean to be so abrupt last night, but his heart was pounding too hard, and his thoughts were spiraling too fast to explain anything clearly.

“Is your ankle okay now?” he asked.

“It’s swollen and bruised pretty badly now compared to yesterday. But I’ve been keeping it elevated and putting on an ice pack,” Hailey replied with a subtle tinge of frustration in her voice.

“I see,” he mumbled. His mind was clearly elsewhere with the way his tone sounded so distant. There was a beat of silence before Hailey hummed in response, perhaps she sensed that his attention wasn’t fully with her.

“You think you can come over later on or when you’re free? I still need a bit of help getting around. Plus I’m really bored,” she added.

Hansol paused. Any other time, he might’ve said yes without hesitation. But not right now. He just wasn’t in the mood to meet anyone besides you. “I can’t today Hailey,” he told her, which caught her a little off guard.

“Oh. Do you have plans with Y/n or something?” she asked, sounding curious, but not surprised.

Hansol hesitated.

How could he explain that it wasn’t exactly “plans” he had with you, but rather a desperate and half-formed mission to salvage what was left of your relationship? That he was losing sleep trying to figure out how to fix what he broke? That your silence was driving him insane?

“Well…kind of,” he finally said.

There was another pause. Hailey didn’t press any further because maybe she sensed the shift in his tone, or maybe she understood more than he realised.

“I’m sorry,” Hansol muttered quietly, almost ashamed to say it out loud.

He swallowed hard before continuing. “Your parents are in town, right? I’m sure they can help out if you really need them. I just…” he trailed off.

He clenched his eyes shut as he inhaled deeply. “I messed up really badly, Hailey. And I’m trying to fix it.”

Hansol didn’t offer more. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t have the strength to dig through the mess he made just to explain it all over again. This was all he could manage, and he hoped it would be enough.

Hailey, thankfully, seemed to understand. “It’s okay,” she said, not pressing further. “I hope it works out.”

“I hope so too” he whispered to himself.

They both exchanged brief goodbyes, and Hansol ended the call before letting out a shaky breath. He tossed the phone onto the bed and sat there in silence.

His eyes lifted towards the mirror across the room, and grimaced at the sight of himself. His hair was disheveled, eyes were sunken from the lack of sleep, and he was still in the same wrinkled clothes from yesterday. He looked as wrecked as he felt.

A bitter laugh escaped him.

And no matter how pathetic he looked, he was going to make it right.

Somehow.

▎2 DECEMBER 2021

The first day or two without hearing from you, Hansol tried to stay calm. He told himself you just needed space and time to breathe. And he wanted to respect that, he truly did, but silence didn’t mean his heart wasn’t screaming in regret. It didn’t mean he wasn’t fighting the urge to show up at your door and fall to his knees.

So, instead, he did what he could from the distance. He texted. He called. Even knowing full well you were likely with your family, he still desperately hoped that you would answer.

But every time he tried to call, his calls would go straight to voicemail. Every time he texted, his messages remained unread. It was killing him. Every time his phone buzzed from notifications that weren't from you, it added another brick to the weight on his chest.

Still, Hansol held onto hope that you were seeing them. Maybe you were reading them from your notification center. Unless, of course, you had muted him. And the thought itself made him nauseous.

By the third day, he was falling apart.

The apartment was a mess. Takeaway boxes were littered on the counter, his clothes were still in a heap from three nights ago, and the lights stayed dim because he couldn’t find the energy to turn them on. He hadn’t left the apartment since. He barely ate and barely slept. His eyes were puffy from crying. It was something he hadn’t done in years, but now did in quiet gasps as he stared blankly at his phone screen, waiting and hoping.

Joshua wasn’t being much of a good help either. He couldn’t even offer him a sliver of peace. Every time Hansol asked about you, whether it was how you were doing or even something as simple as “Did she eat today?”, Joshua would deflect.

“She’s fine.” “She’s resting.” “I don’t know, man.” Every vague excuse was like a slap in the face. Hansol knew Joshua was doing it on purpose and that he was trying to shield you from more hurt. And to be fair, part of him didn’t blame him. But it didn’t make it any less painful.

The longer he went without hearing your voice, seeing your face, or knowing whether or not you were okay, the more it drove him toward the edge. His sanity felt like it was hanging by a single fraying thread. And that thread was you.

He couldn’t keep doing this. Not another day. Not another hour. He was going to see you one way or another.

He didn’t care if he had to wait outside your house for hours, in the rain or during the night. He didn’t care if your brother tried to shut the door in his face or if you refused to say a word. He just needed to see you. He needed to know you were still there and that you hadn’t walked away from him forever.

Because if you had, he didn’t know what he’d do.

All Hansol knew was that he wasn’t going to spend another night pacing around his apartment like a ghost and haunted by what-ifs and regrets. He was going to find you, and he wasn’t leaving until he did.

╴╴╴╴╴

“Y/n, you can’t keep silent and lock yourself away like this forever. It’s getting ridiculous now,” Joshua said with a firm voice as he stormed into your bedroom without knocking. His frustration was evident in the way his footsteps seemed heavy.

“Get your ass up and talk it out with him. I’m getting tired of all this.”

You flinched under the blanket at his tone, not because it was harsh, but because it awakened the very thing you were trying to avoid, and that was facing Hansol. Joshua stood at the foot of your bed with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He wasn’t angry at you, he was exhausted from watching his baby sister spiral day after day.

Joshua wasn’t just irritated. He was heartbroken for you. For Hansol, too, though he never said it aloud. He was pissed at Hansol for making you cry, rightfully, but the truth was, the silence stretched on too long. You and Hansol were both barely functioning, and Joshua had enough.

He saw how Hansol had been trying, really trying. He could see the effort he was putting to get a hold of you though he physically kept his distance to give you space. And every time Joshua gave him a vague answer, he could somehow sense Hansol’s anguish from the other. It was almost too much to bear.

Joshua let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

“I get that you’re hurt. But you can’t stay like this, Y/n. This zombie version of you? It’s not you. And it’s not helping at all, and you know it” he said.

“I’m not ready to,” you whispered, voice muffled as you tugged your blanket up to your eyes.

Joshua had no patience left for that. He strode over and yanked the blanket clean off you, forcing you to curl up tighter into yourself. You didn’t look at him, you couldn’t. The tears were already pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Then when?” he asked with a voice much sharper this time. “Seriously, when? Next week? Next month? Never?”

You stayed quiet.

His voice softened, but his next words hit you harder. “You know, if you’re this affected by what happened that night, why don’t you just spare yourself and break up with him?”

Your breath hitched as you shot your head up, shocked. The suggestion felt like a smack in the face. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Joshua continued.

“You love him, right? But this silence and shutting down, it’s hurting both of you. You’re not healing. You’re just avoiding it which doesn’t help with anything.”

You stared at him as pain swirled in your chest. “It’s not that simple,” you looked away from him.

“I know,” he said much gentler now. “But neither is loving someone. Neither is fighting for a relationship that clearly means everything to you.”

He sat down on the edge of your bed and looked at you with soft eyes. “I’m not saying forgive him right now, nor to forget what happened. But you need to face it. Talk to him. Scream at him if you need to. Just stop letting this eat you alive.”

Silence settled between you both for a long moment. You inhaled shakily, finally allowing your tears to trail silently down your cheeks.

“I don’t know what to say to him,” you admitted.

“Then start with that,” Joshua said simply. “Start with ‘I don’t know what to say.’ That’s something.”

And maybe it was.

Just then, a series of loud, abrupt knocks pounded against the front door, sharp and jarring enough to make you flinch. You shot up from your bed as your heart began to race, eyes wide as they darted toward your bedroom door. Nobody ever knocked like that, not even your angry mother when you wouldn’t open the door while having your headphones in. Given the door bell, people would’ve pressed it.

But this sounded urgent and desperate. And there was only one person you could think of who’d knock like that.

The thought of alone made your pulse quicken. Your stomach twisted as conflicting emotions battled inside you. No matter how hurt and furious you were, your heart still ached for him. Even now, after everything, it still yearned to hear his voice.

“I’ll see who that is,” Joshua said. You barely nodded as he was already moving toward the hallway.

Joshua hadn’t even fully opened the door when Hansol barged past him without a word. The younger’s breathing was heavy. His eyes were red and swollen, the bags under them were visibly dark with exhaustion. His lips were chapped, and he looked like he didn’t sleep in days. Because he didn’t.

Joshua blinked. He was stunned for half a second, before he sighed and stepped aside. He didn’t ask questions, nor did he try to stop him. It wasn’t his place anymore. He already tried everything, from comforting you to yelling at you. Even playing messenger between two people who were clearly miserable without each other. But this was out of his hands now.

With a quiet grunt, Joshua shut the door and walked away, heading to the living room and flipping on the television. He didn’t even check what channel was playing. He just needed the noise as a distraction.

This was something the two of you needed to deal with alone like grown adults. Face to face with no interruptions, and no more hiding.

And so, Joshua left the hallway silent behind him, leaving Hansol standing just a few steps away from your door with heart in his throat.

When he finally reached your bedroom, the door was wide open, thanks to Joshua who didn’t even bother closing it behind him. But either way, it left nothing between you and the person you’d been avoiding for days.

When he was suddenly in front of you, you froze completely. Your heart slammed hard against your ribs as your eyes landed on him. You didn’t know what to expect when this moment came, but it sure wasn’t this.

He stood there, his breathing ragged, fists clenched by his side and jaw locked in a way that made the muscles ripple beneath his skin. His shoulders were stiff, like he was struggling holding himself together.

Hansol looked absolutely beaten. His clothes were the same ones from that night, wrinkled and worn. His lips were trembling despite how hard he was trying to stay strong.

And you? You could barely breathe.

Seeing him like that shattered something in you. Because this wasn’t the Hansol you knew. The Hansol you knew never shattered, he was the anchor when storms hit. But now, he looked like he was barely hanging on. He looked like he was seconds away from falling apart.

Your throat constricted as the tears welling up in your eyes blurred your vision. You wanted to say something, but your lips parted and nothing came out.

“Hansol” you finally whispered as you slowly rose to your feet.

But you didn’t get to say more. In an instant, Hansol leaped forward, catching you off guard. He cupped your face roughly and before you could process it, his lips crashed into yours.

The kiss was intense that left you breathless. It wasn’t soft like how he’d always kiss you, but rather blunt and frantic. It was like he had been drowning and you were the air he needed to breathe again. He kissed you like he was starving of your touch and love. It was messy and heated, but so full of love.

You stumbled backward, but his arm shot out and wrapped around your waist to steady you. He didn’t let go, not even for a second. You stood frozen for a moment, feeling overwhelmed.

And then, your eyes fluttered shut as you kissed him back. Hard.

Your hands grasped his shirt tightly. You could feel his tears trailing down his cheeks, mixing with your own. His soft whimper against your lips shattered your heart all over again. He was crying.

Choi Hansol was actually crying.

You never saw him like this, not once. And now that you did, you wished you never pushed him to the edge like this. But more than that, you hated that he was suffering alone without you hearing him out.

You felt the way he poured everything into that kiss. The fear, the guilt, the longing, the love. It was all there, right between the quivering of his lips and the way his body pressed desperately against yours.

Without a word, you reached up to cradle his face in your hands and brushed his tear-streaked cheeks with your thumbs. He broke the kiss for a split second, and rested his forehead against yours as he tried to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry,” Hansol whimpered.

“I’m so sorry baby” he kissed you again, but this time it was slower and more fragile. You felt the kiss grow more saltier the more tears streamed down his face, and your heart couldn’t take much more.

“I’m such a fucking idiot, I know,” he mumbled breathlessly against your lips.

“I don’t even know what the hell I was thinking all those times I left you hanging. I don’t know what was going through my head when I chose to be there for someone else, when you were the one who needed me the most.”

He let out a sob that vibrated against your chest as he buried his face against your shoulder. You didn’t speak. All you could do was hold him closer with your fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt as his guilt poured out of him.

Hansol pulled away slightly, just enough to cup your face again. His thumbs gently stroked the apples of your cheeks as his red and glossy eyes locked with yours.

“You’re right,” he said. “You’re my girlfriend, for fuck’s sake. And you should feel like you are. You shouldn’t ever have to fight for my attention, or feel like you’re competing with anyone else.”

You watched the torment ripple through his expression. Every word looked like it cost him to say, but he meant them all. He needed you to know he was owning it.

“You didn’t deserve to feel like you were second,” he continued with his shaky voice. “You didn’t deserve to sit there wondering why I couldn’t show up for you the way I always did for someone else. And I hate that I made you feel that way. I hate that I didn’t see it sooner.”

You slowly brought your hands to his face, brushing your thumbs over the trails of tears on his cheeks. He leaned into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

“I— I know I try to be a good friend to Hailey,” he admitted, “but I should’ve set boundaries. Because you were right. She does have other people around her, people she can turn to besides me. I just— I guess I kept telling myself I was helping, not realising how much I was hurting you in the process.”

He shook his head. “Maybe that’s a talk I need to have with her too.”

He took another breath, but it got caught in his throat. “I just—” he paused, swallowing hard.

“I’m so sorry I made you feel like this. Even though it was never my intention, I still made you feel like a second choice. And I fucking hate myself for it.”

He dropped his hands from your face, only to wrap them around yours, the ones still resting on his cheeks. He squeezed them tightly.

“You know I love you, right?” he whispered, his voice breaking again. “That I never, ever meant to hurt you? Not on purpose. I love you more than I know how to say. So please, please give me a chance to make it right. I can’t keep going through this silence. It’s killing me baby. I swear it’s fucking killing me.”

And this time, his knees buckled as he sank to the floor, pulling you down with him.

You felt like your heart had been ripped out of your chest and crushed right in front of you. The sight of Hansol sobbing this much into your embrace was something you never thought you would witness.

You instinctively held onto him tightly like a mother cradling a child through a nightmare as the two of you slowly sank to the floor. In all the years you had known Hansol, this raw display of vulnerability was something completely foreign to you. He was always the strong one, and the rock for everyone else. Especially for you.

So to see him fall apart like this scared you.

“H-Hey, shhh,” you whispered, gently rubbing his back in slow and soothing circles. You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, another, then another.

“It’s okay, I forgive you, honey. Please stop crying,” you murmured as you were desperate to calm him down.

You tried to gently pull back to coax him into lifting his head and looking at you, but he only buried himself deeper into your chest. He kept his face hidden like he was ashamed to even be seen by you.

“Can you look at me?” you whispered, your voice cracking. But Hansol shook his head against you.

“Hansol-ie, baby, please look at me,” you said again more tenderly as you pulled out the name only his mother and you ever called him so endearingly.

And that finally did it. His body shifted as he slowly pulled himself up. He looked at you, tiredly yet with so much love and intensity.

Without a word, your hands found their way to his face. You cupped his cheeks as you brushed your thumbs gently over the wet trails. He leaned into your palms, closing his eyes and letting out a long, shaky breath.

“I’m sorry too,” you said.

Hansol opened his eyes slowly, brows furrowing in confusion. “Why are you sorry?” he asked, reaching out to hold your hands in his.

You offered him a small, halfhearted smile. “I guess I was being childish with how I acted. I shut down instead of talking to you. I pushed you away instead of letting you in.”

Hansol immediately shook his head. “No. You had every right to be upset. I was the one who broke my promise,” he said firmly, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand.

“It was all on me, not on you my love.”

He reached up to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. “Don’t blame yourself for reacting to the pain I caused.”

You swallowed hard, leaning into his touch. “But I should’ve at least told you I needed time. I shouldn’t have left you guessing like that.”

“Maybe,” he replied softly. “But I should’ve never put you in a position where you had to choose between silence or feeling like a second choice. You deserve so much better than that.”

Your eyes welled again, but this time from the overwhelming tenderness between you both.

But then you giggled softly. “I guess we’re both childish in our own ways,” you said, brushing a tear from your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Me, a stubborn and sensitive girl who shuts down instead of talking. And you, a loser, lovesick boy who’ll chase his girl no matter what.”

Hansol let out a soft laugh and he tilted his head. “And I love that beautiful, stubborn, and sensitive girl so much,” he whispered, “that I promised myself I’d chase her for her in every lifetime. No matter where, no matter when.”

Then, leaning in, he placed a gentle peck on your lips. Your smile paused, lips quivering as you tried to fight off another wave of tears. You stared into his eyes, “God, I really don’t deserve you” you whispered.

The words tumbled out of your mouth from the guilt and ache that still lingered in your chest. You pressed your lips against his again, hoping he could feel everything you didn’t know how to say.

But Hansol shook his head gently, pulling back just far enough to look you in the eyes. “No,” he said with conviction.

“It’s me who doesn’t deserve you.”

He reached up to cradle your face in both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slipped free. “If it were anyone else, they would’ve kicked my ass to the curb already and never looked back. But you?” he paused, his voice cracking, “You still gave me a chance. Even after everything. And I swear, I’m never taking that for granted again.”

“I promise, and I truly mean it this time,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours, “I will never make you feel like that again.”

You let out a shaky breath. You’d never been so vulnerable like this with each other. It was so messy and so emotional.

“I hate that we hurt each other,” you whispered.

“I do too,” he said. “But if we’re going to hurt, I’d rather hurt with you than be without you.”

You rested your forehead against his, eyes closed and hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt. “We’re such a mess, aren’t we?” you chuckled through your tears.

“Yeah,” Hansol breathed, “but we’re our mess.”

You smiled softly and slowly wrapped your arms around his neck. The moment your body met his, a deep sigh left your lips as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

Your voice came out muffled, “I love you,” you whispered against his hot skin, your lips brushing his collarbone.

Hansol let out a shaky exhale. He immediately snaked his arms around your waist and pulled you closer. He closed his eyes as you breathed you in.

“I love you too baby. More than I can ever express,” he murmured into your ear, before tenderly kissing the top of your head.

“I’ll never hurt you again,” he whispered as he pressed his forehead against yours. “God, I’d rather die before I ever do.”

“I don’t care what it takes. I’ll spend every day proving to you.”

a/n; it’s finally here!! please reblog if you like it🫶🏽

[17teezers]

💭 riding vernon’s face

warning: smut 18+ MDNI

a/n: i love you @redemptions for beta reading this after i wrote it half asleep on melatonin

vernon is so the type to just lay back on the bed and wave you over. at first, you’ll have absolutely no idea what he’s trying to do, and so you stand there, head cocked to the side, brows furrowed in confusion. he waves you over once more, but you remain in the same expression.

he scoffs with an eye roll before finally speaking, “come sit on my face.”

you’re taken aback by his words — you were completely unaware that this was something he was into. sure, he’s in absolute heaven whenever he eats you out, but sitting on his face is something you’ve never done before.

but you’re into it.

he watches as you hesitate for a moment before pulling your panties down to your ankles, stepping out of the wet garment. your skin feels hot as you crawl onto him, slowly inching your way up before you settle on his chest, the fabric of his plain white tee shirt brushing against your clit.

“are you sure?” you ask, eyes searching for any sign of hesitation. he nods, hands tugging at your hips.

“never been more sure in my life, pretty girl.” and those are the last words that come out of his mouth before he lifts you up and brings your cunt to his face. his breath is hot against your wet folds, and it tickles with stimulation ever so slightly. your hands grip ahold of the headboard — apparently just in time as he slams your hips down so his mouth fully makes contact with your cunt, a surprised moan ripping from your chest.

his tongue swipes and pokes at your desperately wet folds and clit, hips already shaking from his touch. somehow, sitting on his face amplified the feeling so much more than you expected.

“fuck, sol..” you whine, throwing your head back as your hips unintentionally roll against his face. he moans into your pussy, vibrations running up and down your spine.

“taste s’good,” he mumbles from beneath you, even the way he talks sparking pleasure throughout your body. biting your lip, one hand leaves the headboard to become entangled in his hair, something you dearly missed doing while he had a buzz cut. your grip tightens around the strands, and he groans, sucking your clit between his lips.

pathetic whines fall from your lips as his grip around your thighs tightened, hiding you down against his face.

“fuck you’re so good at this, gonna cum soon,” you whimper, using your hand to push his face deeper into your cunt. his tongue works wonders — moving and stroking in ways you didn’t know was possible, leaving your inner thighs to tense and tremble.

“use me,” he grunts, making himself work harder just to get you off. fuck, he’s so hot. you look down, and just the sight of him is almost enough to get you off — his face his slightly pink, glossy brown eyes hidden behind hooded lids of pleasure, his hair caught in between your fingers. in determination, you bring your other hand to entangle in his hair, holding him with both hands as your rock your hips back and forth.

he moans deeply as you begin to ride his face, both the action and the delicious pain of you tugging on his scalp has his poor cock begging for friction and release. your moans and whines fill the room as he lets you use him as you please, clit brushing on the textured muscle of his tongue. he lies there peacefully, slurping up any juices and taking what you give him.

“fuck… fuck m’so close, fuck hansol…” you babble, drool almost escaping through the corner of your mouth. your hips stutter with the pace once, twice, and until you have no control over them.

the room is disgusting, echos of your moans and vernon’s mouth bouncing off of each other as you cum all over his face, just the way he wanted it. your fingertips loosen the grip you had on his hair as your legs shake, turned gelatinous and unable to move.

he moves you off his face, coming up for deep breaths of air, and he fucked out expression on his faces makes you want to go for round two.

“yeah, we’re doing that a lot more often now,” he chuckles, and dumb grin playing on his lips.

[svtts]

VALLEY girl

pairing: underground LA producer!chwe vernon x valley girl! fem!reader

genre & warnings: pwp, explicit content, swearing, substance abuse, hate sex, bathroom sex, rough sex, mirror sex, unprotected (DON'T do this) sex, hard dom! vernon, creampie, hickeys, biting, lots of dirty talk, use of derogatory terms (slut, whore), degradation, rough-housing (chs grabs readers jaw), nipple play, hair pulling, choking... there's probably more lmk what i've missed! 18+, mdni!

desc: chwe vernon was the king of the underground scene, renowned for his producing work and famous for being tough to get in bed but absolutely sensational if you got underneath him. however, you don't care — you were too busy filling your bed with whatever producer fell for your fluttering eyelashes until Vernon had a rapid change of heart.

wc: 3.8k

note: thank you to @kyeomofhearts @binniebean0 & @nerdycheol who listened to my yap and watched me lose it over making a banner (lol). big thank u to the lovely @cheers-to-you-th who beta'd! lav u <3

𝄞: ain't in la by adéla, valley girls by blackbear & tu tu neurotic by the hellp

THE CHIRP OF CICADAS rang distantly through the hazy bedroom, soft yellow hues slipping through rustling white curtains and a warm breeze lifting and dancing with the fabric as slits of harsh sunlight caught your face.

Grimly, you rubbed your eyes to kill the daze that clouded your vision and maybe, by some euphoric miracle, ease the throbbing possessing your head. When you finally managed to focus your eyes, the creamy popcorn ceiling made your brain feel like it was seeing static, the silent spin of an aged fan making you blink harshly, the motion spinning your brain savagely.

As you turned your head to look anywhere that wasn't the relentlessly revolving fan, a dark shag of hair materialised next to you, a bundle of tanned limbs sleeping peacefully away from you.

The vision of toned biceps let your memories fuse together instantaneously — back arched impossibly as Mingyu pounded into you persistently, strong arms holding you against his chest as he refused to falter his pace, orgasms so blissful you dared to stay the night.

Jesus Christ.

Maybe it was the ecstasy you were sure Jeonghan slid you or the cocaine you'd snorted through giggles with Chan, or maybe even the bitter beer you'd shotgunned with Jun — the sticky substance coating your bikini top and making your chest glisten in the strobe lights.

Selfishly, you raked your eyes down Mingyu's god-like body; his back muscles practically pulsed even as he lay slack, small, level breaths escaping his parted lips. Then, you silently slipped out of his bed, using your perfected feather-like footsteps to gather your various discarded articles of clothing and slide them onto your body — a skimpy bikini top that reeked of alcohol and a pair of striped booty shorts that Mingyu had almost ripped off your body. As you squinted into the mess, your pretty lace panties were nowhere to be seen.

Fuck the underwear; they were concealed by heaps of clothes and blankets, and you needed to get out of the house urgently, before the impending comedown punctured your consciousness and rendered you a zombie for a few hours.

Without a peep, you crept out of his bedroom, silently clicking the lock as you bee-lined for the front door, wherever it was.

Throughout the three years that you'd lived in Los Angeles, you never seemed to get the hang of coordinating your way out of a house the morning after. Hallways that were packed with people abandoned in the early light, solo cups and toilet rolls stuck to tacky floorboards, silence echoing louder than any music had played the night before.

But, as your head began to pound, the adrenaline of the drugs slipping from you selfishly, you just picked a direction and followed it. Luckily, the quiet hum of a voice grew louder as you followed dirt-stained walls, mysterious patches of liquid and clusters of discarded trash.

Like the gates to heaven, the front door appeared as you turned a corner, and a sigh of relief almost slipped out of your mouth instinctively. However, as the room opened up, a lounge-style seating area came into view; a figure sat with one leg resting over the other, both legs bobbing incessantly as the man leaned with a slackened head against the back pillows of the settee.

You could recognise that mop anywhere. Vernon Chwe, the Los Angeles underground scene's most renowned producer — and fuck, as you'd been told. The man was a living legend among female party-goers; famously tough to get in bed, but if he decided you were worthy of him, he quite literally rocked your world.

And sure, you'd love for your world to be rocked. But you'd dipped into a lot of LA producers and were satisfied enough. The last in a long line, Mingyu, was sensational enough to warrant a sleepover — a rare luxury few men got from you, so you were alright with never experiencing the five-star fuck that was Vernon.

Plus, every time you saw him, he'd dismissed your presence without a moment of hesitation. Either walking away from you mid-conversation or ignoring any input you contributed. You never knew if it was deliberate, but it definitely felt like it was.

On the sofa, his jaw was tensed as he held his phone to his ear, slender fingers gripping slightly too hard as the distant babble of a voice played into his ear. When you took your leave, his gaze drifted from the chandelier to your scantily-clad body, watching with the same deadpan expression for a second before returning his bored look to the ceiling.

To him, you were probably another underground groupie, fucking his friends and drinking his alcohol, fading from his conscience as soon as you appeared, like smoke from a cigarette; produced to be discarded.

And that's why you took control of every sexual encounter you partook in. Even if you were S.Coups' 'little slut' for one night or Joshua Hong's 'princess' for another — you'd always walk away as soon as it was done, just to ensure they knew you weren't going to be their booth girl to trample all over.

Quite frankly, it worked a treat. You were having brain-altering orgasms multiple nights a week, listening to the best electronic music LA had to offer and then walking away with some of the hottest producers still desperate to feel you wrap around them again.

Letting yourself out, the heavy Los Angeles heat hit you, making bile rise in your throat as you walked away from the mansion, not once glancing back as your heels hit the sidewalk, the humidity bouncing off of the cement below you.

It was another one of those nights, tucked deep in the Hidden Hills, a sprawling bungalow shook with bass as bodies piled into the heap of the house. The art-deco style abode was bound to be a disaster by sunrise, and the front garden was already halfway there — pools of sick in the grass, tipped-over trash cans, couples lustfully making out on the steps.

The sight sent excitement running down your spine.

Pushing through the dark wooden door, you were greeted by the sight of people — a lot of them.

From wall to wall, the space was packed with drunken party-goers, swaying along to the thumping dance music and hollering at each other, voices raised to match the music and alcohol rife in their systems. Cans raised to the ceiling as people got lost in the music, letting their necks hang in time to the beating kick drum.

The lively electronic track was a new tune, and it flowed through you easily; the rumbling bass resonating deeply, making the cocaine you'd snorted suddenly awaken as you allowed your chin to nod timidly along. Keeping your chunky sunglasses over your eyes, you squinted over the sea of bodies to spot who was situated behind the makeshift decks.

Hunched to one side, adorning a black top, was Vernon, his eyes concealed by his shaggy fringe as his head swung nonchalantly from side to side. However, beside him was the8, a close friend of many of the guys you'd slept with — if you were honest, the8, or Minghao, was absolutely enticing, and his shaggy blonde mullet was practically sending heat between your thighs already.

'Ah! Hey you!' The loud and booming voice belonging to Mingyu sounded, and you turned your head to where the built man materialised through the crowd, slinging a strong arm around your shoulders.

'Hey Gyu!' You replied, letting the taller man hug you sweetly. As much as Mingyu was oblivious, he knew you were just a one-time fuck, and graciously he accepted it, even though at every party since you'd slipped out of his bed at 8 am he'd drunkenly tell you he'd do anything to do it again.

There was a part of you deep down that felt bad for him, but alas, you maintained a healthy friendship with him and allowed him to guide you behind the decks at every single party. It was sort of a ritual at this point; you'd end up like a booth girl — but instead of splaying yourself for attention, you just let them silently approach you.

So without further ado, Mingyu's strong arm and elevated presence parted a path through the crowd, and you were situated with a perfect view of Minghao's tattooed muscles, not batting an eye at the nonchalant man beside him.

With flirtatious giggles and batted eyelashes, you had managed to enamour Minghao into holding your waist weakly as he spoke to someone beside him. The time had passed dangerously slowly as you waited for him to take you home, twirling your hair between your fingers as your gaze floated across the intoxicated bodies dancing along to the next DJ.

'Going to the toilet, I'll be back.' You leaned over and whispered with a flirtatious bite, and Minghao turned to you, smoothing his hands down your dress and cupping your ass.

'Ok, let's go to mine when you're back.'

Finally.

Slipping away, you were subjected to the crowd of unruly party-goers — multiple of them stumbling and shoving into you as you bee-lined for what looked like a hallway. After what felt like a torturous hike instead of a brisk walk through a party, you emerged in a quieter hallway, a pissed-off scowl dominating your face as you leaned against the wall.

The dim lighting masked the faces of the bodies that floated around the narrow space, and you tapped your foot impatiently as you waited for the bathroom door to swing open.

As you reclined against the wall, a figure appeared in your peripheral vision, and you snapped your head forwards to distinguish who had halted only a few centimetres from your face.

Unmoving, stoic eyes bored into yours as you were greeted by Vernon, his movement paused with certainty as he sized you up, and under his gaze you felt like prey, cornered by a ruthless predator.

'What do you want?' You asked, a grimace twisting your expression as you looked up at him.

'What do you think?' He replied with a deadpan voice, holding an almost identical look of disgust when his eyes trailed down your body and he signalled to the bathroom.

'Whatever.' You muttered, looking up at Vernon with sharp eyes. This was the closest you'd ever been to him, and you could finally see his dark chocolate eyes clearly. There was no trace of emotion adorning his orbs, not even recognition, so when he spoke to you, it came as a shock.

Vernon was ridiculously handsome, his bushy pointed eyebrows making his eyes look like they were narrowed — like he was permanently judging whatever was in front of him. His jaw was tightly clenched in this moment, like just looking at you pissed him off.

And there was no way on planet earth you were letting the effect of his heavy gaze show on your features, so you met his stabbing eye line as it stared into you.

'Don't you get bored of being everyone's booth girl?' He asked easily, like the words weren't practically spoken to grate against you.

'Don't you get bored of being fucking miserable all the time?' You hung your head to one side, letting venom seethe in every word.

For a few moments, he doesn't break your eye contact, as if his gaze could hurt you.

'Would hate for you to forget your panties at my house again.' There was a hint of a satisfied look that surfaced on his face momentarily before it was swallowed into his nonchalant facade.

Oh, this fucking cunt.

'You'd love it if I left my panties in your room, Chwe. Don't act all high and fucking mighty.'

To your retort, his head snapped away, his jaw sharpened as he gritted his teeth. A sweet smile danced on your face, victory tasting a little too good as you slipped away from him, unable to bear his presence any longer.

'Bye Vernon! I'm off to leave my panties in Minghao's room tonight!' But before you could throw a mocking wave over your shoulder, a strong hand pinned you against the wall, chapped lips meeting yours in a greedy kiss.

Without hesitation, you let your eyes flutter closed as the feeling of Vernon's lips pressed against yours sent jolts of electricity sprinting down your spine — Vernon. Chwe Vernon. King of the Los Angeles underground scene and god of nonchalance had you pinned messily against a wall in the midst of a bustling party.

Well shit.

Vernon tasted like mint and the best parts of a shot of vodka — there was an intoxicating way his lips caught yours, his teeth biting at your bottom lip and dragging it with head-spinning intensity.

As your hand found the fluffy nape of his neck, it tugged harshly, your tongues practically fighting for dominance amongst one another as he pressed himself against you. There was a sense of desperation that bled through you both, the kiss not loving at all — it was a mess of selfish lust, insistent dominance and pure, undiluted hatred.

'I fucking hate you.' You spoke through heavy breaths as his lips began to trail downwards, biting and nipping roughly at every spot he could find, and it had you in a fit of indiscreet moans.

A dry laugh sounded against your jaw, and he continued, not sparing the words to respond.

The bathroom door swung open, a drunken man stumbling out, and Vernon had you through the doorway with lightning-fast agility — pressing you against the hollow wood expertly, his mouth reattaching to the crook of your neck, sucking cruelly and biting at you like you were just something to put in his mouth.

Like your worth was equivalent to the piece of mint gum pressed between his teeth.

His strong hands had your hips held tightly as he pressed them against the door, unallowing of any movement. Even as you squirmed when he hit that sweet spot behind your ear, his iron grip kept you as still as he wanted you to be — loud and breathy moans leaving your lips as his became unrelenting.

'Listen to you.' He breathed, still working at that spot. 'Such a fucking slut.'

The words went straight to your core, butterflies fluttering at a fierce intensity within you, sending wetness sopping out of your neglected heat. Reluctantly leaving your hip, Vernon let his hand grip your boob roughly, a small sigh leaving his lips as he let his assault trail along your chest.

It was mind-boggling, the hate pumping through you that was being viciously subdued by how good Vernon was making you feel. It was like all that hate fuelled something different this time — something that was making his length harden in his jeans.

'You're a slut, aren't you?' He questioned as he pulled the tight fabric of your dress to scoop below your breasts, forcing them to bulge out in an almost pornographic fashion. As he pinched your nipple, his tongue licked ruthlessly at the other, and you were rendered absolutely wordless. The overwhelming sensation of your body being stimulated so expertly let only deep breaths and heinous sounds fall out of your mouth.

Then he seized. The euphoric movement halted savagely as he held your jaw firmly, forcing you to meet his harsh gaze. It was enticing how his dilated pupils were so darkened, lust ruling every second of your encounter. 'Answer me.'

'Yes, Vernon.' You spat out, chest rising and falling as you caught your breath.

Before he continued, he rejoined your lips — and for a few seconds it's not full of hatred, and there's no point desperately trying to be proven, no tugging on either of your bodies; he's just got his arms wrapped around your waist, lips pressed deliciously against yours as he walked you away from the shut door.

However, the shock of the cool tile adorning the sinks met the back of your thighs, and the warmth dissipated; Vernon's hands roughly spinning you to be bent over the cold porcelain sink.

The mirror revealed a vision of indecency; Vernon had left an array of dark splotches along your neck, purple blossoming against your skin, your hair messily falling down one shoulder, your breasts practically squeezed together. And like a shadow behind you, his brown hair concealed his features as his hand smoothed along you.

'Look at you,' He met your gaze, his eyes half-closed in a sultry look as he inspected his work. He pressed himself against you, letting the hardness of his clothed erection push against your ass, and the feeling made you impossibly wetter. 'Such a pretty whore.'

'About time I see for myself what all the boys were raving about.' He spoke as he roughly shoved the silk of your dress upwards, exposing your ass and thighs, the tiny lace panties doing a shockingly bad job at concealing the arousal dripping down you.

A strangled groan left his throat as he took in the sight of your uncovered body, making his hardness throb with need. Using one hand to roughly squeeze the flesh of your ass, he unbuckled his belt and tugged his jeans and underwear down to his thighs in one smooth movement.

Vernon's hardened member slapped against you, and you held your breath in anticipation, your hips involuntarily bucking to gain any type of friction — you didn't care at this point; it didn't matter that this was the man who never spared you a glance, or who famously discarded his hook-ups like an old toy. All that mattered was how hard he was going to fuck you.

'So desperate, huh?' A small grin quirked on his lips, and it was a pure expression of cockiness, selfish pride on his features as you pushed yourself towards him, his slender fingers slowly making their way through your folds.

It's almost blissful, how he touched you enough to have your head hanging back onto his shoulder but not enough to have you clenching around nothing. If you weren't so distracted by the overwhelming feeling of his digits flicking your clit, you'd pay attention to how his head was nuzzled against yours, peppering light, almost intimate, kisses along the side of your head.

But before you had time to realise his slip-up, his almost stupid exposee on himself, he was roughly pushing you against the counter, your breasts pooling against the tile as he gripped your hip.

'Don't you get enough attention, whore?' He spat almost maliciously as he bullied his way into you, the gushing wetness making him slip in like it was exactly where he was supposed to be.

He was big. Not the type of big that is a discarded comment; his length had brutally scratched your cervix in the first thrust and ignited a bittersweet stinging sensation as he stretched you. The feeling made a gaudy moan force its way out of your mouth, your eyes screwed tightly shut in absolute pleasure.

Without a moment to spare, he pistoned into you with an unrelenting pace, his member hitting every single inch of you, the feeling beyond anything you'd felt before. It was enticing, the way he hit parts of you that you didn't even know existed, not alleviating his speed for even a second.

As you forced your eyes open, the sight of Vernon made you clench around him. His face was flushed, cheeks pinkened as his lips were caught between his teeth — there was a lusty glaze adorning his eyes as he watched your ass giggle with each thrust.

'Fuck,' He groaned, his grip hard enough to leave bruises against the skin of your hips; wet sounds echoed through the bathroom as he fucked you ruthlessly, wetness practically gushing out of you with each tenacious thrust.

As his eyes met yours, he released one side of your hip, gathering your hair into a mass before pulling you roughly against his chest.

'Look at yourself slut.' He said, your tits bouncing rhythmically as he continued to fuck you. It was degrading and frankly embarrassing to be in this position, the party thumping behind the bathroom door — and it's even more humiliating that Vernon has you like this, a gushing mess in a filthy LA party bathroom.

The sight is enough to make the approaching release come hurtling at you faster, 'Vernon, I'm going to cum.'

Your words only made him speed up impossibly faster. It was incomprehensible how he could thrust into you at such a heinous speed, and your body felt like it was running at a near-boiling point.

With a cocky smirk, he released your hair to grip your neck instead, the pressure overwhelming as you let your head slacken onto his shoulder.

'Good girl, cum for me.' He whispered into your ear, letting his hot breath tickle it, and rapidly your vision was turning white as stars exploded within you, the insistent banging of his tip against your cervix jolting euphoric pleasure through you as you cum around his cock, clenching uncontrollably as he continued.

'Such a good slut.' He said, and you whimpered, the feeling of him inside you, chasing his own high, so overwhelming all you could do was lean with jelly limbs into him.

'Just going to keep using you until I cum.' He said through gritted teeth, hand still securely around your neck to keep you right where he wanted you. It was like you were a rag doll, almost limp for him to finish himself off on.

Ludicrous moans tumbled out as every inch of you felt overstimulated. Beside you, small groans slipped from Vernon's mouth as he squeezed his eyes shut, his pace brutal inside you.

'Fuck, you're so hot.' He admitted, and if you weren't at his mercy, you may've smirked cockily. But you were still at his disposal, your hole a toy for him to get off in. As you gasped, his hips slapping yours cruelly, his moans intensified, and he pushed you down again, hot skin hitting the cold tile as his orgasm descended upon him.

The pace faltered, and throaty moans escaping him as you felt him twitch inside you, his thrusts becoming sloppy and slow as he painted your insides with his load. As he stilled inside you, you finally let your breath begin to catch up with you, feeling aware of your skin gleaming with sweat and hair in tangled masses

Leisurely, he pulled out, eyes trained to the mixture of release coating your folds.

The air suddenly felt tense, as if you both realised who you'd just fucked and how good it was. In a calm scurry, you pushed yourself forward, pulling your dress to conceal your exposed body and combing your hair through with your fingers.

Behind you, Vernon was tugging his underwear onto his hips, the matching sheen making his pale complexion glow.

'Where the fuck is my underwear?' You questioned, wondering if the mind-blowing orgasm had rendered your brain useless as you scrambled to cover your leaking vagina. With squinted eyes, you turned to Vernon, who had finished buckling his belt and now had your soaked panties hanging off of his pointer finger.

'Don't be a dick.' You reached to grab the lacy material from him, and he roughly shoved them into his back pocket.

'You can get these from my room next time.'

note: post v8 psychosis making me feral i stg...

[redemptions]

bring honour to us all [1]

pairing: poly!svt x fem!reader

wc: 4.9k

genre: non-idol au, mulan/military au, reader pretends to be a man to replace their father during conscription, depictions of physical violence (battles and death), sexualised language, smut in future parts but will be highlighted in chapter warnings, everyone is a little in love with reader regardless of presenting gender

summary: you joined the army as hyunjin to save your father and found a place that you never imagined for yourself. now, they know you’re a noble lady and you have to find a new peace amongst them, with a new title and some feelings that you aren’t fully prepared to confront.

a/n: my first SVT fic. it was supposed to be a short fic, just figuring out how to write for SVT before I started a collab fic (coming in september!) but instead, it's become this four part series. i hope you like it! please reblog and comment, and let me know if you want to be added to the fic taglist!

chapter 2

series masterlist / main masterlist

network: @andlinked

-----------

The floor was hard when you were dropped on to it, your knees cracking at the landing. You tried to keep your back straight, to look visibly strong even if you didn’t feel it, but the impact sent a wave of discomfort ricocheting through your nerves and you wobbled.

Your bound hands reached out and kept you from dropping face first into the mat. You grit your teeth through any sounds of pain. The noises you make are just as much as victory for the enemy. Seungcheol - Captain Choi, you corrected yourself - had told you that.

The same man who was now staring down at you from the war table, expression blank, eyes dark and unreadable. It was strange to think that he was the enemy now, enjoying your pain in the way he’d warned you about. It hurt in that uncomfortable way when you knew you were the reason for a betrayal and just had to live with the guilt.

You couldn’t say you hadn’t intended to lie. You’d come here already rewriting the story of your life - your name, your history, your future. All reworked and conveyed to every person you met.

You broke their trust and, in the imperial army, trust was paramount.

Around the captain were his generals, the privates and petty officers that you had trained with, laughed with, fought with. They were a lot easier to read than their leader - eyebrows furrowed, watching you like a wild animal, lips pursed. 

You could have laughed - it was like they’d never seen a woman before.

You felt more than watched Mingyu crouch at your side. His hands hovered but didn’t quite touch the bandage he’d wrapped around your chest. He murmured a curse to Jun and Vernon, the two who dragged you in. “If you ripped open her stitches, we’re going to have a problem.”

Jun averted his gaze, embarrassed, and Vernon’s jaw tightened.

“It’s fine,” you whispered and cursed yourself for how your voice trembled.

It was strange how in one moment, you were brave, strong and full of adrenaline. The you from before would never have jumped in front of an arrow, would never have been quick enough to get there anyway, but the way you were now, you think you’d do it again in a heartbeat. Without it, your Captain wouldn’t be looking down at you now and you couldn’t bear the thought.

Maybe it was better your battalion looked at you with disgust and hurt than in grief and devastation. You think you could take that.

It was Mingyu who had found out first, the battalion’s lead medic. He’d stripped you with the efficiency of a skilled doctor and then flushed to the tips of his toes at the sight of your tits. You’re pretty sure they all got a good look, before Seungkwan had swung into action, ordering privacy with threat of testicle removal.

When you’d cried - in pain from the embedded arrow head in your right side, heartbroken at the truth and terrified of the consequences - Seungkwan had held your hand against his chest. You’d called him “pretty boy” and he’d given you a wet smile.

You almost wished for that Seungkwan now, the one who could actually look at you.

In the end, it was Jeonghan that spoke to you first. “So it’s true, you really are a woman.” He didn’t say it like an insult, like you were something less than, but still you bristled.

“Was it the tits that gave it away?” You snapped. Like old times, like you were allowed that kind of familiarity.

You weren’t, not anymore. Wonwoo tensed, hand flexing around the handle of his sword. Jeonghan though, he just grinned in wryly amusement. “Are you saying that as Hyunjin or the real you?”

Hyunjin. The name you had given yourself to match your male identity, the name your parents would have given you if you were born masculine.

“Can’t it be both,” you challenged.

“What’s your birth name?” Joshua asked. He stood further in the group, looking every bit like the ideal soldier despite the fighting they’d all barely recovered from. You’d resent him for it if he wasn’t so sweet.

You hesitated and then gave your name, the one you hadn’t spoken to yourself or others in 4 months. It felt wrong to say, clumsy on your tongue.

“Pretty,” Chan said, mild and perfunctory, “it suits you.”

You winced. “Please, don’t.” 

The soft words weren’t ones they had ever shared with you but now that your true gender was revealed, it was like talking to a distant suitor. It made your skin crawl and chest ache.

Seungcheol shifted in his chair and eyes snapped to him instinctively. It was a show of how well trained you all were and how respected the captain was.

“Why did you come here?” he asked quietly. He didn’t have to shout for you to know he was angry.

“I was conscripted,” you stated. The same as them all.

Seungcheol’s eyebrows knitted together. “The eldest son was conscripted.”

“And my father has no son, only me,” you pushed. “He... he barely survived the last war and I couldn’t let that happen. Not if I could help.”

“So you became a man,” Jeonghan said.

You sighed. “I became Hyunjin. Hyunjin is me.”

“But he’s not, is he?” Soonyoung interjected, shoulders tense, “Hyunjin is - was, the eldest son, ready to die for his country and you - if you’d died, you’d be someone’s daughter that would be devastated that you died in their place.”

You swallowed. You tried not to think about your mother and father, holding the secret of your disappearance to hide the shame, to stop the punishment that no doubt would come for you. It was illegal for women to fight in the imperial army and it was treason to infiltrate the military. You’d known that at the time you cut your hair short, stole your father’s horse and galloped off to meet the recruiters.

“I’d do it again,” you said, unexpectedly honest. For your father, you’d do anything to keep him safe just as he had your entire life. For your mother, you’d do anything to ensure that the love of her life was always there for her - you remembered how much it had broken her during the first war. And, selfishly, you think you’d do it again for the power you didn’t know you could hold and for them. Each and every one of those soldiers you’d met and cared for. You couldn’t imagine a world where you didn’t know them, even if they would come to regret your presence here.

It was Jihoon who said the quiet part aloud. “You should be executed for this.”

Your heart leaped fearfully in your chest before you could control it. You watched the uneasy shuffle of legs, the eyes that widened and looked away, the slow closing of fists. You watched Jihoon’s expression and how his eyes seemed so sad. You didn’t like him looking at you like this.

Minghao was the first to object. “Hyung, Captain,” he corrected himself, “you can’t-”

“It’s the law,” Jun interjected.

“The emperor would destroy us if he found out,” Seokmin pointed out, the first thing he’d said in your presence since he found out. He still wouldn’t look at you, even now. You’d shared a tent with him, spent the most amount of time with him as they marched in formation, and maybe that was why he was taking it the hardest. To see the usually so happy man like this was painful.

“I didn’t patch her up just for you to end her,” Mingyu said.

“What are we supposed to do?” Soonyoung challenged, “She’s not a pet.”

You looked at Seungcheol, at the man you respected more than you ever thought possible. “I’ll accept your judgment, Captain Choi.”

His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “You haven’t called me that in months.” You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to. His eyes flickered to Mingyu, “How long is recovery expected?”

“Another three weeks at least for me to feel comfortable,” the medic explained.

Seungcheol looked back at you. “Consider this a debt paid. A life for a life,” he murmured, “Hyunjin will stay with us on the march to the capital until Medic Kim says that you’re well. Then you’ll leave and never come back.”

It was the best scenario and yet the mercy only made disappointment curl in the pit of your stomach. “Yes Captain.”

“We don’t speak of this,” Seungcheol’s eyes landed on each in his battalion, men he trusted more than anything.

The room saluted. “Yes Captain.”

-

On the nights where the negative thoughts become too much, you think living like this might be a bigger punishment than execution. You hadn’t been alone in months and now the sudden absence felt like missing a limb. 

You still had your tent, the same one you’d been assigned to that first day but Seokmin had left it almost as soon as the decision to keep you around had been made - you’d caught him as he left, canvas bag thrown over his shoulder. He’d avoided looking at you as he scurried to Seungkwan and Mingyu’s tent. It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did, shouldn’t have brought a lump to your throat or had tears burning the corner of your eyes. You didn’t sleep that night, trying desperately not to cry.

The next day, he still came to help you put down the tent after breakfast, preparing for the next day of marching. You murmured your thank you but got no response in turn, just the swing of the rolled up tent onto his broad shoulders.

You still had your meals given to you by Chan but now you were the last one to eat, just on  the outskirts of the warmth of the fire. Your fingers accidentally brushed the younger officers when you took the bowl and he nearly dropped it in the dirt in his eagerness to get away from you.

You couldn’t do basic training. You’d tried but Jihoon had stopped you with a tightness in his expression. “I think it’s best if you ask if Mingyu has something you can do.” Mingyu had given you a list of herbs to organise so it wasn’t that you were bored, but it was another line of separation that highlighted just how little they wanted to do with you.

You hated that it hurt you so much. As the only child of a great family, you were alone a lot of the time, time taken up by ceremonies and responsibilities that were suitable for a daughter. You did them with a smile because you had to. Running about to join the army might have been the first thing you’d actually done for yourself. You hadn’t expected to love it, to love the routine and the power it gave you, to love watching the sun rise and set as you marched through landscapes you never thought you’d see in your lifetime.

And the people. You adored them in a way you didn’t think it was possible to love those who weren’t in your family line.

You missed Seokmin’s laugh, how it shook his whole body and he had to lean on you for support. You missed Seungkwan’s singing at the most inopportune times, especially during the night watch. You missed Soonyoung’s jokes and Jihoon’s tired acceptance of them. 

You missed Vernon’s quiet correction of how you hold your sword and how Jun seemed to know exactly what you were feeling before you could even formulate the words yourself. You missed Jeonghan’s teasing and how Joshua fell into the trap every single time. 

You missed drinking tea in the early morning with Minghao after a long night patrol and joining Chan to hunt whatever animal was available to eat in the mountains. You missed Mingyu getting just a little too drunk on moonshine and spilling one too many secrets of his own secrets. You missed the shy way that Wonwoo smiled when his battalion teased him before cutting them down with the driest comments. You missed the way Seungcheol used to watch over you all, softness in his eyes.

You’d never get that again, you thought, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. No, the pain of what you had lost would just stay with you for the rest of the life your Captain had determined you got to keep. A lifetime of punishment indeed.

-

It’s on the fifth day of your social isolation that the camp was ambushed. You were in your tent when the noises started, familiar enough that they scratched down the back of your mind like a physical wound. You were up, moving instinctively. You grabbed at your sword - you still sharpened it daily, like you’d be taught, even if you weren’t being actively trained anymore - and pushed open the tent flaps to carnage.

Hun. A unit like yours, likely on their way to the battle front as you had been, and now reconvening further into the country. An attack of opportunity because how could anyone resist their enemy so unsuspectedly waiting for them?

Adrenaline thrummed through you and you were taking a step forward, ready to jump in, before you were blocked.

“Stay behind me,” Wonwoo insisted, already using his broad form to shove you where he wanted.

“I can fight,” you reminded, already skirting around, before the firm hand of Joshua pushed you back.

“Stay back,” he ordered firmly. “We can’t let you get hurt again.”

“Hurt saving your sorry arses,” you reminded him. There was something about the way he said it that stunk of ‘man protects woman’ and you wanted to scream. “I’m fine.”

“Would you just listen for once?” Soonyoung complained.

You pushed through again, back into formation. “You would never have let me sit out of a fight.”

“That was before,” Joshua murmured bitterly. His body was already moving to block you again, so you shoved him hard in the right shoulder.

“Your sudden realisation that I have tits does not determine whether I can stab someone,” you snapped. “You guys trained me. Do you have no faith in your skills?”

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened. Soonyoung looked like he wanted to strangle you. Joshua’s gaze danced around your face before sighing in defeat. “Just...stick close, okay?”

You tried not to let the relief thumping through your body show on your face. “Yes sir.”

Soonyoung spluttered. “Are you crazy?”

“She’ll follow us anyway,” Joshua sighed, “At least this way we won’t be distracted.”

“Speak for yourself,” Wonwoo grumbled but you ignored him.

It was strange how, when fighting, you felt more at peace than you had all week. Your side pulled uncomfortably around your stitches and you had no doubt that you might have opened it again but you didn’t care. How could you when you could almost pretend that things were back to normal?

If you dodged, another swung their sword to cut down the enemy. When Soonyoung ducked, you were swinging over his head, a clean cut across the jugular. An axe head clipped you before you could put more distance between you but Wonwoo was already there, delivering a pommel blow to the side of the attacker’s head. Joshua made formation calls and you all slipped into them instinctively, muscle memory.

Around you, you could see the others of your battalion, weapons blurring at the speed they are moving. You watched a Hun soldier kick Jun in the chest and Minghao jump in from the side, diverting attention to himself. You caught Chan using nearby branches as offensive weaponry so Jeonghan could cut at the tendons on the back of a heel.

It was bloody. It was exhausting.

You felt like you could breathe easier.

You didn’t move fast enough.

Oxygen was punched out of your chest by an arm, the owner shoving you until your back slammed against the trunk of a tree. You gripped at his hand, suddenly so aware of how much bigger the Hun were than you, and tried to use your legs to kick out. He took the blow with a wince and pressed down harder.

“A pretty boy,” he breathed, words twisting in an insult, “ever taken Mongolian cock before?”

He tightened his grip enough that you could see spots. Over the fur covered shoulder, you see your captain barrelling closer. “You ever,” you wheezed, “had your throat cut before?”

You could see the confusion flash through his eyes before they were replaced by shock and the sharp end of a blade through the side of his neck. The grip on you tightened and then loosened as he was shoved away, heavy body dropping like lead on the dirt floor. You landed unsteadily on your feet and coughed through sharp inhales.

“What are you doing here?” Seungcheol snapped.

“What I was trained to do, Captain Choi,” you rasped. 

You could see the vein in his forehead pulsing, but he couldn’t comment any further because there was another sword being thrust at him.

The fight continued until Mingyu put an axe head into the back of the last member of the Hun unit. Post-fight silence rose up to surround them and you couldn’t hear anything except your own heartbeat. Your eyes scanned over each of them, taking a mental stock of bruises and cuts and ultimately the fact that each one was still on two feet. A momentary relief, of familiarity, before eyes snapped to you and an irate captain was storming across the bloody ground towards you.

You straightened up instinctively, falling to attention.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Seungcheol demanded, “you should have stayed inside.”

“And let you fight the Hun without me?” you retorted, “Not a chance of that in hell, captain.”

“Do you have a death wish?”

“My death would bring honour to my family name,” you said firmly.

Seungcheol pinched the bridge of his nose. “And what exactly would happen to my name if I brought home your father’s daughter in a body bag?”

It hurt you to think about them, so you tried not to. “They would know I died for my country.”

Somewhere over his shoulder, you heard Seungkwan’s long groan of “we’re terrible influences.”

The captain clearly heard it too, his lips twitching upward in the corner before he could stop himself. It had been so long since you’d been on the receiving end of such a look and you held on to it greedily. You tried not to tremble at the way Seungcheol’s eyes dragged down you, assessing, heavier than they had been before.

“We should leave you at the next village,” he mused.

You retorted quickly, “You can’t.”

Seungcheol arched an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“A life for a life,” you whispered. “I have a life debt. I will not be dishonoured.”

Seungcheol looked at you incredulously before laughing, this breathy and full body thing that made you feel warm all over. You hadn’t heard him laugh like that before. “You’re the strangest woman I’ve ever met,” he commented, “to willingly stay in a warzone.”

“It is my honour,” you explained.

“And mine too, I suppose,” Seungcheol sighed and then groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “This is insane. You’re insane. I’m insane.”

“So we really are going to keep her as a pet,” Soonyoung commented and then yelped when Jihoon elbowed him in the side. “Fuck, hyung, that hurt.”

“Do you have any idea how to talk to women?” Jihoon hissed.

“Only his mother,” Chan teased and let himself get pulled into a headlock by Soonyoung.

Seungcheol was still watching you. He didn’t quite look like your commander any more, expression softened at the edges. It was enough to make you feel breathless. “Don’t think you’re going to get out of clean up duty,” he commented.

“Seokmin is the one who keeps taking the tent roll,” you challenged.

The man in question squeaked, eyes wide as if caught under cannon fire, and a flush crossed the bridge of his nose. “I can’t just let her carry it,” he insisted, “it’s not right.”

“I did before,” you reminded me.

“My father would be so disappointed, I can’t,” Seokmin shook his head.

“Wait until he finds out that you slept next to an unmarried woman for 3 months,” Jeonghan joked. His words were light but the implication was clear.

“Nothing happened!” Seokmin insisted.

“I wouldn’t,” you said at the same time.

Your old tent mate looked offended. “What do you mean, wouldn’t? I’m a handsome guy!”

It was true. In your life before, everything about Seokmin - about any of them really - would have been positive in the list the matchmaker gave you. He’s from a good family, too genes, pretty smile, would treat you right. The thought had occurred to you that if you brought any one of these men home with the promise of grandchildren, your parents might forgive your transgressions that lead to this moment.

You forced your thoughts away from there immediately.  “Do you want me to want to fuck you?”

Seokmin looked like a fish out of water, gapping at you. Mingyu looked a mixture of delighted and disgusted. Jun had pushed his lips together to try not to laugh so obviously.

Seungcheol rubbed his temple. “No one is fucking anyone.”

Minghao booed. Jihoon cuffed the back of his neck.

“You’d be so lucky,” you said and rolled your eyes to the heavens so you didn’t collapse into a ball of embarrassment.

“Mingyu, check her stitches,” Seungcheol ordered, raising his voice in a very pointed change of subject, “and then we’re moving on before another unit tries to corner us. We move in 10.”

“Yes captain.”

-

Even before the truth came out, there was something about you that Mingyu found powerfully attractive. 

It made sense, he thought, that you weren’t who you originally claimed to be. It was in the way that you spoke, your view of the world and those around you. It was how you held everything with such gentleness, except for your sword. It was in how you smiled and he felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

Mingyu had known for a long time that he liked pretty things and you just happened to be one of the prettiest in this dark time.

You sat on the edge of his sleeping mat, undershirt tugged up so that he could reexamine your injury. He tried not to touch you too much - he’s never bandaged a woman until you, and there was some rule about decorum shouting at the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like his old teacher. Seungkwan rested against his own, back to you, taking the privacy as a time to rest before they start their march again - “and to keep you honest,” he had teased, making Wonwoo flush and demand that Mingyu explain himself.

You’d laughed, another pretty thing, at his embarrassment.

Now, adrenaline slipping through your fingers and the confidence you’d had in front of their captain was disappearing, you had only anxious sadness.

“Do you think it’ll go back to normal?” You muttered, a sweet confession that made Mingyu’s chest hurt.

He had been in a unique position of straddling the line between you, the woman they didn’t know, and the others, the men who didn’t know how to handle the lie. He’d had to, being the only medic in the unit and, in all honesty, he thought he liked you too much by then to actually keep his distance. 

You’d not said it but it was easy to tell how the last days had cut at you. When Jihoon had removed you from basic training, you’d come to him, as ordered, and sat in gloomy silence as you organised herb packets and lotions at his request.

Mingyu didn’t want to lie. “Maybe,” he answered, “but I do know what it didn’t feel right until we were fighting with you at our side.”

Seungkwan snorted. “That's so cheesy Gyu.”

Mingyu flushed in embarrassment but you laughed. “I love the cheese,” you promised. Your hand reached for his and squeezed, and he tried not to focus on how much bigger he was compared to you. Looking at you this close, he wondered how many one ever thought you were the eldest son at all.

“Just keep a few ingredients unstocked for me, just in case,” you said. It was hard to tell if you were joking or not but Mingyu answered with all honesty.

“Of course. Always.”

Seongkwan coughed as if that could cover the giggle he let out. The back of Mingyu’s neck warmed. You grinned at him and released your grip. He shouldn’t have missed it as much as he did. “So how’s the stitches looking?”

Mingyu’s eyes flickered down and back again. “In tact but barely.”

You winced. “Sorry to ruin your hard work.”

“It’ll scar if you don’t let it heal properly,” he pointed out.

“You all have scars, I should get a few of my own,” you commented. Mingyu bit down the urge to say it’s different when it’s you, the eldest daughter of a noble family. Instead, he cleaned the weeping edges of the wound and redressed it quietly. You thanked him, said you were going to repack and disappeared beyond the tent flaps.

Across the tent, Seungkwan tied the string on his bag. “You could be less obvious,” he teased.

Mingyu whipped his head around to his old friend with wide eyes. “Do you think she noticed?”

“I think she’s too polite to say anything, but she isn’t stupid,” he commented, “neither is anyone else.”

“Do you think the others,” Mingyu paused, as a thought occurred to him. “wait, do you -”

Seungkwan groaned when he stretched, slipping the drawstring back onto his back. “I think,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “Lady Jin doesn’t realise how much power she has over us. All of us.”

Mingyu thought about your smile again, the way it brightened every facet of your face, and the startling truth that he’d spill blood willingly to keep you happy. He pressed down on his knuckles, working out the cramp rising there. “All of us huh?” He mused.

Seungkwan’s lips stretched into a bashful smile and gave a one armed shrug. “What can I say? That’s a girl worth fighting for.”

Mingyu barked out a laugh. “Now who’s being cheesy?”

-

“Are you sure about this?” Jihoon murmured.

Seungcheol sighed. “What choice do I have? You heard the lady.”

It still felt strange to say. When you had stumbled into the camp, imperial summons in your hand, Soonyoung had thought you did not look like a solider. But then, that’s the problem with conscription - boys with luxuries and those without food in their bellies showed up in equal measure, and it was part of his job as a General to make them war ready. It wasn’t something Soonyoung enjoyed but it was something he was proud of.

Hyunjin had been weak. Makes sense now, he thought, because no noble family would have their eldest daughter doing any activity to build muscle or stamina. You were smart though, he’d recognised, could reroute the unit in a moments notice, and determined. You picked up the sword when you dropped it. You walked on shaking legs. You fell over tree roots and got back up.

Soonyoung respected you.

“That lady shouldn’t be here,” he said, firm.

The Kwon family was one of nobility and as the second son, a career in the military was expected. As a child, he’d grown up with all the rules and expectations and social agreements drilled into him. “Your honour,” his father had said, “is everything.”

Soonyoung had never felt so dishonourable than when you were dragged before them, a wound in the side of your torso and the damning truth that you weren’t Hyunjin after all.

Lady Jin.

We should have protected her, he thought with a tight jaw. He knew he wasn’t the only one who thought so. They had all been dealing with the new truth in some way - the reality that bumped up against their previous understanding, the closeness they had gained, the feeling of betrayal at being lied to by someone who they considered family.

“But she’s here now,” Jihoon reminded. His lips flickered into a fond smile, only recognisable to those who knew him well. “With a life debt.”

“So she stays,” Seungcheol repeated, “until we get to the imperial city and can send her home.”

It was what he wanted and yet it still struck him uncomfortably. Home meant not here, not with them. Soonyoung shook the thought away - he was not ready to follow it to an unfortunate conclusion.

“Lady Jin is Hyunjin to whoever asks,” Seungcheol added, “if someone were to find out…”

“They won’t,” Jihoon was confident, “this unit wouldn’t do anything to put her at risk.”

“How can you be sure?” Soonyoung asked.

The shorter General laughed, his grin stretching wide. “Haven’t you seen how they look at her? Everyone thinks they’re being so sly.”

“Everyone?” Seungcheol arched an eyebrow. He didn’t sound upset, only surprised by the revelation.

“Not me,” Soonyoung was quick to refuse.

Jihoon’s eyes flickered to him and gave a small shrug. “Whatever you say, Soonie.”

---------------

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