#hoshi fic

[sailorsoons]

Teeth (k.sy)

PAIRING: F.Reader x ot13 PACK MEMBER FOCUS: Soonyoung PACK MEETING: Soonyoung is an irritable mess and no one can figure it out until he wanders in your room in the middle of the night. REQUESTED BY: ANON REQUEST: soonyoung got his rut earlier than expected and everyone has been wondering why hes so snappy these days, and it was answered when soonyoung goes to the omega’s room and yeah u know it lol GENRE: Fluff, smut, mild angst AU: Omegaverse WC: 9,867 RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It may contain explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. PACK WARNINGS: Some mild angst and fighting among members, Soonyoung is picking fights with everyone that are petty and stupid, lots of frustration, a single moment between Soonyoung and Mingyu where Soonyoung almost turns things physical but reader diffuses, some awkwardness because reader is still relatively new to the pack, lots of hormones and body chemistry, Soonyoung having some anxiety about spending a rut with reader, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected sex, mild biting, some scenting, teasing, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, very very light dirty talk, Soonyoung being possessive, and a moment of Soonyoung being territorial to another member at the end briefly. SMUT NOTICE: This chapter is centered around smut and shout be skipped if you don't like reading smut - it makes little sense to read without. A/N: This does not lean into rut dynamics a ton nor does it lean toooo heavily into omegaverse smut dynamics because I wanted to lean into the idea that this is the first time since reader has joined the pack that she's helping with someone's rut and thus the dynamic is entirely different and slower/more personal than it typically would be among seasoned rut partners. A/N 2: As usual this is not beta read this because I'm impatient and just wanna post these as I finish writing them. Also Hali stick to under 5k challenge failed again.

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SOONYOUNG IS AN EASY ALPHA TO READ. As someone who wears his heart on his sleeve and his emotions on his face, you rarely have a problem reading him now that you know him well enough. Plus, whatever isn't on his face or in his tone is usually coming directly from the source himself, never the one to shy away from communicating exactly what he thinks of something.

So it's unusual when you realize on a Friday afternoon that something is wrong with Soonyoung but you don't quite know what that something is.

The sun is slanting through the western windows of the house, turning the floors honey-warm and catching the dust motes floating lazily through the air. You're curled into the corner of the sectional - a spot that has become yours over the last few weeks - with a book in your lap. It's some novel that Wonwoo recommended and that you're half paying attention to because Mingyu keeps singing off-key in the kitchen where he's baking and because there's base thrumming from Jihoon's studio basement, vibrating up through the couch into your spine.

It's the kind of afternoon that's calm but doesn't exactly leave space for reading, especially when Chan flops down on the couch next to you, immediately pushing into your side to nuzzle close and lay his head in your lap.

"Hi," he sighs dreamily, tilting his head back to look up at you. "This okay?"

You grin, running your fingers through his hair. "Of course it is."

He nearly purrs under your touch, melting into your lap as he settles, his dark hair soft against your fingers as he gets comfortable with one arm draped over his stomach and the other hanging off the edge of the couch. He smells like the laundry detergent the pack uses, warm and clean and the distinct lavender and sea salt smell that is so him.

Putting the book down, you continue to stroke his hair, feeling him relax into your lap, heavy and solid. You smile. You like this - you're glad that you finally have figured this out, the intimacy that's both physical and mental, both casual and sexual. Now that you've finally settled and figured them out, this kind of contact is easy. Welcome. Craved.

The afternoon light catches the side of Chan's face and you notice the faint freckles across his nose, the way his face is soft, eyes closed and content as he drifts. It's moments like this that make you understand why the pack works and why fourteen people in one house don't feel chaotic and feel like this instead.

Soonyoung's voice is what cuts through the silence, reminding you that the pack has its bad days too. You turn to look over the back of the couch the way his voice is coming, cutting through the ambient noise like a knife. Chan shifts too, the beta making an unhappy noise as he cracks an eye open.

"I said I would handle it, Seokmin," Soonyoung snaps somewhere. You straighten, the alpha's voice rigid and more severe than you're used to hearing. "So stop."

"I'm just trying to help." Seokmin's calmer voice barely reaches you, careful and placating. You can hear his confusion even without seeing his face. "If you'd just listen-"

"I don't need to listen."

Footsteps keep your attention pinned to the entryway from the hall. Soonyoung rounds the corner into the living room and the sight of him makes something in your chest clench. His jaw is tight, muscle twitching beneath the skin, and his shoulders are drawn up and rigid. There's something wild in his eyes that make your instincts prickle, a warning bell going off in the back of your head that's telling you there's an alpha in distress.

Seokmin trails behind him with his hands raised in a gesture of peace, his expression caught somewhere between apologetic and frustrated. He's still in his work clothes, dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and tie loosened around his neck, but the tension in his neck has nothing to do with Soonyoung.

Your book is long forgotten. Chan's head is turned in your lap, watching as Soonyoung storms into the room, Seokmin behind him. Seokmin looks at you before his eyes dart meaningfully between you and Chan, a silent request. You understand immediately and pat Chan gently. The beta stirs immediately, unfolding from your lap with a quick kiss to your forehead before he heads toward Seokmin.

"Help me with something in the kitchen?" Chan asks Seokmin, reaching for him.

"Sure," Seokmin sighs, moving toward the hallway. He shoots you one last look, mouthing thank you as he follows Chan out of the room, leaving you alone on the couch.

The moment they're gone, Soonyoung is moving toward you, his agitation evaporating. He falls onto the couch, settling against you instantly, head finding the curve where your shoulder meets your neck, his arms wrapping around you as he breathes you in.

"Hi," he says quietly, voice muffled as he presses in closer. "You smell good."

His scent washes over you as he burrows closer, deep teakwood with an undercurrent of warmth that you've come to associate with him, though there's something slightly off about it now. Something sharp and acidic underneath. It makes your nose wrinkle slightly even as your omega instincts purr at his proximity.

"Hi," you murmur, tugging him further into you.

"What are you reading?"

"Something Wonwoo recommended."

He hums, a low sound in the back of his throat, and leans even closer to peer at the cover. You can feel the heat of him along your side, can see the way his hair falls into his eyes as he tilts his head. "Is it good?"

"It's okay. It's a little slow."

"Do you want company? I can sit with you."

There's something almost desperate in the offer, something that makes your chest tight. You study his face, trying to understand what just happened, trying to reconcile the alpha who just snapped at Seokmin with the one who's looking at you now like he might die if you say no. You'd never say no, though, so you smile and nod.

"Always," you say softly, and watch the way relief floods his expression like sunrise breaking over water. “Just keep the teeth away, yeah?”

He nods and shifts, adjusting his position so he's lying more fully against you, his head pillowed on your thigh where Chan had been moments before. The weight of him is different, heavier and more solid, radiating a heat that seems to seep through the fabric of your leggings and into your skin. One of his arms wraps around your leg, holding on like you might disappear if he doesn't anchor himself to you.

Without thinking, you card your fingers through his hair, and the effect is immediate. He melts. There's no other word for it as the tension that had been coiled through his shoulders and jaw just dissolves under your touch, his whole body going soft and pliant against you. A sound escapes him, something between a sigh and a groan, and he presses his face harder against your thigh.

"That feels nice," he mumbles. "Don't stop doing that."

You smile, continuing the gentle motion, your fingers sliding through the dark strands. His hair is softer than you expected, still slightly mussed from where he'd been running his hands through it earlier, and you work through the tangles with careful attention. Each pass of your fingers seems to pull more tension from him, until he's practically boneless against you, his breathing evening out into something slow and deep.

The afternoon light has shifted, no longer streaming directly through the windows but casting everything in a softer, golden glow. That's when you notice it again. That off note in his scent. It's subtle, easy to miss if you weren't paying attention, but it's there, sharp and acidic beneath the familiar teakwood warmth, like something fermented or turned. It makes your nose wrinkle slightly, your omega instincts prickling with a vague sense of concern. You've never smelled him like this before. Usually his scent is all warmth and depth, grounding and steady, but this is different.

You frown slightly, your fingers pausing in his hair as you try to place what it reminds you of. Your first thought is rut, that sharp, aggressive edge that alphas get when their biology starts to take over, but you dismiss it almost immediately. You've been with the pack long enough now to know everyone's schedules, the careful tracking system they use to make sure no one's caught off guard. Soonyoung isn't due for a rut for at least another three weeks. You'd know. Seungcheol keeps a calendar, and you've seen it enough times to have most of the dates memorized.

So it's not that. Maybe he's just stressed? The thought settles uneasily in your chest. He has been more on edge lately, more irritable with the others, though you'd chalked it up to work or pack dynamics or any of the hundred other things that can make an alpha tense. Maybe it's manifesting in his scent, some kind of stress response you're not familiar with yet.

You let it go, resuming the gentle motion of your fingers through his hair. Whatever it is, he clearly needs this and you're not about to pull away because of some vague concern you can't even properly articulate. If it's serious, someone else will notice. Seungcheol will notice.

Soonyoung makes another one of those soft sounds and you feel your heart do something complicated in your chest. You smile, thinking about how much you like him. The realization isn't new - you like all of them. But it hits you fresh at this moment, with him soft and sleepy against you.

"You're really good at that," he murmurs, his voice drowsy and content. His eyes are closed, his face relaxed. "Like, unfairly good."

"Just scratching your head," you say, but you're smiling, your fingers finding that spot behind his ear that makes him practically purr.

"Mm, no. It's more than that." He shifts slightly, tilting his head to look up at you, and the expression on his face makes your breath catch. There's something raw in his eyes, something open and honest that he usually keeps hidden behind jokes and easy grins. "You make everything feel easier."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He reaches up, his hand finding yours where it's resting against his temple, and he threads your fingers together. His palm is warm, slightly rough, and the gesture feels impossibly intimate. "I really like being close to you. Is that okay? To say that?"

"Of course it is. I like being close to you too."

His smile is small but genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Good. Because I don't think I could stop even if you told me to."

You laugh quietly, resuming the gentle motion through his hair with your free hand while he keeps the other one captive, his thumb tracing absent patterns against your knuckles. His touch is comforting and you can feel the way his body has gone completely relaxed against you as the house settles around you, the sound of pack life continuing in other rooms.

You don't know how long you stay like that. Long enough for the light to shift again, the golden glow deepening toward amber. Long enough for your legs to start going numb under his weight, though you don't mention it. Long enough for you to memorize the exact shade of his hair in this light, the pattern of freckles across his nose, the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks when he closes his eyes.

"Thank you," he says eventually, so quiet you almost miss it.

"For what?"

"For not asking questions. For just letting me be here."

You want to tell him he never has to thank you for that, but the words feel too big, too revealing, so instead you just squeeze his hand and keep running your fingers through his hair, and hope he understands anyway.

He seems to. His eyes drift closed again, his breathing evening out. And despite that lingering concern about his scent, despite the confusion about what happened with Seokmin, despite everything, you let yourself have this, relaxing against the couch as Soonyoung dozes in your lap.

-

The second time you notice something off with Soonyoung is worse.

It's Saturday morning and the kitchen is alive with the weekend chaos you've come to expect now that you eat breakfast at more reasonable hours. Mingyu is at the stove making what smells like pancakes while Vernon sits at the island with his laptop and a cup of coffee that you think has gone cold. Joshua hums as he sets the table in the dining room while morning light streams through the windows, coffee and the scent of bodies filling the room.

You're standing at the counter making tea, watching the kettle when you hear the commotion start somewhere just outside the kitchen.

"I'm just saying," Junhui says, his voice measured and calm in a way that suggests he is trying very hard to be patient. "If you'd communicated better, it would-"

"I don't need you to tell me how to communicate, Jun." Soonyoung's voice cuts through the morning peace like a knife, sharp enough that you see Mingyu's shoulders tense at the stove, see Vernon's fingers still on his keyboard.

Your hands tighten on the edge of the counter, your whole body going alert. Not again. Please not again. You glance at Mingyu who winces and shrugs his shoulders before turning back to stare intensely at his pancakes, preferring to let the alphas argue it out.

"I'm not telling you how to do anything." Junhui's voice is still calm but you can hear the edge creeping in, can hear the alpha authority starting to bleed through. "I'm just saying that if you'd communicated better, we wouldn't have had the conflict with-"

"Right, so it's my fault."

"That isn't what I said-"

"It's what you meant!"

You turn your attention back to the kettle, listening with half an ear as the argument continues. It's not the first time you've heard pack members disagree, and it probably won't be the last. The whistle is building now, getting louder, and you're reaching for your mug when you hear a crash loud enough that you jerk your hand.

The kettle wobbles but you catch it, steadying it with both hands as you let out a breath. Your heart kicks up for a moment before settling back down. Just an argument. Just pack dynamics working themselves out.

Mingyu has turned from the stove, spatula still in hand, his expression somewhere between concerned and resigned. Vernon has closed his laptop, watching the doorway.

"Soonyoung." Junhui's voice is harder now, carrying that alpha command that says stand down. "You need to calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down."

There's a beat of tense silence, and then footsteps, quick and purposeful before Soonyoung appears in the kitchen doorway. He looks wound tight, his chest heavy slightly, his eyes bright and a flush high on his cheeks that tells you he's stressed. His hair is a mess like he's been running his hands through it, and his t-shirt is rumpled, twisted slightly to one side. For a second he just stands there, breathing hard, his gaze sweeping the kitchen like he's looking for something.

Then his eyes land on you, and everything changes.

The tension bleeds out of his shoulders and his expression softens immediately, the wild edge in his eyes gentling into something warm. He crosses the kitchen in a few long strides, and before you can say anything, he’s pressing into your side like he needs the physical contact to breathe.

"Hi," he says quietly, his voice rough but softer than it was seconds ago. One of his arms wraps around your waist, and he leans into you, his forehead coming to rest against your temple. "You making tea?"

"Yeah." You can feel the heat of him along your entire side, can smell that sharp acidic edge underneath his usual teakwood warmth. It's more pronounced than it was yesterday. "Want some?"

"No. Just want to be here."

"Alright."

You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, scraping the blunt edge of your nails against his scalp. He hums, chest vibrating against you as his eyes flutter, scent blooming warm and rich, the acidic note vanishing. The kettle is whistling properly now, so you pour the water one-handed, Soonyoung still plastered to your side like he has no intention of moving. He doesn't say anything, just stands there with his arm around you, his breathing evening out as you finish making your tea.

Behind you, you can hear Mingyu returning to the pancakes, the quiet sizzle of batter hitting the pan. Vernon has reopened his laptop but you can feel his attention still on the two of you. Joshua appears in the doorway, takes one look at Soonyoung wrapped around you, and just nods to himself before heading back to finish setting the table.

"Breakfast is almost ready," Mingyu says after a moment, his voice carefully neutral. "If you guys want to sit down."

Soonyoung makes a noncommittal sound against your hair but doesn't move. You smile, wrapping both hands around your mug now that it's ready, and lean back into him slightly.

"Come on," you murmur. "Let's go sit."

He follows you without question, his hand sliding from your waist to tangle with your free hand, keeping you connected as you move into the dining room. The table is set thanks to Joshua, who looks between you and Soonyoung before winking.

You choose a seat near the middle of the table and Soonyoung immediately claims the chair right next to you, close enough that his thigh presses against yours when he sits. His hand finds your knee under the table, his thumb rubbing small circles against the fabric of your leggings, and you can feel the way he's still wound tight despite the softness in his expression.

Junhui appears in the doorway a moment later, and you watch as his eyes land on Soonyoung pressed up against your side. Something complicated crosses his face - frustration, maybe, but also understanding, and what looks like relief. He lets out a long breath, his shoulders dropping slightly, and when he meets your eyes there's gratitude there.

Thanks, he mouths silently and you nod.

He takes a seat across the table, his posture still tense but no longer aggressive. The argument isn't resolved, the set of his jaw and the tension in his hands making that much obvious, but it's set aside for now for when Soonyoung isn't whatever this is right now.

Soon, the table fills out with the rest of the pack and loud conversation backtracked by the sound of silverware on plates. Soonyoung serves you first, putting pancakes on your plate before his own, his hand never leaving your knee. He eats one-handed, the other staying firmly on you like he needs the anchor despite Seungkwan poking fun at him.

Soonyoung gradually relaxes against your side. His scent is still off, but his breathing has evened out, and the tension in his shoulders has eased. He's not talking much, just listening to the conversation around him, but every so often he glances at you like he's checking that you're still there.

Across the table, Junhui catches your eye again and gives you a small nod. The message is clear: Whatever you're doing, keep doing it.

So you do. You finish your tea and eat your pancakes and let Soonyoung stay pressed against your side for as long as he needs, and you try not to think too hard about what it is that's bothering him, ready to wait him out and let him come to you.

-

By Sunday, Soonyoung's tension has been noticed by everyone.

It's the kind of afternoon where the house has that lazy, syrupy feeling of the weekend as people scatter across the estate with their routines. You can hear Seungkwan's laugh coming through an open window, backtracked by someone playing music.

Sun bakes down on the top of your head as you stretch, sweaty skin sticky against the cloth of the cabana seating. Mingyu is tucked next to you, the smell of his clean, floral musk and sunscreen soothing.

The afternoon sun turns the pool surface into liquid gold, the light dancing and refracting in patterns that shift with every ripple. The air smells like chlorine and sunscreen and the jasmine that grows wild along the fence line, music playing from the speaker next to Mingyu softly while the two of you lounge

He's stretched out next to you in swim shorts that are slung low on his hips, his long legs crossed at the ankle, a book open in his lap that he's been so called reading for the past twenty minutes despite the fact he hasn't turned a page in at least ten. His chest is bare, shoulders already warming to a golden tan, and there's a faint sheen of sunscreen on his skin that catches the light.

You are definitely not reading your book. Instead, you're acutely aware of the way Mingyu's chest rises and falls with each one of his breaths, every defined line of his abs, and the way his muscles in his shoulders flex when he shifts his position. Your eyes drift from his collarbones to his sternum to the dip of his waist where his swim shorts sit low on his hips, and you have to physically force your gaze back to your book.

When you glance sideways, you catch the faintest smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He knows. Of course he knows. Mingyu always knows when you're looking.

Footsteps draw your attention on the pool deck. Soonyoung is approaching, jaw tight and shoulders tense. You frown and his scent hits you a moment later as the wind shifts, sharp and acrid. You shift and Mingyu notices, glancing at you from behind his sunglasses before he realizes Soonyoung is there.

"Mingyu," Soonyoung says, voice clipped. He stops at the edge of the cabana, his eyes locked on Mingyu with something that makes the beta tense. "You left the fridge door open this morning. Again."

Mingyu blinks. "What?"

"Yeah."

"Soonyoung, I made breakfast at seven. It's been hours." Mingyu shields his eyes, looking up at Soonyoung, his tone more bewildered than defensive. "What even is-"

"And yesterday," Soonyoung continues, "You left stuff all over the kitchen counter. It's rude and messy."

You watch as Mingyu's expression shifts from confusion to something closer to exasperation. "I cleaned that up. Wonwoo saw me clean it up."

"Not very well, apparently." Soonyoung's voice is sharp. "And you were making noise in the kitchen at like six in the morning. Some of us were trying to sleep."

"You were literally in the gym at six." Mingyu closes his book deliberately and sets it on the small table next to the cabana. When he looks up at Soonyoung, his expression is guarded, not angry. "What's your actual problem Soonyoung? Spit it out."

"I don't have a problem. I just think it would be nice if people actually thought about the shared spaces instead of just doing whatever they want."

"Nobody's doing whatever they want."

Mingyu stands now so he's facing Soonyoung directly. He's a beta, but he's not small. He towers over Soonyoung, imposing in a way that makes your instincts flare, feeling the shift of tension between the two.

"You're picking a fight," Mingyu says, softer than before.

"I'm not picking a fight."

"Soonyoung, you're-" Mingyu cuts himself off and sighs. You can see him trying to control his temper, trying to figure out what Soonyoung is actually mad about. "You know what, whatever. You're right."

He turns to leave, his movements sharp and frustrated, stepping away from the cabana toward the pool deck. The afternoon sun hits him full-force, turning his skin golden, and for a moment you think maybe that's it. But then Soonyoung's hand darts out, wrapping around Mingyu's arm just above the elbow, fingers digging in hard enough to dimple Mingyu's skin.

"Don't walk away from me," Soonyoung growls, teeth flashing.

"Okay, enough."

Your voice cuts through the tension, sharp and commanding in a way that surprises even you. You're on your feet before you've consciously decided to move, a frustrated growling rippling through you at their bickering and Soonyoung's obvious struggle with something.

The effect is immediate and absolute. Soonyoung's hand drops from Mingyu's arm like he's been burned, his eyes going wide as they snap to you. Mingyu takes a step back, his posture immediately shifting from defensive to something closer to chastened. They're both staring at you now, and you can see the moment they register your expression.

"I don't know what's going on with you," you say, your gaze locked on Soonyoung, "but I am tired of watching you pick fights with everyone in this house. And Mingyu, you know it sets him off when you walk away like that."

"I wasn't-" Mingyu starts, but you hold up a hand and he stops immediately, his mouth closing.

"I don't want to hear it. Not from either of you. Soonyoung, put the teeth away."

The afternoon sun is hot on your shoulders, the chlorine smell sharp in your nose as a beat of silence passes. Soonyoung looks like he's been slapped, his expression crumbling from aggressive to something that looks almost like shame. His shoulders drop, his hands unclenching, and you can see the way his whole body seems to deflate.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice smaller than you've ever heard it.

"I know, Soonyoung." Your voice softens a fraction. "But you need to figure out what's going on with you, because this isn't okay. Mingyu didn't deserve that."

Soonyoung glances at Mingyu. "I'm sorry."

Mingyu is rubbing his arm where Soonyoung grabbed him, and you can see the red marks already forming, can see the shape of fingers pressed into his skin. His expression is a mix of anger and hurt, and you can tell he's struggling to not let his temper flare again. He takes a deep breath and nods, the frustration melting out of him in the way that betas are always good at.

"You need to talk to Seungcheol," Mingyu says, his voice much calmer now. "Today."

"I know."

Mingyu doesn't seem convinced. "I'm serious."

"I know. I'm going to."

For a second, Mingyu hesitates. Then he nods and glances at you, tilting his head toward Soonyoung subtly. You nod and Mingyu backs up a few paces, keeping his eyes on you until he's sure that you'll be fine with Soonyoung before he turns, sulky and irritated but knowing that Soonyoung needs space and recently, you're the only one who can reason with him.

Soonyoung looks wrecked, his expression apologetic. He's trembling a little, hands flexing at his sides like he wants to reach for you but can't or won't, his scent a mess. His pupils are blown wide, somewhere between fighting whatever instinct is making him so cagey and panic that he's upset you - he hates upsetting anyone, but most of all he hates when you're mad.

"Can I…?" He drifts off and gestures vaguely in your direction.

He's asking permission, deferring to you completely, and you can see in his eyes that he'll accept whatever answer you give. That he knows he just got put in his place and he's not going to push.

You let out a breath, some of the tension leaving your shoulders. "Yeah. Come here.

He crosses the distance between you in two quick strides, but when he reaches you, he's careful, his arms coming around you slowly enough to give you time to pull away. You don't and instead let him pull you close so he can bury his face in your neck, breathing you in and scenting you enough to make you both dizzy and clinging to one another. Your lashes flutter, a rush going through you as he brushes his nose against the softness of your neck, blood turning molten.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against your skin, and his voice is broken. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm sorry."

Your hands come up automatically, one sliding into his hair, the other pressing flat against his back. You can feel the knobs of his spine through his shirt, can feel the way his muscles are locked tight with tension.

"I know you are," you murmur. "But you need to figure out what's wrong. This isn't like you."

You can feel the way he's trying to calm himself down, trying to match his breathing to yours, trying to use your presence to anchor himself. You feel a pang in your chest, hugging him a little tighter. Soonyoung is always hard on himself - harder than he needs to be - and he hates fighting with anyone, especially Mingyu. Especially in front of you.

You guide him back to the loungers, settling onto one and pulling him down beside you. He goes willingly, curling into your side like he's trying to make himself smaller, his head resting on your shoulder. The afternoon sun has shifted, the shade of the cabana stretching longer across the pool deck, and the water has gone still and mirror-smooth in the absence of any breeze.

"You should talk to Cheol," you murmur.

Soonyoung nods against you. "Okay."

You run your fingers through his hair, feeling the way he relaxes incrementally with each pass, the tension in his shoulders easing degree by degree. The strands are soft, slightly damp from the heat and humidity, and you work your fingers through them slowly, deliberately, the way you know he likes. His scent is still sharp underneath, still carrying that acidic edge that speaks to whatever is happening inside his body, but it levels out now, teakwood baked under sun.

"Better?" you ask softly.

He makes a small sound of agreement, his arm tightening around your waist. "Yeah."

-

Someone knocking on your door pulls you from sleep. You squint at the clock on the nightstand, the blurry numbers telling you it's well past three am. Your bed is warm, blankets tangled around you and the faint smell of Jeonghan lingering from the hoodie of his you have shoved under your pillow. You sit up, rubbing your eyes as you get your bearings.

"Come in," you croak.

Before the door even opens, you know who it is. You can smell Soonyoung before the door fully opens, but when it does, it hits you like a physical force. It's his normal warm, woody smell but there's something new now, something hot and thick and almost overwhelming. It makes your mouth water, omega instincts kicking in, warmth pooling low in your belly.

Soonyoung steps into your room and closes the door behind him with a soft click, and in the dim light filtering through your curtains from the streetlamp outside, you can see that something is very, very wrong. Or right, by the smell of him.

He's shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose sleep pants that hang low on his hips, skin gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat despite how cold the house is at night. You can see the way his chest rises and falls too fast, too shallow. His hair is a mess like he's been pulling at it again, and when he looks at you, his eyes are dark and dilated, pupils blown so wide there's barely any iris left.

"I'm sorry," he says, and his voice is rough, wrecked. "I know it's late."

You push the blankets aside and shift to the edge of your bed, feet finding the cool hardwood floor to stand. "What's wrong?"

His entire body reacts to the sound of your voice. He sways slightly toward you, nostril flaring as he scents you, a shiver rippling through him. You take a step toward him and he makes a pitiful sound, looking entirely at war with himself.

"I feel like I'm burning up," he mumbles. "Feel like I'm going to crawl out of my skin if I don't see you."

"Come here."

It's a command - softly given, but a command none the less. He listens like it's instinctual, crossing the room to you in three strides. You feel the heat radiating off of him when he stops in front of you and you reach up without thinking, pressing your palm to his chest. He's fever-hot under your touch, his heart hammering in his chest.

"You're burning up," you say softly, frowning.

"I know." His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing your palm harder against his chest like he needs the contact, needs the pressure. His eyes close and he takes a shuddering breath. "You smell so good. You always smell good but right now it's maddening."

Something clicks into place in your mind. The aggression. The clinginess. The way his scent has been getting sharper and hotter for days. The fever. The way he's looking at you right now like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

"Soonyoung," you say slowly, carefully. "Are you in rut?"

His eyes snap open, meeting yours, and for a long moment he just stares at you. You can see him processing the question, see the moment the realization hits him. His expression shifts from confusion to understanding to something that looks almost like relief.

"Oh. Um. It does feel like that."

"But it's early, isn't it?" You keep your hand on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat under your palm. "You're not supposed to go into a rut for another few weeks."

"Right." He seems to think about something and he makes a small sound, leaning into your touch. "I've never had an omega in the house though."

"Oh."

"I think having you here made my body kind of freak out and decide it was time even if it wasn't."

You can feel your own body responding to his proximity, to the thick, heady scent of him in rut. Your omega instincts are screaming at you to help, to soothe, to give him what he needs. But more than that, you want to. You want to pull him into your bed, want to feel his fever-hot skin against yours, want to take care of him the way every cell in your body is telling you to.

"Let me help you," you say, and your voice comes out softer than you intended, almost pleading.

His eyes go wide. "What?"

"Let me help you through it." You slide your hand up from his chest to cup his jaw, feeling the way he leans into your touch like he can't help himself. "You don't have to do this alone. You don't have to suffer through it."

"I can't ask you to do that. You haven't been here that long and haven't been through one…"

"It's pretty instinctual. I'll be okay."

He's trembling now, and you can't tell if it's from the fever or from nerves or from the effort of holding himself back. "What if I hurt you? What if I can't control myself?"

"Soonyoung, you won't hurt me."

"You don't know that." But even as he says it, he's leaning closer, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. His breath is hot against your lips, coming in short, uneven pants. "You don't know what it's like. What I'm feeling right now."

"Then take it," you whisper. "Take what you need."

He makes a sound low in his throat, something between a whimper and a growl, and his hands come up to grip your waist. His fingers dig in, not quite hard enough to hurt but firm enough that you can feel the desperation in his touch.

"But what if-"

You cut him off by kissing him.

It's soft at first, just a gentle press of your lips against his to turn off his spinning thoughts, but the moment you make contact, something in him breaks. He makes a desperate sound against your mouth and kisses you back like he's drowning and you're air. His lips are fever-hot and slightly chapped, and he tastes like mint toothpaste and something underneath that's purely him, purely alpha, purely Soonyoung.

His hands tighten on your waist and he pulls you closer, eliminating the last few inches of space between you. Your chest presses against his and you can feel the heat of him even through your thin sleep shirt, can feel the way his heart is racing, can feel the slight tremor in his muscles as he holds himself back from taking more than you're offering.

But you want him to take more. You want him to let go.

You part your lips and he groans, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes heat pool low in your belly. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, and you can feel the moment his control starts to slip. His hands slide from your waist to your hips to grip your ass, pulling you flush against him. You can feel him harden against your stomach, the way he's already straining against the low slung sweat pants.

Knowing he wants you this much makes your head spin. You omega preens and you shiver, sucking his tongue into your mouth greedily, driven by a more powerful want than you have ever felt in your life. He responds in kind, walking you backward toward the bed, feet tangling until you're falling backward and he's caging you in.

For a moment, he just hovers over you, his arms bracketing your head, his chest heaving as he stares down at you with those dark, dilated eyes. You reach up and trace his jawline and he leans into the touch, eyes fluttering. You've always thought he had the prettiest eyes, dark and hungry and so full of life. Right now they're burning with something hotter than you've ever seen and it makes you sing.

"You're so beautiful," he says, and his voice is wrecked. "I've wanted this for so long. Wanted you for so long."

"Then have me," you whisper. "Take me."

"Okay," he whispers. "Okay."

He kisses you again, slower this time, his lips moving against you with gentle purpose like he's memorizing the shape of your mouth. His hands start to wander, sliding up your sides, pushing your sleep shirt up inch by inch until his palms are pressed against your bare skin.

The contact makes you both gasp. His hands are so hot they're almost burning, and everywhere he touches feels like it's on fire. He explores slowly, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your ribs, the soft swell of your breasts.

"Can I?" He asks, twisting a fistfull of your shirt in his hand. You nod and he grins.

He sits back on his heels and helps you pull the shirt over your head, and the moment it's gone, his eyes go even darker. He stares at you like he's never seen anything more beautiful, his gaze tracking over every inch of exposed skin.

"Fuck," he breathes. "You're perfect. You're so fucking perfect."

He leans down and presses a kiss to your collarbone, then another to the swell of your breast, then another to your stomach. His lips are hot and soft, and every place he kisses feels like it's been branded. He works his way down slowly, kissing and licking and occasionally scraping his teeth gently against your skin in a way that makes you arch up into him, his name broken and shaky on your lips.

Soonyoung's sounds are equally as needy, groaning low in his throat in a way that makes your thighs close around his waist, the ache between your legs growing despite the way his hips pin yours to the bed. Friction. You need friction but any thoughts of asking for it vanish from your head when he leans down and takes a nipple into his mouth, the heat and wet slide of his tongue making you cry out.

Your hands fly to his hair, threading through the messy strands, holding him against you as he sucks and licks and occasionally scrapes his teeth gently across the sensitive bud. The sensation is overwhelming, almost too much, and you can feel yourself getting wetter with every pass of his tongue.

"So responsive," he murmurs, almost to himself. "So perfect for me."

He gives the same attention to your other breast, his hand coming up to play with the one his mouth just left, and the dual sensation makes your head spin. You're panting now, your hips shifting restlessly against the mattress, seeking friction that you need so badly.

"Soonyoung," you gasp. "Please."

"Please what?" He lifts his head to look at you, and his lips are wet and swollen, his eyes dark with hunger. "Tell me what you need."

"Touch me. Please touch me."

His hand slides down your stomach, his fingers light and maddening. When he reaches the waistband of your shorts, he pauses again, waiting for permission. You lift your hips in answer, and he hooks his fingers into both your shorts and underwear, pulling them down your legs in one smooth motion.

Cool air hits your overheated pussy and you whine. Soonyoung growls in response, looking down where your thighs threaten to shut. He keeps you pressed open, his hands firm on your thighs as he makes an appreciative sound low in his chest, almost a purr.

"You're so wet," he says, his voice rough. "Is this all for me?"

"Yes," you breathe. "All for you."

He stays kneeled there on the bed, his hand tracing down your thigh until he’s sliding his fingers through your sticky, heated folds. He explores slowly, the drag of his fingers making you tremble, thighs twitching until he presses gently against your clit and you let out a high-pitched sound, the contact sending a bloom of warmth spreading through you.

"There?" He asks and you can hear the smile in his voice, smug.

"Yes. Please."

Soonyoung obeys, circling your clit slowly, increasing the pressure as you buck under him. You feel yourself dripping, a wet mess as he plays with you, making little appreciative sounds as his slick fingers work you higher until you're tangling your hands in the bed and writhing under him.

When he slides one finger inside you, you cry out, your hands fisting in the blankets beneath you. It feels good but you want more, immediately asking him for more, mumbling and messy and lightheaded and overwhelmed with the thick scent of him and the heat of his finger pressing against your front wall.

"Yeah?" He asks. "You can take another?"

"Yes. Please. More."

He adds a second finger and the stretch is delicious, perfect. He curls them inside you, searching, and when he finds that spot that makes you see stars, you nearly sob with relief.

"There," you gasp. "Right there. Oh god, Soonyoung, right there."

He works you with single-minded focus, his fingers curling and stroking while his thumb circles your clit, and you can feel yourself getting close, the pleasure building higher and higher until you're teetering right on the edge.

"That's it," he encourages, his voice low and rough. "Come for me. Let me see you come."

You turn your head to the side, pressing it into the mattress as your hips roll toward his hand, letting him fuck his fingers into you until you're coming around them, clamping down hard on his fingers. He moans with you, pumping his fingers through it as you squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, the pleasure so hot you stop breathing for a second.

"Too much," you gasp, and he immediately gentles, his fingers slipping out of you carefully.

He brings his hand to his mouth and sucks his fingers clean, his eyes closing as he hums in delight. You stare at him, panting and sweaty, sheets sticky against your skin as he opens his eyes, the moon reflecting off them.

"Taste so fucking good," he growls. "Bet you taste better from the source, but if I don't fuck you right now I might lose my mind."

"Please," you beg. "Want it so bad."

He makes a desperate sound and reaches for his sleep pants, shoving them down his hips. His cock springs free, hard and flushed and leaking, and the sight of it makes your mouth water. He's thick and throbbing, and you watch like you're hypnotized as he grips himself, stroking slowly a few times as he settles on the bed between your legs.

Soonyoung leans forward, one hand braced beside your head, the other guiding himself to your wet cunt where he pauses, swiping the head of his cock through your slick folds. You whine and he grins, clearly loving the effect he has on you.

"You sure?" He asks after a minute, the head of his cock notching on your entrance but not pushing in. "We can stop."

"I want you," you assure him, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Please, alpha."

Your words have an immediate effect. He shivers, a ripple going through him as he growls low in his throat and presses in. You're wet enough that he slides in smoothly, but you can still feel every inch of him, can feel the way your body has to adjust to accommodate his girth. The drag of him against your walls enough to make you gasp.

"Fuck," he breaths, pressing in until he bottoms out. "You feel incredible. So tight. So perfect." He rolls his hips experimentally, grinding deep, and the pressure against that spot inside you makes you cry out. "Yeah, there it is. I can feel you clenching around me already."

You can feel the fever-heat of his skin, the way his muscles are taut with restraint. His scent wraps around you, that deep teakwood gone sharp and heady with rut, overwhelming your senses until all you can smell is him. It makes your head spin, makes you want to pull him closer, to drown in it.

"Soonyoung," you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Move. Please move."

"Impatient," he says with a grin, but there's heat in his eyes.

He pulls out so slowly that you can feel every ridge and vein of his cock, all the way until just the head of him is inside of you before he snaps his hips forward, driving deep in one smooth thrust, and the sudden fullness makes you cry out. He doesn't give you time to adjust before he's pulling out and driving in again, setting a rhythm that's deep and steady and absolutely devastating. Each thrust hits that perfect spot inside you, sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

"Oh fuck," you groan, going tight around him. "Fuck fuck fuck."

The sounds of the wet slide of him fucking into you fills the room backtracked by his breathing, ragged and uneven as he groans everytime you clench around him. You dig your nails in, scraping down his back to his waist where you urge him faster, your fingers sliding against his sweaty skin.

"That's fucking it," he pants. "Taking my cock so well, huh? Were you made to take it?"

You nod, his words making heat flood through you, making you clench around him involuntarily. He feels it and grins, that cocky, confident smile that makes your heart race.

"You like that?" he asks, his pace never faltering. "Like hearing how perfect you are? How good you feel wrapped around me?"

"Yes," you gasp as he thrusts hard, jostling you up the bed. "Fuck. Yes, Soonyoung."

He shifts the angle slightly, pressing deeper, and suddenly every thrust is dragging against your g-spot with devastating precision. The pleasure builds rapidly, a tight coil of heat low in your belly that winds tighter with each movement. He reaches between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with just the right speed.

"I can feel you getting close," he says, and there's satisfaction in his voice. "Can feel the way this perfect pussy is clenching. You gonna come for me?"

"Yes!"

You can feel yourself climbing higher, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak, your cunt clenching hard, breath hitching as you start to shake. He drives in harder, finger speeding up until you're standing on the edge of your orgasm, breath held, waiting to dive over.

"Come on," he murmurs, leaning down to nip your heard. "Come for me, baby."

You do, the orgasm hitting you hard. It steals your breath and your entire body locks up as you cry out his name, your pussy clamping down on him. His rhythm stutters immediately as he groans, but he doesn't stop, working you through it until you're shaking and feeling like you're going to come apart again, unsure if your orgasm has stopped or if it's another one starting.

"I can't-"

"You can," he urges, breath hot against your ear. "You're going to give me another one, baby."

He pulls out suddenly, and the loss makes you whimper. But before you can protest, he's flipping you over onto your stomach, his hands gripping your hips and pulling them up.

"On your knees," he commands, and the authority in his voice makes you obey without thinking.

When he slides in from behind, the new angle makes him feel deeper. You can feel him everywhere, the stretch, the fullness, the way he's pressed against every single spot inside of you. His hands grip your hips hard enough to dimple the skin, holding you exactly where he wants you as he fucks you in earnest, hips snapping and bed hitting the wall.

"Fuck, look at you," he groans. "Taking me so deep. You're perfect. So fucking perfect."

One of his hands slides up your spine, pressing between your shoulder blades, and you let yourself collapse forward onto your forearms. The change in angle makes him hit even deeper, makes you cry out with the intensity of it.

"Too much?" he asks, but there's a teasing edge to his voice. He knows it's not too much. He knows you can take it.

"No," you gasp. "More. Please, more."

"Greedy," he says with a laugh, but he gives you what you want.

His pace increases, his thrusts getting harder, faster, and you can feel another orgasm building already. It's different this time, deeper and more intense, starting low in your stomach and spreading outward like fire.

His hand slides around to find your clit again, and the added stimulation makes you sob with pleasure. You're so sensitive, so overwhelmed, but you don't want him to stop. You never want him to stop.

"Come on," he urges, his voice strained now. "Give me another one. Want to feel you come apart on my cock again."

The orgasm builds and builds, the pressure almost unbearable, and when it finally breaks you scream into the pillow. Your whole body shakes with it, your inner walls clenching around him so hard you can feel him groan, can feel the way his rhythm falters.

"Fuck," he gasps. "Fuck, you feel so good."

His hips stutter, his grip on your hips tightening almost painfully, and then he's coming with a groan that sounds like it's torn from his chest. You can feel the heat of him spilling inside you, can feel the pulse of his cock, and the sensation triggers another small aftershock that makes you whimper.

He collapses over you, his chest pressed against your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress. You can feel his heart racing against your spine, can feel the way he's trembling slightly, can feel his breath hot and uneven against your shoulder.

For a second, the two of you lay there like that, hearts pounding in sync, the messy slide of your bodies warm and comforting, his scent blooming around you as the mess between your thighs runs down your legs and onto the mattress. You don't care, going near catatonic as Soonyoung presses closer to your scent gland, his tongue darting out to taste you. It makes you moan and push back into him, wanting more and he laughs.

He shifts slightly, starting to pull out, but you make a sound of protest. "Not yet. Stay."

"I'm crushing you," he points out, but he doesn't move.

"Don't care," you say. "Want to feel you."

He makes a soft sound and settles more comfortably against you, his arms wrapping around your waist. He's still inside you, softening but not pulling out, and there's something intimate about it that makes your chest feel tight.

You lie there in the darkness, your bodies cooling, your breathing gradually evening out. You can feel the way his scent is already starting to shift, still hot and thick with rut, but not quite as sharp, not quite as overwhelming.

"How long do ruts usually last?" you ask quietly.

"Three days, usually. Sometimes four." He presses a kiss to your shoulder. "But I don't know if this one will be normal. Everything about it has been weird so far."

"We'll figure it out," you tell him.

He's quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft, vulnerable. "Thank you. For this. For helping me. For not being scared of me."

"I would never be afraid of you."

"Even after the past few days?"

"Especially after the past few days." You turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, and even in the dim light, you can see the uncertainty in his eyes. "You were in pre-rut and you were still gentle with me. You were still asking permission. You were still you. That tells me everything I need to know."

He closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath, and when he opens them again, they're suspiciously bright. "I don't deserve you."

"Shut up," you say, but there's no heat in it. "You deserve everything good. And I'm going to make sure you get it."

He kisses your shoulder, soft and sweet and perfect. When he pulls back, you can hear the smile in his voice.

"Round two?" he asks, and you can already feel him starting to harden again inside you.

You laugh, the sound surprised and delighted. "Already?"

"Rut," he says, rolling his hips experimentally and making you gasp. "Told you it was going to be intense. Think you can keep up?"

"Is that a challenge?"

"Maybe. Think you can handle it?"

"I can handle anything you give me," you tell him, and you mean it.

"Good," he says, his voice dropping to that low, commanding tone that makes heat pool in your belly. "Because I'm not done with you yet. Not even close."

"Prove it."

"Oh, I will," he promises. "We've got all night. And all day tomorrow. And the day after that."

"Good," you tell him, rolling your hips and feeling the way he's already fully hard again inside you. "Because I'm not letting you go."

- The knock comes around late morning, soft but insistent.

You're half-awake when you hear it, drifting in that comfortable space between sleep and consciousness where everything feels warm and syrupy. Soonyoung is sprawled across your chest, his head tucked under your chin, one arm thrown over your waist. His breathing is deep and even, his body finally relaxed after taking you four more times throughout the night on and off. There's an ache between your legs but it feels good, feels right. Like you're right where you should be, pressed against a member of your pack, scents twisted together.

The knock comes again, a little louder this time.

"Come in," you call quietly, not wanting to startle Soonyoung awake too abruptly.

The door opens and Jeonghan steps inside, cradling bottles of water and bowls of rice and chicken. You realize it's what you both need to sustain yourself through Soonyoung's rut and you're immediately grateful, shooting Jeonghan a tired smile. He smirks in response, trailing toward where you and Soonyoung are tangled on the bed.

Soonyoung senses Jeonghan's presence, eyes snapping open. He's up on his elbows in an instant, his body going rigid, and a low growl rumbles from deep in his chest. His lips pull back from his teeth in a snarl that's pure territorial aggression, his pupils dilating as he positions himself between you and Jeonghan like a shield.

Jeonghan doesn't even flinch. Instead, he sets the food and water down on the dresser and turns to Soonyoung, face calm and placid before his face shifts, lips pulling back to bare his teeth at Soonyoung in kind. There's no anger in it, but rather a reminder to Soonyoung that Jeonghan is number two in this pack and Soonyoung's senior and he is not intimidated.

Soonyoung's growl falters. You can feel the moment he recognizes the dynamic, the moment his rut-addled brain processes the hierarchy and accepts it. His teeth retract, his lips closing over them, and he settles back down slightly, though his arm never leaves your waist.

"Keep the teeth away," Jeonghan snorts, walking toward the door. "Congrats on finally figuring it out. You cannot imagine the relief I felt seeing you crawl up here last night."

He turns and exits the room without another word, closing the door quietly behind him.

For a moment, there's silence. You can feel Soonyoung's heart still racing, but his anger is immediately replaced with a sheepish laugh and him awkwardly scratching the back of his head, looking at you.

"Sorry," he laughs. "I've never done that before."

"It's okay," you tell him, reaching back to run your fingers through his hair. "It was cute."

"Cute?" He scoffs. "I'm not cute. I'm tough. I have teeth."

"Uh huh." You lay back on the bed, looking up at him, grinning. "Use those big teeth on me then."

"Yeah?" he asks, his voice dropping to something low and hungry. "You want me to?"

"Yes."

That's all the invitation he needs. He moves fast, rolling you onto your back and pinning you to the mattress in one fluid motion. His hands find your wrists, pressing them gently but firmly into the pillows on either side of your head. His body settles over yours, his weight pressing you down into the bed, and you can feel him already hardening against your thigh.

His teeth find the sensitive skin of your neck, just below your ear, and he bites down gently, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough that you feel it, hard enough that it sends a spike of heat straight through you. He works his way down your neck, marking you with his teeth, and every bite is followed by a soothing lick of his tongue.

"I'll show you teeth," he mutters, scraping them over the curve of your breast.

You grin, arching into him, finally feeling settled and feeling home.

[woncheolisms]

hii! can u do like y/n is dating hoshi but she is a fan of other member but hoshi didn’t care bcs he’s confident that he can keep his woman (pls tell me u saw the interview) smut would be awesome too. but only if u are comfortable with this request ofc!! thank you again and sorry for troubling u!!

a/n: I know EXACTLY what interview you’re talking about LMFAOOOO thank you for this idea

keep my woman. (kwon soonyoung x reader)

word count: 1.5k

warnings: mentions of jealousy, smut, nsfw, oral (male receiving), dacryphilia, rough sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, some degradation

Soonyoung might look like the jealous and possessive type, and truthfully, he was that jealous and possessive type in previous relationships, but he really doesn’t feel it with you. It surprises his members, especially Seungkwan, who has witnessed Soonyoung’s bad mood many times before this when his girlfriends ended up admiring someone else, like Jeonghan or Mingyu, more than him, making him feel second in his own relationship.

So when you tell the boys while having dinner with them that your bias in Seventeen is Seungcheol, they all fully expect Soonyoung to get annoyed, maybe even a little whiney and grumbly, but it doesn’t happen. In fact, he doesn’t even flinch. He’s completely laid back about it, one leg crossed over the other, arm draped over the back of your chair as you talk about how you admire Seungcheol as Seventeen’s leader. Dokyeom narrows his eyes at Soonyoung, but he doesn’t react. He just lets you yap on and on, unfazed. Undisturbed.

They don’t know the reason he’s so nonchalant about it. But they don’t need to know.

When you get home that night, and he has you kneeling in front of the couch, fingers entangled in your hair and pretty pink lips wrapped around his throbbing cock, Soonyoung fleetingly remembers Seungkwan’s words as they were leaving the restaurant.

“It’s very mature, hyung. I’m proud of you.”

It’s not maturity, Soonyoung wants to scoff. It’s this sight right here, the way you look at him with teary eyes full of adoration and reverence, bordering on worship. The way you relax your throat around him so he can shove your face down as much as he wants, fighting your gag reflex because you love his cock in your mouth so much. Who cares who your favorite member is when you’re so willing to get on your knees and let him use your mouth however he pleases?

When he tugs you off his cock, you gulp in a long, torn breath. You blink furiously to clear your eyes, wide and admiring as you watch him. You lick your lips and open your mouth again, sticking your tongue out, waiting for more of him. He groans.

“Little slut.” He grits out, pulling your head forward again so you can swirl your tongue around his flushed and leaking head. You swallow his precum like it’s a reward. Soonyoung feels dizzy with pride. He leans forward so his nose nudges against yours, foreheads pressed together, still holding you by the hair tightly. You try to push forward, whining in complaint when you’re unable to kiss him, but Soonyoung only grins.

“Tell me how bad you want me.”

And you do, because you’ve never shied away from it. You are shameless when it comes to praising him, unfiltered as you talk about how he’s the only man for you. If the members had spent less time focusing on his behavior and more time actually listening to you, they would be able to tell that it doesn’t matter who her bias is, she loves him miles above anyone else.

Soonyoung hums as you babble on, partially mindless already after the good face fucking he just gave you. He doesn’t have to touch you to know that you’ve already soaked through your panties, the black lacey number he had you put on before dinner because he intended on peeling the wet, ruined cloth off you when you got back.

“What do you want more, baby? My cock in your mouth or my cock in your pussy?”

He nearly coos when he sees your hesitation, the fight in your eyes. He loves how cock drunk you are, how much you love sucking him off. You could do it for hours, you have done it for hours. But he also knows that your pussy is weeping, clenching around nothing right now and so desperate to be filled. So finally, when you don’t respond, he makes the decision for you.

He lifts you up with a tight grip on your waist, tugging you over his lower half. He pushes your dress up until it bundles around your hips. As he expected, you’re wetter than anything, thighs already trembling a little with anticipation. If there’s one thing you love more than stuffing your face with Soonyoung’s cock, it’s stuffing your pussy full of him. And Soonyoung can see it now, the way your jaw goes slack and your eyes roll up when he pushes your panties to the side and sinks himself deep inside you, pulling you down until your pelvis is flush against him. You moan, so loud and pornographic that Soonyoung is almost afraid it will bleed through the walls and alert the neighbors of your activities. A part of him doesn’t care though.

He runs soothing hands over your twitching thighs, bites his lip at the feeling of your warm, gummy walls fluttering around him. He will never get used to this, to how tight you are, how he has to struggle to carve a way inside you because of how hard you clench around him. Or that look on your face, flushed and sweaty, as you try to get used to the intrusion. You’re a vision on top of him, and Soonyoung thanks the gods for his stamina and self control because he could bust immediately just looking at your face right now.

Instead, he leans back and sighs, tapping your hip with his index and middle finger.

“Come on, baby. Take what you need.”

This is his favorite way to watch you, on top of him, doing all the work as you desperately attempt to get yourself off by using his cock. It’s cute how bad you are at it, whimpering and tearing up when you just can’t seem to knock the head of his cock against your sweet spot. It reminds him that only he can truly satisfy you the way your body craves, even you can’t do it. It has to come from him. The surge of power makes his head spin a little, watching you struggle like this. He feels kind of sick about it, but it’s so hot that he can’t help himself.

It takes only a few minutes before you’re sobbing and begging him to take over. Tears now slip down your cheeks, adding to this beautiful, lustful, depraved image of you. Soonyoung palms at your ass, encourages you to keep rocking back and forth.

“What’s wrong?” He croons. “What is it, honey?”

He knows exactly what it is, can feel how badly you want to just get pounded and fucked, but he loves seeing you try and vocalize it, struggling to talk through the fog in your head.

“Please-” You choke out, voice high and shaky. You paw and claw at his chest, fisting his shirt between your hands. “Soonie, please.”

He wraps his arms tight around your waist, pulling you flush against his draped form. It immobilises you, and he plants a chaste kiss on your lips, soft and caring.

“It’s okay, my baby. Relax.”

You sigh into him, and pressed up against you like this, Soonyoung can feel how badly your body is trembling. He starts to feel a bit bad, but no matter. He’s about to make it up to you big time.

With his grip on you tight and his legs spread enough to plant his feet firmly on the floor, Soonyoung finally starts thrusting up, setting a furious pace immediately that has you gasping and moaning in satisfaction. He holds you in place with one strong arm, freeing his other hand to reach up and brush over your heated, wet face. He wipes your tears away, pushes your sweaty, damp hair back, whispers in your ear about how hot you are, how pliant and willing for him, taking his cock like a good girl. You whimper and cry more, and Soonyoung licks away the fresh tears. You clench harder and harder, twitching in his hold, and he knows you’re close.

When you come around him, it drives him crazy with need. You’re soaking his cock just the way he likes it, wet, sticky, filthy, running down his balls until he’s sure you’re ruining the couch too, but he couldn’t give less of a fuck. Not when you squeeze so sinfully around him that his own orgasm hits him like a train, muscles seizing as he dumps load after load of his cum inside your squelching pussy. He holds you close, both of your chests heaving as you catch your breaths. He can feel you plant little kisses over his cheeks and his neck. He can’t help but grin.

When he undulates his hips up into you, you gasp. Your eyes widen when you realise he hasn’t gone down at all, still throbbing hard, making the mess between your legs even worse. Soonyoung’s smirk is near devilish. You’re already whimpering and meeting his movements.

He knows he has absolutely nothing to worry about.

🏷️: @picheolin-17 , @lovelylonelinesssvt , @scarlettveemin , @shad0wcast , @iluvhosh , @littlebluhellfire , @jimzk , @lucis-noctiana , @hannieweee , @xh01bri , @ilseamamuchoamingyu , @bleudandelion , @huihye , @markoplolo , @moondustmemories , @kaitieskidmore97 , @hocidust , @missaoki , @cheolwoo , @isaltedcarameows , @huiimoon , @tranquillitysoul , @missingjeonghan , @weasleytwins-41 , @igetcarriedawaywithyou , @ateez-atiny380 , @piratekingateez2001 , @kpetts , @k4trinabluu , @sunnysidesins , @embrace-themagic , @okdenmepolinoiazei , @escoupsue , @h0neygloww , @hxsxxk-180294 , @wxnderingthoughts , @meanieislife , @jiminie-08 , @w0nw0es , @lostinfakescenarios , @secret1234505 , @lostminni , @redemptions , @haoxiaoba , @mortallyblueninja , @ray-of-sunshine , @junnhuisworld , @gojominn , @sunnysidesins , @peachy-writings

[joshujin]

we can be all we need

🔞 18+, minors do not interact • masterlist • submit a request

(っ˶˘ ᵕ ˘˶)ᐣ✎ ᝰ request from this prompt game

@studioeisa: "hey trixie i saw u rb the writing prompt thingo .. 👀 i can’t see the issue + soonyoung (or dealer's choice on any member!!!)"

soonyoung's pov • your pov ⇣

soonyoung has been pulling away from you for weeks now. it seems that tonight is the night he wipes his hands clean of you.

♫ darl+ing svt pairing: soonyoung x fem!reader word count: 8.7k tags: best friends to lovers, idiots in love, a bit of miscommunication, angst for like one second, happy ending cw: smut — unprotected piv (v irresponsible piv don’t be like these two); reader loses virginity; spit; oral f. receiving; fingering; sy likes the idea of people hearing them fucking but no one actually hears them; just really vanilla, really soft, really mushy smut tbh, vanilla pudding smut if you will lol a/n: for the biggest-brained, funniest, most talented kae – i hope you like it <3 if you don't, just lie to me <3 • i know the request didn't include smut, but this one truly TRULY got away from me (as you can tell from this monstrous word count lol), and it kinda just wrote itself, smut included. i did mark where the scene starts and ends in case anyone doesn’t want to read it, but that's a courtesy to adults uninterested in reading explicit material. if you're a minor, pls scroll away

you look around, grinning widely as everyone sings to you. the lights are turned off in soonyoung’s apartment, the light from the thirty candles on your cake more than enough to illuminate your face. you meet each of your friends' eyes, your heart so full of love as you look at each of them.

you leave the person you want to look at most for last. finally, you meet soonyoung’s gaze. you don't mean to, but you feel your smile immediately falter.

he’s singing, but you can barely hear his voice—already uncharacteristic of him on its own. he's spent every, single one of your birthdays since you've met obnoxiously scream-singing, arms usually wrapped tightly around your neck as he bent over you, caging you in from behind. whether it was in front of a party of people (like tonight) or just you two, he was always singing like the fate of your year relied on how loud he was in those first few moments of it.

he'd always press his cheek against yours, swinging you both back and forth to a beat only you two could hear. then, after the singing was over, and after you made your wish, he would press a kiss to your temple, wish you a happy birthday once more, and he would be the first person in your life to tell you they loved you in your new age.

so this silence is painfully loud. on top of that, he also doesn’t smile back at you, a faraway look in his eyes as he mindlessly sings. it’s like you’re not even there. it’s like he’s singing to an empty seat in front of a cake that definitely counted as a fire hazard.

things with soonyoung have been weird for the last several weeks. if you were being honest, things have been hard. you, of course, continuously asked what was wrong, and he, of course, denied anything was wrong. but the writing was on the wall: he dodged your calls, rescheduled hangouts over and over until plans just completely fell through, and hardly texted back anymore. it was clear to anyone with a pulse that he was avoiding you.

and when he finally invited you over tonight to blow out your candles, and you walked in, completely surprised to find your friends all gathered to celebrate you, you thought, oh, that's what was wrong. he was just planning to surprise me

you thought the awkwardness and flighty behavior was over. the surprise went well, he kept everything a secret—didn't spoil anything—and you were grateful. but here you two were, looking at each other from across the room like you were strangers. and you weren't strangers. kwon soonyoung is the most important person in your life. he's your best friend. and you're so achingly, painfully in love with him, this distance feels like it's slowly peeling every layer of you away and letting it disintegrate into thin air.

when everyone finishes singing, you clear your throat and try to force the smile back onto your face. you lean forward, careful to keep your hair from catching any of the candles, and you close your eyes to make a wish—the same one you've been making every year for the past decade you've known soonyoung.

i wish for the courage to love soonyoung loudly.

you open your eyes and you blow hard, cheeks burning when the absurd amount of flames won't go out. people giggle, and when you stop to take a huge breath, fanning your face from the effort, seokmin and seungkwan both laugh and lean in to help. the three of you get the job done, and they immediately put you to work cutting your cake while they help plate and distribute.

you lose track of soonyoung while on cake duty, and by the time everyone has a slice, any appetite you had for dessert is completely gone. you sink back into the seat you were in while everyone was singing, and you breathe shakily, trying your best not to cry at your own party.

did you do something? is he just getting tired of you? or can he tell that your feelings extend past friendship? after 10 years, did he finally realize? is this his way of letting you down without having to really do it?

you can't help when your eyes start to well with tears. you notice someone starting to look a little too closely at you from your peripheral—probably joshua, the most observant of your friends—so you abruptly get up, blushing when the chair almost falls over behind you. you go to the only place you know you'll be left alone in this huge apartment. it's the one place soonyoung doesn't let any of his guests go, except for you.

you all but barrel into his bedroom, quickly closing the door behind you and leaning against it. you made it just in time for your tears to start flowing.

soonyoung's room looks different from the last time you saw it. he’s a generally tidy person; of the two of you, you’re the messy one. right now, the state of his room feels like a reflection of your thoughts and feelings: disheveled, chaotic, and messy. he has clothes, both clean and used, strewn all over the place—the bed, the floor, his corner chair. drawers are thrown open, their contents very clearly rummaged through. he has a pile of empty water bottles in the corner, and his nightstand is so littered with random stuff, he has no room to even set a phone down. it astounds you enough that you momentarily stop crying.

you wipe your tears away, frowning at everything that has managed to change in the weeks leading up to your 30th birthday. this was not the way you wanted to start the new decade.

you hear a muffled cough and you're panicked to realize that soonyoung had the same idea you did. he's outside on the balcony attached to his bedroom, leaning up against the railing and looking out into the black night. he hasn't noticed that anyone has entered his room, and you're about to leave when something stops you.

"you're 30 now for god's sake," you mutter. "get a fucking grip."

you're tired of wishing for the same thing every year—wishing for something that isn't even out of your grasp because you could just decide to be brave. and instead of choosing to do that, you spent the last 10 years cowering behind the excuse that you desperately needed soonyoung in your life however he would take you, even if that’s just as his friend.

but if you're losing him now anyway, you might as well lose him for the reason you feared you would for the last decade.

you turn away from where you were about to escape back into the party, and you're joining your best friend outside before you can think twice.

he startles a little, briefly glancing at you, but when he realizes who it is, he simply looks back into the night. it hurts more than just being told to go away—to be ignored like this.

"what are you doing?"

"just needed some air," he answers quietly.

"no," you say, willing your voice to stay steady even though your eyes are already filling with tears again. "what are you doing? why are you ignoring me? why are you avoiding me?" you pause, taking a deep breath. "why are you acting like i'm not your best friend?"

soonyoung lives near the damn top of his pretentiously tall apartment building, and the wind is cold and biting up here, especially with how short your dress is. it doesn't compare to what he says next.

"because you're not." he says it the way he would say that he's having a good day. or that work was tiring. or that he wants to order food delivery. he says it like it's not something that has the power to kill you. “at least, i don’t want you to be.”

"what are you saying?"

you don't hear it, but from the way his shoulders dip, you can tell soonyoung sighs deeply. and it looks so sad and so spent, you have trouble grasping that you could possibly be the cause of whatever this is that's eating at him.

"what are you saying, soonyoung?" you ask more forcefully, unable to keep the tears out of your voice this time. if he was going to end your friendship, he was going to have the balls to say it to your face. you aren't leaving until you're forced to.

he turns away from the railing, pressing his back against it to face you. he slips his hands into his pockets and stares down at the floor. his eyes are just as red-rimmed as you imagine yours are, and you hate—you hate that your first instinct is to ask him what's wrong. to hold him and comfort him when he's the one who's telling you he no longer wants to be friends.

"do you remember your 23rd birthday?" he asks, voice gravely with emotion, as if he’s spent the entirety of the last few weeks crying. your chest hurts. maybe he has.

you turned 23 in the philippines. soonyoung has always had more money than he knew what to do with, and he has always been uncomfortably generous with it—at least when it came to you. and that year, he surprised you with a month-long trip that ended the weekend of your birthday, where you both found yourselves on a beach in siquijor, sharing an alcoholic mango smoothie and a small ube cake that soonyoung had gotten for you.

you knew you loved him long before then, but you remember that birthday being one of your most miserable, solely because it was the best. and it was what you wanted with soonyoung, but you could only have it as his best friend. you had never felt so loved and so lonely at the same time.

"siquijor. what about it?" you ask, a little irritated. if you were going to have your heart stomped on the moment you turned 30, you'd rather he just get on with it.

soonyoung smiles for the first time tonight, but you hate it. it's half-assed, sad—and not just sad, but nostalgic sad—and it's being wasted on the floor.

"do you remember why you cried that morning?"

he uses the term morning loosely. it was 4 a.m., so yes, morning, but also no, not morning because you had both stayed up all night. and unfortunately, he had gotten you several more alcoholic drinks before the bar closed, and you were all but blacked out by 2 a.m. you only know that because your last selfie on your phone was time stamped just before two.

you wouldn't have believed him when he insisted you were conscious that entire time if he hadn't shown you videos of you passionately trying to convince him that in another life, he could've been a k-pop idol.

you hardly believe him now because you don't remember crying at all. and he certainly never told you that you had.

"i..." you don't know what to say.

"you don't," he confirms, sounding bitter. "it's okay. i had a feeling you didn't."

you frown, eyes falling to the spot on the floor you're sure is the same one he's been staring at. you don't realize you're shivering as violently as you are until you see soonyoung's feet step into your line of vision, his jacket slipping across your shoulders.

large hands carefully adjust the jacket around your neck and when they're done, they gently grip the lapel and hang there, dead weight against your sternum. you dare to look up and find that he still refuses to look you in the eye, instead staring at his own hands.

the wind isn't what's making you shake, and the jacket doesn't help it stop.

"you said you were lonely," he informs you quietly. he sounds as choked up as you feel, like you're both battling the same stubborn knot in your throat. "you told me that this was everything you could have ever wanted—that you were so happy and it was the best month of your life. and you told me..." he breathes deeply and sniffles before continuing. you look up and watch his eyes fill with tears. "you told me you just wish you were experiencing it with someone you were in love with instead."

you involuntarily let out a strangled noise, feeling like that knot is suddenly demanding to be let out. “i—what?”

there’s that horrible smile again. “i tried not to let it hurt me,” he admits. “i tried to be a good sport. you were drunk, you were sad about never having had a boyfriend, and i know you weren’t trying to hurt me.”

your stomach turns painfully and you’re glad you didn’t have cake, otherwise it might’ve been regurgitated all over soonyoung by now.

you never had a lack of suitors or options; you just knew it would be impossible to look at anyone else, let alone be in love with them, while you were so preoccupied with your best friend. until now, you still haven’t ever had a boyfriend, still haven’t even had your first kiss, still haven’t felt what it’s like to have someone tell you “i love you” romantically.

soonyoung takes a watery breath, lips trembling, as the first of his tears begin to streak his cheeks. “but it hurt,” he can’t speak above a whisper. “it hurt more than anything i’ve ever felt, y/n.”

your hands close over his, more out of instinct than anything else, and you hold them like it’s the only thing that will keep him from running out of your life. you hate that, among all the warring emotions inside you, you suddenly feel hope blooming over everything. saying that only would’ve hurt soonyoung if he wanted to be the person you were in love with. right?

“soonyoung.” his name comes out of your mouth with sharp, desperate edges around it. “that’s not what i meant. i—”

“it’s okay, i’ve had time to—”

“but if you would just let me ex—”

“there’s nothing to explain,” he says quietly, finally, finally meeting your gaze. “i stayed around, didn’t i?”

the question shuts you up. or maybe it’s the way his eyes are swimming with pain you realized he’s been harboring for much longer than the last few weeks.

“i stayed for seven more years. if i needed you to explain, i would’ve asked the second you woke up sober.”

your hope deflates. the way he says the number of years makes it sound like that’s all it will ever be now. seven years. the last birthday he’ll be sticking around for.

“only seven?” you ask quietly.

you feel his fists tighten around the fabric of his own jacket briefly before his hands slip away from under you, retreating back into his pockets. you feel so cold.

he doesn’t answer, and that feels like an answer in itself. “instead of throwing myself a pity party, i decided i’d wait until your 30th birthday,” he tells you. “i didn’t mind spending all of my 20s pining after my best friend.”

your heart leaps into your throat.

“i didn’t mind waiting seven more years to see if you would ever return my feelings,” he says, voice shakier and shakier as he continues. “my friends, they told me i was insane for letting my 20s go to waste like that. but to me… if i still got to be around you, still give you experiences and love that made you feel like that’s what you deserved from someone you actually were in love with, then… i can’t see the issue in that. i’d happily wait seven more years. because even if it was seven years of the same longing—and even if it was seven years leading to nothing more, it was still seven years of me being able to show you how well i could… how well i could love you. how much i do love you.”

it strikes you then that the way soonyoung looks at you isn’t a way that anybody has ever looked at you. you used to think it was the delusion of being in love with him—that your brain was tricking you into thinking he felt a certain way about you because that would be convenient for you. but standing here, pinned down by his gaze, you have no choice but to accept that it was clearly in front of you this whole time.

“soonie—”

he keeps going like if he lets you speak, he won’t ever be able to muster up the courage to say this again, and you realize you both did waste your 20s. you wasted it being afraid of just telling each other how you felt. the fact that you could’ve had soonyoung the way you’ve always wanted since you were 23 devastates you.

“but i told myself… while you slept in my lap on that beach in siquijor, that if by the time you turned 30, we still hadn’t moved past… this…” he looks away again, opting to stare at something over your head. “then, i wouldn’t spend my 30s torturing myself anymore. i’d let you go.”

“i don’t want you to let me go!” you practically shriek. he flinches at the sudden outburst, his eyes snapping back down to you. “i don’t want you to let me go, you stupid idiot!” you repeat. “if that’s what you’ve been doing the last, few weeks, ‘letting me go’—” you make exaggerated air quotes out of your fingers, clearly agitated. “—then knock it off!”

“wh—” he makes a disgruntled noise as you slap him in the chest.

“what i meant to tell you, it came out wrong. i didn’t even mean to tell you anything, but if drunk me outed me like that, i need you to know that’s not what i meant.”

all the words he kept cutting off tonight tumble out of you quickly and freely now.

“i was lonely. i was really lonely, and yes, it was because i enjoyed that vacation so much and yes, it was because i wished i could have it with someone i was in love with, but i was having it with someone i was in love with!”

his body stiffens and his eyes widen but you don’t stop.

“i just meant i wanted it to mean more for both of us,” you explain desperately. “i wanted to be on vacation with you—but you as my boyfriend! not you as my best friend! there’s no one else i would’ve wanted to be with, soonyoung!”

you feel tears on your skin now, and you try to speak even faster because you know you’re on borrowed time before you devolve into a mess of sobs that won’t let you explain anything.

“do you think i’ve been single our entire friendship for fun?! do you think it’s fun being the 30-year-old virgin who’s never even kissed anyone?! because it’s not!” you screech through tears. you can’t even muster up the energy to be mortified at how horrible you must look right now. “but i didn’t want anyone else! i wanted you! you waited seven years, but i waited ten! TEN, soonyoung! do you—”

his lips are on yours.

your mind is quiet.

the wind isn’t cold.

you taste champagne and salt.

soonyoung holds your face gently, thumb caressing your cheeks while his long fingers slide into your hair. you’ve imagined how he must kiss a million times in your head. every time he licked his lips, puckered them for a photo, pressed them against your temple in what you deluded yourself into thinking was platonic affection—you would imagine exactly this.

soft, plush lips slotted in between yours, moving like you’re the only person they were made for. and even though you didn’t imagine it would be so salty from both of your tears, it’s exactly as perfect as you wanted your first kiss to be—as perfect as you wanted your first kiss with soonyoung to be.

when you get over the shock of it, you rest your hands on his chest, exploring the planes of it. you pause for a moment, enjoying the way you can feel the erratic beat his heart before reaching up, wrapping your arms around his neck, and pulling him into an even deeper kiss. it coaxes a sound out of him that convinces you he’s really yours, and he lets go of your face to circle your waist and hold you close.

you don’t know how and you’re not even sure when, but you end up in his bed, every inch of his body deliciously pressing against yours after he walked the two of you inside without ever leaving your lips.

his tongue slips into your mouth, and the moan that escapes you does so without your permission. you feel him twitch against your thigh and you can’t help but giggle into the kiss a little.

he pulls away, mouth pink and swollen. he rests his forehead against yours and smiles.

“what’s so funny, hm?”

it’s the first time in weeks that you’ve really heard his voice—the way you know and love it. light, happy, and, now that you’re equipped with the proper information, in love with you. you hear it loud and clear. you wonder if he hears it too.

“nothing,” you breathe, threading your fingers through the long hair at the nape of his neck until your hand is resting against the buzzed part of his undercut. you scratch his scalp there and he hums in contentment. you smile. “i love you, soonyoung.”

he lifts his forehead to better look at you. his eyes soften impossibly more and he looks like he’s trying to commit every detail of your face and this moment to memory. you realize you’re doing the same.

“i’ve always loved you,” you add, wanting to erase any lingering doubts that your 23rd birthday caused. “from the very start.”

his response is to push himself up and off you so that he’s on his knees, resting between your legs. you prop yourself up on your elbows, frowning from the sudden space. it’s exactly the opposite of what you want, but you know from the look on his face that it doesn’t mean he’s going anywhere or that he’s changed his mind. it confuses you to think that he looked at you this way for most of your friendship and you never thought it meant anything. it means everything.

he clears his throat, looking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. you only notice the bulge in his pants then, and you smile knowing that you felt that react to your moans.

“how far?” he asks, his voice so coated with desire, you shiver. he doesn’t need to elaborate. “i don’t want you to feel rushed or pressured. i just… we wasted so much time, and i—”

“all the way,” you say confidently, letting yourself lay back down and slowly wrapping your legs around his middle, trying not to feel self-conscious as your dress rides up and exposes you. “please.”

soonyoung groans like he’s in pain, hands instinctively resting against your bare thighs, eyes drifting down and unable to move from the wet spot between your legs once he sees it. his hands travel painfully slow toward the apex of your thighs, eyes never leaving you. his hands torturously stop when they reach the top.

several seconds pass with you fighting everything in your body to keep from squirming. if he notices, he doesn’t show it, seemingly too mesmerized by what’s in front of him. his thumbs burrow into the shallow divot where your legs meet your torso, the rest of his fingers kneading the flesh of your thighs, hard enough that you kind of hope they’ll bruise—give you something to remind you this was real. this happened.

he moves just as you’re about to ask him what he’s thinking about.

suddenly, as if he’s giving in to a voice telling him to just take what he wants, soonyoung allows his right hand to close the distance, tracing your skin until it leads his index finger straight to the part of you that needs him the most right now. he looks downright hypnotized as his finger meets your panties at their hollow part, where your hole is. you clench around nothing and you know he can tell when he finally breaks out of his thoughts and smirks. he only presses far enough to brush against the skin of your entrance before cruelly moving on. 

he slowly drags his finger up your slit with a little more pressure than he afforded your hole and you sigh into the movement, trying to move further down so you can feel him more. he squeezes your hip to keep you where you are, though, biting down on his lip as he watches you closely. if you weren’t so turned on, you’d be self-conscious under his attention.

then, finally, his finger finds the place you swear it belongs, and he’s pressed against your clit. your panties stick to you uncomfortably but you don’t have the words to properly tell him to take them off, writhing under the pressure of his finger instead.

soonyoung doesn’t move, just watching you breathe and beg incoherently in shallow gasps, and just when you think he’ll finally move his finger—that he’ll finally start giving you what you’ve wanted for so long—he takes his hand back. he laughs a little at your whine of protest, pushing down on your hip with the hand that’s resting there when you uncontrollably buck up into the space his finger just vacated.

"what?" you hiss at him. he laughs even harder, his pretty eyes turning into those narrow crescents you love so much. he crawls over you once more. "why are you laughing?!" you complain, face getting hot. "did i do something embarrassing?"

"'embarrassing'?" soonyoung repeats incredulously. he does nothing less than scoff in your face. "no, baby, your neediness is not 'embarrassing.' it's fucking hot."

your face gets even warmer. whether it's because he's being lewd or because he called you baby, you're not sure.

"shut up," you mutter. he grins down at you.

"gladly."

to your dismay, he doesn’t press himself against you like he did earlier. he hovers, planting a light kiss on your nose, then on your lips, lingering for only a moment before he leans back a little like he's trying to get a good look at your face. he brings his hand up to cradle your face, pushing the wind-tangled hair away from it.

the tiniest of smiles pull at his lips.

“i love you,” he finally returns. “i love you so god damn much, i thought i was going to die having to leave you.”

“you’re not leaving me,” you say firmly. the love you’re feeling for him is so strong, it leaves no room for doubt. you know that as long as you’ll have him, he’ll stay. and as long as he'll have you, you will too.

“i’m not,” he agrees.

he doesn’t say anything else, instead leaning down to capture your lips again. he doesn’t let it last long, though, moving from your mouth, to your jaw, your neck, and your collarbone. you’re a mess of gasps and moans as he kisses his way back up, until his lips are just barely grazing your ear.

“you tell me if you want to stop, okay?” he whispers softly. “and we’ll stop, no questions asked.”

you nod and he nips at your lobe before beginning to kiss his way back down, making you moan again. you don’t know if this is always how it feels like or if you’re just overly sensitive from being a 30-year-old virgin, but everywhere soonyoung touches feels like fire.

“you sound so pretty,” he mutters as he makes his way lower, unabashedly biting and licking wherever he wants as he goes. “exactly like how i imagined you’d sound.” you groan loudly when his lips brush over your nipple through the fabric of your dress. “fuck, even better actually.”

he reaches up and tangles a single finger around the thin strap of your dress, then gently pulls it off your shoulder. he briefly hangs his head in mock agony when he confirms you’re not wearing a bra.

you stifle another giggle, not wanting to keep laughing during something as serious as losing your virginity—to soonyoung, no less.

"what is my life?" he whispers more to himself than anyone else as he lowers his head and shamelessly envelops your bare nipple with his tongue.

the inhale you take at the sensation is sharp, and soonyoung briefly glances up without taking his mouth off of you, one eyebrow quirking as if to ask if you're okay.

you’re more than okay. you feel like your soul is about to float right out of your goddamn body, and the scary thing is he’s barely done anything to you yet. you open your mouth to try and tell him as much, but once your lips part, nothing comes out. you close your eyes, your body arching in response to soonyoung as his swirls his tongue around you, gently nipping every now and then. 

“soonyoung,” you gasp. 

“fuck.”

“lower,” you beg. “please, god, lower.”

you feel him smile against your chest. “whatever you want,” he whispers. 

but he doesn’t leave immediately, instead cupping his hand around your breast and biting into the flesh just above your nipple. your hips jerk up against his torso but he doesn’t let go, sucking for a few seconds before he releases you with a pop. 

he grins down at the blooming mark, giving it the gentlest kiss. “pretty.”

soonyoung finally makes his way back down between your legs, but not without releasing the other strap of your dress first. he must find some mercy to spare you because, without making you wait the way he has been all night, he lifts your hips up off the bed, pulls your dress down, and in one smooth move, slips both your dress and your panties off you. 

“oh my god!” he groans immediately, squeezing your clothes against his eyes. before you can even wonder if something’s wrong, he says, “i can’t believe this is my life right now, oh my god.”

he brings your clothes down just enough to look at you. his eyes narrow like he’s about to cry and you immediately laugh at the idea of soonyoung crying during sex… because he absolutely would. 

“oh my god, i really have you naked in my bed right now, oh my god oh my god oh my god.”

“soonyoung!” you scold him, coming up onto your elbows and bringing your legs together so your thighs squeeze him. “focus! come on, you’re just teasing me now.” you’re fully aware that you’ve never sounded whinier in your life, but you can’t bring yourself to care. “please.”

“okay, okay, i’m so sorry, i’m not trying to tease you, i swear. i just… i’m—just, i—it’s just, like… what?” he asks it so giddily, you can’t help but smile through your frustration. “y’know? like, what the actual fuck?” he babbles, very obviously just starting to process what the hell is happening right now. 

you groan, glaring at the ceiling. you’re annoyed at how empty you are right now, but at the same time, you feel your affection for soonyoung growing exponentially. even when he’s about to take your virginity, he can’t help but be so aggressively him. and you love it so much.

“it’s crazy how quickly you go from sex god to loser,” you murmur, unable to stop from grinning when he glowers at you.

“y’know,” he starts, voice considerably lower. you hate how much of an effect it has on you. “my favorite thing about you has always been your patience.” you snort as he carelessly tosses your clothes aside.

“good thing i have a lot of it then,” you retort, eyes catching on his long fingers as they start to undo each button of his shirt. 

he hums, narrowing his eyes at you. “right.”

the grin on your face fades fast as he finishes undoing the buttons and shrugs the shirt off. it’s nothing you haven’t seen before; after all, you spent many vacations together in nothing but swimwear the entire time. but as your eyes sweep the dips and curves of his muscles and the way his stomach flexes as he slips off the bed, you realize you’re looking at him in a way you haven’t been able to before. 

you’re looking at him like he’s yours. 

“wait,” you say suddenly, sitting up all the way and crawling over to the edge of the bed where he’s standing, hands frozen in the middle of removing his belt. 

“change your mind? it’s fine if you do,” he assures you quickly, already starting to fasten his belt again. 

you rest your hands on his to stop them. “no,” you say, laughing a little. “i’m not going to change my mind, soonie.” he visibly relaxes at the nickname. 

you reach up to kiss him, hands going up and into his hair. it’s slow and tender and careful, and you feel like you’re being held with so much care, you suddenly get nervous that you might be the one that ends up crying during sex. 

“i love you,” soonyoung whispers between kisses, his arms snaking around your naked waist. “oh my god, i love you, holy shit.”

“don’t start with the loser behavior again, please,” you joke against his lips. you feel him smile. you pull away and sigh, your fingers running across his chest in admiration. “but i love you too.”

he breathes deeply, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. “i’m so happy.”

you smile softly. “me too, soonie.”

you look down and watch your hands travel down his naked torso until they meet his belt. you finish undoing it, not bothering to remove it from the loops and going straight for the button of his jeans. soonyoung’s breath hitches when you pull his zipper down. before you can shove his jeans down, he grabs your face and brings your lips to his roughly, his tongue inside your mouth in seconds. you don’t know whose moans are whose anymore as he kisses you—not like it’s the first time, but like it’s the last. 

his lips get clumsy as he starts to remove his pants himself, shoving his boxer briefs down with them. you don’t get much of a chance to ogle him before his lips are on you again and he’s cupping your ass, forcing your legs to wrap around him. you revel in the feeling of him against your stomach—long, hard, and yours. 

he kneels onto his bed, carrying you back to where you were laying before and setting you down gently. when you part, you suddenly understand soonyoung’s brief meltdown. because holy shit. soonyoung is in bed with you. naked. and you physically cannot stop looking down at him. 

“see something you like?” he asks, his voice teasing. even with how arrogant he sounds, you can’t look away. 

“uh… what?” 

he laughs then, burying his face in the crook of your neck and effectively cutting off your intense eye contact with his dick. 

“soonyoung, put it in me,” you whisper frantically. “hurry up!” you near shriek at him. 

he only laughs harder. “i can’t just put it in you.”

“what?!” you push him away just far enough to be able to look at his face. “what do you mean you can’t just put it in me? is this not how sex works? you put that—” you widen your eyes at the monster resting against you. “—in me? like… over and over again?”

“baby, please,” he wheezes with laughter. “you’re making this so unsexy.”

“you made it unsexy first,” you pout. “put it in me, soonyoung!”

he bursts into giggles again. “stop saying that!”

“why?! you keep making me wait!” you complain. “pu—”

his hand clamps over your mouth before you can repeat yourself. “okay,” he says, laughter finally subsiding. “okay. shhh. relax… and i will, alright?” he doesn’t move so you nod. “good girl.”

you make a strangled noise against his hand at the praise and his eyebrows shoot up. 

“oh, you like that?” his lips quickly curve into a smirk when your only response is to wriggle under him, hips trying their best to move his dick in the direction you need it to go. 

he releases your mouth slowly and when you stay silent, his smirk deepens. he brings his hands to your face, squeezing your cheeks together and kissing your puckered lips before he rests it at the base of your neck, fingers splayed across your throat. you briefly wonder if he’d choke you during your first time if you asked. you quickly wave the idea away because you know he wouldn’t. 

“so pretty,” he murmurs again, finger tapping your lower lip. you dip your head to take it into your mouth and he groans. “jesus christ.” you release him and he sighs roughly. “let me know if i do anything you don’t like, okay?”

you nod eagerly, thinking it’s finally time to get what your body has been screaming for. so when he pulls away, you make a noise of protest and watch him in confusion as he moves down your body. it isn’t until he forces your knees apart and lays back down between your legs, breath hot on your skin, that you realize what he’s planning on doing. 

“oh,” you whisper pathetically. 

soonyoung looks up at you and you swear he looks excited to absolutely demolish you. without breaking eye contact, he unfurls his tongue from his mouth as far as it’ll go, the tip of it just a breath away from touching your clit. you try to move but his grip on your thighs don’t let you. you watch with bated breath as his saliva slides down his tongue, dripping right where you were hoping it would. 

it’s so fucking obscene, and the second you feel the warmth of his spit on you, you throw your head back and moan. 

“soonie,” you mewl. 

“god, i haven’t even done anything and you’re a mess—’s so fucking hot,” he tells you, letting go of one thigh to press his thumb into your clit, massaging his own spit into it. you gasp, bucking into the sensation now that one hip is free from his hold. “patience, baby,” he reminds you. 

soonyoung doesn’t give you a chance to talk back because with no warning, his mouth replaces his thumb and it takes everything in you to keep from screaming. he places his hand back on your thigh just in time to keep you from reflexively caging his head in. he holds you down as he devours you, tongue flicking, sweeping, and circling around all the places no one has ever been. you could cry. you think you might already be. you can’t tell anymore. 

he begins to massage where he holds you when your thighs start to tremble. 

“soonyoung,” you gasp, hand diving into his hair and fisting it without your permission. 

he doesn’t mind though, responding with a moan of his own, straight into your cunt. you half-sob at the vibrations of his voice against you. it doesn’t take long before his finger slips into you. then another. multiplying the pleasure tenfold. his tongue never falters as his fingers find and stimulate the small, ribbed spot inside you, pressing and pushing and rubbing to a rhythm that—as always—only you and soonyoung can hear.

“oh my god, soonyoung,” you repeat his name. you don’t know if you’re capable of saying anything else anymore. “soonie.”

“yeah, baby,” he mutters against you, kissing your sex with as much vigor as he was kissing your mouth earlier. “still okay?”

you nod wildly. “yes, yes. god, yes.”

he moans again, eyes flicking up to you as he does. “you sound so pretty, baby. be louder.”

“the…” you sigh as he gently removes his fingers, softly kissing down your slit. “the party…”

“let them hear you,” he mumbles. “let them hear how good i make you feel.”

“but…” you never finish your sentence.

he leaves one last whisper of a kiss before he suddenly takes two fingers, holds you open, and fully presses his face into you, his tongue entering you—stiff, thick, and so, so warm. you unwillingly follow orders, half-shouting and half-groaning his name. your back arches as he presses impossibly further into you, his tongue touching you in ways you only ever dreamed he would. 

“soonyoung… soonyoung!” you call him, grip in his hair tightening. “i’m going to… i’m…”

“go ahead, baby,” he encourages you. “god, go ahead,” he practically begs before his tongue dives back into you. 

his thumb finds your clit once more, working it harder and faster as he slips in and out of you, the sounds of him feasting on you so vulgar, you could listen to it forever. your body starts to inadvertently grind on his face the closer you get.

“soonyoung, i’m… i’m going… i’m…” you stammer, trying to pull him up by the hair. “stop, stop, i’m going to cum on your face.”

soonyoung frowns, thumb never stopping as he takes his tongue back. “that’s the point baby. i want you to cum on my face.” his eyes roll back at the thought, and he moans before seeming to shake the thoughts out of his head. “god, you better cum on my face.”

“but—”

“cum on my fucking face, y/n.”

that shuts you up and all you can do is nod quickly, allowing him to get back to what he was doing. it doesn’t take long after that. it hits you like a wall, slamming into every part of your body at once, reverberating to every corner of you over and over again. and because soonyoung is a demon and he doesn’t stop, the echoes of your orgasm ripple through you mercilessly until just mere moments later, you’re having another one. 

and if the way soonyoung smirks into you is any indication, you know he’s aware of exactly what he just did to you. it could have been seconds or it could have been hours when you feel soonyoung’s arms wrapping around your middle, torso pressing into yours as he kisses your neck and makes his way up until his lips are on yours again. 

you taste yourself on him and you think it should be gross, but it just makes you even wetter knowing that he took that part of you for himself—that he drank you up and he loved it. 

“soonie,” you whisper, breath still coming in ragged gasps. he pushes your hair off your forehead as he looks down at you. 

“mmm?” he hums, still kissing you wherever he can reach, but always coming back to your lips. 

“i want to be yours,” you say. you’re not even sure that’s what you meant to say. you’re actually 90% sure you wanted to demand he put it in you again, but that’s what comes out. it’s still true—maybe even truer—so you repeat it: “i want to be yours so bad.”

soonyoung looks at you with so much love, you feel your eyes burning. he doesn’t point out your tears, simply pressing his finger against each one that escapes your eyes. he leans in, presses his cheek against yours, and he whispers: “then i'll make you mine.”

he presses against your entrance then, and you gasp. 

“shhh,” he soothes you. “try to relax, okay?”

he props himself on one elbow, other hand coming to your hip and rubbing gentle circles into the skin there. his touch is comforting and grounding, and you feel your muscles relaxing even as he starts to push into you. your hand comes up to his shoulder, grasping tightly as the stretch starts to burn more and more. you squeeze your eyes shut, head turning to the side as you try to focus on relaxing enough to let soonyoung bottom out. 

“slow, slow,” you breathe, even though he’s already barely moving as it is. 

he plants a kiss on your temple, murmuring apologies against your skin. “i’m sorry, baby. do you feel okay?”

you nod, eyes still closed. he pauses for a minute or so, settling for peppering kisses all over you. his patience and love help—they’re everything. you adjust and that desire to be completely full comes back to you and you nod quickly at him.  

“keep going, soonie.” you’re too eager to be full of him to be embarrassed at how needy you sound. he smiles, coming off his elbow to lay back on you. 

you’re not sure if the kissing is a distraction, but it works. you’re so preoccupied with the things his tongue is doing with yours that by the time he’s fully sheathed inside you, it doesn’t burn anymore.

“oh my god,” he breathes, pressing his forehead against you and closing his eyes like he’s trying to concentrate. “oh shit.” he breathes deeply and evenly. “you won’t change your mind about me if i cum too fast, will you?”

you laugh but that’s a mistake because it causes you to clench a little, and soonyoung immediately groans, hand going to your shoulder and squeezing to get you to stop. 

“don’t, don’t!” he says quickly. “don’t squeeze, baby.”

“sorry,” you whisper, trying not to giggle. you give him a few moments to collect himself, just like he did with you. “no, by the way,” you say. he opens his eyes and looks at you. “i won’t change my mind. it’s been 10 years. nothing will change my mind.”

the words do something to him—seem to inject some resolve into his bloodstream—because without saying anything, soonyoung starts moving. your lips part at the foreign feeling of his cock dragging against your walls. his every dip and ridge fits to your every ridge and dip, and you don’t need any more evidence to know that soonyoung was made specifically for you. 

“oh fuck,” he groans, burying his face in your neck and kissing the skin there. “you feel so good—so fucking good,” he says, his breath hot and heavy in your ear. “your cunt is perfect.”

you let your eyes flutter closed as a mouthwatering mixture of pain and pleasure start to pool together in your lower abdomen. you don’t know when you start, but as he continues thrusting in and out of you, the deepness of his thrusts gradually increasing, you can’t stop moaning, gasping, chanting his name. it becomes a prayer to you. 

soonyoung. soonyoung. soonyoung.

no, not a prayer. a wish coming true—all 10 of the birthday wishes you spent on him coming true. you were finally loving soonyoung loudly. 

“y/n,” he pants, sweat dripping onto you. “oh my god.”

“soonyoung,” you answer, moans sandwiching his name. 

and just when you think his thrusts are as deep as they can go—pulling all the way out before slamming right back into you—he pushes off of you, holding himself up with one arm and holding the headboard above the both of you for leverage. and somehow, he gets impossibly deeper, impossibly rougher, impossibly better, coaxing all kinds of screams and noises from you. 

“oh my god, look at you,” he mumbles, eyes darting between your chest, your lips, and the place where he keeps disappearing inside you. “so—fucking—perfect.” his cock slams roughly into you with each word, easily aggravating all your pleasure points.

“‘m not gonna last long,” you breathe. “soonie… ‘m not—”

you cut yourself off with your own cry when his hips start to drive into you at an unforgivable pace. tears leak from the corners of your eyes, leaving hot streaks as you try to remember how good this moment feels—how fucking good soonyoung feels. how perfectly soonyoung fills you up.

“i’m not either, baby,” he says. he starts grinding his pelvis down on your clit roughly, making you grab his forearm in a weak attempt to ride out the overwhelming and overstimulating feeling of an orgasm building up inside you mercilessly.

he lowers himself again, closing the distance between you two and pressing his lips to yours. “i love you,” he says. “i love you so fucking much.”

“i—” you gasp as his pelvis presses down on you ruthlessly. “i love—oh my god, soonyoung,” you groan. 

“do you feel like you’re mine yet?” he asks, voice raspy, hips ramming into you so hard, there’s no way you won’t be bruised tomorrow. 

you nod frantically. “yes, god, yes. yes!” you shriek the last one as your orgasm approaches its summit. “yes!”

“say it,” he grunts, eyes boring into yours.

“i’m yours,” you pant. “soonie,” you whimper, eyes shutting on their own accord. “i’m yours, soonyoung.”

“i never want to hear another name come out of your mouth ever again,” he tells you, the statement followed by a string of colorful curses as his hips begin stuttering uncontrollably. you know he’s holding off as best he can for you. “you’re mine.” he moans loudly. “and i’m yours.”

“m-mine… soonyoung…” you open your eyes to find him still watching you intently. “soonyoung! i’m coming! i’m—” you grasp him as hard as humanly possible, your third orgasm of the night ripping through you.

for a few moments, soonyoung continues to thrust into you, trying to help you through your orgasm, but he doesn’t last, quickly pulling out and coming all over you, cords of white coloring your stomach, chest, even your face. you gasp, bits of it landing in your mouth. you lick the corners of your lips as you come down from your high, smiling a little when you finally get to taste soonyoung. 

“holy shit…” he huffs, sitting back on his heels and throwing his head back. you try not to gawk at how beautiful he looks on his knees like this, his still semi-hard cock covered in your pleasure. 

“c’mere.” speaking suddenly feels like such a chore as you realize how sleepy you are.

soonyoung half obeys, leaning forward to kiss you quickly before getting out of bed and ignoring all your protests over it. he returns from his restroom with a towel, gently wiping you both clean, even leaving kisses as he goes. it’s like he’s making up for his seven years. 

“how do you feel?” he asks when he slips back into bed, pulling the covers over the both of you. 

“like i’m in love,” you say, eyes closing as you curl into his chest. he laughs as he wraps his arms around you. “it was perfect. thank you, soonie.”

he kisses the top of your head. “i’m sorry about how weird i’ve been acting these last few weeks… and i’m sorry for thinking i could just… end our friendship like that.”

you open your eyes and crane your neck to look at him. “i wouldn’t have let you,” you inform him. he grins. “and i didn’t.”

“you didn’t,” he agrees. you hum. “i love you.”

“wait… do you love me?!” you ask jokingly after hearing it at least a dozen times tonight.

he rolls his eyes. “good to know our dynamic is going to be fine.”

you giggle. “i love you more.”

“whoa, fighting words.”

“ten years, soonyoung.”

“it was ten years for me too!” he protests. 

you frown. 

“i gave myself seven years before i forced myself to move on,” he reminds you. “i loved you long before that, you fool.”

you glare but your heart swells. you hug him even tighter. “so… what are we?’

“are you fucking kidding me?”

you laugh, burying your face in his bare chest. “yeah, i am. i’m joking.”

he pinches your side. “good. it would’ve been awkward to have to inform you you’re my wife now.”

you shriek-laugh and you know it’s infectious from the way he bursts into laughter at your reaction too. you spend the rest of the night like that, talking about the moments you knew you were in love, joking around, and planning your new decade and your new life, your birthday party long forgotten.

just before you both drift off to sleep, you exchange your last i-love-yous of the night. 

“good night, love of mine,” he whispers.

“mine,” you repeat, smiling. “yours.”

you know your 30s are going to be the best years of your life.

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[gyuswhore]

warm

very little to do with the climate when it comes to how Soonyoung makes you feel.

wc: 2k | contains: fiance!soonyoung x reader (hehe), fluff, suggestive (minors dni), hali furry son appearance, hoshi thinking croissants are easy

[a/n]: ITS STILL HALI BIRTH IN MY BRAIN THEREFORE IM NOT ACTUALLY LATE AT ALL anyways halison you know how much I love u so I won't go into it but pls enjoy this little piece of my heart for u. I hope it's comforting to think about on days it's all spilling over. I hope you have the bestest year ahead and know that u deserve the entire world and more 🖤 @sailorsoons and bigbigbig thank you to @starlightkyeom my beacon of light for beta-ing for meeee <333

masterlist

At times you wonder if your affiliation with the nicer things in life was really worth all the medieval torture that is the current corporate world. 

But then again, you find yourself complaining just a tad less when you can remain on the plush of your couch on a weekday, the warmest socks on your feet and a haphazardly thrown blanket over your lap. Your laptop warms your thighs from the consistent use, the busy screen making sure you still have one foot at work. 

You sink impossibly lower into the cushions, making sure to preserve the indent when you eventually get up. December is making itself known inside your house, while not entirely sweater weather, the overbearing festivities that litter the household are hard to miss. 

Three red stockings hang from the small ledge off the wall, fairy lights strung and taped in a fashion you think was meant to be uniform. A wreath, a quite obnoxious one at that, and sporadic appearances of mistletoe you believe might just be droppings from the wreath, tied with glittery ribbon and pasted all over the apartment. 

The perpetrator of the entire scheme sits on the floor next to you, caged beside your legs that rest on the coffee table. Soonyoung is determined to not bother you, continuing to sit cross legged as your dog prances in his vicinity with a sprawl of toys and an eagerness to play. Atlas is jumping and pouncing into your fiance's lap at random intervals, very interested in grabbing at Soonyoung's hands and making his usual grunting noises. 

The ding on your laptop tears your attention away from the pair, but you only glance at the notification. Soonyoung's hair is a freshly dyed black, giving the illusion of a shine in the living rooms lights, but only you see the stains of the dark dye on his pillowcase. He shakes his head playfully at the zippy dog, the loose curls of his perm shaking at the movement. His hair's gotten longer in the past months, coiling past his brows and into his eyes. Just the way you like. 

Accusingly, the glare of your laptop screen remains ever present in your periphery. Ignoring it is easy. Instinct is having your fingers and palm itch to dip into his curls and drag your nails across his scalp. In fairness, you just want his attention, so you give in as your left hand grazes over the nape of his neck, lazily dragging your fingers up towards his hair. 

The ring on your finger shimmers like a million gems when it catches the light, before promptly disappearing under the strands of your fiance's hair. Soonyoungs body responds before he can vocalise it, the soft dig of nails in his skin, the way his hair bunches between your fingers. His head relaxes into your palm, melting backwards into the couch cushions. 

His head lolls back to rest against the seat, your fingers now scratching lightly at the crown of his head. Decades will go by, and the little being in your stomach will forever and always lurch at the sight of him. Soonyoung sports a lazy smile, a ridiculously relaxed look on his face as he stares up at you like you like you were already standing at the altar. 

"Hi," he says, the same dopey grin on his face and a grit to his voice. 

"Hi," you whisper back. 

"Are you done?" he asks, while the small dog on his lap bounces up with paws on his chest, trying his darnedest to get his attention back to what really mattered (big squeaky chew toy). 

You ponder for a moment, absentmindedly brushing the strands out of his beautiful face. His eyes seem to droop lower and lower with every stroke. "I can be."

"But…?"

"But nothing. I just don't wanna."

"Are you done with meetings?" You nod. He registers the response and the lifts his head off the couch. Your hand rests limp on the cushions, cold air gushing through your fingers where there was Soonyoung's body heat before. For a moment you think he's icing you out to put you back to work, and you ready yourself to complain about it. Loudly. 

You watch him gather the tiny eager dog in his arms and lift off the floor entirely. You're about to make a noise of disapproval at him for leaving, but you watch him walk towards the cabinet in the corner and bring out a package you'd been saving for later. Soonyoung sets the dog down next to his water bowl and rips opens the brand new shiny toy. It takes seconds, as though Soonyoung never existed. 

The man turns around and makes a beeline towards you, determined, scheming look on his face you know you're smiling at. Suddenly your laptop is whisked from your lap, a quip halfway out your mouth before he does something to shuffle you even further. 

His hands grab both your legs, warm against your skin from the sweats that have pulled up your legs, tugging them off the coffee table and throwing them on the couch. 

"Soonyoung!" you exclaim, giggling audibly as he rips the tussled blanket from your lap. He's prompty taking its place, pushing your body to press against the back rest while your other side is flush against Soonyoung's body. Immediately, he's half on top of you, less graceful in the fall because it knocks the wind out of you. 

You can hear the breathy giggles escape him as he kicks the blanket to cover you both. His leg slots between both of your own, snug and warm while he tucks one arm under your head and the other around your torso to keep you close. 

"I didn't say I was done with work." You crane yor neck up to stare. 

"I can put you back?" he offers, but the shit eating grin on his face is telling you otherwise. 

You choose to not respond, instead adjusting so you're facing him better, bringing your own arm out to wrap around him. It's habit, your fingers finding the hem of his shirt like second nature, intruding underneath as your palms splay flat on the hard of his back. 

It's become somewhat of an anchor, of course Soonyoung has never minded, even when you hook yourself around his waist, hand very obviously under his shirt in public. Even now, he doesn't seem to fully melt until he feels the warm of your hand, and the hard of the metal ring on your finger against his skin, right where it belongs. 

"How much longer before they spare you?" he grunts, annoyed that he even has to talk about your work. 

"One more day and I'm all yours," you answer, tucking your head into shoulder. You could always smell him past his perfume, a scent so very Soonyoung you can pinpoint it anywhere. It was sparse before he moved in, on a pillowcase here, a lingering in the kitchen there, but it follows you everywhere now, beyond the physical traces of his presence that floods your life. Even when you're out and about by yourself, you'll catch a whiff of him that's managed to rub off on you. You make sure to hug him extra tight every morning for it. 

Your answer satiates him, because he's immediately delving into plans for your days off. Something about baking that required your supervision and other outside things he wants to cross of his list. You've gone back to craning your neck up to look at him as he talks, content with staring as he talks and talks. 

"…lemon bars but I thought we could try croissants. I looked up the recipe and it looked easy enough. I bought those fancy dark chocolate bars we can put in there too. Actually I don't know if there's any left, I've been snacking while you work."

Beyond the fact that your fiance that you love to death and beyond just called baking croissants easy, you find yourself enveloped with a giddy feeling. The image of him making lists of things to do with you as soon as you'd have time to spare bubbles an aggressive kind of affection to the surface. The urge to squeeze his face is monumental. 

As soon as there's a lull in his list, you find yourself lurching forward to give him a kiss right on the mouth. It catches him off guard, because you hear him gasp a little into your mouth and it has you stifling a laugh. He's smiling when you let go, only giving you seconds before he's readjusting and diving right back in. 

His mouth hits yours with far more precision than before, but not without the stretch of his smile. He finds a grip on your torso that pulls you impossibly closer, his fingers finding your hips while his other hand pushes your shoulders up towards him, moving up to trace the shell of your ear. 

"You're so pretty," he mumbles against your mouth. "Love you."

Your left hand traces his back where his spine is, digging with pressure and dragging them upwards. You feel him shudder above you, and you know you've done it. His well behaved movements turn heavier, sloppier. Suddenly his tongue is in your mouth, dragging over your own like he's trying to choke you with it. The hand on your hips migrates towards your ass, grabbing a handful in his palms as he moves further on top of you. 

Reprieve comes in the form of Soonyoung's lips leaving yours and instead leaving open mouthed kisses everywhere else. The corner of your mouth, all the cheek he can find as he trails lower towards your neck. He latches onto the patch of skin under your ear, sucking and licking and nibbling in a way that has you sighing out loud. 

It isn't long after that you feel the familiar hardness against your thigh while Soonyoung leaves his glistening kisses everywhere, as if the heaviness of his breath and all the incessant groping wasn't signal enough. 

With the way your weeks have been going, this was usually the point you'd either tap out from exhaustion or fall asleep entirely. But as you register the uncomfortable feeling between your own legs, you know it's been too long. 

You know Soonyoung is trying his hardest to not grind against you, to not push you farther than you can go, but it's you who's pushing upwards against his bulge, dragging yourself up and down against the feeling. You have to stifle a moan, the feeling taking a stagger to your hips, but it isn't nearly as loud as the groan Soonyoung lets out. 

He stops all his movements, like he's trying to collect himself. The next thing you know the blanket that covered you both has been thrown off your bodies, a sudden gust of cold air reaching your legs. 

Soonyoung glances back at your dog that is still occupied with his very loud squeaky toy, and takes the next moment to get off the couch himself. 

"Soonyoung…?" you ask tentatively, having a hard time guaging his next move. Except you absolutely should've known, since his hands have dug underneath your body and you're being pulled up into his arms. You squeal as he lifts you off the plush with hardly a warning, making a beeline for the bedroom. 

"Soonyoung, I can walk," you giggle. 

"Not fast enough," he gruffs out, and you realise very quickly he hasn't left the mental zone. 

There's crudely hung Christmas decor in your periphery and an insanely loud sqeaky toy in your ears you'll know you'll regret buying later on, but right now you feel content with the solid form of the man you're going to marry, and the solid promise in your very very near future. 

[studioeisa]

babe for the weekend ❄️ soonyoung x reader.

Everybody thought that you and Kwon Soonyoung were a foregone conclusion, but then he had to go and change the ending. Six years after the breakup, he decides to come home for the holidays— and now, you’re stuck between your pride, his dreams, and the road not taken. ‘Tis the damn season, indeed.

୨ৎ pairing: dance studio ceo!soonyoung x lawyer!f!reader. ୨ৎ genre/warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, romance. alternate universe: non-idol. mentions of food, alcohol consumption, swearing/cussing. post-breakup dynamics and quarter-life crises. high school lovers to exes. law terms. spiteful reader. rated T for languages and themes. title and synopsis shamelessly reference taylor swift's t'is the damn season. ୨ৎ word count: 16.6k ୨ৎ footnotes: this is part of @camandemstudios's winter with you collaboration! ´◡` thank you so much for trusting me with soonyoung. also eternally grateful to @shinwonderful and @biniaiahs for beta reading. may revisit this to do edits in the future, but for now, we settle.

in the words of a, i am the 'harbringer of doom and angst.' happy holidays, everyone! + tag list in the comments.

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ winter with you masterlist ┆ my masterlist ┆ the official babe for the weekend playlist.

This has to be the universe’s idea of a joke. 

It’s like the time your professor refused to round up your grade in college and you almost got set back a semester. Or that one day at work, where the forecast said it would be sunny— only for you to get caught in a downpour on your way home. 

The universe had to be an aspiring amateur comedian, because why else would Kwon Soonyoung be in front of you right now? 

“What?” Soonyoung chirps. “No ‘hello’ for your favorite ex?” 

Six years. It’s been six years since you last saw each other, and those are the opening words he decides to go with. 

You’re torn between smacking him upside on the head and strangling him. Maybe both, you muse, as you survey the ways he’s changed over time. 

His hair is blonde now. His once-pale skin is a little more tan. And— as much as you loathe to admit it— he looks more fit. You can vaguely make out the muscles straining underneath his casual wear.

Dancer’s build, you begrudgingly concede.

When Soonyoung calls you out in a bid to snap you out of your daydream, you physically flinch. Your name still rolls right off his tongue like honey. You don’t have the right to call me that, a small, bitter voice says in the back of your mind. You don’t have the right to talk to me at all. 

“Hellooo,” he sing-songs, waving one of his palms inches away from your face. “Did you have a stroke or something?” 

That prompts you to speak.

After all that time, your first words to Soonyoung in six years are cold and curt: “Get out.” 

A corner of Soonyoung’s mouth twitches upward. The infuriating bastard. He probably anticipated a reaction like this from you. 

He straightens until he can shove his hands into the pockets of his winter coat. “I don’t see any signs that say I’m not allowed to be here,” he says. “Did I miss it?” 

He makes a whole show of looking around your family’s restaurant. A part of you is grateful that you’re the only one on today’s shift; your parents would’ve undoubtedly had over-the-top reactions to Soonyoung’s sudden reappearance. It’s only through years of conditioning that you’ve learned to keep your reactions under control, even when the world throws you curveballs such as these. 

Your expression is perfectly blank as you dryly note, “There’s a sign out on the front, actually.” 

“Oh? Really?” 

“Yeah. No strays allowed.” 

Soonyoung shakes his head. “Brutal,” he says, but there’s still that hint of a smile on his face.  

If you strained your ears, you might hear the trace of affection in his tone. The thought of it— of Soonyoung holding any sort of fondness for you— makes you want to scream. 

You manage to tamp that urge in favor of jerking your head towards the front door of the restaurant. “Out,” you repeat, your gaze briefly flickering to the CCTV in the corner of the store. 

Your father would probably kill you if he found out you were turning someone away. A supposed family friend, at that. But this wasn’t just a customer, and you weren’t sure if you could still call Soonyoung a friend, and it’s been six years, damn it.

“Is that any way to treat a customer?” Soonyoung goads.

“You’re not a customer.” 

“You haven’t given me the chance to be.” 

“That’s because you’re not welcome here.” 

“It’s pretty bad for business that—” 

That wasn’t going to fly. You weren’t about to take business advice from Kwon Soonyoung of all people. 

One minute, you’re behind the counter with your hands clenched into fists. The next, you’ve closed the space between you and Soonyoung. He falters as you approach, looking almost like he’s holding his breath. 

It’s not a slap that greets him. Most definitely not a hug, either. 

Instead, one of your hands dart out until you’ve got a firm grip on his ear.

Soonyoung is still taller than you, but he folds over at your rough tug. “Ow, ow, ow!” he screeches, his own hands flying out of his pockets in a futile attempt to either push you off or shield himself. 

In his split second of indecision, you manage to haul him back over to the entrance. Because you had been manning the fort, you hadn’t even noticed that it had started to snow. The first of the year. 

You don’t have the time to appreciate it. Your focus is entirely on channeling your energy to shove Soonyoung out of the restaurant. He stumbles out on the sidewalk where he rubs his offended ear with a scandalized expression on his face.

A lesser man might have snapped back, might have demanded an explanation for being manhandled so shamelessly. To your sheer annoyance, Soonyoung only laughs. 

It’s a full-bodied sound, one that practically bounces off the street. He laughs, and he laughs, and he laughs, clutching at his stomach like this is the funniest thing in the world. 

Remember how, earlier, you thought you might scream? Now, you truly almost do. Because the years have passed— but Soonyoung still laughs exactly the same. 

You don’t stick around to find out if you do end up yelling. Instead, you march right back into the restaurant with your chin jut up in a show of confidence. You can hear him trying to choke out words between his laughing fit, something akin to, “Hey, wait—,” but you’re not about to hear him out. 

Not today, not ever. 

It’s the most satisfying feeling in the world, getting to slam the door in his face. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“I got hungry.”

--

“ — tried to give me business advice! Me, business advice!” 

You punctuate your exclamation with a slap to your office table. Jihoon and Wonwoo are a little too familiar with your fits of passion to be surprised; Wonwoo barely looks up from his round of Block Blast, while Jihoon only shakes his head. 

“Sounds like something he would do,” Jihoon offers empathetically.

You lean back into your chair, your expression contorted into one of utter frustration. The three of you rarely meet in your office, but you had called a DEFCON 1 situation in light of recent events. Jihoon and Wonwoo lounged leisurely in front of you as you ranted your heart away for the past thirty or so minutes. 

“Who does he think he is?” you seethe. “Showing up here unannounced!” 

Wonwoo pipes up. “It wasn’t unannounced.”

Jihoon silences Wonwoo with a warning glare. You can only glance between the two boys before Jihoon heaves out a sigh and admits, “We knew that he was coming back to visit.” 

The look of betrayal on your face must be clear as day, because Wonwoo guiltily pauses his game to flash you a sheepish grin. “We met up with him— yesterday, was it?” 

Yesterday. “And you didn’t tell me?!” Your voice is a little shrill and a whole lot incredulous.

Ever the pragmatic one, Jihoon quips, “You’ve always said that you want nothing to do with him. I presumed that involved knowing whether or not he was coming home.”

Damn it. Jihoon got you there. 

You’re not sure what you would’ve even done, really, if you’d been given a heads up. Would you have boarded up the doors to your home? Would you have sought him out yourself in a prideful bid to maintain some twisted sort of upper hand? 

You’re still mulling it over when Wonwoo delicately says, “Look at the bright side. You probably won’t run into him again.”

Jihoon attempts to distract you by getting you to talk about your most recent client— a stubborn chicken shop significantly behind on mortgage payments. You give in, if only because you want so very badly to believe in Wonwoo’s words. 

--

You should’ve known better, really, because of course your friends would lie to you. 

That’s the only thought on your mind as you keep your eyes firmly ahead and away from the smirking blonde in your peripheral vision. Already, you’re contemplating the bodily harm you’ll cause Jihoon and Wonwoo for leaving out this vital piece of information. 

But you can’t be wrathful. Not in front of the kids. 

The gaggle of twenty-something elementary students sit cross-legged on the floor, their gazes all trained on the newcomer. They’re whispering excitedly among themselves, so much so that Teacher Kang has to clap more than thrice to recapture their attention. 

“Now, everyone,” Teacher Kang announces. “Do you remember what I said about having a very special guest for today?” 

A high-pitched chorus of “Yes, Teacher Kang,” resounds throughout the auditorium. 

“Very good. Can we please give a warm welcome to Teacher Kang’s friend, Soonyoung?” 

Soonyoung makes his way to the front of the gaggle with an easy grin and a relaxed gait, like he belongs here. And maybe a part of him does. This was his turf once, too. 

“‘Soonyoung’ is a bit long, isn’t it?” he says, speaking to both Teacher Kang and the kids in front of them. It’s a small grace that he isn’t calling you out just yet, though you wouldn’t put him past it. 

“Everybody!” Soonyoung proclaims. There’s a bit of a flourish in how he moves, how he looks down at the awe-stricken kids with a bright, wide smile. He puts up one hand to his face and bends his fingers in an imitation of a paw. “You can call me Hoshi!”

The kids echo it back to him— “Teacher Hoshi!” “Hello, Mr. Hoshi!” “What’s a Hoshi?”— while Teacher Kang only smiles fondly. For your part, you keep your expression perfectly controlled, even though you’re telepathically trying to get Soonyoung to combust. 

It’s one thing for him to waltz back into your life like it’s nothing. It’s another thing for him to come around and introduce himself with the pet name you used to have for him. 

Suddenly, you’re teenagers again, visiting the zoo on a field trip. The two of you had tried so hard to hide from your chaperones that you were holding hands in the pockets of your winter coats. In hindsight, it had been the most obvious thing in the world. 

Soonyoung had excitedly pointed out the Bengal tigers lounging in their enclosure, and you joked about how similar he looked to them. 호랑이의 시선. Horangi-ui siseon, the tiger’s gaze. 

Soon after, you took to calling him Hoshi when he was on stage, when the two of you were arguing over something petty, when you wanted to be affectionate. Hoshi, let’s get ice cream today. Hoshi, take me to the library. Hoshi, I love you!

Something that was once yours alone was now everybody else’s, too. It bothers you more than you care to admit. 

You’re so caught up in reminiscing that you almost miss Teacher Kang saying, “Soonyoung— er, Hoshi— is going to help us with the Christmas showcase. He’s a very popular dancer in Seoul, so we’re happy to have him here.” 

The betrayal that rises up within you is sharp albeit short-lived. Teacher Kang didn’t owe you a warning the same way that, say, Jihoon or Wonwoo might’ve. But still. Any indication at all would have been nice. 

One of the younger students— an absolute sweetheart by the name of Iseul— tugs at your pant leg. You lean down so she can cup her little hand over your ear. 

“Do you know Mr. Hoshi?” she whispers conspiratorially. 

How fitting, for a five-year-old to pose the million-won question. It’s a loaded gun of a query even though there’s technically no right or wrong answer. 

Of course you knew ‘Mr. Hoshi’. Your mothers were best friends. The two of you were in the same classes. You dated him throughout high school. You knew him well, like the back of your hand. 

That was before he got up and left without so much of a glance over his shoulder, though. 

You give Iseul a tight-lipped smile. “I knew him once,” you answer. It’s not quite the truth, but it will have to do for now. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“Took a wrong turn and ended up here.” 

--

“Are you going to ignore me the whole time, or…?” 

You answer Soonyoung’s prodding by ignoring him. 

The past week has been largely uneventful, sans Soonyoung’s occasional effort to poke his nose into your business. He at least had the decency to not show up at your family’s restaurant again, and whether or not he knows of your office is yet to be seen. 

Your interactions with him have been largely limited to the one-hour a day that you’ve dedicated to Yangjeong Elementary School. 

Yangjeong was yet another thing that the two of you shared. You were once a pig-tailed menace who outran all the boys on the playground, and Soonyoung was your snot-nosed partner-in-crime. 

Planning Yangjeong’s Christmas showcase has been your yearly commitment for as long as you can remember. Even when you were off at college, you had made it a point to set aside time for it. Volunteers have come and gone throughout the past, though this year’s volunteer was undeniably one of the more annoying ones. 

“You’re going to have to talk to me eventually, you know.” Soonyoung practically flops himself onto the desk in front of you, the sudden weight of him making the table creak. As you turn your face away, you catch sight of the pout beginning to form on his lips. 

You almost snipe at him, something along the lines of stop that or grow up or that doesn’t work on me anymore. You hold your tongue, in favor of wordlessly getting up to move to a different chair.

Soonyoung is right. You will have to talk to him soon enough.

But as you sit as far away from him as possible, readying yourself for the day ahead, you can at least decide that today will not be that day. 

Preparations for the showcase involve discussing the program with the teachers and readying the students for their performances. It’s never anything spectacular— just your run-of-the-mill rotation of tone-deaf singing and middling dances— but the town’s overzealous parents are always more than happy to indulge the show. 

Today, you and Soonyoung are set to meet with Teacher Kang to discuss the showcase’s overarching theme. 

The sixty-something-year-old woman had been your teacher as well, and so it’s understandable why she’s eyeing the pair of you with poorly concealed amusement. There’s a palpable tension between you and Soonyoung, though a significant majority of the awkwardness is likely from your end. 

“Have the two of you not kept in touch?” Teacher Kang asks as she sets down two mugs— coffee for you, hot chocolate for Soonyoung. 

“No,” the two of you say simultaneously. 

Soonyoung steals an all-too obvious glance. You keep your eyes on the coffee in front of you. 

Teacher Kang— bless her heart— decides not to push it. She settles in her own seat, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea. 

“The principal wants all the kids to do a number. Nothing too flashy, but something that will give everyone a chance to be on stage.” The elderly teacher sips at her drink before going on. “That’s why I called you in, Soonyoung.” 

“I’m the reinforcements,” he jokes. 

Teacher Kang gives a short laugh in response. “Something like that.” 

She turns to you, then, with that same motherly simper that you’ve never been able to say ‘no’ to. You wonder if she’s doing this on purpose— pulling all the stops to get you to agree to what she’s going to say next. 

“I know your hands are going to be full with the program and the staffing,” she starts. “But you’ll work with Soonyoung, won’t you?” 

What kind of person would you be if you said ‘no’? If you threw a fit and demanded for Soonyoung to be thrown out?

“Of course,” you say, the word gritted out through your teeth. 

At your side, Soonyoung lets out a loud cough to disguise his grumble of ‘bullshit’. You fight the urge to kick him in the shins.

The beguiling expression on Teacher Kang’s face is merciless. At this point, she’s no longer hiding the way that she’s watching you and Soonyoung’s heatless bickering. And when she comments on it, when she says “You two haven’t changed,” you almost walk out then and there. 

I’ve changed, you want to insist. He’s changed. We’re both changed; we had to.

Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been worth it. The breakup, the distance, all of it. 

Soonyoung recovers before you do. 

“Ah, before I forget!” He digs for something in his pants pocket, which he eventually holds out for Teacher Kang. “You asked me for this, the last time we saw each other.” 

Despite yourself, you can’t help but try and crane your neck to catch sight of what had been handed over. Soonyoung catches the small shift and huffs out a laugh. 

“You could just ask, you know,” he says, reaching back into his pocket. 

Your protest of “I don’t—” is cut off by him shoving the same thing in your hand. Your fingers close around the calling card bearing the illustration of a tiger and a string of unfamiliar numbers. 

Hoshi, A.K.A Kwon Soonyoung, it also says. Chief Executive Officer, Eye of the Tiger Dance Studio. B1, 47, Dogok-ro 27-Gil, Gangnam-Gu, Seoul. 

“So you know where to find me,” he says with the world’s most obnoxious smirk. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“I forgot something.” 

“From six years ago?” 

“From six years ago.” 

--

Everybody thought that you and Soonyoung were a foregone conclusion. 

It had been your stereotypical small town romance. You were kids together and then you were teenagers together. Some might have blamed it on forced proximity, but you like to think that the attraction and affection was real. That it wasn’t a matter of not having any other choice. 

You had chosen Soonyoung happily. He had chosen you right back.

After an awkward dance of ‘will-they-won’t-they,’ the two of you started dating in your freshman year of high school. It was the type of thing that had everybody— your respective families, your mutual friends— breathing a sigh of relief. Something akin to finally. 

For nearly four years, Soonyoung was it for you. 

He was the one walking you home, the one you messed around with behind the library building. The two of you shared nearly every first that mattered. Every first that a high schooler could afford, anyway. 

First date.

First kiss. 

And, so it goes— first heartbreak.

Soonyoung had worn his heart on his sleeve; it was abundantly clear to everyone what he cared about. Two things in particular defined him: You, and dancing.

If you really tried, you can still remember the first time that Soonyoung had choreographed a dance himself. He had been young, scrappy, hungry— all the qualities that made it possible for him to tear up the stage and leave the rest of you in awe. 

He went on to be president of your school’s modern dance club. He went on to compete, both in groups and by himself, and win. 

You picked up on it, too, if only to indulge him. The two of you had your fair share of semi-viral dance covers and podium finishes at local contests. It was yet another testament to your partnership, to what everyone presumed would spell out endgame. 

Except you only loved to dance, while Soonyoung lived for it. 

“Come with me,” he had invited you the night before your high school graduation. 

The two of you were supposed to be in bed, but your phone buzzed underneath your pillow and you couldn’t resist one last act of rebellion. You climbed out your window and met up with Soonyoung at your typical halfway point— the derelict playground the two of you have long since grown out of. 

“To where?” you asked, your sandaled feet dragging through the sand beneath the swing. Uncharacteristically, Soonyoung hadn’t kicked off at all, instead opting to remain still. 

His fingers had been tightly clenched around the rusting chain of the dated swing. You remember that much. In hindsight, he looked nervous. 

There is a timeline where he might have proposed to you that night, might have asked for an early hand in marriage, with how on edge he was acting. 

But, instead, you had prompted, “Have you finally decided on a uni?”

A beat. 

His voice— soft and vulnerable— broke the silence of the February evening. “I’m not going to uni.” 

You should have stopped swinging, then. Should have ground to a halt and grabbed Soonyoung by the shoulders. Should have called him crazy, insane.

Maybe you should have asked him to reconsider. That might have changed things. 

Except you only kept on pushing. Back, forth. Back, forth. Like this was just a normal conversation and not a relationship-defining, life-altering moment for the two of you.

“I’m going to Seoul,” he elaborated, desperate to fill your silence. “I’m going to try and be a dancer. You— you could, too.” 

Your answer was immediate. “I’m not as good as you.” 

“You are,” he argued. A muscle in his jaw jumped, then. You’d known him for long enough to recognize his little tells and ticks, and that had been one of them. An indicator of a lie. 

“I’m not.” You kept swinging, kept your face angled away from your boyfriend who was slipping through your fingers. “I’m going to uni, Soonyoung.” 

“But—”

“But what?” 

You’ll never admit this, but you had been cruel back then. You know that now.

There are things you would have done differently. You wouldn’t have snapped. You would have looked at him. 

You were young, though, and angry. Your heart had been shattering in your chest and the only thing you could do was go back and forth on that creaking swing as Soonyoung tried to get through to you. 

It hadn’t been that much of a surprise. Soonyoung’s general disinterest in college applications— and his constant rumblings about city life— had given you some idea of what his plans might be. 

You just thought you would be more involved in it. That you wouldn’t be simply handed the decision, as if it were something you would have to accept.

Young, angry, and selfish to boot. 

“Nothing.” Soonyoung eventually said. His words sounded like a concession, like some form of twisted acceptance. “You’ll go to uni.” 

“And you’ll go to Seoul.”

In your peripheral vision, you had seen Soonyoung tilt his head away as if trying to hide his face from you. Six years is a long time ago. You can’t tell if he had cried, or maybe you’ve chosen to erase that from your memory. 

“I’ll go,” Soonyoung repeated, an edge of defeat in his tone. 

You swung, and swung, and swung, like it was the only thing keeping you tethered. 

Back, forth. Back, forth. 

The quiet had stretched, giving you a chance, an opportunity. To convince him otherwise. To change your own mind. 

But— 

“And I’ll stay,” you had responded. 

That’s the thing about endings: They’re susceptible to change. 

--

The first civil words you utter to Soonyoung are “Yeah, I think the kids will enjoy Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” 

He’d been spewing out prospects for the showcase’s group dance, though each idea had to be delicately shot down by Teacher Kang. Jingle Bell Rock? Performed three years ago. Baby, It’s Cold Outside? Perhaps not the most appropriate for children. 

You can see from a mile away, the signs of Soonyoung’s growing frustration— the downturn of his lips, the furrow of his brows. When he recommends the Maria Carey classic, you throw him a bone. Just to try and wipe that look off his face.

You immediately regret your kindness, because Soonyoung’s head whips around and he looks at you with the most disbelieving, wide-eyed expression. You return the overreaction with a half-hearted glare. 

“What?” you ask defensively. 

“It’s—” He pauses, his eyes flicking to Teacher Kang. “Nothing, nothing.” 

His jaw ticks. All that time apart and he’s still never learned how to get better at lying. 

You don’t have to poke and prod to know what’s coming. Once your little meeting draws to a close— Teacher Kang eventually agreeing with Santa Claus Is Coming to Town— Soonyoung makes a beeline for your side, his excitement barely concealed. 

“Is the world ending?” he asks you.

You attempt to shoulder past him, but he only follows you out of the classroom, sticking to your side. “You said we would have to talk eventually,” you point out. “Here’s your ‘eventually’. Don’t be too happy about it.” 

“But I am happy about it,” he responds, his tone almost like that of a whining puppy. “Not too much. Just an appropriate amount.” 

So help me, God. 

You keep your gaze ahead as you walk out of the school. Soonyoung matches your pace, humming underneath his breath. You better watch out, you better not cry. You better not pout, I’m tellin’ you why. 

Once the two of you are out the front doors of the school, you’re greeted to a light dusting of snow on Namyangju’s sidewalks. 

“So,” Soonyoung says casually as you pull out your phone to check the weather for the rest of the day. “You don’t work full-time at your parents’ restaurant, do you?” 

Involuntarily, a derisive snort of laughter escapes you. “Small talk? Really?” 

There’s a boyish grin on Soonyoung’s face. “Gotta take advantage of you being chatty,” he shoots back, which only prompts you to shake your head. 

You could ignore him, like you always have. You probably should. That had always been Soonyoung’s style. 

Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile. 

And yet—

“No,” you grumble, your eyes still absentmindedly scanning your weather app. “I only work at the restaurant part-time.” 

“The rest of the time?” 

“I didn’t realize this was going to be a talk show.” 

“Haven’t you heard? I’m primetime’s most charming host—” 

“Law. I work at a law firm.”

The answer is ripped from you in a bid to avoid Soonyoung’s theatrics, and you find yourself blinking with mild surprise, like you hadn’t prepared to divulge the detail at all. Soonyoung notices, and his lips curl in a smug smirk. 

“I know,” he says simply. “Jihoon told me.” 

You make a mental note to berate your mutual friend as you exasperatedly say, “Why did you ask, then?” 

“Because I wanted to hear it from you.” 

Soonyoung lets his words hang, linger, before he goes on. It’s just four words, what he utters next, but it still threatens to tilt your world on its axis. 

“I’m proud of you,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

You’ve heard your fair share of the platitude throughout the years. From Jihoon and Wonwoo, when you first got into law school. From your parents, when you passed the bar exam. From Teacher Kang, every December, when the Christmas showcase is pulled off. 

This is something entirely different. This has you shoving your phone back into your bag, just to hide the way your hand had begun to twitch at the words. 

“You can’t say stuff like that to your ex,” you snap. 

Soonyoung’s answer comes without a moment’s hesitation. “Why? Being exes doesn’t take away the fact that I’m proud of you.” 

Too much, too much, too much. It’s too much for your pride, your emotions, your heart. You wish you could take this for what it is— a compliment, some kindness— but the history goes deep, and the words feel like a scab being picked. 

You do what you do best. You turn on your heel and begin to walk away. 

Thankfully, Soonyoung doesn’t follow you. But he’s nothing if not vexatious, so he squeezes in a sing-song cry of “Byeee, attorney!” as you leave. 

You quicken your pace just a little bit more. 

--

Jihoon has the tendency to look like a kicked puppy when he’s being told off. 

He doesn’t pout, no, but the expression on his face is a close thing as you give him grief over telling Soonyoung about you. Wonwoo, stuck in the middle as per usual, only calmly cuts into his lunch. 

“Why did you have to tell Soonyoung about my work, huh?” you demand as you slice a little too forcefully into your bulgogi. “Giving him free ammunition or something?” 

Jihoon finally gets a word in edgewise. “It’s because he asks about you,” he deadpans. 

The thought of it is so insane that you bark out a laugh. The retort— bullshit!— is right on the tip of your tongue, but it dies out when Wonwoo bobs his head up and down.

Wonwoo has always been the less likely of the two to lie to you. You’re still a bit baffled even as the bespectacled man confirms, “Yeah. He asks me, too.” 

“Asks what?” 

“How you’re doing.” Wonwoo is so nonchalant about the whole affair that you’re tempted to call him out, too, but the lack of teasing in his tone gives you some sense of where his head is at. “What you’re up to. Stuff like that.” 

Kwon Soonyoung has kept tabs on you. 

In the years that you’ve tried to bury the memory of your friendship, of your relationship, Kwon Soonyoung has kept tabs. 

“He—” You clear your throat when your voice comes out a little more high-pitched than usual. If Jihoon and Wonwoo notice, they mercifully don’t call you out. 

You manage, “He could have just reached out to me.”

Jihoon, who had taken advantage of the reprieve to shovel some spoonfuls of rice into his mouth, swallows hard before speaking. 

“Would you have answered?” he inquires, one eyebrow arched upward. 

The truth— rarely plain, never simple— lies in a single, two-lettered word. No. No, you probably wouldn’t have answered. And even though you want to defend yourself, to claim otherwise, both Jihoon and Wonwoo would only do what you had wanted to do earlier. Call bullshit. 

You let out a groan of defeat, slumping forward until your forehead has planted on the table in front of you.

“No further questions, Your Honor,” Wonwoo chirps, and though you can’t see him, you can already imagine the smirk that he’s sporting. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“I thought there would be a high school reunion. I think I got the date wrong.” 

--

The abundance of existing routines for Santa Claus Is Coming to Town makes it somewhat easier for you and Soonyoung to dumb it down for the kids. 

You spend the next week keeping the students in line as Soonyoung teaches them how to shimmy, how to slide, how to do jazz hands. Every so often, you catch him at a loss— like when one of the younger boys tries to eat a crayon, or when the kids go into a scream-filled debate about the existence of Santa Claus. 

These are things you’re used to. These are things you can handle. 

Taking the crayons away or assuring the kids that Santa Claus is real is far, far easier than being in forced proximity with the one that got away. You’re reminded of that, now, as Soonyoung taps out for a breather and you sub in to go over the routine with the kids once more. 

They’re more prone to listening to you, and so you easily get one run of the song down without a hitch. In the years that you’ve voluntarily choreographed for the showcase, you’ve never thought too much about the technicalities of your skill. You danced well enough to teach, to pull off a decent, child-appropriate routine. That had been enough. 

But with the scrutinizing eyes of dance studio CEO ‘Hoshi’ following your every move, you feel that simmer of competitiveness in your stomach. 

After three more runs of the number with the children, you let them go. As you go to catch your breath over one of the auditorium’s bleachers, you’re surprised by a hand holding out a Cool Blue Raspberry Gatorade. 

“Is this still your poison?” Soonyoung asks with a hint of amusement as he settles into the space next to you. 

You don’t answer. Briefly, your mind goes to those days— the salsa competitions, the random play dance events. How Soonyoung’s backpack always had his Game Boy Color, a change of clothes, and a blue Gatorade. The last one, always for you. 

You uncork the drink, tilt your head back, and take a long swig. It’s as close to a confirmation that you’re going to give him. 

The two of you sit in silence as the children begin to file out of the auditorium. Once the only two of you are left, Soonyoung speaks up, the words far too quiet in the otherwise empty room. 

“You really are good, you know.” 

It takes you a beat too long to realize that he’s talking about your dancing. If the two of you were on better terms, you might have teased him about that night on the playground, many years ago, when he had fibbed about you being as good of a dancer as he is.

As it is, you can only respond with an equally soft, “Thanks.”

Being the bigger person lasts for all of fifty seconds, though, because Soonyoung’s next words prickle. 

“Could’ve been much bigger.” 

“Excuse me?”

He freezes, an oh shit type of expression crossing his face. Even so, he doubles down. “I'm just saying,” he starts, his tone growing slightly more defensive. “You could have done much more—” 

Your words are cold as your fingers close tighter around the half-empty bottle of Gatorade. “Am I not doing much where I am right now?” 

“You’re twisting my words,” he shoots back.

“Those are exactly your words,” you fume. 

It’s an old wound, one that Soonyoung poked with something sharp the second he returned home and made his presence known. You’ve done everything you can to ignore it, to keep the ache and the bitterness at bay, but you can’t help the way that it rises in your throat like bile. Something acidic, and foul, and unwelcome. 

You get to your feet, leaving the offered Gatorade on the bleacher. “Sorry not all of us moved to the city and had a big break, Kwon,” you say as you begin to gather your things.

“Jesus Christ.” Soonyoung’s cuss is punctuated with a laugh, but it’s not like any of the laughs you’re used to from him. The sound is annoyed, pained. Almost hurt, even, though you try not to dwell on that. 

Your relationship, your breakup, is an old wound that hasn’t completely healed. It’s been on the edge of festering ever since you lost contact with him. 

And, now, as you leave him stewing in his emotions, you figure that it’s only going to fester some more. 

--

Back then, the two of you had dubbed each other The Great Pretenders. 

Dating in high school required a certain level of delicadeza. While your relationship was largely accepted and acknowledged, there were still a number of things you had to hide from your families and friends. Tear-stained faces after petty arguments. Hickies under the collars of your school uniforms. 

It’s been years, but The Great Pretenders makes a reappearance when the pair of you have to face Teacher Kang the next day.

It goes unspoken that whatever the hell is going on between you two shouldn’t affect the showcase, shouldn’t be obvious to anyone that matters. And so the two of you update her on the kids’ progress, and sip the warm drinks that she offers, without any indication of having had a spat. 

The check-in winds to a close after a couple of polite exchanges. Teacher Kang seems pleased with preparations so far, though she looks even more happy about you and Soonyoung’s perceived civility, which damn near bowls you over. 

“By the way, Soonyoung,” Teacher Kang says conversationally as the three of you pack up for the afternoon. “How’s the studio?” 

“All good.” He pauses, like he realized he hadn’t given that sufficient of an answer. “We’re usually busy around this time of year, but I have one of my staff keeping watch while I’m here. I plan to head back once the holiday season is over.” 

You should’ve seen it coming, but something beneath your rib cage still twinges at the thought. You ignore the feeling in favor of shouldering your backpack. 

“You shouldn’t wait so long before coming back again,” Teacher Kang half-jokes.

Soonyoung’s chuckle— a dry, unconvincing huff of ha-ha— is chased with the cool delivery of “I’ll try to make it a more regular thing.”

In the corner of your eye, you catch what Teacher Kang misses. The most imperceptible tick in Soonyoung’s jaw. 

Liar, you think. Liar, liar, liar. 

You and Soonyoung had mastered the art of pretending, sure, but you could never quite get away from each other. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“I’d forgotten the sound of my mother’s voice.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

--

The snow returns with a vengeance. 

It’s that time of winter where the streets are blanketed with white, where the sleet and rain makes conditions horrendous. You have no choice but to soldier through the soft hail as you make your way to the school, which you’re committed to reach come rain or shine.

Except when you get to the front doors, you’re greeted by a bemused-looking Soonyoung. 

You pat down your snow-clad clothes as you look him up and down. “Where are you going?” 

He answers your question with one of his own. “Haven’t you heard?” He holds up his phone. “Practice is cancelled today. Everybody’s snowed in.” 

You were rarely the type to walk and text, so your phone has been sitting pretty in your pocket this whole time. When you go to check it, you find messages from Teacher Kang. Canceling showcase preparations in lieu of the weather. Stay safe and dry. 

“I just found out myself,” Soonyoung says delicately. 

Ah. That explained why he was the only other person around. 

Disgruntled, you glance at your surroundings. There’s barely anyone present, and the snow is only seeming to fall heavier with each passing minute. You’d be lucky to get a cab at this rate—

“Or I could just drive you.” 

You jump a bit. At what point had you started saying that last thought out loud? 

“That’s not necessary,” you start to say, but Soonyoung is already fishing for his car keys in his jacket pocket. 

“I know you hate my ass,” he responds bluntly. “But that hatred isn’t worth freezing to death over, no?” 

His face is turned away from you, so there’s no way for you to tell what expression he’s sporting. It’s a small grace. Even though you dread the thought of being stuck in a small space with nothing but your thoughts and an old ghost to keep your company, you do hate the prospect of hypothermia even more. 

That’s how you end up in the passenger seat of Soonyoung’s beat-up Hyundai Pony, which stutters and bucks every time he has to take a turn. It’s the very same car that you both learned to drive in, though it’s looking significantly worse for wear. 

While nostalgia has proven to be a bitch, you can’t resist the jab on the tip of your tongue. “Jesus,” you breathe, your fingers tightening around your seatbelt as Soonyoung barely makes a corner. “I can’t believe this thing’s still alive.” 

“That makes two of us,” he quips with a grimace. 

Once the car miraculously makes its way past a snowed-out road, Soonyoung notes, “Remember when my dad first taught us how to get through rain?”

The memory brings the flicker of a smile to your face. “You were so scared you might run a squirrel over,” you say. 

“You swore up and down that you’d never drive on a wet road,” Soonyoung shoots back.  

“I still don’t,” you respond, glancing out the window for the lack of a better thing to look at. “I ask my dad to drive whenever it’s raining.” 

Soonyoung’s next words make you pause. “Your dad hated me,” he huffs. 

You let out a snort of laughter. “That’s not true. He really liked you.” 

“He always left the room whenever I came in,” Soonyoung argues. 

“He wanted to give us privacy.” You can’t help the sigh that slides past your lips, the sound edged with annoyance. “Really, you’ve got to stop blaming other people for why we didn’t work out.”

The words hang heavy in the din of the car. You wonder, for a second, if you’d been too callous, but there’s something like a rueful smile that tugs at Soonyoung’s face. 

“Sorry. Coping mechanism,” he responds, and you don’t push any further. 

An awkward couple of moments follow. Unfortunately for you, Soonyoung has never learned the art of tact— always pushing it just a little bit, right to the point where the tension is drawn like a rubber band. 

“You know, my mom has been asking about you,” Soonyoung says conversationally as he turns into your neighborhood. “Says I should invite you over for lunch.” 

Your grasp on the seatbelt is white-knuckled. It wasn’t like you were actively avoiding the Kwons; you were perfectly polite when you saw them in public, when you ran into them in the supermarket or at church. But it’s been years since you last stepped foot in their house, and for obvious reasons, too. 

“I’m not ready for that,” you answer tersely. 

Soonyoung is either oblivious to your agitation or ignorant of it. Regardless of which, he goes on, “I said the same thing. I guess she still thinks—” 

“Let’s not go there.” Your tone is just cutting enough to give Soonyoung pause, to have him stammer to a halt as he pulls to a stop in front of your house. “I’m hot having this conversation with you, Soonyoung.” 

He doesn’t apologize, though he does back down. “Right,” he mumbles as he parks. “Right.” 

You unbuckle your seatbelt, careful to keep your gaze trained away from Soonyoung. “Thanks for the ride.”

Soonyoung is graciously quiet as you step out of his car, though that lasts for all of ten seconds— just enough for you to almost close the door on him— when he speaks up. 

“Hey. For the record,” he starts, leaning over the center console to get in the last word. “I don’t blame anyone else for our breakup. I know whose fault it is.” 

You raise an eyebrow. He throws you an infuriating grin before reaching over to pull the door close himself. 

Soonyoung peels away, once again leaving you with more questions than answers. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“It’s cold in the city, during the winter.” 

--

You and Soonyoung find yourselves doubling your efforts as the date of the showcase looms.

You spend more of your time with Teacher Kang. You extend a little more patience to the kids. You dance— dance the routines, dance with Soonyoung, dance around the truth. 

But when the elephant in the room is as big as it is, ignorance is not an option. And Soonyoung never did learn how to keep his mouth shut. 

It’s late in the evening, the two of you having pulled extra hours to work on decor. You’d felt like it was going a little too well with the way that the two of you were uncharacteristically cordial throughout the afternoon. But of course that was too good to be true, because just as you were packing up for the night, Soonyoung had to go and say— 

“Are you happy here?” 

You freeze midway into packing away the multi-colored, Christmas tree-shaped banners. That familiar flash of frustration, that inkling that he’s looking down on you, rises up again. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you say, and he’s immediately prickly. 

“It’s nothing.” He shoves some of the props behind the stage, hasty in his pursuit to end the conversation as fast as possible. “Forget I said anything.” 

“Come on,” you bristle. All the while, you’re also putting things back in place— your movements just a little more forceful than necessary. “Spit it out. You started it.” 

“I was just asking.” 

“You’re never ‘just asking’. Go on, say it.” 

“You—” 

The two of you are glaring at each other, now, your face red and Soonyoung’s fists balled at his side. When you speak, it’s with a tone that could cut through ice. 

“Just because I chose to stay,” you say. “It doesn’t mean my dreams are smaller than yours.” 

Soonyoung looks dumbstruck. His voice is impossibly tight; his words, reverberating in the otherwise empty hall. 

“I wasn’t going to say your dreams are small. It’s just… We—” He backtracks, like the pronoun had been a scalding slip of the tongue. “You could’ve sold out auditoriums.” 

Your answer is immediate, if not a little strained. 

“A sold out auditorium doesn’t matter if the one person you want isn’t at the recital,” you say. “Some people find happiness right where they are, and this is mine.” 

And that’s always been the crux of it, hasn’t it? Soonyoung has tried to make a name for himself in cities, in rooms full of people cheering his name. His definition of success was only achievable in quantity, in scale. Yours was different, and he could never really quite accept that. 

There’s a moment where Soonyoung doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with a pinched expression on his face. He opens his mouth like he might say something— 

“Oi! You two!”

You and Soonyoung jump, the tension that had been simmering between you two disappearing at the interruption. The school’s ancient janitor lingers by the door, squinting at you two. 

“Whaddya think yer still doin’ here?” the old man croaks, wielding his broom in a fashion that still makes you recoil. “It’s past curfew! Geddout!” 

Never mind the fact you and Soonyoung were now in your late twenties and long out of high school. The two of you still cower and meekly mumble, “Sorry, Mr. Cho.” 

It’s snowing again when the two of you step out. Soonyoung’s face is set in stone as he mumbles, “Get in my car.” 

Right. Like that was going to happen. 

With a wordless huff, you begin to march in the opposite direction to him. “Hey,” he calls out. “Where are you going?” 

“Home!” 

“In this— hey, it’s snowing!”

“That’s what happens during the winter!” 

You’d be a little more conscious about having a screaming match in the streets if it wasn’t nearly midnight. Something about the incessant snowfall and the cloak of darkness gives you just a little more courage to speak your mind, to toe that line that the two of you have so haphazardly drawn. 

Soonyoung marches after you, his own misgivings about the weather momentarily forgotten. He’s raring to fight, and it shows in the way he stomps through the snow like an overgrown child. 

“So that’s it, then?” he hollers from a couple of paces behind you. “You’re just going to stay here for the rest of your life, playing it safe? Work at the family restaurant because of filial piety? Marry— I don’t fucking know— guy-next-door Joshua Hong, and have babies, and—” 

“What is your problem?!” you snap, rounding on Soonyoung. He skids to a halt, stopping himself from completely barreling into you. “Why are you acting like you know me?” 

“Because I do!” His voice cracks on the last word. “I know you!”

“No, you don’t.” 

“I know you very well.” 

“From what? Jihoon and Wonwoo’s stories?” There’s a muscle straining in your neck from the way you’ve raised your voice, but you can’t find it in yourself to back down. “Think that’s enough to fill a six-year gap?” 

That seems to get Soonyoung. “You never reached out to me! Not once!” he seethes. 

“Well, neither did you!”

“I didn’t think—” His breath catches. He pushes on. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.” 

“That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it.” 

“What’s your excuse, then?” he shoots back. “Come on. I’m dying to hear it.” 

What’s your excuse, he’s asking. Why haven’t you reached out? If you were so angry and upset about the radio silence, why did you do nothing about it? 

Several answers occur to you at once. There was Soonyoung’s own flimsy reasoning. I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.

There was something close to the truth, something a little too vulnerable to be spoken out loud. I was mad at you. I hated you for a bit. I think I still hate you even now. 

There was the whisper of something treacherous, something damning. I was scared that I would only end up asking for you to come back. 

None of those words come out. You stay standing across from Soonyoung in the wake of his challenge, your face flushed, your gaze narrow. He glares right back at you, unyielding in his pride and his pain. 

The silence stretches. It becomes an answer in itself. 

“Exactly,” Soonyoung says with a heavy exhale. There’s a spark of flint in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be likened to hurt. “It takes two people to break up. You always seem to forget that.” 

As he begins to stalk away, you’re overcome with that feeling again. That heavy weight in your chest, put there whenever you know he got the last word, whenever he turned out to be right. Soonyoung has only taken about three steps away before you’re bending down and cupping some snow in your hands. 

The hastily-made snowball hits Soonyoung on the back of his head. It splatters against his hair, leaving tiny, glistening flakes tangled in his blonde strands. 

He freezes, but only for a moment. In the blink of an eye, Soonyoung is already crouching down to retaliate. He’s quicker and much more savage, and his revenge soars through the end to land squarely in your chest. 

You stagger backward, the gasp catching in your throat. Oh, it’s on.

What ensues is the most ruthless snowball fight that your small town has seen. Snowballs are hurled with reckless abandon, the ice crystals getting everywhere from your clothes to your socks. Neither of you even bother to try and hide from the onslaught. The two of you take each other’s attacks, every hit punctuated with heatless insults that have simmered too long. 

“You never called—” Soonyoung screeches, sending a cold sphere against your shoulder. 

“You didn’t visit—” you shriek as you shape ammunition in your gloved hands. 

“You deleted every photo of me off your Facebook—” A snowball to your side. 

“You talked to Jihoon and Wonwoo, but not me—” Another square hit to Soonyoung’s chest, sending a puff of powdery snow up into his face.

“Coward!”

“Asshole!”

It feels like hours before the two of you let up. 

The two of you are covered in snow from head to toe; your chests heaving from exertion, your cheeks ruddy from the cold. The heat of the exchange leaves you both puffing breaths that cloud the air between you. 

There’s a hint of something in your stances. Something that feels like it belongs to another time— before the breakup, before the distance. 

Quietly, Soonyoung starts to laugh. 

His hands are on his hips and his head is tilted back. The flakes catch on his eyelashes, his hair, but he keeps his face upturned to the sky as he laughs, and laughs, and laughs. 

That old, familiar sound. The one that warms you up from the inside, whether or not you care to admit it. You’re doubled over, your hands on your knees, as you watch him look more and more like the boy you loved and lost. 

“I hate you,” you choke out, though a corner of your mouth has twitched upward. 

He doesn’t even look at you as he responds.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Missed you, too.” 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“Am I not allowed to?” 

--

“Soonyoung says you two kissed and made up.” 

You shoot Jihoon an unamused glare. 

From across you, he raises his hand in a defensive gesture. “I didn’t believe him, of course,” he insists, though you don’t miss the way he and Wonwoo try to discreetly exchange money under the table. 

Wonwoo catches your suspicious expression and gives you an apologetic grin in return. 

“Made a bet,” he says. 

“You two suck,” you groan. 

Your three’s weekly lunch has gone mostly swimmingly up to the point that Jihoon had brought up Soonyoung. Now, though, with the topic broached, neither of your friends see the need to be discreet about it. 

“I do wonder why Soonie decided to come home now, after all these years,” Wonwoo muses aloud, toying with his chopsticks as he speaks. “Seems a bit out of the blue, doesn’t it?” 

“He came home because Teacher Kang asked him,” you point out. 

One of Jihoon’s eyebrows cocks upward. “Teacher Kang has asked him every year for the past couple of years,” he says. “So it’s not just that, I’m sure.” 

Wonwoo chimes in with, “Must be something real important, then.” 

Jihoon nearly smirks. “Or someone.” 

What feels like your nth groan of the evening escapes you. “Put a sock in it, you two,” you grumble, drawing snickers from your friends.

Jihoon mouths something to Wonwoo. You can’t make it out for certain, but it looks suspiciously like a wordless grumble of Bet’s still on. 

--

Civility is a rare thing to share with Soonyoung. 

With the showcase mere days away, it’s a welcome development. At least it’s easier for the two of you to iron out the chinks in the routines, to ensure the program is up to par with the school’s standards.

But with civility comes an even more fragile thing— hope. 

It’s in the way Soonyoung will hold open doors for you or haul the heavier props on your behalf, much to your chagrin and to Teacher Kang’s amusement. 

It’s in the way Soonyoung starts to make small talk about everything from your day job to your parents, never minding much that he’s the one who has to carry half the conversations. 

It’s in the way Soonyoung tries to make you laugh, and how, one afternoon, he finally succeeds.

You can’t even remember what it was. Some terrible joke about the kids, maybe. All you know is that a snort of laughter had slid out of you, the sound not quite the derisive giggles you’d been giving him the past couple of weeks. 

You’re still chuckling when you see Soonyoung’s face. 

Immediately, you sober up. “What?” you ask, because he’s staring at you with his jaw slack and his eyes slightly wide. 

He tries to rearrange his expression into something more acceptable; it’s too late, given that you’ve already caught him. Soonyoung may have not always been honest, but he was expressive. 

You glare at him, indicating that he’s not about to escape, and he huffs out a defeated sigh. 

“It’s just— I forgot, okay?” 

“Forgot what?” 

“How good happiness looks on you.” 

Who the hell says something like that on a random Thursday? 

Soonyoung still has that vaguely dazed look in his eyes, even though you’ve begun to stare at him like he’s insane. As he walks away to go and refill his water bottle, he nearly collides with one of the auditorium’s poles, drawing raucous laughter from the kids. 

You shush them, the tips of your ears beginning to flame. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“It was about time.” 

--

It’s nothing short of a miracle, how you, Jihoon, Soonyoung, and Wonwoo all end up at the same table at Taco Joe’s. 

Jihoon had been the one who proposed the idea. So casually, too, like he was readying himself for one of your infamous tirades or a flurry of your punches. Soonyoung wants to grab drinks with all of us.

To Jihoon and Wonwoo’s surprise, you had only responded with, “When?” 

Neither boys want to look a gift horse in the mouth, so they’re extra careful in playing their cards right. Wonwoo vows to be the designated driver. Jihoon holds back on making any jokes about the whole affair. And, Soonyoung— well, he’s just happy to be there. 

“This place really hasn’t changed, huh?” Soonyoung snickers as he sips at his beer. 

There’s not a lot of bars to choose from in your small town, making Taco Joe’s something of an institution. Its low lights, Top 50’s playlist, and cheap drinks attract more of the mid-twenties crowd, though there had been a time in your teenage years when you’d all tried and failed to sneak in. 

“Joe threatened to ban us for life when we first stepped foot in here,” Jihoon reminisces. 

Wonwoo pushes his glasses up his face by the bridge of his nose. “Worse,” he says. “He said he would tell our parents.” 

Simultaneously, the four of you shudder. A small smile tugs at your lips as you extend your cocktail for the boys to cheers with. 

“To vindication,” you announce. 

There’s a ripple of laughter among your friends. 

“Vindication,” they echo, clinking their bottles and glasses with yours. 

A part of you is suspicious at how pleasant the night is going. The conversation is easy, if not a little on the safe side. The drinks are good. The music is more often a hit instead of a miss. It’s shaping up to be a decent evening, though there are a handful of interruptions here and there. 

Kwon Soonyoung is a bit of a local celebrity, after all. 

Everybody and their mother knows about his swanky dance studio in the city, about the idols and celebrities he’s met in his line of work. Every so often, someone will stop by to greet him, to exchange a word or two with him. 

Soonyoung is perfectly amicable to all of them. His smile, practiced; his words, cool and smooth. After the fourth or so person has come up to say hello to the Hoshi, Jihoon voices out what you’ve all been thinking. 

“It’s so exhausting hanging out with you,” Jihoon says dryly.

Soonyoung giggles mid-swig of his alcohol. “Can’t help it.” He fakes a tired sigh, his shoulders rising in a shrug. “Everybody wants a piece of me.” 

“I’ll tear you to pieces if anyone else comes up to us,” Wonwoo warns. 

Your gaze flicks over Wonwoo’s shoulder, towards someone approaching your corner table. “Get those claws ready, Wonu,” you say.

When Joshua Hong saunters up to your group’s table, though, his greeting for Soonyoung is cursory at best. 

“Nice to see you back, Kwon,” the man says politely before turning his attention to you. “Hey, you.” 

You straighten in your seat. Jihoon and Wonwoo exchange a look. Soonyoung’s eyes narrow ever so slightly as he gives a grumbled ‘hello’ to Joshua’s lackluster greeting. 

It’s apparent that Joshua isn’t there for him, because Joshua is instead smiling at you. “Hey,” you respond in kind. “What’s up?” 

Joshua had been an upperclassman during your school days, part of the infamous trio featuring troublemaker Yoon Jeonghan and varsity captain Choi Seungcheol. But Joshua was more on the mild side, known for his volunteer work at the local choir. He wasn’t any less unattainable, though, and you’re reminded of why Soonyoung so callously threw his name out during your more recent spat. 

Prior to dating Soonyoung, you did have a raging crush on Joshua, after all. You’re briefly reminded of it as he flashes you a warm smile. “I was hoping I could buy you a drink,” he says. “For… you know.” 

There’s absolutely nothing coy in Joshua’s words. He’s not suggestive, not trying to come on to you. All the same, the three boys at your table react like Joshua had just proposed. 

Jihoon bites back a grin. Wonwoo cocks his head to one side. Soonyoung shoots back a quarter of his beer. 

For… you know, Joshua is saying, and you know exactly what he means even though the rest aren’t privy to it. You’re already getting to your feet before you can register it. “Yeah,” you say, nodding towards the bar. “Let’s go.” 

None of your friends say a thing as you step away with Joshua, but you can feel their eyes on your back. You know you’re going to get hell for it later— but, for now, you focus on the small talk that Joshua has to offer. 

He lets you pick out your cocktail of choice. As the bartender goes to make it, Joshua smiles down at you. There had been a time where you might’ve keened over at the sight of it; now, though, it only makes your heart flutter a bit. 

His voice is just loud enough to be heard over the thumping music, but low enough that it’s just for the two of you. 

“Thank you for your help,” he says. “Really. You’re a life-saver.” 

Your expression softens underneath the lights of the bar. “How’s your dad?” 

Joshua’s smile is a little tight, but not any less sincere. “Better,” he responds. “It’s rough, of course, but he’s coping.” 

Earlier in the year, Joshua’s father had been one of your firm’s clients. It had been a lot more challenging than you thought, working with someone you personally knew. The arduous process had involved unsecured debts, scarred credit scores, and seized collaterals, but you were ultimately able to help the Hongs in closing down their music school. 

“I’m glad.” You pause, as if realizing that’s not quite the right thing to say. “I’m not glad about what happened—” 

Joshua’s laughter cuts through your tirade. Your shoulders ease when you realize it’s not a particularly mean laugh. More of an amused sound at your panic. 

“Don’t worry, I get it,” he reassures as the bartender slides your drinks to you. Joshua gives the other man a nod and a mumbled promise of tipping later.

“I don’t want to keep you,” Joshua says. “Just wanted to show my appreciation.” 

“You didn’t have to.” Your fingers wrap around the drink he brought you. “But thank you, anyway.” 

Joshua nods, grins. The lines are clear as day. He’s not flirting, not trying to get in your pants or anything. The drink is exactly that: A show of gratitude. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Some old version of you might have been disappointed. Tonight, you are only oddly relieved. The two of you talk a little more— about things that are neither here nor there— before Joshua lets you go. 

Upon your return to your table, you’re greeted with a sight for sore eyes. 

Somehow, in the fifteen or so minutes that you were gone, Soonyoung had already shot back his first bottle of beer. As you slide back into your seat next to Wonwoo, your bespectacled friend quietly divulges, “That’s his third one.” 

“Third?” You glance toward Soonyoung, your eyebrows raised quizzically. “Are you trying to get alcohol poisoning or something?” 

Soonyoung only flashes you a grin before taking another swig. He ignores your question in favor of chatting Jihoon’s ear off; the latter throws you a bemused look before going back to his conversation with Soonyoung. 

You huff out a sigh as you go to nurse the cocktail that Joshua got you. 

“I wonder what’s gotten into him,” Wonwoo says, his tone just a little too smug for his own good. 

You shoot him a sideways glare. He sinks his teeth into his lower lip, hiding his blooming smile behind a sip of his soda. 

As the night wears on, you begin to feel that familiar buzz in your system. The telltale signs of your tipsiness leave you pleasantly sated— your laughter a little less restrained, your brain a lot more empty. So when Soonyoung leans across the table to yell at you, “Let’s dance!”, your first instinct is not to say Fuck off. 

The words that come out instead are “To what song?” 

Soonyoung is already standing up and moving around the table to get to your side. An intoxicated Jihoon and sober Wonwoo only watch on, spectators to this impending dumpster fire, as Soonyoung reaches out to tug you out of your seat. 

“Any song,” he breathes. His face is flushed a deep shade of red, but his eyes are as bright as ever. “Anything you want.” 

There’s a right thing to do in this situation.

The right thing to do would be to let Soonyoung down politely. To tell him no, you’re not interested in dancing. You’re happy to drink with him and your friends, but you’re not about to indulge him with the thing that once made the two of you so close. You don’t think your heart can take it. 

But you’re two cocktails in. The music is good. And Soonyoung is looking at you with that absolutely incandescent expression, faring not any better than you in the game of sobriety. How could you deny him? 

You let him pull you to your feet. His hand stays wrapped around your wrist as he drags you out onto the dance floor, as he leans over to the DJ and yells, “Do you have any GD?!”

The current track transitions into the unmistakable beats of Good Boy. Soonyoung’s face lights up like a firework. 

You’re drunk enough to laugh at him, with him, as you easily fall into the decade-old dance routine. No matter how long it’s been, it seems like your body still remembers every step, every hand movement. 

You’re drunk enough to not care that Wonwoo is not-so discreetly filming the two of you, that Jihoon is wearing a knowing smirk. Come tomorrow, your friends will have a lot to say about this moment. But, right now, it’s all inconsequential. 

You’re drunk enough to dance. To dance in a way that isn’t simply for Christmas showcase purposes. To dance and remember why you loved it so much in the first place. 

To dance with the boy who got you into it in the first place. 

Good Boy spins into Home Sweet Home, then Fantastic Baby, then Gee. You and Soonyoung dance through it all. Honestly, you’re no longer built for this the same way that you once were, and you’re certainly not up to par with Soonyoung.

His drunkenness does nothing to dampen his energy or his dancing skills. He moves across the floor with the practiced ease of a professional, putting everyone to shame without even trying. His toothy smile never leaves his face as the two of you swing and pop and glide. 

By the time the DJ starts to play more modern pop, you call for a time-out. Soonyoung stumbles after you and the two of you collapse onto a nearby couch, boneless from the non-stop dancing. 

Wonwoo is off to one side, chatting with a girl, while Jihoon is nowhere to be found. You wouldn’t hold it past the latter to be on a smoke break of some sorts; nights out always tended to drain him, after all. 

“Insane,” Soonyoung croaks out. Blonde strands of his hair stick to his face due to sweat. You resist the urge to fix it.

“I haven’t danced like that in ages,” you say, rolling your shoulders to fight off the growing ache in your body. 

Soonyoung tries to laugh. The sound comes out more like a wheeze. His next words are mumbled in between attempts to catch his breath. “You’re good, babe.” 

Come Back Home is thumping through the speakers. You try to focus on that instead of Soonyoung’s Freudian slip; you fail miserably, and it must show on your face because Soonyoung sucks in some air through his teeth. 

“Sorry.” He’s laughing, but the sound is a bit rough around the edges. “Moment of weakness.” 

A beat. “Wanna dance some more?” he prompts. 

Whether it’s a desperate bid to run from his words or a sincere offer by a man who simply lives to dance, you don’t question it. “Yeah,” you say a little too quickly. “Let’s dance.” 

You dance until you feel like your feet are going to fall off. Soonyoung matches your pace, never missing a beat. When he needs to take a break, he drinks some more— an endless cycle of dance floor shenanigans and drawn-out sips of beer. 

It’s probably why he’s swaying by the time that you’re all calling it a night. Wonwoo and Jihoon flank Soonyoung on either side, the blonde still somehow having the tenacity to chatter while dragging his feet. He’s talking out of his ass about one thing or another, like music these days “not being as good as the OGs,” and you can sense Wonwoo’s exasperation over the whole thing. 

“Living in Seoul has done absolutely nothing for your tolerance,” Wonwoo grumbles, prompting Soonyoung to go into a long-winded rant about the cultural differences in drinking culture. 

The relief on Wonwoo’s face is palpable as he shoves Soonyoung into the backseat of his car. 

Jihoon gives a nod of his own. “You’ll be good to drive?” he asks Wonwoo.  

“Didn’t drink a drop,” Wonwoo chirps. “You?” 

“Sobered up, like, two hours ago,” Jihoon says wryly. He gives you a vicious side eye— wordlessly blaming you for not being able to go home any earlier, since he was your designated driver— and you raise your shoulders in a half-shrug. 

“You were the one who invited me out to drink.” Your voice is hoarse from all the alcohol, from the physical exertion of non-stop dancing. 

You’re somehow lucid enough to register that Soonyoung is calling for you. There’s a slight pout on his face, like he’s upset to be missing out on the conversation. He’s bracing himself against the frame of the car door, his legs swung over the seat, as you gingerly approach.

“What?” you ask.  

This close, you can smell his faint cologne, mingling with the scent of alcohol and sweat. 

This close, you can see the way his eyes are slightly unfocused; his mouth, still bearing the hint of a glowing smile. 

“You—” he croaks out. 

His gaze darts to your lips. It’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. You don’t miss it.

Your breath stills in your chest, and Soonyoung is looking up at your face like he’s searching for something. Denial? Reciprocity? 

He must not have found what he was looking for, because the words he grumbles are, “I’m going to hurl.” 

Wonwoo’s panicked shriek cuts through the otherwise quiet parking lot. 

“Not in my fucking car, asswipe!” 

--

Soonyoung’s hangover the next day is comical. 

You can’t help but snicker as he rolls up to the showcase’s dry run with shades over his eyes and a large cup of coffee in his shaking hands. 

“You suck,” he hisses to you as he slides on to the bench next to you. Teacher Kang is busy heralding the students, getting them into their costumes and places, so the two of you have a minute alone before the hubbub strikes up. 

“You’re the one who can’t hold down his alcohol,” you respond, eyeing his slumped form with amusement. 

Soonyoung mumbles some incoherent cusses, his free hand reaching up to rub at his temples. 

“God, my last memory was Hong coming up to the table,” he grouses. 

You’re reminded of the inordinate amount of alcohol he downed in your brief absence. I wonder what’s gotten into him, Wonwoo had said. 

“That clears,” you say sympathetically. 

There’s a moment’s pause before Soonyoung tentatively asks, “Did the two of you ever…?” 

You don’t immediately register what he’s asking about Joshua. When it hits you, though, you find a startled laugh sliding past your lips. Because there’s Wonwoo’s answer, even though you don’t recognize it then and there. 

“Hong? No, no.” For reasons you can’t quite explain, you feel compelled to tack on, “I haven’t really had the time to date.” 

“Oh.” It kills you, how Soonyoung almost sounds relieved. “Me, too. I mean— me neither.” 

“Ah.” 

“Running a dance studio is a lot of work.” 

“Right.” 

“And I’m sure— law school, right? That was a lot of work, too.” 

“Right, yeah.” 

It’s a stilted conversation, one heavy in its implications. The real things that the two of you want to say, want to address, linger on the surface, but neither of you seem to want to break that ice. 

You settle, instead, for this moment. For the negligible distance between the two of you on the bleachers and how it closes, slow but steady, like the ticking hands of a clock. 

Your shoulder just barely presses against Soonyoung’s. 

Neither of you move away. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“Because I love you, and I miss you.” 

“You’re lying.” 

“Only one of those is a lie, actually.” 

--

You’ve always liked being front of house during the showcase.

You’re a familiar face to the parents of the children, to the community members who attended the event every year. Their warmth is a welcome reprieve from your nerves. 

You make small talk. You usher people to their seats. You try not to wonder where the hell Kwon Soonyoung is. 

Despite having his calling card, you haven’t deigned to reach out. It’s tucked away in a drawer at home; you don’t quite know what to do with it. Maybe you’ll actually save his number one of these days. 

You’re entertaining the thought when you feel a hand at your elbow. The smiling face of Iseul’s mother— the pompous but well-meaning Mrs. Hwang— greets you. 

“There’s no need for that,” she says with a chuckle as you fold into a bow. You don’t miss the way she nonetheless preens at your formalities. It’s why you keep up with it. 

You let her link your arms and, out of instinct, you begin to lead her to one of the free seats in the auditorium. “Are you excited for this year’s show, Mrs. Hwang?” you ask conversationally. 

“You know it,” she answers. “Iseul has been talking non-stop about her performance, but she refuses to tell me what song to expect!”

You’d recognize Mrs. Hwang’s baiting tendencies from a mile away. With a curt giggle, you tell her, “You’ll find out soon enough, Mrs. Hwang. I promise it’ll be worth the suspense.” 

The older woman gives you a disapproving frown, but it smooths out as she seems to realize a change in topic. The auditorium is notably a little more packed this year, enough to have the volunteers bringing out additional Monobloc chairs. 

“I guess people want to see what the Kwon boy has done to the showcase, hm?” she notes, speaking into existence the fact that you’ve neglected to acknowledge so far.

Surprisingly, you don’t feel bitter about it. People were showing up to assess Soonyoung’s choreography, to bask in the product of his labor. There’s a twinge of something in your chest. It could almost be mistaken for pride.  

Mrs. Hwang tacks on, “Mighty shame.” 

That throws you off. “Pardon?” 

She doesn’t respond immediately, her eyes zeroing in on an empty chair by the front of the stage. She practically drags you there as she continues, “It’s really so unfortunate. The whole thing about his dance studio tanking.” 

The whole thing about his dance studio tanking. 

What the hell was she talking about? 

The universe, once again, had to be messing with you. You’re convinced this is some skit. Some buildup to a joke. 

But the punch line never comes, and you end up admitting, “I don’t think I’ve heard about that yet, Mrs. Hwang.” 

Your voice is surprisingly even for someone whose world was closing in. If Mrs. Hwang can sense the trepidation in your demeanor, she makes no indication of it. You’re grateful for her obliviousness, even, because she only keeps talking as she settles into her seat. 

“My girls are always talking about it,” she says, referring to the group of forty-something-year-old women who like to gather and gossip in the town’s sole Italian restaurant. “That’s why he’s back. Couldn’t hack it out there.” 

When she glances up at you with a scrutinizing expression, you just know you’re not going to like what she says next. You’re proven right when she says, “We thought he’d ask for your help, actually. Isn’t liquidation your specialty?” 

You can’t be bothered to correct the woman over the technicalities. You give her a tight smile, a nod of your head, a polite ‘goodbye’ as you take your leave. 

There are much more pressing matters, you think to yourself, as you go to greet more guests, make sure the music is all queued up, check in on the host’s script.

You didn’t spend over a month preparing for tonight only to lose yourself before it’s even begun. You refuse to let the new piece of information trip you up, even though it has your heart acting like a caged animal underneath your ribs. 

The showcase goes by without a hitch. The children are more than phenomenal; they’re perfect. 

The audience is enamored. The teachers are overjoyed. 

You want nothing more than to go home and tear up Soonyoung’s calling card. 

As the showcase wraps up to enthusiastic applause, Teacher Kang snatches the microphone from the host for one last announcement. 

“This wouldn’t have been possible without two of our very tireless volunteers,” she says, and— from backstage— you wince. Before you know it, you’re being pushed out onto the stage.

Soonyoung exits from the other stage wing.

He’s managed to evade you the entire showcase, and now you realize why. In his arms, he holds a monstrous bouquet. Yellow acacias, striped carnations, bunch-flowered daffodils. Your first thought is how expensive it might have been, to find out-of-season blooms in the thick of winter. 

Your second thought is that you want to hurl, but that’s neither here nor there. 

As Soonyoung strides in from the other side of the stage to meet you in the middle, he sees it. He sees the hint of trepidation underneath your practiced grin, sees the way your eyes flash momentarily. His own grin drops ever so slightly. 

But the two of you are in an auditorium, on a stage in front of Namyangju’s best and brightest. Neither of you can afford to give voice to what you feel. 

Soonyoung hands you the bouquet. You nod in acknowledgement. 

The two of you instinctively reach for each other’s hands.

You hadn’t noticed that the crowd had gotten to their feet. A standing ovation. It feels like an echo of the past, a cruel reminder of an alternate universe. 

Even so, your smile never wavers. Neither does Soonyoung’s. He raises your hand. The two of you take a bow. 

The Great Pretenders put on their best show yet.

--

“What was that?” 

A part of you is surprised that Soonyoung found you. The moment the showcase officially concluded, you were booking it out of the auditorium before he could even get a word in edgewise. Gracefully, the dozens of people hounding him for photos and small talk let you widen the gap. 

Still, he caught up. Just as you were passing by the godforsaken playground that had witnessed the ending of it all. Oh, the universe and its jokes. 

Soonyoung is red-faced, like you’d embarrassed him somehow despite the convincing act you both put on. Your fingers tighten around the bouquet he gave you. 

“What was that?” he repeats, and what little restraint you had left snaps. 

“Why did you come home?” you ask point blank. 

“Teacher Kang—” 

“Don’t,” you snipe. “Teacher Kang asked you last year. And the year before that. Why did you come home now, Soonyoung?” 

The question hangs heavy in the early December evening. You and Soonyoung are staring at each other, mere paces away from the swing set where the two of you made your choices.

He doesn’t answer right away, so you prompt him with, “Is it because of me?” 

Soonyoung misinterprets the question. You can see the way his eyes light up, the way his lips part like he’s just about to say something of consequence. 

You almost feel guilty about the next words that tear out of you. “You’re going bankrupt,” you say, and the hope on his face fizzles out like a popped lightbulb. 

“Who told you—” he chokes out. 

“So it’s true?” 

Kwon Soonyoung is struck dumb.

Soonyoung, whose mouth ran faster than his brain. Soonyoung, who was full of quick quips and witty remarks. 

Soonyoung, who is now staring at you like you’ve told him the world was about to end. 

You contemplate throwing his bouquet in his face. It will make for a dramatic, pretty picture— the petals falling onto the soft snow, the fuck you loud despite being unspoken. For now, you only clutch the arrangement closer to your chest like it's a lifeline.

“And here I thought—” Your breath hitches on a scoff, the puff of air visible in the chill. “I was a fool who thought you came back for me.” 

The truth cuts. Your laugh bitterly as you go on, “I guess you still did, though, huh? Because you need me. What? Were you hoping to avail of cheap services, Kwon?” 

“That’s not—” 

“That’s exactly it!” Your tone is shrill. Soonyoung always did bring out the worst in you. “You were away for six years, and now you’ve come crawling back—” 

“Do you think I wanted to fail?” 

Soonyoung’s voice rises, his frustration bubbling over to match yours. 

“I starved out there,” he bites out. “Ate cup noodles for a year so the studio could afford rent for one more month. Sold half of my stuff so I could pay my employees. It was so hard.” 

The way Soonyoung’s voice breaks on the last word makes something in your heart clench. For a moment, you think it might be pity, but you kill the feeling as soon as it tries to make itself known. 

You don’t want to pity Soonyoung, which is both an insult and a grace. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask instead, even though a part of you already knows the answer. 

A sound that’s almost like a delirious laugh escapes him. “Not when I was the one who made it out,” he responds. 

You never realized how much you’d prefer Soonyoung’s cocky, self-assured self over this version of him. This boy— man— who is defeated and resigned. Even in your anger, there is a small part of you that wants to do something to wipe that look off his face.  

“I made it out,” he repeats wearily, like it’s taking everything in him to face the truth of being Namyangju’s failing poster boy. 

He continues, “I gave up everything to be there. I gave up you.”

Your grip on the bouquet tightens. There’s a faint prickle behind your eyes, but you refuse to let those tears fall. “You did that like it was easy,” you mumble, your voice just loud enough to carry. 

Soonyoung meets your gaze. He looks like he’s on the verge of sobbing himself, but his tone brokers no arguments. 

“It wasn’t,” he says.

And that was that. 

You’ve never been able to stand not having the last word. You clear your throat, attempting to speak through the lump forming there. “Yeah, well,” you say shakily. “You’re not the only one who lost something.” 

It’s a shitty comparison and you know it. Soonyoung’s sacrifices dwarf yours. You weren’t the one who moved away, who bore the weight of an entire city’s pride. 

Thankfully, Soonyoung doesn’t call you out on it. He only takes a sharp exhale and turns his gaze away, his eyes fixed on the swings. 

When he speaks, his voice is quiet. Almost like the words are an afterthought. “For the record— that night?” he says. You don’t have to ask for clarification. You know exactly which night he’s talking about. 

“I was hoping you’d change my mind,” he confesses. 

A physical blow to the chest would have hurt less. You stagger, but you try to mask it like you’re taking a step back. Like you’re walking away, even as your eyes never leave Soonyoung’s face. 

“And I was hoping I’d be worth staying for,” you say with a humorless laugh, the distance between the two of you growing, growing, growing. 

Your parting words are the proverbial nail on the coffin: “I guess we both didn’t get what we wanted.” 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“I didn’t know where else to go.” 

--

For once, Jihoon and Wonwoo have nothing to say. 

No wisecrack. No jab. No exchange of money in some backhanded bet. 

They listen as you recount the salient points of the argument. You keep the personal stuff out of your own retelling, focusing only on the broad strokes. The biggest concern lies in one nagging question. 

“Did you know?” you ask, your hands bracing the table in front of you. 

“No,” Jihoon says immediately. 

Wonwoo chimes in with a quiet “Me neither.” 

You know these boys. You’ve seen them lie to their parents about their homework, lie to their girlfriends about where they were. 

They’re not lying now. You know that much. 

A shaky exhale escapes you. It’s been three days since the fight and you’ve yet to run into Soonyoung. You wouldn’t hold it past him to avoid you, either by steering clear from the places you frequent or getting on the first bus back to Seoul. 

“When he asked about how you were doing,” Jihoon says gruffly. “I thought it was just— yearning or some shit.” 

“Me, too,” Wonwoo adds. 

Yearning or shit. The words almost make you laugh. 

The pinched expression on your face prompts Wonwoo to ask, “Are you upset?” 

‘Upset’ feels like too light of a term to describe the maelstrom of emotions within you. There are facts: You wish you had known. You could have afforded to be kinder. You are afraid that you will never stop being angry. 

You answer Wonwoo’s question with a mumbled, “Would it be cliché to say that I’m just disappointed?” 

“Ah.” His face is thoughtful, understanding. “Because you expected something from him.” 

“That’s not it,” you say dryly. 

It is. 

The three of you lapse into contemplative silence. Jihoon breaks it after a couple of moments, his tone soft and serious. 

“I know it’s shitty,” he says. “But I do hope that he’s okay.” 

That would be the mature thing to do. Even Wonwoo is nodding his agreement, willing to set aside his own gripes in favor of well wishing.

You can’t bring yourself to do the same. The platitude sticks in your throat until you feel like it will suffocate you. 

--

Soonyoung has an alibi for not showing up to Teacher Kang’s post-processing session. 

You’re grateful that the elderly woman doesn’t go on about the details of his absence. She mentions something about him being busy with the holidays, and you take it in stride. 

You try not to picture the way his jaw might’ve twitched before sending out the text, before lying to get away. 

“Everybody loved the show,” Teacher Kang gushes. “I’m so proud of you, dear. I really do hope we can have Soonyoung on board more often.” 

An offhand joke of “we’ll probably be seeing a lot more of him in the near future” crosses your mind, but you hold it back. You may be calloused, but you’re not heartless. 

You nod. You agree with Teacher Kang. You hold it together, up until you’re halfway out the door and she calls you back for one last word. 

“You know,” she starts. “I remember the two of you when you were kids.”

You’d been dreading this— the inevitable trip down memory lane. You thought you had escaped it, but now you’re facing it with one of the world’s fakest smiles. 

“That was a long time ago,” you say. 

“It was.” There’s a glimmer in Teacher Kang’s eye. Something unbearably tender. “Soonyoung always made you smile a certain way. You’ve started smiling like that again. It’s nice to see.” 

You don’t know how you manage to laugh it off, to bid Teacher Kang goodbye and make your way back to your car. Your hands are shaking as you slide into the driver’s seat of your car.

The school’s parking lot is gracefully empty. It’s a good thing, because then no one can hear you as you fold in half and screech. 

You scream until your voice goes hoarse, until the windows shake. 

You scream until you can’t hear the way your chest is caving in on your heart. 

--

Your theory of running into everyone but Soonyoung is proven when you’re sooner to cross paths with Mama Kwon.

Your carts nearly collide in the pasta aisle of the grocery store. You’re already bowing, apologizing profusely, when you realize that you recognize the woman holding a can of pesto.

She says your name with the fondness that could rival your own mother’s. It takes everything in you not to bolt at the sound of it.

“What a coincidence,” she says with a tinkling laugh. 

You know in your heart of hearts that it’s exactly that. A coincidence. Still, you can’t help but think some higher power is out to get you. Call it karmic justice. 

“How have you been, Mrs. Kwon?” you ask, feeling the slight nip of not addressing the woman as you typically might. 

She notices too, if her slightly furrowed brow is any indication. She manages to rearrange her expression into something more neutral as she answers. 

“You know how the holidays are,” she says, wielding her pesto bottle in an absentminded gesture. “It’s a full house!” 

That stings. 

You’ve heard from your mother how the past couple of years, Mama Kwon would complain about her household feeling empty during the holidays. The seat at the dining table stayed vacant for the son that refused to come home. 

You don’t know how much she knows about the state of the dance studio, so you decide to play it safe. “I’m sure it is,” you say. 

The small talk is tearing you up from the inside, but you don’t want to be rude. Don’t want to be a stranger to the woman who once cared for you so deeply— who probably still cares for you, if you really thought of it. 

The question is out of you before you can hold it back. “Are you with Soonyoung?” 

What would you even do with that information? Would you have booked it if she said ‘yes, he’s right around the corner’? Would you have cried if she revealed that he headed back to the city? 

You’re not sure. 

Here’s what happens instead: A sigh nearly breaks out of you when Mama Kwon responds, “He’s in the next shop over, getting some repairs for the car. We’re meeting at Italianni's for lunch.” 

Still here, a small voice murmurs in the back of your mind. Hasn’t left for Seoul just yet. 

You shake the thought away as Mama Kwon delicately prompts, “Would you like to join us?” 

Mama Kwon is probably not inviting you solely out of politeness. She’s making the offer because she wants you to be there. She wants you to be at the same table as her family, sharing a pizza and whatever the restaurant’s special for the day is. She wants you to sit next to Soonyoung and play nice, even though you currently can’t stomach the thought of being anywhere near him. 

For some reason, it makes you want to cry. 

To lose somebody in a breakup is painful, yes. To lose all the things that came with it— like the family that you might have learned to love yourself? 

A different type of ache all together. 

Your smile is so painfully fake, almost hurting the edges of your mouth, as you try to let her down gently. “I wouldn’t want to impose,” you say. “But thank you for thinking of me.” 

For once, The Great Pretenders is met with negative reviews. 

Then again, nothing ever really escaped Mama Kwon’s scrutinizing gaze. She surveys your expression and purses her lips. You can practically see the way that the cogs turn in her brain, as if trying to decide on the response that will do the least amount of damage. 

It doesn’t matter how gentle she tries to be. The words that she eventually extends still hurt like a bitch. 

“He still talks about you a lot,” she muses. 

Oh. 

“Oh?” 

“Nothing bad,” Mama Kwon says quickly. She laughs again, smiling very much like how her son might. 

“Just—” She leans in. Your body autonomously mimics the action.

You’re reminded of being younger, of when she’d do the exact same thing to whisper you some ‘secret’. I got Soonyoung new shoes for Christmas. The car side mirror is busted because of me. I packed you extra of those choco pies you like. 

Today, she whispers, “I think he came home for you.” 

--

“Why did you come home?”

“I had a nightmare that I visited and I couldn’t recognize a thing. All the street names were different. The buildings were new. I kept running, trying to look for something familiar, and I just— I was just lost. And that sucked. This was mine once. You know?” 

“It still is.” 

“You don’t have to lie to me. It isn’t anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time.” 

--

“You know, I really have missed your mother’s cooking.”

You smile ruefully at Soonyoung’s words. 

He’s digging heartily into your mother’s signature kimchi jjigae, and you have half the mind to tell him to close his mouth as he chews. Instead, you let him devour the dish. 

It had taken a little bit of masterminding to pull this off. Maybe it would’ve been easier to send Soonyoung a text of Let’s meet up, but your blasted pride was one of the last things you had left. You’d be damned if you were going to give that away, too. 

You enlisted Jihoon and Wonwoo’s help in orchestrating this, in convincing Soonyoung that he could sneak into your family restaurant undetected. Sure, the blonde had been more than a little miffed when his friends ditched him and left him with you, though his irritation was short-lived in the face of the food he had been craving for God-knows-how-long. 

“Maybe that’s because you’ve only been eating shin ramyun,” you point out. 

Soonyoung barely looks up from his bowl as he shovels more food into his mouth. “Low blow,” he says in between bites.  

You wince. “Sorry.” 

“You’re not really sorry.” 

“No, I am.” 

That drags Soonyoung’s attention away from his stew. 

His guarded expression slots right back into place, like he’s realizing you have some ulterior motive beyond feeding him. He rests his spoon against his bowl and leans back into his chair. With one eyebrow raised, he says, “This feels a lot like the lead-in to a breakup.” 

A bark of laughter escapes you. Of course Soonyoung would make a joke like that. 

You reach into your pocket until you’ve found what you’re looking for. Wordlessly, you slide it across the table until it’s resting by Soonyoung’s hand.

“I’ll give you a discount,” you tell him. “But only, like, fifteen percent. Anything more than that is just pushing it.” 

Your calling card stares up at him. It bears your name along with your firm’s address, your phone number, and your title. Consumer bankruptcy lawyer. 

Even now, Soonyoung can’t help but be expressive. His wide eyes are fixed on the card you’ve laid out. For a moment, your offer hangs in precious balance, but you don’t have a single urge to take it back. It’s entirely, wholly for Soonyoung to take. 

He asks the question that you know is coming. “Why are you doing this?” he says, his words like a raw nerve. 

You almost smile. Almost. 

In the past week that you’ve mulled it over, you’ve reached at least a dozen different answers. 

Because Jihoon and Wonwoo worry about you.

Because it’s the right thing to do. 

Because Teacher Kang talks about you like you hung the stars and the moon. 

Because I owe you one. 

Because I don’t want you to let Mama Kwon down.

Because I’ve missed you, and I want you to be happy, even if that happiness has nothing to do with me. 

The answer that eventually, finally comes to you is none of the above. 

You simply say, “Because you’re my favorite ex.” 

--

The call asking for your help never comes. 

A couple of days after that lunch, you find something on your desk. Your calling card. 

If it weren’t for one small thing, you would’ve thought that it was a stray card of yours that you’d forgotten. But then you catch sight of a doodle in one corner right before you’re about to tuck the card away in your closet. 

A crude drawing of a tiger, with crescent-shaped eyes and a toothy smile. 

You instantly know what it means. Sure enough, you hear from Jihoon that same evening. 

Kwon Soonyoung has left as quietly as he arrived. 

There is relief. There is regret. How you feel ultimately doesn’t matter, because you knew it would always come to this— a choice being made.

He left. You stayed. 

The world spins madly on. 

The last of the snow is melting on an unassuming Tuesday afternoon when your phone pings in your pocket. You fish it out to find two texts from an unknown number. The first is a link to a news article. 

You’re suspicious, but curiosity always did kill the cat. The article loads and fills your screen.

Eye of the Tiger Dance Studio To Start Offering Child-Friendly Dance Lessons

By: Xu Minghao

SEOUL, South Korea – Eye of the Tiger Dance Studio, founded by renowned choreographer and performer Kwon Soonyoung, better known as HOSHI, is expanding its mission to inspire a new generation of dancers. The studio announced it will officially begin offering child-friendly dance lessons following a successful pilot program last month.

Parents and young aspiring dancers can look forward to the official launch of child-friendly lessons early next year. According to HOSHI, the initiative aims to “nurture the joy of dance from an early age and build a foundation for self-expression and confidence.”

The studio piloted its first all-children dance classes in January, offering a creative and supportive environment for young dancers to explore movement. The program’s success has led to an upcoming showcase featuring the children at the KB Art Hall in Gangnam. 

HOSHI, celebrated for his innovative choreography and passion for dance, revealed the inspiration behind this new direction. 

“There was a time I felt lost, like I had lost my purpose for dance,” HOSHI shared, reflecting on a challenging period in his career. “I was going through the motions, using dance as a way to distract myself from everything else, rather than embracing it as a part of who I am.” 

“But I realized something important recently,” he goes on. “Dance shouldn’t be an escape or a vacation. It should be a homecoming.” 

And that’s exactly what they hope to do with their upcoming showcase. Details on the event can be found here. 

The second text bears only a couple of words, but it changes the ending of everything.

There’s only one seat that will matter in that auditorium, it reads.

Please make sure it’s not empty. 

--

“Why did you come home?” 

“Home had you.”

[wqnwoos]

You were once deeply and irrevocably in love with Kwon Soonyoung, and it’s incredibly hard to avoid that fact when he works literally two offices down from you. It’s even harder to avoid when you’re stuck in a broken elevator with him for hours, and he seems determined to dissect everything that went wrong three years ago.

⇢ pairing: kwon soonyoung x f!reader

⇢ genre: angst, fluff, exes!au, lawyer!au

⇢ wc: 5.6k

⇢ warnings: minor alcohol consumption, lots of flashbacks

⇢ a/n: early happy new year!! this is my gift to u all <3 thank u to @haologram for hosting this collab and for just being alive. and thank you SOO much to ally @lovetaroandtaemin and em @gyuswhore for beta'ing i appreciate u both endlessly 💗

as part of the don’t hate, litigate! collab hosted by the wonderful @haologram

SOMETIMES IT TRULY feels like God, or the stars in your skies, or whatever the hell is controlling your fate down on this measly earth, hates you.

Sometimes it truly feels like this indefinite being is determined to deal you the worst set of cards, and this – this trumps all. Being stuck in an elevator with your ex-boyfriend sounds like the beginning of a shitty romcom, except it’s not. It’s your life, and it’s been your life for the past eight minutes, since the metal box you stepped in ground to a creaky, noisy halt halfway between the sixth and seventh floor. 

And it takes eight minutes before Soonyoung sighs resignedly. “Are you just going to ignore me forever?” 

Forever, you think, is your least favourite word. There were a lot of things you thought you’d have forever, and one of them is standing right next to you.

You swallow thickly. Your reply comes measured and clipped. “For as long as possible.”

When he speaks next, you can hear the attempt at a forced smile in his tone. “Well, you kinda just failed.”

You stay silent. If anyone had told you five years ago that Kwon Soonyoung would be begging to talk to you and you’d be ignoring him, you would have called them crazy; and yet, here you are. Ignoring him like your sanity depends on it, because actually, it does. So for the past eight minutes – nine now, but who’s counting? – you’ve barely spoken a word. You’re both stuck; the recovery team can’t make it for two hours at least; and God hates you, basically.

Soonyoung’s trying to make the most of it, and you’re not letting him.

He says your name, ever so softly. “Really, though. How – how have you been?”

It’s weird, going from years of no contact to working together. It’s been a year since Soonyoung joined your company, but it hasn’t become any easier. Not when he’s such an open book, so fucking easy for you to read. Every time you cross paths, he gets this look in his eyes – sad puppy, you’ve nicknamed it. Now is no different.

“I’ve been okay,” you say finally, stiltedly. You’ve never been able to resist that face, and you’re pretty sure he knows it too. “What about you?”

The silence is painful, but the way he says fine stings a little bit more. You know when he’s lying, and he never used to do that to you.

“So…” He shifts his weight awkwardly, huffing out an uncomfortable laugh as he gazes intently at his shoes. “This is weird, right?”

You match him with an equally uncomfortable smile. “The weirdest.”

“Our longest conversation after forever,” he says. “But I wasn’t expecting it to go like this.”

You cock your head to the side, fixing him with a questioning gaze. All hopes of ignoring him are sailing out the hypothetical window. “How were you expecting it to go?”

Soonyoung looks up at you with one of those embarrassed, endearing smiles. “Better.”

There’s a pregnant pause, and then – “You know, Jeonghan calls you the one that got away.” 

He’s always had a habit of dropping things like that on you; things that leave you a little winded.

“That makes it sound like I escaped,” you say, with an ease you don’t feel.

Clearly, Soonyoung doesn’t feel it either — he exhales heavily. “Maybe you did. Escape, I mean.”

You snap your head towards him, eyes almost owlish in your surprise; “You’re not serious.” When he doesn’t say anything, you continue haphazardly, “Soonyoung, that’s not — there wasn’t anything to escape from.” 

Your ex-boyfriend looks miserable. Avoids eye contact, staring fixedly at his shoes with a dejected expression he can’t properly disguise; even throughout the three years of your relationship, you rarely saw him like this. He looks…

Heartbroken, your mind suggests.

“I’m serious,” you insist again, pushing the thought out of your mind. “You weren’t a bad boyfriend, Soonyoung.”

He snorts then. “Okay, we both know that isn’t true.”

“It is!” 

“If we had, like, a counter of who fucked up however many times, I would leave you in the dust.”

You don’t know how to tell him this might even be half of it. This weird pedestal he puts you on – it’s not even guilt-tripping. You’ve seen that, but never from him; Soonyoung just truly, sincerely feels bad. Whenever you look back on your relationship, which is more often than you’d care to admit, it’s plain as day. He truly, sincerely feels that he has never deserved you. Like you’re something out of this world, out of his world. 

“Wow.” Soonyoung huffs out the one word, and it’s half a laugh, half admiration. “You are so out of my league.”

“Stop,” you whine, pushing his shoulder lightly. “Don’t say stupid things like that.”

“Well, not everyone gets to date the prettiest girl in law school,” he retorts quickly, lifting his brows. “Not sure why I of all people get to, but thank you.”

“Stop it,” you repeat, rolling your eyes and fixing the tie he’s wearing. “You’re gorgeous and you know it. You should know it, at least.”

“Not just that!” he protests quickly. “I just mean… you’re so smart. And good. And kind, and funny, and — ”

“Ah, yes! Of course, Kwon Soonyoung, known famously for being mean and horrible and extremely unfunny,” you say sarcastically, before tugging his tie and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “I choose my league, and you’re the only one in it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he murmurs, slightly breathless.

“Oh, shut up and kiss me.”

There were a lot of things that went wrong with you and Soonyoung. You’d started off wonderful: both of you bright, flaming, drawn to each other like magnets. You managed the stresses of law school, graduated together, and lined up jobs – jobs that were miles and miles from each other.`

There were lots of things that went wrong with you and Soonyoung, but if you had to pick one, it would be long distance.

“When did we stop trying?”

The question makes you snort. “What, you want a date and a time?”

Soonyoung smiles ruefully, but there’s nothing happy about it. It’s more of a painful grimace. That’s always been the way with you both: you deflect, he feels. He doesn’t hide the way you do, not from anyone. And for a few years, he was the only one who you didn’t hide from. 

Maybe that’s what has you opening your mouth again. “I could probably give you one. A date, I mean.”

Soonyoung hugs his knees to his chest, eyes searching your face. You can read him so well it physically makes you ache. The hint of uncertainty in his eyes, the twitching of his fingers – he’s nervous. He’s torn between wanting to know what you have to say and the strong sneaking premonition that it might hurt. “Go on,” he says finally, just as you knew he would. 

Honestly, you don’t have an exact date. Things fell apart slowly, and then all at once. A toppling tower – leaning, leaning, leaning, until it crashed. 

“There were probably a few things,” you say, softly. “My birthday, for a start.”

He winces reflexively. “That…” he begins, and then breathes out, shutting his eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make up for that.”

“I mean, in the end, it wasn’t that big of a deal.” You’re not sure why you’re trying to reassure him, even if it's true. You forgave him almost immediately.

“Shit.” 

Soonyoung’s first eloquent word when he walks into the apartment only means you become sure of what you already suspected. He takes in the half-eaten cake on the table, candles blown out and tossed to the side, the scraps of wrapping paper littering the floor, the cards; you take in his face. And you know, as quick and as simple as that – he forgot. 

Some small part of you had been holding a sneaking hope that maybe this was just an elaborate attempt at a surprise. You’d told him once, months and months ago, that you didn’t think ignoring people on their birthday to surprise them later was a very nice thing to do. But you’d rather he forgot that than your entire birthday.

His eyes meet yours, both of you frozen to your places. Him at the doorway, you at the table. The distance between you isn’t more than a few metres, but suddenly it feels like an engulfing abyss. Still, even from the other side, you can feel the guilt pouring out of him. 

“Shit,” he says again, before rushing his words out. “Shit, baby, I’m so sorry.”

You haven’t cried all day. You haven’t let yourself, but this has your eyes brimming over before you can control it.

“I’m going to bed,” you say finally, hugging yourself tightly, making yourself smaller. The apartment is warm, but you suddenly feel freezing. And despite your best efforts, there’s a waver in your voice, verging on a crack. “I’m tired.” 

You glance over the remains of your birthday party, one that you plastered a fake, painful smile on the whole way through, and then you turn to leave. 

“Baby, wait,” he implores quickly, and takes a step towards you — you mirror it immediately with a step back, and it makes him pause, his expression falling even further. “Baby.”

“You’re not allowed to call me that.” Your voice is obviously shaking now. “Not today. Maybe — maybe tomorrow.”

Maybe tomorrow you’ll be able to hear his excuses, his promises, but today, you’re allowed to be upset. You’ll let yourself have today, at the very least.

He’d driven hours to see you that day, but he’d still forgotten why he was there. You hadn’t really celebrated your birthday before you met him. Soonyoung was the one who made it a big deal, back when you first started dating, and even now, there’s a sharp pang in your chest when you remember how hurt you were that day.

“You made up for it tenfold,” you remind him now, because it’s true. He made the rest of the week practically a utopia, once you banned him from apologising. And he’d been so busy at work, so incredibly tired the whole month before, and you could understand. Both that he upset you, and that it was an innocent mistake. And you’ve never seen more sincere apologies than those that came from Soonyoung.

He looks grim, shakes his head, but doesn’t say any more. Probably because you’ve had this conversation a few times already, both of you too stubborn to give in. 

“Keep going,” he says, then, looking at you head on. “What else?”

All of a sudden, you don’t want to talk about what else. All of a sudden, you’re annoyed with him, his stupid face, this stupid elevator. “Do we have to do this?” Your voice has switched from somewhat reassuring to harsh – for want of a better word, angry. It makes his brown eyes a little round with surprise, his mouth parting a little.

“What?”

“What else and what if have been on my mind for three years, Soonyoung,” you say acidly. “Forgive me if I don’t really want to talk about it to your face.”

Again, his mouth opens a little bit, stays open as he tries to form words. Until he gives up, seals his lips and nods. “Alright. Okay. That’s fine.”

“I know it’s fine!” you cry out, only more angry that he won’t argue back. You’re lawyers, it’s what you do. And just to be petty, you add — “Besides, I bet your girlfriend wouldn’t be happy about this anyway.”

Finally, his passive poker face drops, and he looks a little confused. “My what?”

Immediately, you regret opening your mouth, but it’s too late to back down. “Your girlfriend. You know, that girl from accounting.”

“The girl fr— You mean Rachel?” Soonyoung gapes at you, and something in you bridles, until he continues. “Mrs Choi, who's married to her wife and adopting a kid next year?”

Well, now you feel stupid as fuck.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he continues, and if you weren’t afraid to look at him right now, you’d swear he was hiding a smirk.

“Whatever. I don’t care. Why are we even talking about this?” you snap, irritated and embarrassed.

He still sounds smug. “You brought it up.”

“You sit with her every lunch hour,” you mutter, heat creeping up your neck. “I just assumed.”

“Well, there’s nothing there. So don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried! I don’t care who you date, Soonyoung!”

He looks a little taken aback, blinking once or twice, cockiness gone without a trace. “Wow,” he says, finally. If you didn’t know him as well as you did, you wouldn’t notice the slight tremble in his voice. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name since — ”

He cuts himself off, but you complete the sentence in your head — three years ago. Three years since you packed up and walked out of his life. It feels like a decade ago; it feels like last week. You’d been so sure that you wouldn’t see his face again after that, that it was a decided end of a full four years of your life. Until last year, when he’d waltzed straight back into your life, this time at your workplace.

“This is the new hire.” Your boss is speaking, but you’re still finishing up the last sentence on the document you’re working on, and you listen absently as he fires a couple instructions — “Jeon, you’ll show him around. Filing system, get him logged on, the works.”

You look up then, to cast Wonwoo a knowing smile, because he always gets lumped with showing around the newbies, but halfway to making eye contact with your friend, you catch the familiar tilt of a jaw, the soft lines of a nose you know so well.

You’ve seen Soonyoung in a hundred people since you left him. You’re always looking over your shoulder at the bus stop, at the grocery store, at the library, finding a tiny piece of him in everyone and everything, a tiny piece that lodges itself tight and sharp into your throat until you take a second look, until you see unfamiliar eyes or too dark hair or shorter legs. Until you find something to make you swallow, exhale, and keep walking.

Now, your second look doesn’t yield anything unfamiliar. Except maybe his hair, gone from blonde to black, but everything else — everything else. It’s him, and he looks just as shocked to see you as you are to see him. There’s a heavy moment that seems only heavy to the two of you, everyone else still talking, the boss still giving instructions, but you and Soonyoung are looking at each other, dumbfounded, and all you can think about is the distinct taste of bile in your throat and the tie he’s wearing is the one you got him for his birthday.

Your initial plan is to avoid him. He foils that plan within two hours, cornering you in the break room, whispering urgently, “I had no idea you worked here, I swear I’m not, like, following you or – ”

The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind, and you just pin him with a blank stare. 

“I could quit.”

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish the sentence. “I’m not so butthurt that I can’t be a professional.”

“Right,” Soonyoung nods, breathing out a little. His lips are chapped. He never used to wear lip balm, just used to borrow yours. You hate yourself a little for remembering that.

The memory almost makes your lips twist with an sardonic smile. “I was so pissed when you showed up here.”

You can see his half smile, rueful and charming, through your peripheral vision. “I felt so bad about it, you know. But you just seemed annoyed when I saw you in the break room, so I figured you weren’t… mad or upset or anything.”

“I went straight from the break room to cry in the bathroom for fifteen minutes,” you admit truthfully. “I had to tell Wonwoo I had curry for breakfast.”

“You cried?”

You scowl. “I’m not saying it to be pitied, Soonyoung. I’m just saying, I’m not, like, some heartless jerk with no feelings. Of course I was upset.”

“I know that,” he says quickly, vehemently. “Of course I know that.” He hesitates, and then continues, words practically inching out of him. “It’s not really my place to ask, but… you and Wonwoo… are you guys…?”

“You’re right,” you say, and press your cheek onto your knees to fix him with your eyes. “It’s not your business. But that’d be hypocritical of me, so… no. No, we’re just friends. I’m friends with his girlfriend too, Cam, she works at the plant shop down the road.”

Soonyoung tilts his head back, lets out one of those breathy laughs that aren’t really laughs. “It’s so weird that you have new friends now.”

“Thanks,” you say, dripping with sarcasm.

“Not like that! I just mean I’m so used to – like, it used to be our friends, you know what I mean?”

“Not since three years ago,” you say with false lightness, because when you lost Soonyoung, you lost the friends he brought you too. You catch the glint of pity in his eyes again, and scoff. “It’s not a big deal. They were your friends first.”

Frowning, he speaks again. “First doesn’t matter. It didn’t matter to them either. Seungkwan said you were the one who stopped answering their calls.”

It’s true, and the feeling still burns a little, because Seungkwan and Jeonghan had called so many times. Even Vernon called a couple times, and you weren’t even that close to him, but Soonyoung has always attracted good people. Like calls to like. Maybe that’s why you ended up leaving.

“I was trying to make it easier,” you say bluntly., “for them to choose you.”

Your ex-boyfriend clicks his tongue, rakes a hand through his dark hair. “It’s not about sides, ___, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well, it felt like it at the time, alright?” Your words come out louder than you mean them to, and you pause, trying to quell your defensiveness. 

Soonyoung raises his hands in half-hearted surrender. “Alright. Alright.”

Something in your stomach feels acidic. Leaning your head back against the cool wall of the elevator, you manage to meet his eyes apologetically. “How – how are they, though? Seungkwan and everyone?”

Graciously, he ignores your quick show of temper. “They’re good. Seungkwan’s working freelance photography now. Jeonghan still hates his job, but keeps getting promoted anyway.”

Jeonghan. You told him you thought you were going to break up before you even told Soonyoung. You wonder if he remembers it, because that night is seared into your memory – New Year’s Eve, three years ago.

You’re much drunker than you ever intended to be when you finally find a place to sit in the cramped apartment, waved over by a sympathetic looking Jeonghan. He pats your head affectionately as you groan. 

“Feeling alright?”

“No,” you say elaborately.

Jeonghan never pries, which is probably what makes people tell him everything. He only raises his eyebrows at you, a hint of scepticism toying with his smile.

You look away, eyes drawn immediately to your boyfriend, laughing in the middle of the kitchen. Throwing his head back, squeezing his eyes shut, looking so fucking happy; when you see him like this, your heart always feels so incredibly warm and so incredibly full. 

Except today, there’s something else intertwining it, something similar to dread, and it causes the faint smile on your face to fade a little.

Jeonghan sees it, of course, and when you look back at him, his eyebrows only raise higher. 

You sink further into that horrible, looming feeling. “Jeonghan.”

“___.”

“I think I’m going to break up with him this year.”

If you didn’t know Jeonghan as well as you do, you’d think the information hadn’t affected him at all; his features remain completely impassive, but you catch the flash of surprise in his eyes. He stays quiet for a long time, the silence between you filled with thumping bass and indistinct conversation, until finally, he asks the only question there is to ask. “Why?”

It’s ridiculous, how one word can bring you to the verge of tears. But that one word holds so much weight – why would you break up with him? Why would you, when you’ve pictured a future with him a thousand times over? 

Why would you leave the best thing that ever happened to you?

You blink back the tears, and Jeonghan waits.

His voice is soft, but you still hear him under the din of the party. “Is this about your birthday?”

You shake your head quickly. “No.” You stop. “Maybe. It’s – there’s just – little stupid things.”

“Little things add up,” Jeonghan says gently. You hate how he’s already understanding.

“Sometimes – ” You swallow thickly. “Sometimes I just feel so far away from him.”

You don’t have to explain that you don’t mean physically. Because that’s part of it, but it’s not all of it, but without you saying that, Jeonghan knows. You barely notice when he takes your plastic red cup from your hands, setting it on the table next to him. “And I know he loves me, and he’d never hurt me on purpose, and – he’s been so good to me, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan only hums, waits for you to continue. And you do, the alcohol only pushing more words out of your mouth. “The distance,” you say, “is killing us.” You rub furiously at your eyes. “No matter how hard we try, Jeonghan, it’s not working, and I feel like – I’m the only one who can see that. He’s ignoring it, but we can’t keep going like this.”

Jeonghan hesitates for a second, looking torn, more torn than you’ve ever seen him look. “Do you still love him?”

Tears blur your vision again, but don’t quite escape this time. “I don’t know how to stop.”

When you kiss Soonyoung after the countdown, your cheeks are wet.

“Long distance.”

“What?”

“You asked what else,” you say, picking at your nails. “I think it was the distance. I think that’s what – you know. Broke us up.”

Soonyoung has that look in his eyes, the one where he wants to argue but knows he’s going to lose, knows that you’re right. He breathes out, licks his lips and tries to speak. “We tried so hard.”

It’s not even a counter-argument. You agree with him, even. The two of you were brilliant at long distance, until you weren’t. Hours-long video calls, surprise weekend visits, staying over for the holidays, until it all started collapsing. Weekly movie nights kept getting postponed. Visits had to decrease in number. You were missing each other’s calls – if one of you wasn’t working late, the other always was. It was like the entire universe was working against you both, and suddenly, you felt like a burden rather than a lover, and Soonyoung would probably say the same. It’s hard not to feel that way, when you’re celebrating your anniversary over FaceTime and both of you keep dozing off while the other talks.

In a way, Soonyoung is right: you both tried so hard. In a way, he’s so wrong: neither of you tried hard enough.

Towards the end of it all, you were too tired to fight. Both of you were. The breakup was a quiet affair, mostly. You brought it up first, standing in the kitchen of Soonyoung’s apartment after realising you had no idea where he kept his cereal bowls.

“Soonyoung?”

“Babe, I told you, it’s the third cupboard from the left,” he calls, but he’s rounding the corner to his kitchen anyway. He stops in his tracks when he sees your face, smile fading, and for a second, time freezes.

“Soonyoung,” you say again, quieter.

And he knows. “Don’t,” he says, faintly, but there’s no weight behind it, because he knows.

Tears are already brimming your eyes, and you’re wrapping your arms around yourself, shaking your head. “I can’t,” you say, and you’re not sure what you mean. I can’t end it. I can’t keep going.

The picture before him is enough for Soonyoung, and any defence, any fight he still had in him (because he’s always been the more tenacious) drains. He gives in, same as you. 

“Okay,” he says, in a voice that’ll haunt you for years to come, a clashing harmony of gentle and damning. “Okay.”

You try to formulate words. You fail. All that you can say is “Soonyoung.” before you trail off. 

You don’t finish. He gives you a tired, forced smile, says something about, “We had a good run, didn’t we?”, but you’re too busy trying to wrench the tears back into your eyes to focus properly. Your efforts are in vain, of course, tears slipping down your cheeks hot and heavy, no matter how much you try to stop.

“I’m sorry,” you say tearfully, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t be sorry.”

After that, he only helps you load your bags into your car and says thank you when you give him the house keys. He does everything so quietly, so methodically, so defeatedly. It’s like he’s just lost a war he’s been fighting for far too long.

It turns out that in the end, four years can be reduced down to this: two cardboard boxes, three bin bags, and two broken hearts.

It’s your fault, in technical terms. You finished this. You’re the one who said the words, or almost said them, the one who spelled out what was so obviously ignored. More than once, because you’d tried this before, six months ago. Soonyoung was the one who fought back. He’d said no, of course, that first time. He’d said no with tears in his eyes, like it was a surprise to him, like he couldn’t see it the way you saw it — that you were on two very different paths. 

Soonyoung didn’t believe in following diverging paths, he believed in forcing yourself straight ahead hand-in-hand, come hell or high water. He believed in it, until he didn’t, and then he let you go.

When it’s time for you to leave, he accepts the hug you can’t help but fling on him just before you step in the car. Both of your arms around each other, fitting into place like you have a hundred times before, but so much tighter and so much briefer this time. Soonyoung clings to you like he’s never going to see you again, because he isn’t. You cling to him like this is the last time you’ll ever hug him, because it is.

And then both of you are pulling away, laughing awkwardly at the wet patch you’ve left on his shirt, and then you’re getting in your car and he’s waving you off and it’s over, just like that.

“It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?” There’s an acerbic quality to Soonyoung’s laugh as he continues. “We broke up because of distance, and here we fucking are.”

There’s a metre and a half between you two.

“Maybe it was a dumb reason,” you say. Voicing the thought that’s tormented you since the day you drove away. Because maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was a temporary rough patch, and if you’d stayed, if you’d fought a little more and a little longer, you’d still have Soonyoung.

But you didn’t, and you don’t.

There’s a heavy expression on Soonyoung’s face, a strange mix of anger and confusion and guilt. “Maybe,” he says, at last. There’s the vaguest trace of bitterness, the little tiny sting that reminds you again that you’re the one who called it quits. 

“It felt like the weight of the world at the time,” you say ashamedly, squeezing your eyes shut for a second.

Soonyoung takes the chance and scoots closer to you, sitting against the wall with you, shoulder-to-shoulder. (How easy it would be to just rest your head there, as you’ve done a thousand times before.) “It can’t have been easy,” he says, patting your hand with his own. Warm and familiar in its unfamiliarity, which is when you realise you’ve misread him, for once – he’s not bitter. He’s empathetic.

“It wasn’t stupid,” Soonyoung continues softly, rubbing his eyes, “but God, I wish you’d just talked to me. Actually — I wish we’d talked to each other.”

“Yes, well,” you say dryly, wondering if he’s going to catch your reference, “I’ve always had a problem with communication.”

He catches it; it makes him pause, lift up his head, give you a tiny smile.

It takes you a minute to register that the seat across from you has been occupied. When you do look up, you realise Soonyoung’s mouth has been moving since he sat down, and you haven’t heard a word of it. Also, somewhere between the class you guys shared two days ago and his presence in the library this morning, his hair’s gone from a discreet dark brown to a particularly indiscreet blond.

“I’m sorry,” you shake your head, taking out your earphones and setting down your pen. “What?”

“I said – do you have a problem with communication or something?” Despite the nature of his words, he’s practically beaming at you.

You blink at him, bewildered. “I mean… maybe? But — what?”

He holds up his phone. “Project,” he explains elaborately. “I’ve been texting, and I didn’t get a reply, and then I saw you over here, so I thought I’d ask.”

You frown, grabbing your phone. “I didn’t get any texts.”

Soonyoung mirrors your expression, tapping at his screen, and you’re struck by how much the blond suits him. As did the brown. As did the black he had a semester ago. Not that you’ve been keeping track, but it’s hard to not notice someone like Soonyoung. Even if the first time you talked to him was two days ago to organise the project you’ve been paired up for — you know him. Of him, at least.

He swivels his screen round to face you, showing you a contact with your name and what you quickly realise is almost your number. You smile a little awkwardly, tapping the last digit. “That’s meant to be a seven. You’ve got an eight.”

“Fuck,” he exhales, “that explains it. Who the hell have I been texting about litigation then?”

Something about his expression and his tone is so comical it makes you laugh, which surprises him a little – he glances up at you with a blatantly admiring smile, and he taps the edge of the desk. “Your eyes light up when you laugh, did you know?” And as quickly as he says it, he moves on, gesturing to your phone. “I’ll text you about the project, okay?”

He’s like a hurricane, and you’re trying your best to keep up. “Okay,” you agree confusedly, still hot-faced from the sudden compliment. “Yes. That’s — yes.”

As he gets up to leave again, he shoots you another one of those blinding, dazzling smiles, and sticks his hand out. “We’re friends now, right?”

His question sounds childishly sweet, and you can’t find it in yourself to do anything other than agree. 

Your one little reference sets you both off. You spend the next two hours talking and talking and talking, every other sentence beginning with “Remember when…”, as the two of you dredge up the long-buried memories of four long years spent together.

Soonyoung talks about the massive crush he had on you before you even got paired up for the project. You talk about how you never believed him, even when he did ask you out – it took three tries before you understood how serious he was. And then you remember the time Soonyoung sprinted from campus to his accommodation and back just to get you the calculator you forgot for your exam – and the time you both went to a frat party and ended up playing the most intense game of UNO in the bathroom with Vernon, which ended in a drunk Soonyoung trying to flush the cards down the toilet. 

He talks about the surprise party you threw for his birthday, and you talk about the time he tried to make you pancakes for National Girlfriend Day and failed horribly. You ate them anyway.

You don’t, however, talk about other things, even if you remember them. You remember Soonyoung kissing your forehead every morning he woke up next to you. You remember him buying your favourite flowers for your favourite vase every week. You remember coming home after a long day to food already delivered and paid for when he was working hours and hours away. You remember being so incredibly in love that it made you giddy and so in love it made you calm. And you don’t talk about it, just store it away somewhere as a reminder of what love is meant to feel like. If four years with Soonyoung brought you anything, it’s that: it taught you how to love and be loved.

When the recovery team finally arrives, you leave the elevator feeling like a new person. It doesn’t hurt when you look at Soonyoung anymore, there’s only a vague, warm fondness. And he can look you in the eye now, which he does. He smiles at you, sticks out his hand the same way he did all those years ago.

“We’re friends now, right?”

an / AHHH!!!!!! i know this fic is only like 5k but it took a lot out of me so i’d love to hear your thoughts. literally any thoughts. i wanted this fic to be longer but it happened this way and. what can i do. i may be the author but im NOT in control. it’s not a fic i’m 100% proud of but i think it’ll still hold a special place in my heart!!!! i love an angsty exes au.

anyway — this will be my last fic this year!!! see you all in 2025 and thank you so much for all the notes and all the reblogs and all the wonderful conversations this year i love you

perm taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @glowunderthemoon

@wondering-out-loud @tokitosun @hannyoontify @sahazzy

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[thedensworld]

A Tempting Damage | K.Sy

Pairing: Nepo Baby Soonyoung x reader

Genre: office au!, enemy to lover au!

Type: romance, fluff, smut (mdni!)

Word Count: 15k

Preview: You should’ve known the moment he walked into the boardroom with a grin too expensive for someone so inexperienced, This was temptation—tailored in Armani and absolutely lethal.

How did the two of you end up here—his office, lights off, half-breathing on his desk at nine o’clock at night?

You should’ve known the moment this would spiral. The signs were all there.

Soonyoung Kwon was the grandson of your boss’ boss’ boss’ boss. Which, by hierarchy, technically made him your boss too—though the title felt more ornamental than functional. You still remember the day he stepped out of the elevator a month ago, flashing a dazzling smile, shaking hands with the interns like he was on a political campaign.

He had announced himself as the new Director of KF Label, like he was gifting you all with his presence. And then your former director, who clearly saw the chaos ahead and ran, called you in for a “quick chat” and gracefully asked you—read: begged—to guide Soonyoung during his adaptation period.

A polite corporate term, you’ve since realized, for “He has no idea what the hell he’s doing, so make sure he doesn’t crash and burn the company before Q4.”

And yes—he truly has no idea what he’s doing. He is rich in confidence, poor in skill. A golden retriever with a black card and a C-suite title. Infuriatingly cheerful, tragically unqualified.

Which is how you, the marketing manager who actually built her way up from zero, spent the past month babysitting someone who thought "brand synergy" was a soft drink.

Thirty days of training him, fixing his mistakes, dragging him out of meetings he wasn’t prepared for, and still—still—somehow he manages to get under your skin.

“Now, tell me…”

“What should I say… during the meeting… with the supermarket owners tomorrow?”

Your fingers dug into the edge of his desk as he slammed into you, hips snapping forward with a pace you didn’t know he was capable of. God. Why were you into this? And why were you suddenly sounding like a desperate young woman getting her brain fucked stupid?

Kwon Soonyoung was an idiot. A cocky, clueless pain in your ass.

Yet tonight—he was making you worse than everything he is. Your moan broke the silence of the office in a high, breathless pitch no one in this building had ever heard from you. You—who kept your heels sharp, your lipstick in place, and your tone professional no matter the pressure. But now? Now you could barely get out a single word. Barely answer his simplest questions.

Yet he kept asking them. “We have a slogan?” — his first dumb question, asked a month ago when you handed him a company profile and procedural system you had rewritten in the simplest terms possible. You’d practically turned it into a corporate comic book, hoping to minimize the damage.

And now?

“Should I wear a Rolex or a Cartier for tomorrow’s meeting?”

He whispered it against your ear like it was dirty talk, the smirk in his voice cutting sharper than his thrusts. He probably thought he won something. Okay—fine. He won a little. Ever since he had you bent over his desk, squirming, gasping, ruined.

But still—stupid. Always with the stupid questions. “You’re… stupid!” you managed, voice strangled between a moan and a cry, half an insult and half a plea. You barely made sense, and you hated that he knew it.

He laughed, low and wicked, before slowing his hips, dragging out the motion just enough to make you whimper at the loss. His hand ran along your front, slipping under your blouse and palming your breast like he knew you needed that grounding, that release.

“Please… Kwon Soonyoung…” you gasped, back arching when his fingers grazed your nipple.

But instead of mercy, he pulled you upright, chest to chest, keeping you firmly locked against him. His hand gripped your waist as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.

“Answer me first, Ms. Ji. And remember…” His voice dropped a note deeper, quieter, deadlier.

“I’m your boss. So it’s Director Kwon.”

The next morning felt criminal.

Not just because you only managed two hours of sleep, or because your thighs still ached from being bent over a mahogany desk like some overworked intern in a very inappropriate drama. No. It was criminal because you still showed up on time, coffee in hand, hair done, heels on, and speech script perfectly printed.

Even after Kwon Soonyoung had given you three orgasms in one hour. In the office. On his desk. Under the goddamn company logo.

You were trying your best to pretend it never happened. Really, you tried. The speech script was crisp, stapled, and revised at 3 a.m. in between waves of humiliation, aftershocks of pleasure, and the memory of him whispering “Answer me, Ms. Ji…” like he wasn’t buried so deep inside you— you forgot your own name.

You had cross-checked every paragraph, every bullet point, just to make sure you hadn’t unconsciously written “Your cock has a better function than your brain.”

Honestly? If that line made it in, it wouldn’t be inaccurate. Was there a company that specialized in evaluating performance like that? Maybe it was time to write to the Kwon family directly. You could pitch it as a side venture—something like Kwon Enterprise: More Brains Below the Belt.

Hell, they might even give you equity for surviving their grandson.

“Thank you, Ms. Ji,” Soonyoung said quietly, his voice low, velvet-wrapped. He took the papers from your hand, but didn’t let go. His fingers lingered. So did his eyes.

And you swore—you swore—you saw the same madness in them that you saw last night. The hunger. The chaos. The wicked tilt of his mouth that said he remembered everything.

You cleared your throat, yanking your hand away as if his touch burned. It did, in a way. You forced your face back into your best professional mask.

“Try not to freestyle this time, Director,” you said coolly, taking the seat beside him. “And no dumb questions about ‘what synergy means.’ It’s in bold on page two.”

He smirked without turning, flipping the paper open. But you caught the way his leg brushed yours under the table. Intentional. Definitely intentional.

Last night was incredible. You couldn't lie. But if this man thought he could rattle you in daylight the same way he did in the dark. Well. He really was stupid.

*

A gentle touch on your shoulder startled you out of your screen-staring trance—you didn’t even know how long you’d been zoning out. Your eyes blinked back into focus, and you looked up to see Kim Mingyu, your colleague and the ever-reliable Finance and Accounting Manager of the label.

His brows were furrowed, concern written across his face. “You okay, Y/n? Director Kwon’s called for you three times,” he said softly.

You sighed, pushing yourself up from the chair with a tired stretch. “I’m fine. Just... running on fumes,” you said, flashing him a half-smile that tried to pass for reassurance.

But Mingyu didn’t look convinced. He tilted his head, gaze narrowing just a little. “Is he still bothering you?”

You blinked. “Who?”

“That bastard,” he replied, voice lower now—him, meaning Jeon Wonwoo, your ex. The IT guy who cheated on you two months ago with an intern. The same incident that created a domino effect of side-eyes and rumors throughout the building. It wasn’t a secret that Wonwoo’s spiral post-breakup had revealed just how deeply insecure he truly was. And not just about you—about everything.

You rubbed the back of your neck, feeling a sudden weight in the room. “No,” you said, clearing your throat. “He’s not worth mentioning anymore.”

Mingyu nodded slowly, reading between the lines but not pushing. “Okay. But you know I’ll throw hands if I have to.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that. “Appreciated. But no violence in the office—unless it’s against that printer in the copy room.”

That earned a soft chuckle from him. “Did Director Kwon actually say anything, or does he just need me to be present and breathing?” you asked, your eyes scanning your desk for the folder Soonyoung needed to sign. You knew how he was—selectively urgent.

Mingyu reached over and pulled a document map from the far corner of your workspace. “This. He needs this.”

You took it with a grateful sigh. “I’m seriously glad I have you, Mingyu. Otherwise I’d probably die in here for the stupidest reason—death by incompetent boss.”

Mingyu laughed, that boyish grin spreading across his face, fangs peeking out. “You’re dramatic.”

“You know I’m not.”

“True,” he replied, still grinning. “But at least the chaos keeps things interesting.”

You rolled your eyes with a quiet chuckle, fingers tightening on the file as you braced yourself to face Soonyoung again. That man could burn your patience to the ground in five minutes—and somehow still leave you… you didn't want to think about it!

You entered his office with quiet steps, the thick folder in your hand still warm from Mingyu’s grasp. Director Kwon Soonyoung sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair pushed back in a way that looked almost too polished for someone who once asked if a “slogan” was a new type of dip.

Without looking up, he extended his hand. “The file?” You placed it gently in his palm, expecting some sort of snide comment or dumb question about where to sign. But instead, he opened it, flipped straight to the right page, and signed with swift, confident strokes. No questions. No confusion. Just… efficiency.

Your brows lifted slightly. Who was this? Then, without looking up, “what’s the projected ROI on the third campaign under the Miju rebranding?”

You froze. Not from fear—but from pure shock.

He finally glanced up, and your eyes locked. There was no usual smirk, no cocky glint in his gaze. Just focus. Calculation.

You cleared your throat. “Projected ROI is 127%, assuming we maintain target engagement through the influencer channels and retail activations we discussed last week.”

A beat passed. He nodded once. “Good. Shift the TikTok rollout to next Monday. Make the data look prettier before we send it to the board. I want them convinced before they even read it.”

Another pause. You blinked. You were still blinking. He signed the final page, closed the folder, and handed it back with a smooth slide across the desk.

Then, with the slightest tug of amusement curling at the corners of his mouth, he said—

“You may go on the clock for today, Ms. Ji.”

You narrowed your eyes just slightly. “Excuse me?”

He leaned back in his chair, lazy again. Back to his usual smug, languid rhythm. “I said you may go. Early dismissal. I hear sleep deprivation reduces productivity—and I’d hate to see the company suffer just because you forgot how to say no to your boss.”

Your jaw tensed. He was back. The devil in Dior. But you refused to let him have the last word. So you smiled sweetly, flipping your hair off your shoulder. “Then I’ll use the time wisely and remind myself what good leadership looks like.”

His laughter followed you out the door. But so did his eyes.

*

You woke up to the sound of your phone ringing, the sharp buzz pulling you out of a sleep so deep, you almost forgot where you were. The living room was dim, the drama still playing quietly on TV—the last thing you remembered before dozing off. You hadn’t napped like that in years. Not since you started working your ass off at the label.

You squinted at your phone screen. 9:02 PM. The name flashing across it: “Boo Dam.”

“Mmm… Seungkwan…” you mumbled as you slid to answer.

“Honey!” his voice practically sang through the speaker. “You just woke up? Heol! That’s a record. Anyway—I’m going to this new bar with Vernon and Chan. Come join us!”

Seungkwan and Chan were your friends from college—your soulmates in chaos. Meanwhile Vernon… well, Vernon was the guy Seungkwan successfully seduced at a club a year ago with nothing but eye contact and a whiskey sour. They've been disgustingly cute ever since.

You stretched, letting your limbs slowly remember how to function. “Is it like a bar,” you asked, voice dry, “or a bar?” You didn’t need to explain the tone difference—Seungkwan knew.

Without missing a beat, he replied, “A bar. Capital B. Good lighting, better drinks, people who bathe.”

You smiled, already getting up. “Pick me up in thirty. Should I wear the red dress I sent you last week?”

The one you bought after seeing the intern Wonwoo cheated with had liked it on Instagram. It was an impulsive purchase—unlike you. But still… it looked fire on the model, and tonight, you wouldn’t mind setting something on fire.

Seungkwan gasped like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life. “YES. Yes please! I want that intern to cry just by breathing the same air as you!”

You grinned. Tonight might not fix your mess of a professional life. But maybe, just maybe, it would remind you what it felt like to be you again.

*

Seungkwan rushed up to you like a windstorm in designer sneakers and pulled you into a quick hug that reeked of cologne and overpriced candles. “You look unreal. That intern is somewhere crying right now, I know it.” He held your arms and took a step back like he was inspecting artwork. “Ten out of ten. No—eleven. You’re welcome, world.”

Vernon chuckled beside him. “Glad you made it.”

“Thanks,” you laughed. “Though now I’m wondering if I overdressed.”

“You definitely didn’t,” Chan said without missing a beat, raising his hand to you. “You’re just raising the bar.”

The bar Seungkwan had chosen was all velvet mood and amber light—dim enough to hide your regrets but not dark enough to trip on your heels. Hushed conversations buzzed low under a jazzy remix of something that used to be a love song, and the scent of expensive gin and citrus filled the air.

You made your way toward the bar counter, scanning the place. But before the group could fully settle, Seungkwan clapped his hands once. “Okay, baby,” he turned to Vernon, “we need to find the bathroom. And by bathroom I mean selfie lighting. Emergency.”

Vernon just smiled, like this wasn’t the fifth time tonight. “Lead the way.” And just like that, the couple vanished into the crowd like glitter in a wind tunnel.

You slid onto the barstool, crossing your legs as you adjusted the hem of your red dress, feeling the fabric hug your skin in all the right ways. You stared after them, then turned back to Chan, brows raised. “Did they even sit down?”

Chan shrugged, raising his hand toward the bartender for an order, strong whiskey. “I give them ten minutes. Tops. Then they’ll either come back drunk or deeply emotional.”

You laughed again, warmer this time. “Or both.”

“Always both.”

“So,” Chan said, turning slightly to face you, “what do you want out of tonight?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Out of tonight?”

He nodded, serious now—his eyes clearer despite the liquor. “I mean… what would make this night feel like it was worth leaving your bed and dreams behind?”

You looked at him for a second. Your red dress clung to your skin in all the ways that made you feel powerful. But somehow, that question made you feel a little bare.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Maybe just a moment where I don’t feel like I’m holding the weight of everything. A night where I’m not someone’s manager, not the woman who got cheated on by an IT guy with bad eyesight.”

Chan chuckled, amused. He knocked back a shot of whiskey, exhaling sharply as it hit. Then, as if it were the most natural shift in conversation, he muttered, “So. Still dealing with your incompetent boss?”

You tilted your head with a sigh, leaning your elbow on the bar. “Worse. I think he’s trying to be competent now, which is terrifying in itself.”

“Hmm.” Chan nodded solemnly. “Mine forgot to approve the budget this week and then blamed it on Mercury retrograde.”

You blinked. “Isn’t he the one who doesn’t believe in astrology?”

“Exactly.”

A beat passed, then both of you laughed quietly into your drinks, bitter and understanding.

“People like us deserve a position,” Chan muttered, more to himself than to you. Then he downed his next shot like he was trying to silence something. Maybe his ambition. Maybe the reality.

Your eyes followed his line of sight, catching a man on the other side of the bar—tall, broad-shouldered, eyeing Chan like he was something worth unwrapping.

Chan caught it too. He turned to you with a mischievous smirk, the kind you knew too well. “Excuse me,” he said smoothly, setting down his glass. “Duty calls.”

You laughed as he sauntered off, watching the silent exchange between him and the stranger—how easily Chan slipped into chemistry, how effortlessly people gravitated toward him.

It made you smile. And ache, just a little. Your friends really were better at finding men than you. You swirled your drink in its glass, watching the liquid catch the light like molten gold. Fuck.

A subtle shift in air made you glance to your side. Someone had taken the stool Chan had vacated minutes ago—unannounced, but not unwelcome.

He looked crisp. A semi-formal suit in charcoal gray, black shirt unbuttoned just enough to suggest ease without arrogance. His hair was freshly cut, styled like he walked out of a luxury magazine spread, but the smile he wore? Surprisingly… cute.

“Hey,” he said, voice smooth but warm. “Are you alone?”

You blinked once, thrown for the smallest second before recovering with a polite smile. “Nah, I’m with friends.”

He nodded, gaze never drifting, posture casual but confident. “I’m Choi Seungcheol.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. Choi Seungcheol? You’d heard the name before. Everyone in the building had. Director of Grand Paradise Hotel, under the Choi Group. One of your company’s most important VVIP clients—usually talked about in numbers, not in the context of flashing a boyish smile at you in a bar.

“Ji Y/n,” you replied, offering your name with an ounce of surprise still clinging to your voice.

“I like your dress, by the way,” he said sincerely, his tone the kind of soft that didn’t ask for attention, but gave it fully. “You look amazing in it.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing clever came. His compliment didn’t feel like a line. It felt like the truth wrapped in manners. He flagged down the bartender, ordering something light—no shots, no bravado. Just a mild liquor with a twist of lime, like he was trying to prove he was here to talk, not to get drunk.

Cute. And unexpectedly polite—for someone carrying that much power behind his last name. Unlike someone you were really, really trying not to think about.

“So,” he said, turning slightly toward you, “my friends are at a table across the room. Do you mind joining us?” He paused, then added with a soft chuckle, “I promise they’re decent guys. No finance bros in sight.”

You considered it. Not too quickly, not too slowly—just enough to give the impression that you weren’t that easy, but you also weren’t cold.

You smiled, head tilting. “Sure.”

His eyes sparkled briefly at that, and in one smooth motion, he stood. Then, reaching for your hand, he helped you up from the high stool—like a man raised right. His grip was firm, confident, warm. And it was probably nothing. Probably just good manners.

Seungcheol’s hand remained gently on yours as he guided you across the bar, weaving through polished shoes, crystal glasses, and laughter that cost too much.

The place changed as you moved deeper—less noise, more privacy, the lighting softer, shadows richer. The kind of spot reserved for people who didn’t have to wait in line. And you were being led there. You.

When he stopped at the table, three men looked up mid-conversation, drinks in hand, posture relaxed in the way only old money could be.

“Everyone,” Seungcheol said casually, “this is Ji Y/n. She’s joining us tonight.”

You smiled, polite but composed, heart thumping a little harder than you liked. You recognized the faces before Seungcheol even opened his mouth. You’d seen them in magazine articles, shareholder meetings, boardroom slides—not up close, not like this.

Jeonghan sat at the far end, one arm draped lazily over the back of the velvet booth, legs crossed, a glass of scotch in hand. Hair tucked just right behind his ear, a soft silk shirt half-buttoned like he was born too elegant to care about dress codes. He was the kind of man who turned being looked at into an art form. You’d seen him before—once at a fashion gala you were nowhere near important enough to attend, and many times in the margins of headlines about high-end runway investments, creative directorships, and quiet takeovers. The heir of a fashion empire, and from the look in his eyes, fully aware of it.

Next to him was Joshua, spine straight, shirt pristine, smile the kind that had likely been melting boardroom resistance since he was a teenager. He exuded charm without arrogance—a quieter sort of influence that didn’t need to announce itself. You remembered him from a different kind of context: a company email signature at the bottom of a rejection letter when you’d applied to Hong Finance 8 years ago. Back then, you imagined men like him sitting behind high-rise windows, too far out of reach to even notice people like you.

“Nice to meet you,” you said calmly, shaking his hand with a professional grace. No bitterness. Just quiet history you kept to yourself.

And then—then your gaze moved to the last man at the table. Your breath stalled for half a second.

Kwon Soonyoung. He was mid-sip, glass frozen near his lips, eyes wide with what could only be described as… surprised indignation. He looked clean and collected in a black button-up with his sleeves rolled up, top two buttons undone like the night didn’t deserve his full formality. But his stare? It was searing.

You’d never seen him in this kind of setting. Not as your annoyingly attractive director. But as one of them. Powerful. Prestigious. Connected.

You tilted your chin slightly, letting a small smile rise to your lips as if to say, Fancy seeing you here.

He blinked, then lowered his glass slowly. “Ji Y/n.” Your name sounded strange coming from his mouth in front of this table. Too familiar. Too… intimate.

Joshua and Jeonghan looked between the two of you with mild interest, picking up on the tension like it was perfume. Seungcheol remained seated, watching the exchange without interference. Then he leaned over, voice smooth as his smile.

“Looks like you two know each other?”

You chuckled softly and sat down beside him. Soonyoung’s eyes narrowed. His fingers tapped against the side of his glass, lips parted like he wanted to say something—but didn’t.

*

Your eyes met across the polished length of the boardroom table. Again. This has become a weekly ritual now—joining board meetings not just as the Marketing Manager, but as Kwon Soonyoung’s unofficial shadow. Secretary. Handler. Babysitter. Pick a label, they all applied.

Still, a small part of you secretly flattered at the elevation. The prestige. You were seen, involved, and whether they liked it or not, your presence had weight in that room.

Every time a meeting wrapped, you’d nudge Mingyu and mutter, “I’m going to be the one talking in there someday. Note that.” To which he always replied with a half-laugh, half-sigh, “Sure you are.”

He never debated you. He knew better. You didn’t bluff when it came to ambition. But right now, ambition wasn’t the problem. It was Soonyoung.

He’d been staring since you walked in. Sat down. Dragged him out of his office five minutes before the meeting began, muttering something about punctuality and image and for once just pretend you’re not a walking HR hazard.

Staring wasn’t new with him. He often looked at things the way a curious toddler would—eyes wide, mouth slightly parted, like the world was one big mysterious object. But this time? This time his stare wasn’t childish curiosity. It was more like you grew a second head and he couldn’t decide if he liked it or wanted to poke it with a stick.

You shot him a sharp look, mouthing the word “Focus” and subtly motioning toward the executives who were mid-discussion about budget forecasting.

Soonyoung blinked, then smiled—too innocently—and turned his gaze toward the speaker, nodding along like he hadn’t just spent the last three minutes trying to telepathically undress your thoughts.

You furrowed your brow in suspicion before glancing down at your watch. Almost noon. And you were starving. Your fingers tapped the table quietly as the meeting stretched on, words starting to blur together. You tried to stay alert, but every time you felt yourself zoning out, Soonyoung shifted slightly in your peripheral vision. Not because he was fidgeting.

But because he was still watching you. And now you were convinced of one thing: He wasn’t staring like you grew a horn.

“You went home with Seungcheol-hyung last night.” His voice broke the silence as the two of you had just settled in after the board meeting—him tossing off his blazer like he ran the world, you gathering your files with the intention of escaping before your stomach officially started devouring itself.

Your steps halted mid-stride. “Yes, Mr. Kwon,” you replied, turning slightly over your shoulder. Tone neutral. Civil. Professional.

Soonyoung nodded slowly, a little too calmly. “I bet you went home… very safely.”

You blinked. Was that supposed to mean something? “I did, actually,” you said, brows lifting in subtle confusion. “Thank you for your concern.”

He slid into his chair, tilting it back with that look on his face. A smile curled at the corner of his lips—not his usual, goofy, harmless grin. This one was... sharp. Teasing. With just enough glint of mad to make you want to throw a stapler across the room.

“I’m expecting the summary from the meeting,” he said, lacing his fingers behind his head, “after lunch.”

You blinked again. “I was planning to finish it after I eat.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Mmm, but you always say I should send the report right after the meeting ends, remember? ‘Strike while the numbers are hot,’ wasn’t that your words, Ms. Ji?”

Shit. That was your line. You cleared your throat. “With all due respect, I’m afraid I can’t hand it in that fast. I’ll need some time to—”

“Really?” he cut in, voice dipped with mock surprise. “Because I need it quickly. You made that very clear. Efficiency is everything, right?”

You stared at him, mouth parting in silent disbelief. This was personal. You knew it. That little smile on his face was soaked in petty vengeance. You bowed stiffly, jaw clenched. “Understood, Mr. Kwon.”

As you turned to leave, fuming and still hungry, you could practically feel his smugness trailing behind you like expensive cologne. And everyone who saw you stomping back into your department after that? Knew exactly who you were cursing under your breath.

Kwon Soonyoung, the golden heir of the Kwon Group. A menace in designer shoes. And currently, the reason you’d be skipping lunch and possibly losing your sanity.

*

No one stayed in the office during lunch. It was the only sacred hour when even the most cutthroat employees stepped out to breathe something that didn’t reek of toner, stress, or twenty kinds of corporate ambition. Even Mingyu had left—after tipping you off about a new KF Label instant spaghetti that only needed five minutes in the microwave. “Garlic cream or tomato,” he’d whispered like he was offering black market gold.

But not you. You sat at your desk, typing the meeting summary like your job—or pride—depended on it. Which, let’s be honest, it did. You weren’t about to give Kwon Soonyoung the satisfaction of thinking he’d thrown you off just because he got a little petty over last night’s company. Your stomach growled in rebellion, but your ego growled louder.

When the last word clicked into place and the printer began humming behind you, you pushed away from your chair with a smug stretch and headed to the pantry. You’d earned that microwaved meal, sad as it was.

Except when you stepped inside, the scent of cheap instant coffee hit you first—followed by the last person you expected to see.

Kwon Soonyoung. Blazer gone, sleeves rolled up, stirring his coffee like this wasn’t the same man who’d made your blood pressure spike all morning. His tie hung slightly loose, hair messier than it had been during the meeting. He looked... calm. Almost casual. Like he belonged here. He didn’t.

“Ms. Ji,” he greeted smoothly, his voice low, almost too composed.

You bowed without thinking, still halfway in surprise. “I didn’t know you were staying in.”

He shrugged, not quite smiling. “Neither did I.”

Your gaze narrowed slightly. “Didn’t grab lunch, Mr. Kwon?”

He swirled the plastic stirrer in his cup, then leaned against the counter with the kind of confidence that didn’t belong in a pantry. “Didn’t have time,” he said, eyes cutting toward you. “You said I needed that report fast, remember?”

You ignored him and turned to the microwave, peeling back the film cover. “I came here for spaghetti.”

The microwave beeped. You retrieved the steaming bowl, grabbed a fork, and gave it a quick stir. The scent of tomato and roasted garlic filled the small space—a reminder that, yes, your company did do something right.

“So that’s it,” he said behind you. “The new KF Label product.”

You nodded without turning. “Premium instant line. Heat-and-Meet.”

There was a pause. Then, Soonyoung stood.

He moved to stand beside you, too close for the pantry’s size, or for what little sanity you had left. “You’re eating company product,” he said, voice lower now. “That’s very… loyal of you.”

“I’m starving. Loyalty’s a coincidence.”

He glanced at your fork, then back at your face. “Still looks good on you.”

You blinked. That line shouldn’t have worked. But it stirred something anyway. You cleared your throat. “Do you want a bite?”

He raised a brow. “You’re offering to share?”

“Don’t make it weird. It’s R&D. You’re the director. You should know what it tastes like before you embarrass yourself at investor tastings.”

Without hesitation, he leaned forward and took the bite directly from your fork. It was too smooth. Too deliberate. The slide of his lips against the plastic, the way he held your gaze as he chewed.

You stared at him, half wondering when the room got warmer. He swallowed, thoughtfully. “Tangy. Surprisingly rich.” He looked at you, a beat too long. “Kind of like the woman who made me eat it.”

You stared at him. Not just because of what he said, but how he said it—like it wasn’t a line, like it was a fact. His gaze didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. And then it did—just slightly—drifting down. You felt it like a touch: the way his eyes paused at your lips. Not in a rush. Not in hunger. Just there.

Studying. Contemplating. Wanting. Your breath hitched, just enough that you swore he noticed it. He tilted his head slightly, as if waiting to see what you’d do. And suddenly, the air between you didn’t feel casual anymore. It felt hot. It felt loud.

You didn’t move. He didn’t either.

But the tension between you was already leaning forward, even if your bodies hadn’t yet.

And then, slowly—so slowly—it happened.

Your eyes fluttered down. His breath brushed your cheek. Neither of you said a word as you both leaned in at the same time, like it wasn’t a choice but a conclusion. Like something you’d been avoiding had finally cornered the two of you in the smallest room in the building.

Your lips met—soft, hesitant at first.

A question. An answer. And then it deepened.

Not rushed, not frantic, but sure. Deliberate. Like every back-and-forth bicker, every power play, every petty jab in the boardroom had been leading to this.

His hand touched the edge of the counter beside you, grounding himself. Yours hovered somewhere near his chest before settling on the curve of his arm—tense beneath your fingers.

It wasn’t a kiss that screamed recklessness. It was a kiss that whispered, we knew this was coming. And maybe… maybe that was worse.

Because when you finally pulled away, just barely, lips still brushing, you didn’t dare look at him. Not yet. You just whispered, voice low and cracked at the edge, “That was very… unprofessional, Mr. Kwon.”

Soonyoung’s lips curved near yours. “Good,” he murmured, “because I’m not done being unprofessional.”

You barely had time to process his words—“I’m not done being unprofessional”—before his lips captured yours again, firmer this time. Less tentative. Less testing.

Your back bumped against the edge of the counter as he stepped closer, his hand skimming your waist like he was trying to memorize the shape of you through the thin fabric of your blouse. The scent of his coffee still lingered on his breath, mixing with something uniquely his—clean, warm, infuriatingly intoxicating.

You let out a quiet sound, something between a sigh and a gasp, as your fingers slipped into his hair—soft and slightly messy from the day. You gripped it lightly, tugging just enough to make him groan against your mouth. God. That sound.

His hand settled firmly on your hip, pulling you into him like gravity had a personal agenda. The kiss turned deeper, messier, your bodies syncing in a rhythm that felt far too natural for two people who spent most of their time trading sarcasm and sideways glances in glass-walled meetings.

It was heat. Friction. Unspoken things finally spoken with mouths instead of words. Soonyoung broke the kiss only to trail his lips to the corner of your jaw, his voice warm and ragged against your skin. “You always talk so much in meetings,” he murmured, his fingers brushing the exposed skin beneath your tucked blouse. “But now you’re so quiet.”

You swallowed, breath shaky, heart hammering against your ribs. “Maybe I’m waiting for a good question for once.”

He chuckled against your neck, low and sinful, before lifting his head—eyes dark, lips kissed pink, voice like velvet. “Okay then…”

His thumb grazed the hem of your skirt. “…Ms. Ji, what do I have to do to make you say my name again?”

You should’ve walked away. You should’ve reminded him this was a pantry, in a corporate building, at lunchtime. But instead?

You pulled him back into you like your body had already made the decision your brain refused to acknowledge. Fingers tight in his hair. Mouth crashing into his like you were both starving. And maybe you were.

You didn’t remember taking another breath—only the weight of his body caging you against the counter, the soft clang of your forgotten fork hitting the floor, and the rush of his hands finally going where your thoughts had wandered for too long.

Soonyoung hovered close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath warm and deliberate. “You’re shaking,” he whispered, voice almost reverent.

“Am not,” you breathed, your fingers still tangled in his hair, holding him there like you weren’t entirely sure you could stay upright without him.

His hand slipped beneath the hem of your skirt, slow, assured, until his knuckles grazed the band of your underwear. He paused, as if testing the waters. As if daring you to stop him.

But you didn’t. You let your head fall back slightly, eyes fluttering shut as he tugged at the fabric—just enough to slip his fingers under, to brush against heat and softness and the part of you that ached with how long you'd resisted this exact moment.

A quiet gasp escaped you, and that seemed to break whatever restraint he still had. “God…” he exhaled like a confession, “you really drive me insane, you know that?”

He kissed you again, slower this time—almost sweet if not for the way his hand moved with purpose, with intention, like he wanted to memorize every reaction you gave him. Your hand gripped the back of his neck, grounding yourself in him, in this, in the ridiculous insanity of making out in the pantry like it was your last chance on earth.

“You’re always so in control,” he murmured, teasing the edge of your jaw as his other hand anchored your hip, “but I think you like it when I push.”

You opened your eyes just enough to meet his, and there it was again—that flicker of madness, mischief, and something dangerously close to need.

“Careful, Mr. Kwon,” you whispered, mouth brushing his, “push too far, and I might pull you under.” He smirked like he hoped you would. And then he kissed you again—deeper, slower, pulling you closer like the world outside that pantry didn’t matter.

*

You were flabbergasted. A month ago, you were heating instant spaghetti in the pantry, trying to pretend that fucking your boss didn’t feel like the worst idea you’d ever fallen into.

Now? You were sitting stiffly in a room with three people from HR, a folder in front of you, your hands cold despite how warm the room felt.

Yes, you had slept with Kwon Soonyoung. A few times. Consensually. Not impulsively, not irresponsibly—not from your perspective. And as ridiculous as it was to admit even to yourself, he hadn’t been bad at all in those areas. Too good, in fact. Dangerously good, both with his hands and the way he listened—actually listened—to your ideas during board meetings. He even stopped wearing Cartier and started taking actual notes.

So the fact that you were here, now, caught off guard and very much alone, felt like a slap out of nowhere.

The woman in the middle of the HR panel cleared her throat, hands folded neatly. “Ms. Ji. We wanted to discuss something concerning that’s come to our attention.”

You blinked, still unsure where this was going. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware I did anything against the—”

“Your last relationship,” the woman interrupted gently, “was already a topic of concern when it involved someone significant to the company.”

Wonwoo.

You stiffened, jaw tightening. You hadn’t heard his name in weeks, and you preferred it that way. But yes, the intern he cheated with turned out to be someone's niece from the Kwon family. Of course that hadn’t died quietly.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the man sitting beside her cut in first. “We didn’t expect this one.”

You blinked again. “Excuse me?” They didn’t repeat it. They didn’t need to.

The third HR rep leaned forward, sliding a paper your way—an incident report, stamped and dated. “We’re going to have to take action regarding your affair with Director Kwon.”

Everything in you froze. For a moment, all you could hear was the soft buzz of the overhead light. You didn’t move, didn’t speak, as the words circled your head like a siren you couldn’t shut off. Your affair. Director Kwon. It felt like your lungs deflated.

“I… don’t understand,” you finally said, slow and careful. “On what grounds?”

The woman in the center flipped open a file. “There was a complaint submitted anonymously, referencing inappropriate conduct in the office. Specifically in shared spaces. A pantry, for instance.”

Your stomach dropped. So fast, it made your fingers go numb. “And—if I may,” the younger HR rep added, “there’s also concern regarding power dynamics, given your reporting line.”

You wanted to laugh. But it wasn’t funny. Because you’d worked so damn hard. You trained Soonyoung. You cleaned up his messes and wrote half the proposals with his name on them, and still walked into every meeting like your career had been built on steel, not glass.

And now, after everything, it came down to this? A moment. And an anonymous report.

You clenched your jaw, sat straighter, and folded your hands in your lap. “So what kind of action are we talking about?”

The room went quiet. The silence that followed your question felt like it lasted forever. And then the answer came, quietly, like they already knew how you’d react—and were bracing for it.

“We’ve decided,” the woman said carefully, “that you will be reassigned to a different department effective immediately.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Reassigned?”

“Demoted,” the man clarified with corporate softness, as if using the word wouldn’t hit like a fist. “You’ll be moved from Marketing Management to Administrative Strategy under Corporate Communications.”

You stared at them. Not because you didn’t understand. But because you did. They weren’t firing you. That would’ve made noise. No—they were burying you quietly, slipping you into a department where your work wouldn’t shine, where your name wouldn’t show up on campaign reports, board meeting minutes, or executive proposals. They were pushing you out of the light.

You let out a slow, controlled exhale, refusing to let the tremble in your chest reach your face. “Is Director Kwon receiving the same treatment?”

Another pause. “No,” the lead HR officer said. “After discussion with the executive board, it was determined that Director Kwon will be formally warned, and the matter will be noted in his file.”

A warning. You blinked. A warning for him. A demotion for you. You pressed your lips together, not trusting your voice to stay steady. “And that’s fair, in your opinion?”

“Ms. Ji,” the younger officer interjected gently, “you’ve had a prior history of internal relationship issues that—”

“He’s my superior.” You snapped before you could stop yourself. “If anything, he should’ve been held to a higher standard.”

They didn’t answer. No one ever did, when the unspoken truth hung heavy in the air. He had power. You didn’t. And even if you were the one who helped him become competent, presentable, capable—even if you were the one cleaning up his early failures and doing your work and his—they didn’t care. Because it was easier to punish the one they knew would quietly take it.

Your jaw clenched as you stood, straightening your blazer. “I understand.”

The head officer gave a polite nod. “Your reassignment email will be sent by the end of day. Your new manager will expect you tomorrow morning.”

You turned to leave, your heels echoing sharper than usual against the tiled floor. Your desk had never felt this bare before. You moved like your body had detached from the rest of you—silent, efficient, folding your things with the kind of care you’d normally reserve for the start of something, not the end. Each click of a pen, each rustle of a folder being stacked, was sharp in the quiet.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t cry. You just packed. A shadow passed in your peripheral vision.

“Y/n?” You turned slightly to find Mingyu standing there, a confused frown drawing across his face. His eyes darted to the box on your desk, to your emptied shelves, then back to you.

“What’s going on?”

You kept your head down, pretending to double-check a folder as you tucked it into the box.

“I just got an email from HR,” he continued, voice tightening. “They’re asking me to step in as acting Marketing Manager… temporarily.”

He said the last word like it tasted wrong in his mouth.

You didn’t answer. Your fingers paused at the edge of a stapler, then moved past it.

“Y/n.” Mingyu stepped closer. “What the hell is happening?”

You closed the box slowly, pressing your palm flat against the top as if to anchor yourself. Your chest felt too full—tight with shame, anger, disbelief—and none of it had a name you were ready to say out loud.

You looked up, just enough to meet his eyes. His worry was sincere. Of course it was. He didn’t know. He wouldn’t have accepted the offer if he did.

“I’m being moved,” you said quietly. “Another department.”

“Wait—what?” Mingyu blinked, stunned. “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it,” you said, voice low and flat. “Not right now.”

He fell silent. You could hear the protest building in his throat, the way he shifted his weight like his body didn’t know whether to stay or follow. But he didn’t press. He just nodded once—slow, reluctant.

You gave him a tight smile, the kind that didn't touch your eyes. Then you picked up your box and walked out of your office—your former office—without looking back.

*

Soonyoung walked into the office with his blazer half off and irritation simmering behind his eyes. The lunch meeting had been a disaster—numbers thrown around without context, board members talking in circles, and nobody knowing what the hell they actually wanted from him. He needed grounding. He needed clarity. He needed you.

So when he stepped out of the elevator and saw Mingyu standing by his office door instead of you, he frowned. “Mingyu?” he asked, blinking like he’d walked into the wrong floor. “Where’s Ms. Ji?”

Mingyu straightened a little, caught off guard. “I… see HR hasn’t told you.”

Soonyoung’s brows pinched. “Told me what?”

“Ms. Ji has been reassigned to another department,” Mingyu said, careful with his words. “I’ve been assigned to assist you until your new executive assistant is recruited.”

For a beat, the air felt thicker. Soonyoung tilted his head, confused. “She was moved? When?”

“I’m not sure about the details, sir,” Mingyu replied, trying not to fidget under Soonyoung’s narrowing gaze. “I only got the notice after lunch.”

Soonyoung stared past him for a second, processing. You were just… gone? No meeting. No sarcastic remarks. No quiet nod as you handed him a stack of deadlines and subtle reminders to behave like a functioning adult. No draft on his desk of the proposal you were supposed to polish before 3 p.m. Gone. Without a word.

“Right,” Soonyoung finally said, brushing past Mingyu and into his office. “Thanks.”

At exactly 2 p.m., two sharp, precise knocks echoed against the glass door of Soonyoung’s office. He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Only one person knocked like they were keeping time on a metronome. The door opened anyway.

Kwon Soonyoung looked up to see Lee Jihoon—his cousin, his childhood sparring partner, and unfortunately, also the manager of the Human Resources department. Jihoon was sharp as ever, dressed in a pale button-down and black slacks, sleeves rolled past his elbows like always, giving him the air of someone both overworked and unbothered by it.

He walked in with calm purpose, a single manila folder in his hand and a look on his face that said this wasn’t a social visit. Soonyoung sighed and leaned back in his chair. “What now?”

Jihoon said nothing. He reached the desk, dropped the folder down with a solid thump, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Your notice,” he said, tone clipped. Soonyoung dragged his fingers through his hair and opened it with two fingers like it might bite. Inside was a printed letter bearing the company’s watermark and the clinical, unmistakable phrasing of HR. The header hit first:

Formal Reprimand — Director Kwon Soonyoung.

Beneath it:

Violation of company policies regarding professional conduct and inappropriate relations within workplace hours...

A wave of heat spread across the back of Soonyoung’s neck. He exhaled through his nose. “A love letter,” he muttered bitterly.

“I warned you,” Jihoon replied, not even flinching.

Of course he had. Jihoon had been warning him since the second week Soonyoung started at KF Label. First subtly. Then with passive-aggressive memos. And then with real conversations—cousin to cousin, HR to Director.

Soonyoung kept reading. Then he stopped. Your name was listed. His. Dated timestamps. A note about internal protocol breaches and the review that followed. “She was moved because of this?” Soonyoung’s voice was low. Tight.

Jihoon gave a slow, neutral shrug. “She’s been reassigned to Corporate Communications under Admin Strategy. Effective immediately.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Jihoon didn’t move from where he leaned against the desk, arms crossed again. “The complaint came in. Security reports matched the time. You want the details? You’ll get them in writing. Bottom line—HR took action.”

“She didn’t file anything,” Soonyoung said, more to himself than anyone.

“No,” Jihoon replied. “But someone else did. You’re in a glass building, Soonyoung. Don’t act like you’re invisible.”

Soonyoung looked away, jaw clenching. “She didn’t deserve that,” he muttered.

“No, she didn’t,” Jihoon agreed, voice flat. “But she’s not the one with Kwon as their last name. You are. And between the two of you, the board wasn’t about to sacrifice their own director—so they cut the easier string.” The words hit harder than they should have.

Soonyoung sank into his chair, fingers curling slightly around the edge of the folder. “She made this department function,” he said. “She made me functional.”

Jihoon tilted his head, stepping away from the desk. “And now she’s somewhere no one will bother her again.”

He reached for the door handle, pausing with one foot out. Then, without turning back, “She covered for you every single time you slipped. Maybe instead of being angry at HR, you should be asking yourself why she ever had to.”

The door clicked closed behind him.bAnd for the first time since Soonyoung sat behind that director’s desk, it didn’t feel like power anymore. It felt like consequence.

Days later, Soonyoung stared at his screen, the cursor blinking beneath the words he had retyped at least four times. He wasn’t good at this part. The… formal part. The “trying to keep things clean after it’s already messy” part.

But he had to try something. He’d already felt the hollow space you'd left behind the second he walked into the office and saw someone else standing where you should have been. The wrong energy. The wrong rhythm. Everything off balance. The chair behind your old desk was too still, like no one dared to fill the space you carved.

So he wrote the email like a coward—because walking to your new department unannounced felt too aggressive. And calling felt too personal.

Ms. Ji, I would appreciate the opportunity to meet briefly regarding recent events and your transition. Please let me know if you’re available this week, at your convenience.

Regards,

Kwon Soonyoung

Director, KF Label

He wrote it like a professional. And hated every line of it. But he sent it anyway. Then he sat there, one elbow on the desk, teeth pressing against his knuckle as if it might keep the anticipation at bay. It didn’t.

When your reply came in twenty-three minutes later, he opened it instantly. The corner of his lips lifted—small, involuntary.

I didn’t realize you had mastered the art of professional communication—should we alert HR?

Of course you’d say that. He let out a breath of something that was almost a laugh. It tugged at his chest in a way that was both cruel and comforting. You hadn’t blocked him out. Not entirely. You still knew how to twist the knife with charm. He leaned back in his chair and reread the last line.

Please book a meeting room that doesn’t echo.

So you were coming. Soonyoung swiveled in his chair, glancing toward the hallway, toward the part of the building where he used to see you moving between departments, coffee in one hand, files in the other, bossing people with that crisp, no-nonsense tone that made him fall for you in the first place.

It had been a month. A month of kissing you like he couldn’t help it. A month of crossing lines in ways that felt reckless but right. And then one day—just gone. No fight. No confrontation. Just a folder on his desk from Jihoon and a quiet, echoing absence.

He turned back to his screen and opened the calendar. Booked Meeting Room 5A—the only one with decent soundproofing—and sent the invite. As he pressed send, he sat back and rubbed a palm against his jaw, heart slower than usual but heavier.

You were coming. But this time, you were coming from a different department, a different floor, a different version of what the two of you had built—one meeting, one mistake at a time.

And he didn’t know if you were coming as a former colleague, a woman he’d ruined something with, or someone who still wanted answers.

Soonyoung wasn't the type to fall for the cold ones. Not at first glance, anyway. His usual preference tilted toward softer edges—women who laughed too easily, said yes too quickly, and let him coast through the surface of things. People who didn’t poke at his insecurities or point out the gaping holes in his competence like it was part of their daily job description.

Which is exactly why you were not his type. At least, you weren’t supposed to be.

You were the definition of precision—smart, fast, efficient, and terrifyingly prepared. You didn’t flirt. You didn’t dangle compliments or flash polite smiles unless they were strategic. You were the woman who made everyone in the room sit up straighter when you walked in.

And yet, from day three, he was already in trouble.

You’d walked into his office with your file folder tucked against your chest, wearing a blood-red pencil skirt and a black blouse so sharp it could’ve sliced someone’s quarterly budget in half. Stockings, heels, hair pulled back in that tight, quiet way that made him forget what you’d said right after you said it.

He hadn’t even known what department you were from before then. But he knew from the second he looked at you that you were dangerous.

You weren’t just attractive. You were intimidatingly put-together. The kind of woman whose brain was hotter than her body—and her body was already a goddamn threat.

Call him a pervert—but he’d nearly choked on his own thoughts that day. And his type? Changed. Overnight. It wasn’t just the clothes. Or the legs. It was how you looked at him when you spoke. Like you knew ten things he didn’t. Like he was your slowest subject in class.

And that mouth. You didn’t curse. You didn’t yell. You told him he was stupid with elegant, HR-friendly, vocabulary—inefficient, unprepared, unfamiliar with protocol. Words that stung more than insults because they were true.

Soonyoung wasn't a saint. He loved women. But your breed? Rare. Too rare to ignore. Too rare to resist. Maybe that’s why when you’d stayed late with him that first time—papers everywhere, the city lights bleeding in through the blinds, and you standing too close with your hair falling from that bun—you became inevitable.

Maybe that’s why his hand reached for you like instinct. Why you didn’t push him away. Why your kiss tasted like the end of something professional. And maybe that’s why he’d bent you over that desk that night—not just because he wanted to (God, he did)—but because some part of him had already fallen.

*

"Fuck..."

Your breath hitched as you settled onto him, your knees braced on either side of his thighs, the edge of the table digging lightly into your back. The polished surface was cold. His hands were anything but.

Soonyoung’s fingers gripped your hips with a firmness that said he’d been dreaming of this—of you—for longer than he wanted to admit. His thumbs pressed into the curve just above your waistband, guiding you, grounding you.

Each movement between you was desperate but controlled, like something learned through tension rather than timing.

Earlier, You arrived at Meeting Room 5A at 4:01 p.m. He was already inside. Blinds drawn. Door locked. Suit jacket hung neatly over the chair beside him. His shirt sleeves rolled up, wrists bare. A bottle of water sat untouched in front of him, condensation sliding down its sides like even it was nervous to be in this room.

You didn’t sit right away. Soonyoung looked up, eyes scanning you with something unreadable. He stood as you approached, as if unsure whether to greet you like a colleague… or something else.

“Ms. Ji,” he said quietly, too formal for the way he was looking at you.

“Director Kwon,” you returned with equal sharpness, sliding into the chair across from him. You placed your phone on the table, screen-down. Just in case.

Silence hovered like a third presence. He was the first to break it. “I didn’t know they were going to move you.”

You tilted your head. “That’s the thing about consequences. Sometimes they arrive quietly.”

“I didn’t file anything,” he said. “You know that, right?”

You gave a small, humorless smile. “I know. But your silence wasn’t exactly protective either.”

That landed. He didn’t argue. The seconds stretched again, thick with things neither of you wanted to say out loud.bThen, Soonyoung leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. His voice dropped, no longer formal. “I miss working with you.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers tapped against the wood, rhythm steady. “Is that what this meeting is about?” you asked eventually. “Missing your assistant?”

He smirked, but it was hollow. “You weren’t just my assistant, and you know that.”

You did. And that was the problem.

His hands slid up slowly, tracing the slope of your waist, steadying you as you moved against him. He tilted his head back just slightly, his jaw clenched, mouth parting with a quiet exhale that barely made it past his throat.

You didn’t need him to say anything. You felt it in the way he held you tighter with every shift. The way his fingers pressed into your skin like he couldn’t believe this was real again.

Your palm found his chest, steadying yourself. He was too warm, too solid beneath you.

Then he looked up at you. Eyes darker. Focused. Not on what you were doing, but on you—like watching you fall apart on him was more powerful than anything else he could feel.

His hand rose, brushing up the length of your spine, fingers threading into your hair before tugging just enough to steal your breath again.

You weren’t sure when your head tipped back, or when your hands gripped his shoulders like they were the only thing keeping you tethered to this moment. The edge between pleasure and collapse was thin now—barely holding.

His breath was ragged against your throat, each exhale growing more erratic, his hands no longer guiding but gripping—like he was trying to ground himself in you, like letting go too soon would ruin everything.

Soonyoung’s voice came low and strained against your skin, “Y/n—don’t stop.”

You didn’t plan to. Your rhythm faltered for half a second, hips stuttering from how tightly your body coiled around the sensation—but he was right there, his hand steady at the small of your back, keeping you close, keeping you moving.

Your foreheads touched. Sweat. Breath. Tension.

He looked at you—really looked. And for a beat, the air stopped. There was nothing but the heat of his palm at your waist, the tremble in your thighs, the way your name barely formed on his lips like a prayer or a warning.

And then it hit you—how close you were. How close he was. Every movement became desperate, sloppier. More like instinct than intent.

Your lips brushed his cheek, your body arching as your pulse surged, your voice catching in your throat. “Fuck—Soonyoung—”

That did it. His hands tightened, his body tensed, and in the space between control and surrender, you both tipped over the edge—together. Breathless. Silenced. Shaking.

For a few seconds, there was only the sound of your breathing. Tangled limbs. Quiet gasps. And the soft creak of the table beneath you. He didn’t speak. He just held you—one hand still at your back, the other cradling your waist like you might disappear if he let go too fast.

Your breath was still uneven, your limbs trembling slightly as the silence wrapped around you both like a warm, heavy fog. You rested against his chest, trying to steady your heartbeat, when his voice broke through.

Soft. Low. Like a secret he wasn’t ready to share but couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Resign.”

You blinked.

“Hand them your resignation.”

The words didn’t register at first—your mind too hazy, your body too loose. But when they did, your brows furrowed instinctively. You lifted your head just slightly, startled.

He was already watching you. Still inside this moment. Still bare and open and raw in a way he rarely allowed.

“I—what?” you whispered, breath catching again—but not from desire this time.

Soonyoung reached up, brushing a strand of damp hair from your cheek. His touch was slow, almost reverent. And then he tilted your chin until your eyes met. His gaze wasn’t playful now. No teasing. No smug curl to his lips. Just quiet sincerity.

“I couldn’t watch you being humiliated like this,” he said. “Not after everything you’ve done. Not after everything you’ve fixed… for me.”

You felt it then. The way your throat tightened. The sharp sting behind your eyes. You didn’t even realize a tear had fallen until his thumb was already brushing it away, tender against your cheek like you’d break if he pressed too hard.

His fingers traced the curve of your face, slow, careful. You hated how gentle he was being—it unraveled you faster than anything else. This wasn’t supposed to be gentle. This wasn’t supposed to feel like he cared.

But he did. And that made it worse.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat. Tried to pull back the flood of emotion that had been simmering under your skin since the HR meeting—since the reassignment, the whispers, the humiliation you had to wear like perfume the minute you stepped into your new floor.

And now this. Soonyoung, who was never supposed to take anything seriously, was the one seeing you the clearest.

Your lip quivered. You bit down on it hard enough to taste metal, willing yourself to stay composed. But the second tear came. Then another. You looked away, ashamed of your silence, your vulnerability, your inability to respond.

“Y/n,” he said gently, pulling you closer, foreheads touching again. “If they don’t see your worth… leave. And I’ll help you find a better place.”

The weight of those words hit you harder than anything else. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

But your hand slid to his chest, curled softly in his shirt like you needed something to hold onto.

And for once, he didn’t ask anything more from you. He just stayed with you in this quiet, undone moment.

*

You didn’t mean to call anyone. You had told yourself you'd just shower, maybe eat, maybe sleep—but instead you found yourself curled up on the edge of your bed, still in your clothes, your phone pressed to your ear as it rang.

It was late. The kind of late that made everything feel heavier. The dim light from the kitchen gave the room a soft glow, but your phone pressed to your ear felt heavier than usual.

“I’m just… tired,” was all you said when Seungkwan picked up, his voice chipper at first—then cautious. He didn’t push. He never did. He let the silence fall, filling it with his presence, not questions.

There was a pause, long enough that you almost said “never mind.” Then your voice slipped through again, barely above a whisper.

“What do you think if I’m resigning?”

A beat. Then Seungkwan answered, calm and sincere. “I don’t mind. I mean, yeah—it’ll be hard to find something with the same value, same reputation. But if that’s what you want, I’ll support it. Always.”

You sighed, pressing your thumb against your temple. Your head hurt in the kind of way that wasn’t about lack of sleep—but a lack of peace.

“I don’t know, Seungkwan... I really don’t know.”

“Of course you’re clueless. You’ve been shoved around and put in situations where you had to survive. I understand,” he said, his voice gentler now. “Do you have any career plan? Is someone offering you a job?”

No. No one. Well— Soonyoung had said he’d help. Said it with conviction in that private moment like it was gospel. Like he meant every word.

But he was Kwon Soonyoung. A man who once asked if “ROI” was the name of a new intern. Who didn’t know how to schedule his own meetings without color-coded prompts you made for him. Who showed up to investor brunches with lipstick on his collar—your lipstick—and still made a joke out of it.

You couldn’t even trust him to send an attachment properly in an email. And now he was asking you to trust him with your life after this?

Your silence must’ve stretched too long, because Seungkwan spoke again. “Is it him?” That stopped your breath. You didn’t say his name. You didn’t have to. He knew.

“I don’t know what he promised you,” Seungkwan continued gently, “but if you’re holding on to that as your only parachute, make sure it’s not just… words.”

You closed your eyes. You wanted to believe him.bWanted to believe that Soonyoung meant it—that he would fight for you, that he saw everything you sacrificed for that label, that he wouldn’t let this end with you packing your things and being erased.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You didn’t know if it was belief… Or wishful thinking. And you were tired of hoping. You didn’t answer. Just let the silence fall again.

*

When Soonyoung stepped into his apartment, the first thing that hit him wasn’t the silence—but the scent. Something warm. Garlicky. Familiar. He paused by the door, blinking like he had to recalibrate. There was someone in his kitchen. You.

Wearing one of his aprons—badly tied—and frowning softly at the pot in front of you. The sleeves of your blouse were rolled up, and your hair was clipped messily at the back. You didn’t hear him come in right away, too focused on adjusting the stove and tapping at the edge of the box labeled KF Meal Kit –Kimchi Jjigae.

He chuckled, loosening his tie. You and these damn company products. It was the fifth time he’d seen you cooking them in the last month. At work. At home. He shrugged off his blazer, folded it neatly, then quietly walked to the kitchen. You looked up as he reached the counter, eyebrows raised and a small smile tugging at your lips.

You leaned a little on the counter, watching the pot begin to simmer. He stepped closer without thinking, hands finding your waist like they belonged there. You didn’t move. You didn’t stop him. If anything, your body softened beneath his touch, like it remembered the rhythm of standing this close.

Soonyoung exhaled quietly, pressing his forehead near your ttemple I miss you,” he murmured.

There was no teasing in it. No smug grin. Just honesty, spoken low and barely audible over the bubbling of the meal.

You blinked, the words catching you off guard—but not in a bad way. They melted into the air, sinking into the skin between his palms and your ribs. You didn’t respond immediately. You just leaned the tiniest bit into him, a silent answer in itself.

His thumb brushed over your hip, and he pulled you just slightly closer—not possessive, not rushed. Just… here. Present.

You tilted your head toward him slightly. “Dinner’s not even done yet and you’re already getting sentimental?”

Soonyoung chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder, “You in my kitchen is enough. Feels like I’ve already won.”

And for a moment, it was quiet. Dinner was long gone—plates in the sink, lights dimmed, and the two of you curled on the couch like gravity pulled your bodies together on instinct. The TV played something neither of you paid attention to. Just background noise to the slow rhythm of Soonyoung’s fingers trailing along your cheek, brushing the edge of your jaw, memorizing your face like it was the first time again.

You blinked, lazy from the warmth of his hold, when he spoke.

“I talked to Joshua hyung today.”

Your brow lifted. “Yeah?”

“He said there’s a manager position opening in his company. He’d like to see your resume.”

You turned toward him a little, eyes wide in disbelief. “Really?”

He smiled, nodding, looking far too proud for someone just casually bringing life-altering news. “Yeah… I told him about you. About how competent and sharp you are. He said he can’t wait to meet you.”

You stared at him. “That’s… unexpected.”

Soonyoung immediately pouted, his brows knitting together in that ridiculous way that never quite matched how tall and put-together he could look in a suit. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I wouldn’t come through?”

You chuckled under your breath, “No, it’s not that. I just…” you exhaled, “I didn’t expect you’d actually do it. I know you can, with your last name and network. But I guess a part of me thought… I was just someone who helped you with work.”

Soonyoung stared at you like you’d just said something blasphemous. Then sighed heavily and pulled you closer, tucking your head beneath his chin.

“You should know by now that you’re more than that, Y/n. Everyone sees it. Even Seungcheol hyung said you were—what did he say—ah, charismatic.”

You groaned, pressing your face briefly into his shoulder. “Don’t bring that up…”

Soonyoung chuckled, a little too amused. “What? It’s true. Remember that night he drove you home from the bar? You told him what you did—accidentally, if I recall—and he just went, ‘So you’re the one supervising Soonyoung? Ah… the annoying marketing manager, huh?’”

You sighed dramatically. “Great. That’s my legacy.”

“Sexy annoying marketing manager,” he corrected with a grin, pulling you closer.

“Shut up.”

He laughed harder now, contentment laced into every curve of his smile.

Then, a pause. Softer.

“You’re not mad?” he asked.

You looked up at him. “Mad?”

“For… helping you like this. I mean, I know you’re strong. I didn’t want to bruise your pride or make it seem like I thought you couldn’t land something on your own.”

You stared at him, heart clenching in that way it sometimes did when people said something too kind. Something too thoughtful.

“You’re competent. Smart. Efficient,” he said, as if repeating it to himself. “And I was worried you’d turn it down because you thought I was underestimating you. But I wasn’t. Not even a little.”

You blinked, then smiled, unable to stop the warmth spreading through your chest.

“You’re cute, Soonyoung,” you murmured, fingers reaching up to pinch his cheek gently.

“Hey! I’m being serious!” he protested, squirming under your touch—but his grin betrayed him.

You leaned into him again, nestling under his chin as his arms instinctively wrapped tighter.

“I know you are,” you whispered. “And that’s why I might actually consider it.”

He didn’t answer. But the way his breath slowed, and the way his thumb gently brushed the back of your hand, said everything.

The TV murmured in the background—some drama neither of you were really watching—as the quiet between you stretched long and comfortably still. The couch dipped just slightly beneath your bodies, your fingers lazily tracing the hem of his sleeve. You were dangerously close to dozing off again in his warmth. Until—

“Soonyoung-ah?”

The sudden voice made you jolt so hard you lost balance. He turned his head sharply—just as you tried to sit up. Your knees caught the edge of the coffee table, he tried to grab your waist, you both fumbled—and then fell.

Hard.

The thud was loud, a tangle of limbs and fabric hitting the floor, followed by a stunned silence and a hissed curse from Soonyoung.

“Oh my—are you okay?!” came the voice again. It was closer now.

You froze, eyes wide. Soonyoung groaned beneath you. “Why didn’t you lock the damn door?” you whispered sharply as you sat up from his chest, trying to fix your shirt, your dignity already lost in the living room rug.

“I didn’t think I needed to!” he hissed back, rubbing the back of his head.

Then a pair of heels stepped into view.

“Oh,” said a woman with a well-maintained bob cut and too-perfect makeup. Her tone was pleasantly surprised, but her gaze was anything but subtle. “I… didn’t know you had company.”

You scrambled upright. “Hello—I'm sorry—I didn’t hear anyone come in—”

“Clearly,” she said with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Soonyoung stood, brushing off his slacks and walking past you like nothing happened. “You visit,” he said flatly.

His mother blinked. “I brought food. And I wanted to check on you.”

He walked toward the kitchen without glancing back. “I’m not twelve.”

She gave you a knowing glance and followed. “Still, you always forget to eat when you're under pressure. And you’re hosting. I had to make sure she wasn’t starving.”

You stiffened slightly. Soonyoung looked back at you, unreadable. “She ate.”

“I can see,” she said, eyes flicking toward the leftover meal kit container on the counter. “Microwave dinners. Very romantic.”

His mouth twitched. “It’s from the label.”

His mom looked at him, then at you, and smiled again, this time softer. “You must be the reason he’s actually showing up to board meetings.”

You opened your mouth, unsure what to say.

“Mom,” Soonyoung interjected, tone clipped. “You’ve delivered the soup. You’ve confirmed I haven’t died. Are you staying?”

She tilted her head slightly. “I can go. Don’t let me interrupt.” Her gaze lingered on the couch—on the crumpled blanket, the two glasses, the clear closeness—before she turned to the door.

“I’ll call you later, Soonyoung,” she added as she slipped her heels back on. “Nice to meet you, Miss…”

“Ji,” you supplied quickly.

“Miss Ji,” she echoed with a small smile before she stepped out, closing the door with an audible click.

Silence.

You turned to him, breath still uneven from both the fall and the mortification. “So that was your mom.”

“Yep.”

“She didn’t seem… warm.”

“She’s not.”

A pause. “She said she brought food.”

He rolled his eyes. “She’ll Venmo the maid to drop it off later.”

“…You okay?”

Soonyoung scratched the back of his head, then looked at you with a crooked grin. “Honestly? I’d rather fall again.”

You laughed. Loudly this time. And maybe—just maybe—it made the awkwardness a little easier to carry.

*

Your first day at Hong Finance went better than expected. The morning had been a whirlwind of handshakes, onboarding documents, and a glossy welcome kit with your name printed in soft gold on the folder. The office was sleek, everything glass and grey and expensive-smelling, but the people? Surprisingly warm. Joshua, your new Director, had personally introduced you to each team member, casually mentioning that you came highly recommended—without saying by who.

Though you had a guess. A certain someone who used to forget what KF Label even stood for.

You worked through the day with quiet diligence, letting your brain adjust to the faster pace, the bigger picture, and the knowledge that you weren’t being micromanaged by HR this time around. You weren’t running damage control. You were actually doing your job—and being respected for it.

It was 6:10 when you stepped out of the building, your heels clicking gently on the pavement. The golden haze of sunset stretched across the city skyline.

And right there, leaning against a black car with sunglasses perched atop his head, was Kwon Soonyoung.

He looked like he belonged on the cover of a lifestyle magazine—tailored slacks, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, one hand in his pocket and the other lazily scrolling his phone. But the second he spotted you, he straightened up and pulled the door open.

“For the newly hired marketing manager of Hong Finance,” he grinned.

You raised an eyebrow as you walked up. “Look who’s playing chauffeur.”

“I prefer ‘supportive boyfriend who can finally say that title out loud.’” He gave you a dramatic bow before you slid into the passenger seat. “You worked hard. I’m proud of you.”

You chuckled as he got in, started the engine, and the two of you merged into the soft blur of city traffic. “So how was your day?”

He shrugged with a grin. “Better now. I was thinking of you the whole time. Could barely sit through my meeting without wondering if you were dying in there or thriving.”

“I’m thriving,” you smirked. “Try not to look so surprised.”

He glanced sideways at you, eyes softening, then turned back to the road. “You know, I meant it when I said I wanted to take you out tonight. Properly.”

You leaned your head against the seat, lips curving. “I know.”

He glanced at you again.

“And I meant it too,” you added, mischievous. “‘Finally growing up,’ huh?”

Soonyoung groaned playfully. “You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”

“Nope.”

It happened six months later. You weren’t expecting it. Not after all the teasing. Not after the jokes he made every time marriage came up, always with a sly grin and a "we’ll see" or a "why rush, we’re young, aren’t we?"

And certainly not on a regular Saturday afternoon, in the middle of folding laundry in his apartment, your hair tied up in a loose bun, wearing one of his old oversized shirts that still smelled like his cologne no matter how many times you washed it.

But maybe that was why it happened. Because you weren’t dressed up. There was no audience. No violin strings, no rooftop dinner. Just sunlight spilling through the windows, the quiet hum of domestic life, and the two of you surrounded by all the little pieces of your routine. Your world.

He stood behind you, not saying anything at first. Just watching. You felt his stare and turned around, sock in hand. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Soonyoung tilted his head, lips quirking faintly. “I’m thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

He laughed softly, but didn’t look away. “I mean it.”

You waited.

“I was thinking,” he said again, this time quieter, “about how I used to think love was chaos. Fireworks. Like a storm you couldn’t control.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice.

“But you’re not chaos,” he went on, stepping closer. “You’re… steady. You’re grounding. You told me when I was being stupid. You stayed when it would’ve been easier to quit. You even learned to like our new meal kit.”

You rolled your eyes, but your chest tightened. “So now you’re confessing your undying love through carbs?”

“No,” he chuckled, then reached into his pocket. “I’m proposing through this.”

Your breath caught as you saw the small velvet box. He opened it slowly, revealing a ring so simple and beautiful it nearly took your breath away. No diamonds shouting for attention. Just a gold band with a small, elegant gem. The kind of thing someone would wear every day. Quiet. Constant.

Just like the love he’d built with you.

“I’m not good with a lot of things,” he admitted, voice trembling just slightly. “But I know I want to wake up next to you for the rest of my life. I want our dumb, quiet mornings. Our microwave dinners. You calling me an idiot when I deserve it. And maybe one day, you walking into my office again—but with my name.”

You stared at him, completely speechless. Then he laughed, nervously. “You don’t have to say yes now, by the way. I know your career’s still—”

“Yes.”

He paused. “Wait—what?”

You dropped the sock you were holding, stepping closer. “Yes, Kwon Soonyoung. You idiot.” His smile split wide as you tackled him in a hug, the ring box still clutched in his hand.

*

Meeting his parents was something you’d quietly prepared for, even if Soonyoung said you didn’t need to. “They’re not scary,” he promised with his usual shrug. “You met my mom. My dad’ll just talk about the stock market until someone stops him.”

Still, as you sat beside Soonyoung at the long dining table in their sleek Hannam-dong house—with its museum-level lighting and not a single speck of dust—you knew this wasn’t just any dinner.

His mother greeted you first, of course, in a flurry of perfume, pearls, and the kind of warmth that felt performative but not unkind.

“Oh, you’re getting prettier!!” she said, gripping your hands with both of hers. “Soonyoung was never this glowy, you know. He must be eating well.”

You smiled, bowed politely, and thanked her—twice. She seemed like someone who appreciated a bit of extra etiquette. She gave you a quick once-over—your outfit passed the silent inspection, thank God. then insisted you sit beside her son like you were already part of the family.

His father arrived late, after the wine was already poured and the soup already served.

He was tall, imposing, with the kind of sharp silence that made your posture straighten without thinking. His handshake was firm, his gaze sharper.

“You’re working in finance now, I heard?” he asked, cutting his steak slowly.

“Yes, sir. Hong Finance. I handle B2B marketing strategies under Director Hong Joshua.”

His father hummed, noncommittal. “I see. No family ties to the industry?”

You blinked, just once. “No, sir. I’m from Busan. My family runs a small printing business.”

Another hum.

Soonyoung glanced at you, eyes flicking in concern. You nudged his knee gently under the table—a silent it's fine. I got this.

The conversation moved, meandering through safe topics, until the elder Kwon brought up the label again.

“You know, the KF Label still has too many bleeding points. Sales growth is good, but not stable. I’m not convinced Soonyoung understands where it’s leaking,” he said bluntly. “You do understand what I mean by that, don’t you?”

Soonyoung opened his mouth, clearly trying to assemble something in his head. You could almost see him reaching for words, for numbers you knew he hadn’t looked at since last quarter.

But before the silence stretched too long, you calmly lifted your glass, smiled, and spoke.

“The margin inconsistencies in the semi-premium line have been narrowing, actually. Since February, we’ve scaled down redundant distribution channels and optimized the logistics route from our Cheonan facility. The recent push with ‘Heat-and-Meet’ expanded brand visibility with minimal promo spend.”

You placed your glass back down and added, with polite finality, “Soonyoung has been involved in all those strategy approvals. We’ve made it a point to streamline executive summaries so he can lead without getting buried in jargon.”

The table went quiet for a beat. His father looked at you properly now—eyes no longer cold, but assessing. Appraising. “Hm,” he said. “I wasn’t aware of the Cheonan streamlining.”

“I prepared the original logistics adjustment proposal,” you said with a slight smile. “But the final call was Soonyoung’s.”

A pause. Then, almost grudgingly, the elder Kwon nodded. “Impressive.”

Soonyoung gave you a look under the table—half grateful, half floored.

His mother clapped lightly. “You speak better about business than some of his uncles do, dear.”

You blushed politely and simply replied, “I just care about what I do, ma’am.”

His father said little else after that, but the look he gave Soonyoung as he excused himself from the table later carried something unfamiliar. Respect. Maybe for the first time.

And as you and Soonyoung helped clear the dishes together in the kitchen, his mother called from behind you with a small, satisfied smile:

“You’re already helping him become a better man, Y/n.”

Soonyoung grumbled, cheeks warm. “I told you. She’s the smart one.”

You just bumped your shoulder into his and whispered with a smirk, “Glad someone finally noticed.”

*

The revolving glass doors of KF Label glided open with a quiet sigh as you stepped inside, heels tapping steadily against the pristine marble floor. The lobby hadn’t changed—still sterile, still polished, still smelling faintly of lavender diffuser and corporate ambition.

But you had. Not Ji Y/n, the former marketing manager. You were now Kwon Y/n. The name settled differently on everyone’s tongue now. Especially here, where whispers spread faster than memos.

You nodded at familiar faces—staff from various departments, even the security guard who once complimented your meal-prep lunches. Some smiled with genuine warmth, others with thinly veiled curiosity. And a few didn’t bother to hide their surprise.

Your steps slowed only when you reached the seventh floor. There, near the meeting room, you saw him. Kim Mingyu. He looked up from a file he was reviewing, pausing mid-page when he saw you. His expression didn’t change much—no shock, no smile. Just a polite flicker of his brows. You offered a small, courteous smile and bowed slightly. He returned the gesture with the same practiced civility. That was all.

It was a month after your resignation when you’d found out through Dokyeom in a hesitant voice over a coffee meeting, that it was Mingyu who had filed the HR report. The report that cost you your role. Since then, there’d been no real confrontation. No apology. Just stiff smiles across event halls and neutral nods across meetings.

Jun, Soonyoung’s secretary, greeted you the moment he saw you approach. He looked much livelier than he did during your era of damage control.

“Y/n,” he beamed, standing quickly and smoothing his tie. “You look amazing, as always.”

You offered a gentle smile. “Is he available?”

Jun nodded, already walking to the heavy door. “Just finished a call. I’ll let him know.”

He knocked once and pushed the door open with a practiced hand.

“Sir,” he said with a knowing grin, “your wife is here.”

There was a pause, then a familiar voice from inside, low and warm with the tone he reserved only for you.

“Let her in.”

And just like that, you stepped through the door—leaving behind the past titles, the old pain, and the fractured stares.

You weren’t here to prove anything anymore.

You were here as Kwon Y/n—his partner, in more ways than one.

Soonyoung stood the moment you entered, his face lighting up with that boyish grin that never failed to soften you. His tie was loose, his sleeves rolled, and the stress lines on his forehead were deeper than usual.

Still, he reached you first—fingers brushing yours before he gently guided you toward the couch like you were something precious.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” he asked, sitting close, knees turned fully toward you.

You tilted your head, teasing, “What would you have done if I told you?”

“Prepared something,” he said dramatically, eyes twinkling. “Like a red carpet. You’re a star here, baby.”

You let out a soft laugh, brushing your hand against his cheek. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only for you.” He leaned his head against your shoulder then, a deep sigh escaping from him as his whole body relaxed. “Have you had lunch?” you asked quietly, resting your cheek on his head.

He shook his head. “No time. This anniversary event… the product launch, five proposals due by tomorrow—” he exhaled sharply, motioning vaguely to his chaotic desk. “I’m going crazy. If you hadn’t walked in, I might’ve actually curled under that table and disappeared.”

You ran your fingers gently through his hair. “I took a half-day off.”

His head lifted slightly. “Why? Still feeling fatigue?”

You nodded, pressing your lips together. “Yeah. And I went to the doctor earlier.”

That made him sit up straighter, concern painting his face. “You should’ve come home. Why didn’t you say anything? Why are you visiting me if you’re not feeling well?”

Instead of answering right away, you pulled a neatly folded document from your bag and handed it to him.

His brows furrowed as he took it. “Wait—this… is this what I think it is?”

“Open it.”

Soonyoung unfolded the paper slowly, eyes scanning over the lines until they landed on one sentence that made everything around him blur.

Pregnancy confirmation – estimated gestational age: 6 weeks.

He looked up at you, completely still.

You smiled, a nervous, tender curve. “Surprise.”

His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out at first. His hands trembled just enough for you to notice, the document still in his grip.

“I’m—” he blinked, voice rough with disbelief. “I’m going to be a dad?”

You nodded, your own breath catching. “Yeah. We’re… we’re going to be parents, Kwon Soonyoung.”

For a second, he just stared.

And then he laughed—a soft, breathless sound of pure joy—as he leaned in and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest with a mix of awe and something almost like reverence.

“You’re everything,” he whispered. “I swear, you are.”

“I’m telling Jun I’m going home. Everything can wait until tomorrow.” Soonyoung stood up with a spark in his eyes after pulling you into one last firm hug.

You opened your mouth to protest—“Soonyoung, your schedule—”

But he already had his phone to his ear, spinning half toward his desk while still watching you like he couldn’t stand looking away for too long.

“Jun. Yeah. Cancel everything for the rest of the day. Postpone the internal review, shift the client call. Send a memo that the director is off-duty. No, not sick—in love.” He grinned at you while Jun, somewhere across the floor, probably died a little. “You can blame the most beautiful woman in my life.”

You covered your mouth with your hand, trying not to burst out laughing. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic,” he said, putting his phone down and coming back to you. “I’m in love. And apparently, I’m going to be a dad, which means I have very important priorities now.”

He helped you up gently, his hands warm on your arms. “Let’s go home, baby.”

You smiled, heart full. “Okay.”

As the two of you stepped out of the office hand in hand, the corridor lights overhead felt softer. Familiar faces turned, surprised, and smiled—some knowingly, some with wide eyes.

But you didn’t care.

Not as he walked beside you, fingers laced tightly in yours, saying things like “I’m buying dinner. No—wait, I’m cooking! No, I’m ordering and cooking!”

And you laughed. Because this was your life now.

Messy. Bright. Full of Soonyoung.

The end.

[nothoughtsjustfic]

Violent Love - K.SY

🔪Who: Kwon Soonyoung (Seventeen) x female reader 🔪What: Some angst. Some fluff. Some humour. Some dark themes. Slow burn. Assassin Soonyoung. Exes to Something to Lovers. Some mildly suggestive moments (18+) 🔪Word count: 24.9k 🔪Warnings: Profanity. Some alcohol consumption. Many references to death and violence: but none actually shown, and nobody dies after the beginning section. Soonyoung calls reader babe/ baby throughout the entire fic even though they’re exes. Reader has a “name”, but it’s explained and not her real name, which is never stated. There’s no explicit smut, and it’s not that suggestive, but I still am not comfortable with anyone under 18 reading. 🔪Summary:

A lot can be said about Kwon Soonyoung, but that he’s a normal member of society isn’t one of those things. Honestly, you’re not sure that Soonyoung’s even seen the bar standard when it comes to being a normal member of society, and yet somehow, he manages to find that bar, violently stomp it into the ground, and turn your life entirely upside down with one monumental fuck up.

Minors do NOT interact. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio, or for any of the reasons listed in this post, including blank blogs and blogs without any fics reblogged.

Masterlist

A/N- This is entirely written for, and dedicated to, Celeste @mylovesstuffs, who has brought this idea up at every available opportunity since she first heard about it. Happy birthday, sweetheart, I hope you like it 💗 And a giant thanks to Bunny @thestraybunny for letting me use her name for Jeonghan’s wife when I was too lazy to come up with an original name, hope you like your part hehehe 💗

Kwon Soonyoung is a lot of things: cheeky, handsome, fun; a lightweight with alcohol, great in bed, terrible with technology; in peak physical condition, quick on his feet, observant; a highly sought after assassin… and well, that last one is the point of this really.

Although Soonyoung has a lot of great points— and some not-so-great ones that are easily overshadowed by the good—, killing people for money sort of ruined his whole thing for you when you found out.

Okay, admittedly, it wasn’t an immediate end to your relationship when you first found a weapon hidden in his apartment in a convenient, quick to grab, but well concealed, location— you doubt he expected you to be so nosey and rummage around as much as you did. Nor the second or third time.

Not even the fourth when you also found a bloodstained shirt that he hadn’t disposed of simply because you bought it for him. Which, admittedly, probably only further encouraged him when you threw the shirt aside and tackled him to the bed to enthusiastically show him how endeared you were by his sentimental action.

It probably took far longer than it should’ve for you to end things with Soonyoung. Honestly, it only happened when he asked to move in together, and you realised that you would regularly see him coming home from jobs; beaten and bruised from fights, and his victim’s blood staining his clothes. That’s if he even made it home.

When you thought about it like that; always unsure if he’d make it back to you; if maybe one day, he would have to pay for his sins in a way that ripped him away from you before you were ready, you knew you couldn’t wait for that day to come.

So, you made the choice to lose him on your own terms and ended all contact with him in hopes that you would be too distanced in every way to ever know the day the worst happens to him.

Of course, Soonyoung wasn’t happy about that and immediately tried to change your mind; tried to promise that no-one can out maneuverer Hoshi; best assassin in the entire country! And then he tripped over the hem of his ridiculously baggy jeans and made you even more certain that the idiot is going to get himself killed and leave you with a space in your chest where he once lived.

You’d like to say that Soonyoung respected your wishes after that and left you alone; that he gave you the space you requested and moved on.

But Kwon Soonyoung is a lot of things, and a quitter isn’t one of them.

Honestly, at this point, you can’t even be surprised. At this point, you should be used to this utterly insane method of winning you back. But you really can’t be blamed for never getting used to your assassin ex-boyfriend killing anyone who causes you even the slightest bit of grief.

The neighbour you complained about once on social media for having an obnoxiously loud party the night before you had to get up ridiculously early for work; found dead in a ditch days later.

The coffee shop employee who always got your order wrong; found floating in the river the day after she gave you cow’s milk despite you making a point of reminding her that you’re lactose intolerant, resulting in hours in the bathroom with horrendous stomach cramps. Okay, maybe she was trying to hurt you, you can’t be sure, but you’re pretty sure that murder wasn’t the answer!

And first thing this morning, you walked into work only to find police all over the place and quickly learned that your boss was found face down at this desk only an hour before, with a poisoned cup of long-cold coffee infront of his unblinking eyes. And well, you think Soonyoung’s taken it too far this time.

Sure, your boss was a sexist pig who liked to degrade your work and compliment his shit head of a son instead— despite the nepo baby being absolutely useless at his job—, but you could grin and bear it. The pay’s really good, and at the end of the day, you do get to pick your clients; because despite how much your boss liked to pick on you, he also knew that you’re the best in the company and he couldn’t risk losing you.

Or well, was the best in the company would be more accurate. Because not long after you get home from work, you find Soonyoung already in your apartment, with bags packed by his feet, and words on his tongue you never wanted to hear.

“Babe, I fucked up,” he admits, already getting up from the armchair to take a tentative step towards you. He looks nervous, and regretful, but also a little panicked and urgent in a way that forces you to push the stream of pissed off scolding to the back of your throat for later.

“How, Soonyoung?” you question, moving further in without even bothering to remove your shoes; you can see he still has his on, and that gives you the worst feeling that this is far more pressing than keeping your apartment clean.

“Like…in the way that you’re now on the most wanted list, so we need to fucking run.”

In all that you could’ve imagined Soonyoung saying to you one day, those words never even remotely crossed your mind; didn’t even get in the far distance of your mental view and tease a glimpse of worry into you. You can’t be blamed for taking a few long moments to just stare in stunned disbelief at the assassin infront of you as you absorb what he’s said.

Thankfully, Soonyoung must understand your shock as he doesn’t rush you to respond. Then again, he never did rush you; he was always good like that. Now, you’re not quite as sure what he is. A fucking idiot, probably.

“Fuck you,” is the response you decide on, glaring at him slightly, and Soonyoung nods like he expected that; deserves that.

“You have time to shower and change into the clothes I left out; they’ll be best to travel in. I’ve packed everything that you can take,” he informs, motioning to the matching luggage sets by his feet. Matching sets he bought the two of you for the holiday you never got the chance to take; he had to go on a sudden job, and you were too busy at work by the time he returned wearing an eye patch and doing a shitty pirate impersonation while trying to hide his limp from you.

Maybe you’re as much as an idiot as him to have stayed with him for almost a year after that, despite being worried he’d never walk without pain again. He still gets twinges of pain now in his leg, and limps after doing strenuous activity, but he says as long as he can move and his vision remains as perfect as it’s always been, he’ll always be Hoshi. Part of you selfishly wished his eye injury was more severe than it was, then maybe he would’ve quit back then, and you could still be together and as in love as you once were.

But here you are, wishing the man had left when you broke up with him and never showed his face again. Yet, he just couldn’t let you go, and now, you’re somehow a wanted woman and need to flee the country with your batshit insane ex-boyfriend.

“You better fucking explain what you did as soon as it’s safe to sit and talk,” you warn, pointing a stern finger at the man as you walk past him.

“I will, I promise. I’m really fucking sorry; I never meant for this to happen.”

And there’s a lot to be said about Kwon Soonyoung, but he’s never lied to you when it matters.

Of course, with all Soonyoung’s done in his life, he knows a lot of people; a lot of people who owe him for something or the other; a lot of people he calls on to get the two of you safely out of the country and halfway across the world with the promise that they never have to see nor hear from him again. You kind of envy them for that, honestly.

Fleeing consists of weeks of careful travel; of hiding out; of being in such close quarters with Soonyoung that you truly debate shoving him over the edge of a boat on multiple occasions for doing this to you. You know it’d be easy enough physically; he wouldn’t see it coming at all.

But realistically, you’re no killer; you don’t even like killing spiders. Then again, neither does Soonyoung, so maybe that’s not the best comparison. The point is, no matter how much anger you have in your veins at the man for making you give up your entire independent life, to instead rely on him to keep you alive and running from the situation that he got you into without you knowing until it was too late, you could never hurt him.

Well, not that severely; you certainly like to whack his arm in punishment at every chance, and he lets you without complaint. He even readily offers up his limb when he sees the ire burning brighter in your eyes when he forces you into yet another tiny, ratty bed for the night while he sleeps on the floor by your side like a loyal guard dog.

It’s when you make that comparison— Soonyoung as your protective guard dog that would bite the face off a threat, then turn around to look at you with big, puppy-dog eyes as his tail wags and he silently asks to be called a good boy—, that you suddenly find it harder to take your anger out on him anymore, and instead turn away when you’re reminded of the shit show that your life now is thanks to him. Honestly, you think turning your back on him hurts more than your hits ever could, and that both pleases you, and makes your own heart ache further.

You go through weeks of it all, and it’s not until you arrive in some foreign country you don’t know the language of— nor know a thing about— and Soonyoung lets you drive for the first time since this started, that he finally tells you how he fucked up.

“Promise not to drive us off the cliff?” he requests out of the blue, a good half an hour into the drive; with him carefully directing you using the map that his final connection handed him, along with the car keys, forty minutes ago. A connection who pretty much wept with joy when the assassin Hoshi finally freed him from his debt. Well, you assume that’s what happened; you couldn’t understand a word the pair said, but it seems to be the general way of conversation every time the two of you part ways with one of the many people who once owed Hoshi a favour.

“No,” you answer simply, without hesitation. He sighs, and you’re very certain he expected you to answer that way yet hoped you wouldn’t. It’s crazy how, although you had a pretty solid grasp on Soonyoung seven months ago when you were still together, you now know him better than ever. But then again, you guess spending 24/7 with someone while on the run tends to do that.

“At least jump out the car before it falls over,” he says, pouting at you a little; something you only see from your peripheral vision, but you can still feel the full force of. Damn that rabid puppy-dog.

You sigh. “Even though I’d love to punish you and you alone for how monumentally you’ve fucked up my life, I wouldn’t be able to survive without you. I don’t even know where we are,” you respond matter-of-factly. “So, it’s both of us, or neither of us.”

“Oh, right,” he murmurs. “Maybe I should drive.” You give him an unimpressed look that makes him shrink slightly. “Or not.”

“Relax, I’m not going to drive off the cliff.” Funnily enough, that’s all you need to say for Soonyoung to relax, as if he really did think you’d drive the pair of you off the cliff just to punish him. Depending on what exactly he says, it’s not entirely off the table, but you think it’s better not to let him know that in case he refuses to tell you quite yet; you’ve waited far too long for this information to risk losing the chance.

“Good. I never want to hurt you or be the reason you’re hurt. I’d do anything to protect you,” he insists firmly, despite the fact you’ve never doubted that. Even if he has some weird ideas of what you need protecting from and the lengths morally acceptable to go to protect you. But, you suppose for being raised in the world he has, Soonyoung could be a lot worse. His heart is in the right place, at least.

“Then explain why you’ve made me leave my life behind to go to somewhere I can’t even speak the language. I doubt I’d know where we are on a map even if you told me the name.”

“Probably not; I only know because of my connection. I’ve never been to the exact place before,” he admits, and you’re a little unsteady about that; that even Soonyoung has no experience wherever he’s been leading you to for the past weeks. But still, you trust him. You’ve yet to decide if that’s a bad idea or not.

After pausing the topic to check the map and give you a heads up that you need to take the next exit away from the cliff’s edge, and to make sure you drink some water, Soonyoung finally answers.

“So, I don’t know if you noticed, but some people have been disappearing from your life the past months,” he starts, and you give him a quick, flat look in response that makes him smile sheepishly. “So, you did notice.”

“Bit hard not to, Soonyoung.”

“Yeah, well, they didn’t deserve a place in your life when they don’t make you happy!”

“Says the man who dragged me across the globe.” Soonyoung doesn’t say anything for long enough that you look over and notice the pained, kicked puppy-dog look on his face. You sigh and look forward again just in time to take the exit he earlier notified you of. “Please just get to the point,” you request, knowing that you’ll give in to something if he keeps looking at you all quiet and heartbroken like this. What that something is, you’re not sure, but you’re not ready to forgive him and don’t want to do something you’d regret.

“The cops noticed that you’re the common factor between the bodies,” he admits in a mumble, still aching from your words, but also reluctant to truly confess his giant fuck up to you. He doesn’t want you to be disappointed in him, and you know that, but you still are, and he knows it. “They didn’t realise there is a common factor between the bodies until they suddenly noticed your name crop up. And since your boss was found dead, they decided they have to act. They think you’re a serial killer and were going to bring you in; you’re pretty much top of their most wanted list now.”

It genuinely takes a handful of minutes for you to fully register and accept the words, before you realise exactly what he’s just told you, and the anger that had fizzled out over the past weeks is back with a vengeance.

Soonyoung yelps when you abruptly swerve the car along the road to cause his head to hit the window at his side; hard enough to hurt him but not damage the glass. “Ow! Fuck!” he exclaims as he clutches the impact spot, and you straighten the car back up to continue along the road as if nothing happened. “I deserve that.”

“More than that.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a sigh, and slowly drops his hands to his lap as he tilts his head back against the headrest. “I know you won’t forgive me any time soon, if ever, but I really am sorry. If I could go back and be smarter about it, I would; I’d set someone up to take the fall and take any suspicion away from you.”

It’s really not at all what he should say, what a normal person would say, but you know it’s as good as you’re going to get without explaining that he should just not kill people if he had the chance for a do-over, and you just don’t have the mental energy to have that conversation.

You just sigh and keep driving.

It takes an hour of driving before you reach a dock, and Soonyoung swaps the car keys for tickets to the ferry to an island you can’t even see from where you stand.

There’s just enough time to get aboard with your luggage and stow it safely in the compartments beside the seats you pick near the windows before the ferry starts the two-hour long journey across the salty water to the place you have no choice but to accept as your new home.

“I don’t know what name your new ID will have,” is the first thing Soonyoung says to you almost an hour into the journey, voice quiet as he leans in close to you with one arm on the back of your seat; playing couple like you have been in order to avoid questions during your travels. Nobody questions a couple leaning in close and whispering to each other, just assumes it’s sweet nothings or filthy fantasies being passed in the air between them.

As much as you’d rather that Soonyoung doesn’t keep so close when you’re so mad at him, you know it really is the smartest move to remain under the radar and look like any other couple exploring the world together, so you never pull away.

“I still think it’s unfair you get to keep your name and mine has to change all the fucking time,” you grumble, leaning into him just so you can poke your fingers into his thigh a little harshly, reminding him that you’re not happy to be playing along— even if the way his fingers absently trace over your arm furthest from his is, admittedly, rather nice; but you’re not going to tell him that.

“I’m not in any government system, you are. People know Hoshi, not Soonyoung,” he explains with a shrug.

Although you’re not happy about it, you know that he’s right, so you just groan softly and lean your head onto his shoulder to get comfortable for the remainder of your journey across the sea.

Upon meeting land, Soonyoung seems a little lost for the first time as he glances around the sparse dock, the few buildings along the cobble street in front of you, and honestly, not much else.

After a few awkward seconds as he tries to gather his bearings, he motions you over to an old rickety bench— which he tries out before allowing you to sit— and leaves you there with the luggage by your feet, before he darts off to talk to a couple of locals standing and chatting outside of what you assume to be a grocery store of some kind, based on the faded, cartoonish fruit drawn onto the window.

It only takes a few minutes for Soonyoung to seemingly have befriended the two middle aged men, talking and laughing with them like old friends, before he motions to you with one hand, the other pressed to his chest. Based on the expressions the two older men turn to look at you with, you just know that Soonyoung is spinning some tale of his endless love and devotion to you.

You do your best not to linger on the thought; especially not the knowledge that he doesn’t even need to lie to them. Soonyoung still loves you, he doesn’t hide it at all, though you wish he would. You’ve spent seven months trying your best to get over him, and you always think you’ve completely succeeded until he looks at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes and tenderness tilting his lips up, and your heart skips a beat, reminding you how easily it would be to race for him. It takes everything in you to stop it.

Not long later, you’re in the backseat of a little car, luggage piled up next to you due to the lack of a boot, and Soonyoung in the seat in front of you as one of the men kindly drives the pair of you northwards across the island.

Up until the man pulls up to the northernmost dock, in another little village— though this one a little more lively and populated—, you really couldn’t imagine how small the island is. It only took an hour to drive from the southernmost dock where you started, to this one. Even Soonyoung seems surprised when the man parks and must announce that you’re at your destination.

Quickly, Soonyoung thanks the man, and thanks to Soonyoung having taught you a few basic phrases on the ferry ride over, you also manage to get out a stilted thanks— which the kind man beams at— before he helps you and Soonyoung gather all your belongings.

Then, not even a minute later, you’re watching the man drive away, and wondering what kind of a life you’re going to live here.

“So, what now?” you wonder, turning to peer up at Soonyoung while shielding your eyes from the early afternoon sun. He’s busy looking around, clearly searching for something, eyes roaming the dock, the people, the buildings, and streets you can see from where you stand.

“Mm, we find– ah! There!” he exclaims, lighting up when he finds whatever he was looking for. And then to your surprise, he leaves you standing there all alone as he runs off with an excited yell of “Bunny!”

Utterly bewildered, and even more so when you hear his name being yelled back, you look over and find him running into the open arms of a rapidly approaching woman. Soonyoung’s arms are open just as wide, and their smiles are matching beams that only grow when they collide and wrap each other up in a hug so tight you find yourself suddenly questioning your own place at Soonyoung’s side. Though you quickly shake that thought away and remind yourself that you’re not at his side, not like that. Not like you used to be.

Part of you wants to walk over to join the pair, but the other part of you doesn’t want to intrude, and you also don’t want to carry all the luggage on your own, so you just remain in place and wait for Soonyoung to return to your side.

Thankfully, it’s only a couple of minutes later that he rushes back to your side, scoops up most of the luggage in one arm— leaving you with your backpack— and slings his free arm around you to urge you towards the woman.

“Baby, this is Bunny!” he introduces, as if that should mean something to you.

“Uh, hi,” you offer awkwardly, not really sure how to navigate this, but at least it seems that this woman speaks your native tongue, so that makes it a little easier.

“Hi, Myla!” Bunny replies, and it takes you a moment to realise that she thinks that’s your name. You glance at Soonyoung and find his expression looking kind of dopily smitten, yet also shy at the same time, so you reason he obviously knows the story behind the name and decide to ask him later in private. “It’s great to finally meet you, and it’ll be nice to have a same aged friend around. Honestly, other than my husband, everyone is middle aged around here; on most of the island really.”

“Oh, husband?” you question, eyebrows raising slightly in surprise as something in your chest settles at the information.

“Yep!” she confirms, lifting her left hand to show the simple silver band on her ring finger. “Five years this summer.” She looks at her ring with so much reverence that without even meeting her husband, you know he owns her entire heart and soul. It’s utterly precious, and you don’t know the woman yet, but you hope her husband looks at his own ring in the same tender way.

“Wow, congratulations,” you say, smiling at her finally, and she lights up even brighter.

“Thanks! You must be tired after the long journey, I’ll show you to your house!” she enthuses and links her arm with yours to lead you at her side ahead of Soonyoung. When you glance over your shoulder at him, he looks utterly content to toddle along behind you, so you just face forward again to memorise the journey to your new home.

It takes literally minutes to arrive at the front door of the cosy little detached house, just up the hilled street overlooking the dock and main street. There are only a couple other buildings along this street— which seems to lead only to a large expanse of grass and wildflowers—, and they’re all stout little houses with enough space between each for another handful of houses. It’s a vast difference from the cramped apartment building you spent the past years of your life in; from seeing nothing but concrete and towering city blocks no matter where you turned. You won’t say it aloud, but you quite like this.

“This is it!” Bunny informs brightly as she hands you a key ring with a couple keys attached, and motions to the door. Obligingly, you step forward to unlock the door and push it open. “Let me give you the grand tour,” she says once the three of you are inside, with the door shut and shoes toed off onto the matted area before the beige tiles lining the entrance hall.

Despite looking fairly small from the outside, the house is actually rather spacious inside, with plenty of windows to allow natural light in and give a spacious feel. 

Immediately to the left upon entering the house, there’s a door that leads to a small storage room— which already contains cleaning supplies, including a mop and broom placed neatly to the side, and Bunny assures you both that she and her husband put them to use only the day before, ready for your arrival. Oddly enough, there’s a door at the back of the closet, and you’re surprised to find a wet room there, but Bunny quickly explains that the weather can get pretty wet here, and that leads to some muddy moments, so all the houses are built with a wet room near the entrance so that mud can be washed off instead of risking it getting smeared along the way to the main bathroom upstairs.

The door coming off the right of the entrance hall leads to the living area; already containing some furniture that Bunny promises is new, but you’re welcome to replace with your own tastes when you want; though you’re pretty happy with what’s already here, and you know Soonyoung just doesn’t care about furniture. The man really had some questionable items in his apartment when you first met and only changed them when you suggested he at least tried to not live like a broke college student taking any free furniture he happened across.

The back of the hall opens directly into the kitchen, which curves around to the left to an empty room that you assume is a separate dining room. Though there’s already a four-seater table in the back right corner of the kitchen with the light from the window on either wall shining down on it, so you really don’t know what will happen with the empty room, honestly.

After going up the stairs in the entrance hall, Bunny quickly shows you the bathroom— with all new fixtures, she proudly informs you—, before glossing over the empty room, and ending in the biggest room, the master bedroom; containing a double wardrobe, large chest of drawers, dressing table, and a large bed already set up for two. The only bed in the house.

“I know you’re not actually together, but I’ve told everyone that you are,” Bunny discloses, that bright tone usually in her voice lessening to something more neutral, even a tinge apologetic you like to think. You look at her and she twists her lips up into a slightly sheepish smile. “They’d kick up a fuss about friends of opposing sexes living together, so this, believe it or not, is the lesser of two evils.”

“Right,” you mumble, understanding her point, but not particularly pleased about it.

“Yeah. Well, happy relationship, I guess!” she claps her hands together then turns and heads back downstairs, so you and Soonyoung follow all the way to the front door to watch as she shoves her feet back into her sturdy shoes. “I’ll leave you two to settle, but come by at around 5-ish, Jeonghan will be awake from his afternoon nap then.”

“Your husband!” Soonyoung crows excitedly before you can ask if Jeonghan is her child and inadvertently saves you from that awkward moment. You mentally thank him for doing something he isn’t even aware of, though keep your mouth shut and let the pair converse.

“Yeah!” Bunny cheers, lighting all the way back up now they’re talking about her husband. “He gets up early to go fishing, so he always naps when he’s back. He’s excited to meet you both and has already planned dinner. You don’t have any allergies or dietary requirements, do you, Myla?” she asks, and it takes you a moment to remember that this Myla is you. The new you.

“No, nothing like that,” you assure, and she nods happily.

“Great, because I don’t want my Hannie to get upset if his careful planning is for nothing. So, see you both at 5, dinner will be at 6,” she says.

“Okay,” Soonyoung agrees easily as Bunny opens the door and steps outside.

“Wait!” you call incredulously when she starts to walk down the path. Bunny and Soonyoung both look at you questioningly. “Where do you live?”

“Oh!” Bunny laughs, and Soonyoung giggles along, both only now realising that she failed to inform you of her place of residence already. “At the top,” she says, pointing up the hill, only one house between you. “I’ll introduce you to our mutual neighbours another time; they’re away this week visiting family on the mainland.”

“Ah, right, okay,” you answer with a nod, Soonyoung nodding along too, before Bunny just waves once more then strolls off back down the hill.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I need a snack,” Soonyoung says as you shut the front door, then he immediately turns and scuttles off to the kitchen.

By the time you join him after making sure the door is properly shut, and familiarising yourself with the locking mechanism and bolt, he’s already cutting up a selection of fruit he must’ve pulled from the fridge, because you know the fruit bowl was empty not ten minutes ago.

“Soonyoung,” you start as you near to lean on the other side of the island counter as him.

In response, he only hums; eyes focused on the shining knife in his hands as he skilfully chops. Admittedly, Soonyoung’s knife skills have always impressed you; it’s just his cooking skills that are lacking. Though he’s certainly improved a lot since you first met and you declared he needed to learn how to cook meals, not live off takeout and ready meals all the time.

“Myla?” you question; Soonyoung immediately falls still, and you notice his eyes widen where they’re still aimed down at his task. “Well?”

“It…it’s short for ‘my love’,” he admits quietly. You can see a hint of pink starting to stain the tips of his ears. “Be–because that’s what I always call you when I talk about you to her.”

“I didn’t even know she exists until today,” you comment, deciding to move past the admittance of sweet name he’s called you enough for there to be a shortened version that Bunny decided to dub you.

“Ah, yeah, well,” he replies vaguely with a shrug. “Just how it is, really.” You don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, and don’t have the energy to try and guess or pry a better answer out of him, so you just hum and accept the piece of fruit he slides across the chopping board to you silently.

“So, do we have some back story I need to learn? Not that I will be able to speak to the locals unless they speak my language, but I should still know.”

“They only really speak the local language here,” he confirms with a little nod.

“You’ll teach it to me, right?” He lifts his head to look at you. “What? If we’re going to be here for the rest of our lives, I’m going to need to be able to speak to more than just you and Bunny.”

“And Jeonghan; you can talk to him.”

“Which is a genuine relief, but I’d still like to be able to go to the local store and talk to them instead of just awkwardly paying in silence.”

“I can do all the grocery shopping,” he offers, pouting a little. “You don’t have to do anything. Let me take care of you.”

“I will literally go insane if I don’t get to live as normally as possible, Soonyoung. You’re not doing everything, especially if that confines me to the house,” you warn.

Immediately, he puts down the knife and shakes his empty hands in the air, eyes a little wide in slight panic. “I didn’t mean like that! I’m not telling you that you can’t! You can do whatever you want! I’m not in charge of you!”

“Correct.”

“I just meant…I want to take care of you and do everything. I won’t argue about you taking care of yourself too, of course, and doing whatever you want as long as it doesn’t endanger you, just…I want to look after you too. I’ll do anything you want,” he offers, voice turning soft and tender, betraying his still present and endless love for you.

You just sigh, which he mirrors softly as he turns back down to the knife and chopping board, knowing it means that you no longer feel the same as him, and still have no plan of taking him back, of loving him again.  

“I’ll teach you the language, and the culture as much as I can, but Bunny and Jeonghan will be better at that part, seeing as they’ve lived here for almost five years now,” he says, voice still a little too soft, a little aching around the edges, but he’s trying to not linger on his broken heart for both of your sakes.

“Okay, thank you. And our story?”

“Mm, not sure, but I’m sure Bunny will fill us in over dinner; she came up with it all and should have our new documents ready.”

“Alright.” You nod and push away from the counter after swallowing down a final piece of fruit. “I’m going to go shower, maybe nap.”

“Okay,” he agrees with a nod as he watches you get further away from him. “Rest well.”

Although Soonyoung assures you that Bunny won’t expect anything, you feel rude turning up to a stranger’s house for dinner without a gift, so he obligingly walks around the village with you until you find the local store, and within, a small section of fresh flowers.

Of course, you don’t understand what the shopkeeper says to the pair of you, nor do you have any money; but Soonyoung handles it all, somehow without exchanging any cash, and then the two of you are on your way.

“What did you say to her?” you wonder as the two of you head back toward the hill, the beautifully wrapped bouquet cradled carefully in your arms to not risk damage to the simple yet elegant blooms.

“Hm?”

“You didn’t pay.”

“I don’t have money yet,” he reminds, making you stop still and look at him with wide, shocked eyes. “What?” he laughs as he stops a few steps ahead of you yet turned to face you. “Where would I have gotten cash from, babe?”

“I don’t know, maybe you had some already, or Bunny left some in the house.”

“Nope…well, I didn’t actually look, but she didn’t say she would,” he reasons with a shrug.

“Then why did you agree to go to the store with no money?!”

“I figured they’d be willing to work on a trade system. I know Bunny fixes a lot of stuff in exchange for goods and other services here, so I thought I could offer to do something for them.”

“And what exactly are you going to do in return for these?” you question, nodding down to the flowers in your arms.

“No idea.”

“Soonyoung!” you scold, reaching out to hit his arm.

“Ow! What?!” he clutches the impact spot, even if you didn’t hit him hard enough to actually hurt him.

“You can’t just offer to do things without knowing what they are! What if you’re asked to do something really fucked up?!”

“I mean…I’m pretty sure I’ve already done more fucked up stuff than what that lady will ask of me.”

“I dunno, she kept staring at your arms,” you comment, letting your own eyes lower to where his biceps are stretching the short sleeves of his obnoxiously floral shirt. You’d like to say it’s something Bunny left at the house amongst the items she procured to allow you and Soonyoung to blend in with the local lifestyle easier. But no, Soonyoung has been wearing that same shirt regularly since you first met over two years ago. For a man trained to blend in, he wears some really bold outfits.

“And?” You can’t help but roll your eyes before turning back the way you came from, with every intention of returning the flowers so that Soonyoung doesn’t owe a mystery— and potentially sexualised— debt to this stranger. “Hey, hey, baby, wait,” he calls, whining a little as he rushes forward to gently grab your arm to make you stop and face him again. “What’re you doing?”

“Returning the flowers, obviously. I’m not going to let you get tricked into doing heavy lifting topless just to be ogled and sexualised, all for some flowers.”

For a moment, Soonyoung just blinks at you, then a dumbass smile lifts his face and curves his eyes with how his cheeks bunch up. “You don’t want other women to check me out?”

“Did you even listen to what I said?” you deadpan, unimpressed.

“Yep. You don’t want other women ogling me!” he declares with a bright, dopey grin, practically singing his words in his joy.

“You know what? Forget it, she can ask you to do the macarena naked for all I care,” you decide with a frustrated sigh before stalking back off towards the hill.

You know that no matter what you say right now, the smooth part of Soonyoung’s brain will rule over logic and reason, and he won’t understand that you just don’t want him to potentially get sexualised for a favour. Even if it’s only that he’s stared at as his arms flex in his shirt while he moves the heavy items the elder woman can’t move around the store on her own, you don’t want it to happen without Soonyoung actually wanting to be checked out. You’ve had similar things happen to you so many times that you know that, even if in the moment it’s easy to ignore, if you let it happen once, people will take advantage; and soon, you become an unwilling sexual symbol always touched by unwanted, leering gazes.

Maybe tomorrow you can try to talk to him about it when he’s not caught on the false thought that you don’t want anyone else to look at him, as if you’ve made some claim over him. Even if he still thinks of himself as your property entirely, you haven’t thought of him as yours in a long time now, and you don’t want him to get incorrect ideas about the current state of your relationship.

But for now, you walk off ahead and ignore his delighted little giggles trailing behind you as he obediently follows along to Bunny’s house.

Though, as you get closer to the top of the hill, you slow down to let Soonyoung join your side, then move closer to him, feeling a little anxious over what you’re about to step into. Sure, Bunny seemed genuinely lovely— and very bright and bubbly— but you don’t know what her husband is like, nor do you really know her in any way that matters; so, entering their home to eat food they cooked, and talk about subjects you’re not currently aware of, is understandably making you nervous.

“What’s he like?” you ask in a quick whisper when you’re only metres away from the edge of the path leading up to the front door.

“No idea,” Soonyoung replies with a shrug. “Never met him. But Bunny’s obsessed with him and always has been, so I think that says a lot about him.”

“Or her.”

“Mm, yeah. But I know her, and she’s got good taste in people to befriend.”

“She’s friends with you, and you murder people for a living,” you point out in a mumble.

Soonyoung barks out a quick laugh. “True! Or, well, was true, I’m retired now, baby. My only purpose now is to dote on you.” You don’t have a chance to respond to that— not that you really know what to say in response, so maybe it’s a blessing that he doesn’t wait for a reply—, as you’re now at the front door and Soonyoung’s leaning over the step to knock the pale blue painted wood.

It doesn’t take long for the door to be answered, and the man who pulls it open genuinely makes your brain lag for a second. He, like Soonyoung, is wearing a shirt with far more print than any normal person should look good in— yet both unfairly look great in the busy patterns—, though his is long sleeved and neatly folded up to his forearms; it looks silky and expensive; it looks like it was made to be worn by him and him alone. Yet in complete contrast to the fancy, perfectly creaseless dress shirt, he’s wearing ratty old sweatpants with knees worn so thin that you can see glimpses of his skin underneath. And still, he looks beautiful.

“Hi! You must be Myla!” he says, greeting you first, and urging you in with a wave of his hand. “I’m Jeonghan,” he announces when you’ve stepped inside as requested, and he can carefully hug you— making sure to not press too close to be uncomfortable for complete strangers, or to squish the bouquet in your arms.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say, not sure what else you’re supposed to say or do when meeting a complete stranger who you didn’t even know existed until a few hours ago. But at least it’s not a lie. Something about Jeonghan feels so pure, that you have a good feeling about getting to know him; you think he’ll be a great friend given the chance. And you find that you really do want to take that chance.

“You too, Bunny has told me so much about you!”

“Really?” you question surprised, and Jeonghan hums, nodding. “Oh…” You look at Soonyoung and find him very intently removing his shoes, tips of his ears pinkened. You’re not sure what exactly Bunny has heard from the man— and then passed on to her husband— but you’re pretty sure it involves a lot of Soonyoung praising you, if his suddenly bashful posture is anything to go off.

“And of course, Soonyoung,” Jeonghan coos, turning to the man and immediately bringing him in for a hug as soon as Soonyoung is fully upright again instead of leaning over to neaten up his shoes on the mat. “I genuinely didn’t think I’d ever get to meet you, so I’m really happy you’re here,” he says, voice a little softer in a way that makes you look away, feeling like you’re interrupting a special moment here.

“Me too,” Soonyoung replies in a matching tone, holding the man a little tighter. “Thank you for being by her side these years when I couldn’t,” he adds, and now you definitely know it’s a moment you shouldn’t be a part of— even if you’re not quite sure what it all means exactly—, so you decide to shuffle down the entrance hall after putting your own shoes on the mat besides Soonyoung’s.

The house seems to be set up in the exact same way as your own, with the living room to the right of the entrance hall. When you peer inside, you find a comfortable, welcoming room full of personal touches of the pair— including a large photo of the two of them on one wall, both looking so happy and in love as they beam at one another—, yet no Bunny. You venture further down the hall to the back of the house and find her in the kitchen, fiddling with a handheld mixer she seems to be in the process of fixing at the table.

“Hi,” you greet as you approach, making her look up and smile brightly at you.

“Hey,” she replies, lifting one hand to wave, screwdriver within wiggling in the air, before she lowers it again. “Sorry, just give me a minute to finish this, then I’ll be a good host.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind you just being normal and relaxed; I don’t expect anything,” you assure, and sit with her at the table to watch intrigued as she works. “I honestly didn’t even know hand mixers can be fixed at home.”

“Hannie makes me fix everything for everyone in the village. I think he mostly just likes watching me work more than anything,” she muses with a pleased little smile. “I didn’t know how to fix any appliances until we moved here; I was just a mechanic before, so I had to learn a lot, and still am. But I haven’t found out how to say no to him yet. Not that I want to.”

“You really love him,” you comment, amused, but also already endeared with the pair and the love they don’t try to hide for one another.

“With everything in me. I’d do anything for him,” Bunny says, looking more serious than you’ve seen her so far. There’s something in her eyes that makes you think that maybe, she and Soonyoung are more similar than you previously assumed.

“How’s it coming along?” Jeonghan asks as he and Soonyoung enter the kitchen and head right over to the table. Soonyoung takes the seat at your side, resting his arm casually on the back of your chair, while Jeonghan stands on Bunny’s right and naturally puts a hand on the back of her neck, thumb soothing over her skin thoughtlessly.

“I think I’ve almost got it,” Bunny answers, preening when Jeonghan’s fingers squeeze ever so slightly in an approving gesture, a soft smile on his features.

“Well done, darling. Now,” He looks at you and Soonyoung. “Let me get you both a drink. What would you like? We have beer, wine, juice, water, and probably other things too, I just can’t remember right this second.”

“A beer would be great, thanks, Jeonghan,” Soonyoung replies with a grin.

“Only one,” you warn Soonyoung, making him pout. “You’re a lightweight, Soonie, I’m not carrying you home later.”

“Fine,” he concedes with a sigh. “I’ll improve my tolerance now I have the chance!” he decides. “We’ll have boys’ nights with beer involved, right, Jeonghan?” he asks, looking at the standing male with round, puppy-dog eyes.

Evidently, you’re not the only person weak for them, as Jeonghan visibly melts and nods with a sweet, obliging smile, making Soonyoung let out a happy noise. “And what about you, Myla? What would you like to drink?”

“I’m good with anything, thank you,” you reply.

“Beers all round!” Jeonghan decides, then turns to wander off to one of two fridges standing tall in the kitchen.

“Babe,” Soonyoung murmurs, tapping your shoulder with the hand still behind you, so you look at him questioningly. He nods towards your chest, making you look down and realise that you’re still holding the bouquet.

“Oh!” You shuffle to lift the flowers up. “Uhm, we got these for you both,” you announce, making the couple look at you curiously. The way both of their expressions turn soft at the sight of the flowers, and their lips turn up into matching little smiles, makes you feel shy all of a sudden, unused to such sweet expressions turned on you.

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you,” Bunny says. “Angel, can you find a vase out while you’re up?”

“Of course,” Jeonghan agrees easily, already lowering and vanishing behind the kitchen island— you assume to open the cupboard where they must keep their vases. “Which one, darling; the white or clear one?”

“Mm, I think the clear one,” Bunny replies after thoughtfully eyeing the bouquet you hold, her hands still holding tools and the in-pieces mixer.

“Do we have a vase?” Soonyoung asks, looking at Bunny, who shakes her head. “We’ll have to get one,” he decides as he looks at you. “You used to love when I bought you flowers, and the ones here are so much fresher than the city we lived.”

“They are, it was hard to pick, even if the selection wasn’t as broad as back home… There, back there,” you respond, correcting yourself after remembering that the city is no longer your home, nor will it ever be again.

“If you like flowers, you’ll love the meadow at the top of the hill,” Jeonghan says as he approaches, and accepts the bouquet when you lift it in offer. “More wildflowers than I’ve ever seen, and the locals have looked after it well for decades now, including planting a bunch of stuff. There’s even some fruit growing up there, and we’re all free to pick it.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely,” you reply, lips curling up at the thought. “Do you bake with the fruit?” you question, glancing at the mixer shortly.

“Neither of us know how to bake,” Bunny answers as Jeonghan returns to the island to work on carefully arranging the bouquet in the simple glass vase.

“How did your mixer break if you don’t bake?” you wonder, utterly bewildered.

“Oh, it’s not ours. It’s one of the locals’.” She shrugs, and motions vaguely to Jeonghan, referring back to her earlier words about Jeonghan ‘making’ her fix everything for everyone. You just nod in understanding with a little hum; Soonyoung gives the pair of you a questioning look but doesn’t ask what the silent exchange means.

Not long later, Bunny is finished with the mixer and has tidied up everything, just in time to help Jeonghan cook up a truly delicious smelling dinner. You have no idea what they’re cooking, but you’re excited to try it, and have full intention of asking for the recipe afterwards.

You even offer to help cook, but the couple adamantly refuse on grounds of you being their guest and tell you to stay at the table with Soonyoung. Though, even with the pair across the kitchen, conversation between the four of you doesn’t stop without the need for any of you to raise your voices, even with music softly playing in the background from a source you haven’t yet noticed— not that you’ve tried to.

You’re pleasantly surprised by how easy the pair are to get along with; how natural it feels to be in their home and talk and laugh together. It’s more than you expected to have in your new life; someone other than Soonyoung to be at ease around, and now you have two.

Even once all four seats at the table are full and you’re all enjoying the truly delicious meal, conversation ebbs and flows naturally with no awkward pauses. You’re already looking forward to the next time the four of you hang out and tonight hasn’t even ended yet. Honestly, you don’t think you even felt this way about spending time with your friends back in the city, and it makes you wonder if you were ever as close and content with them as you believed.

“Are there any jobs going around here?” you wonder when plates are empty yet still on the table as the four of you just relax in your seats with your drinks— fresh beers for all but Soonyoung, who keeps pouting into his glass of water— as you let your food go down comfortably.

“You’re not getting a job,” Soonyoung complains, pouting at you. “I said I’m going to look after you. You can do other things, just let me earn the money. I made you lose all of your hard-earned savings, so I need to at least pay that back before you earn a single penny.”

“I’m not used to not working, I’ll go crazy,” you reply, features twisting a little with the thought of having nothing to do all day until Soonyoung returns from work to entertain you. There isn’t even a TV in your house, or computer, and you’re not sure if there’s even any good internet service out here, honestly, so you couldn’t stream any shows or movies even if you did have a device to watch them on.

“Don’t you have any hobbies?” Bunny questions, tilting her head a little.

“She worked all the time,” Soonyoung answers in your place, with a dramatic groan. “I always tried to convince her to work less and take time to look after herself, but she didn’t listen.”

“Considering what your job was, Kwon Soonyoung, you were never in any position to tell anyone to look after themself,” you remind firmly.

“Ha, she’s got you there,” Bunny sniggers. “You were the best and the most fearless; you were always in stupid situations nobody else would brave.”

“That’s because he’s a fucking idiot,” you grumble, and she nods in agreement while Soonyoung whines and pouts at your side. “So, jobs?”

“Hobbies,” Soonyoung immediately corrects, getting over his sulking at being insulted to instead return to his insistence that he’ll provide for the two of you.

“Do you like fishing?” Jeonghan questions, and you shake your head, making him pout a little. “I was going to say you can come out on the boat with me whenever you want. Weather permitting, I’m out every morning.”

“Oh, you have a fishing boat?” Soonyoung asks, leaning forward with big eyes sparkling with innocent intrigue.

“I do! My pride and joy,” Jeonghan coos, and tilts aside to lean his head on his wife’s shoulder. “My darling fixed her up for me in our first months here and keeps her in sea-safe condition.”

“I’ve always wanted to try fishing,” Soonyoung says honestly.

You can’t help but give him a surprised little look; you really thought you knew everything about Soonyoung. He’s never been shy about sharing his thoughts and feelings with you, and once you learned that he was an assassin, it seemed like there wasn’t a secret left in his heart around you. Then again, you never knew Bunny existed until today, and the pair seem really close, so you shouldn’t be surprised that there’s more he’s kept from you.

“Really?” Jeonghan asks with an excited little gasp as he sits up straighter. As soon as Soonyoung nods in confirmation, Jeonghan beams and leans forward, closer to Soonyoung, even if the two men are sitting diagonally to one another. “I’d love to have a helper come out with me!” he enthuses; Soonyoung is already lighting up with his own excitement. “You don’t get seasick, I assume?”

“Nope, even in storms, I’m good,” Soonyoung assures, which just makes you wonder when he’s been on a boat in a storm, but you quickly push it aside and decide not to worry about what Hoshi got up to in the past, it doesn’t matter anymore.

“Great! Though I do,” Jeonghan admits, and you notice Bunny sigh softly, looking like she really doesn’t like that her prone to sea-sickness husband insists on going out on a fishing boat every single morning, but she won’t try to stop him. Maybe she once did but eventually relented, though something in you says that she never even tried to argue in the first place. “So, you can drive to the fishing spots and let me rest so that I can fish quicker once we’re still. I usually have to spend half an hour just sitting until the nausea and dizziness goes, but if you’re driving, I can sit the whole time and won’t feel as bad!”

“Sure! I haven’t driven a boat in a while, but I’m sure I can handle it.”

“You can drive a boat?” you mumble in surprise. Soonyoung just looks at you and nods, eyes still sparkling with the thought of going out fishing. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, I guess it never came up,” he reasons with a shrug. “I didn’t purposely hide it from you; I promise I only do that with good reason.”

“Now I’m wondering what you’ve purposely hid from me.”

“Uh…Injuries mostly,” he admits. “Though you usually figure those out when you see me, so I’ve said I’ve been away for work when I’ve been recovering from bad injury, so you didn’t see and worry.”

“As opposed for vanishing for months at a time on a fake job?” you deadpan.

“Yeah?” his voice tilts up, knowing by your reaction that he did wrong there, but he doesn’t quite understand how and is no longer confident in his own response.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“You’ve said,” he replies with a nod, not at all offended. You just hum and face the couple opposite you again; they’re both watching amused. “Can I really go fishing with you?” Soonyoung asks Jeonghan, eagerly returning to the conversation.

“Of course! I’d love to have company! It’s early starts though, out before sunrise,” Jeonghan warns.

“I’m used to that.”

“Ah, right, of course.” Jeonghan nods a little and tucks his hair behind his ear out of his face when the strands dangle infront of his eye. “We’ll count tomorrow as a trial, to see if you really do want to take up fishing with me every morning, and if you do, we’ll discuss pay.”

“Pay?” Soonyoung asks, perking up. “As in a job?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Angel,” Bunny starts softly, making Jeonghan look at her. “You don’t even catch anything to sell, just bring home,” she reminds. Jeonghan says nothing, just continues to look at her; it’s only a few seconds of silent eye contact before Bunny visibly relents with a quick few nods. “You’re so right, you deserve to have someone to help you with all your work.”

Jeonghan immediately lights back up, beaming with so much joy that you truly don’t blame Bunny for caving so easily when this is her prize. He turns back around to look at Soonyoung again, immediately beginning to inform him of their plan for tomorrow and potential catches; while you and Bunny make short eye contact and share an amused, yet endeared, little smile for the genuine excitement shared between the two men.

Due to the men having such an early start, you and Soonyoung return home a little before 9pm, when Jeonghan’s starting to look sleepy enough to fall asleep on his wife’s shoulder despite still doing his best to be active in conversation.

Honestly, you’re pretty tired yourself. Weeks of travelling with your body and mind constantly on guard ready for any potential danger, will take more than just a single mid-afternoon nap to recover from. So, you’re happy to get an early night, and get the chance to rest as long as you want.

In complete contrast, you’re pretty sure that Soonyoung is fine to stay up for some more hours; he’s never needed much sleep. Or, at least, he’s been trained to function better on little sleep than a civilian could ever hope to. It’ll catch up to him eventually if he doesn’t get into good habits now, you’re certain of that, but you know it’ll also take him a while to get out of the habit of relying on the bare minimum to survive. You’ll try to get him into better habits soon enough, but for now, you’re too tired to even try, so you’ll leave him to look after himself.

“I’m going to get an early night,” you say when you’ve both removed your shoes and Soonyoung is already heading to the living room.

He stops at your words and turns to look at you. “Oh?”

“Mm, the past weeks have taken it out of me.”

“Ah, right, right. Sorry, kinda forgot about all that already,” he admits in a little mumble. “Not the whole ruining your life thing; I’ll always feel guilty as fuck about that. I just meant that it’s not normal for you. You…handled it a lot better than I expected, I won’t lie. You didn’t complain or ask to rest at all, even if you looked at me like you wanted to push me over the railing on like every boat we went on.”

“You noticed that then.”

“Wait! You really did?!” he squawks, eyes wide and arms flailing a little. “Babe! I was joking!”

“You ruined my life,” you remind flatly, and his arms drop down, face falling too.

“Yeah, I did. I know I can’t make it up to you, but I’m going to do everything I can to give you the best life here possible.”

“I know.” And you really do; you know Soonyoung will go above and beyond to make you happy, especially if he’s the reason you’re not in the first place.

Your confidence in your response, in him, makes Soonyoung’s gaze round out a little, his lips to turn up a little— adoring. “I’ll take the couch,” he says, not an offer but a statement; already decided, with nothing you can do or say to change his mind. Not that you plan to, you think he deserves to sleep on the couch and let you take the bed for what he’s done. Still, you appreciate it and give him a grateful little nod. “Sleep well, my love.”

You pause at the term you haven’t heard him call you in months, the truth to it, before you turn and leave with a simple “Good night, Soonyoung,” floating in the air behind you and the love in his eyes haunting your dreams.

There’s a lot to be said about Kwon Soonyoung, but that he doesn’t love you with everything in him, isn’t one of those things.

As it turns out, Soonyoung loves fishing.

From the very first morning, he returns home with bright eyes and a bounce in his step, excited to tell you about everything he caught, or failed to catch is more accurate. Apparently, neither Soonyoung nor Jeonghan are particularly skilled at fishing, but they don’t care. Jeonghan has always loved the calm he feels fishing, and Soonyoung quickly discovers he enjoys it too; it’s a huge contrast to the high energy life he’s lived for the past three decades with his work and training, so he really enjoys finally getting the chance to just exist without worries.

On that first morning, they catch nothing between them— mostly due to Jeonghan having to teach Soonyoung everything, and Soonyoung’s willingness to ask questions about it all, glad for Jeonghan’s endless patience— but the second morning, Soonyoung succeeds in his first ever catch, and you know that he’s found what he wants to spend the rest of his life doing.

Soonyoung may not be a great fishman yet— or potentially ever— but the thrill in his eyes, the content of his smile as he watches you eat the food he literally provided, is all you need to see to know he’ll go out every single day to bring home whatever he can, just to watch you eat well.

So, Soonyoung has a job pretty much from the first full day on the island; he gets up hours before you and is out until the sun is high in the sky, working as hard as he can while still taking advantage of the calm activity, and enjoying bonding with his new friend. You’re proud of him, in a way, for being so immediately successful and settled in this new life.

Yet, there’s a sour part in you that finds it so fucked that although this relocation and general ruining of your life— that you spent a decade on your own building in that city— is his fault entirely, he’s the one thriving while you’re utterly lost.

Admittedly, it takes you almost a week to recover physically from the past weeks, as now that you know you’re safe, your body decides to break down a little and force you to feel like you’ve gained the worst flu of your life. But thankfully, that passes with a few days of mostly sleeping it away and only getting up when you know Soonyoung will be home, so that you don’t worry him. You know that he’d refuse to go out on the boat if he knows you aren’t feeling good, so that he can look after you and nurse you back to health. But although you think it’s unfair that he’s so happy when you’re not, you never want to take that from him. You’re envious and hurting, not a selfish asshole.

Yet once you’re all better and have your energy back, you find yourself just sitting on the sofa and wondering what the fuck you’re supposed to do if you’re this lost after only a few days up on your feet.

So, although the house was spotless when you moved in— thanks to Bunny and Jeonghan—, and it hasn’t been long enough to get filthy, you scrub it from top to bottom. Just to give yourself something to do. But there’s little furniture or places for any dirt and dust to hide, so it doesn’t take more than two mornings to achieve.

Thankfully, once Soonyoung is back from work, he always hovers around you. Although it could easily be suffocating that he doesn’t seem to want to do anything but be wherever you are, doing whatever you’re doing, you’re honestly glad for his company. He’s always been good at entertaining you and distracting you without even realising it, so you ignore the ire and envy you feel towards him and just let him exist at your side like he did all those months back.

A part of you doesn’t want to admit how nice it is working side by side with Soonyoung again, cooking together, doing chores together, just being together. Of course, it’s not the together he wants, but he doesn’t push in any way and simply accepts whatever you give him with an eager smile on his face.

Still, as much as the afternoons and evenings are lovely— especially when the two of you meet with Bunny and Jeonghan—, the mornings kind of feel like personalised hell. You’re so fucking bored, you fear you might go insane and head back out on the run in the big wide world, just for something to do. Obviously, you don’t want to do that, but damn, you really don’t know what you’re supposed to do to pass the mornings.

It comes to you like some kind of weird epiphany when you’re sitting side by side with Jeonghan in the lounge at his house, both of you watching Bunny and Soonyoung argue over the rules of the obscure little board game the four of you are playing. Your eyes happen to catch on the large photo of the couple on the wall, then travel around, taking note of all the touches that make their house a home, not just a building.

Suddenly, you realise that although it’s been almost three weeks here, you haven’t even had the thought to change anything about your house, and Soonyoung— as everyone knows— is utterly hopeless at interior design, so you think he’s at home wherever he doesn’t have to look over his shoulder for a knife aimed at his back.

It’s still stuck in your head when you and Soonyoung return home and both settle on the sofa with the soothing tea blend he was gifted by the village shopkeeper last week— and immediately fell in love with upon trying it that night, so insists it’s now your shared nightly drink; not that you’ve once complained, it’s genuinely delicious.

“Soonie,” you start, and he hums questioningly in response. “I want to make this our home.”

“Uh…it already is,” he responds, giving you a puzzled look. “You feeling okay, baby? Did you drink too much wine?”

“What? Shut up, I’m not drunk,” you dismiss as you give him a bewildered, and offended, look upon turning your head to face him. “I know it’s technically our home for the rest of our lives, but it doesn’t feel that way. If we’re stuck here, I want it to feel like home, not just a forced situation. Does that make sense?”

“Oh…yeah, yeah, it does.” He nods and pauses to take a sip of his tea before speaking again. “So, what do we do?”

“You don’t need to do anything. I’d like to do it. I’m honestly losing my mind having nothing to do in the mornings, so having this as a project will help.”

“Ah, right.” He hums in understanding. “Okay, whatever you want, baby. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll get it for you.”

“I don’t know what things cost here,” you reason timidly.

He’s waving a dismissive hand before you’ve even finished your worry. “Don’t think about that; I’ll handle the cost. You just tell me what you need, and I’ll get it, okay?”

You stare at him for a moment in contemplation before nodding in agreement, a smile lifting you lips. “Okay, thank you, Soonie.”

“You’re welcome.”

Up until the last few weeks, you’ve never known just how much Soonyoung is a man of his word.

Of course, you’ve never doubted him about it before, because he’s never given you a reason to; he’s always stuck to his word or at least had a very good reason and a thorough apology if he couldn’t— always for reasons out of his own control. But in the past weeks, he’s really gone above and beyond to stick to his promise of getting you whatever the hell you want to make a real home out of your house.

Not once has Soonyoung told you that what you ask is out of his reach; even when it should reasonably be. Being on such a small island, there’s a lot that isn’t easily accessible for any of you, and the delivery boats only come over once a week, but somehow, Soonyoung always has whatever you ask for within a handful of days.

Admittedly, you have been a little worried that he’s been using his less than legal skills and knowledge to acquire your requested items, but all it takes is a smile and simple “it’s all legal, don’t worry, baby” from the man, and the possibility leaves your mind.

Thanks to Soonyoung’s endless commitment to making you happy, and all the ways he can get his way— which you don’t want to think about, especially after he went to help the village shopkeeper in a too small pair of shorts—, your home really starts to feel that way.

You’ve repainted the entire house, traded some decorative pieces with other villagers, bought new rugs and blankets, always have fresh flowers— that Soonyoung brings home— around the house, and have even started to think about what to do with the two empty rooms.

You did say to Soonyoung that he should have the spare bedroom, but he refused, saying that if any of the villagers see a new bed being delivered, they’ll know you two are sleeping separately and question your relationship. It makes sense, especially when your shared backstory includes having no friends or family beside Bunny and Jeonghan, meaning no potential visitors in need of a bed for the night; you can’t reasonably argue the logic, so Soonyoung still sleeps on the sofa every night and you both pretend the spare bedroom doesn’t exist.

The empty separate dining room, however, has stumped you. You really can’t figure out what to do with it. You even asked Bunny and Jeonghan, but they use theirs as an at home workshop for Bunny to fix smaller appliances— the bigger ones she fixes either at the client’s home, or at her garage on the village outskirts. They didn’t really have any suggestions either, seeing as neither you nor Soonyoung have any hobbies or interests that needs its own room, but promised to think about it.

Other than the two empty rooms, you feel like you’re doing a really good job with the house, and Soonyoung seems to feel the same way. Every time you change something, he always oohs and ahs about it when he sees the finished product— and often during the process if he manages to sneak a glimpse.

Sometimes, you think he’s just humouring you and doesn’t really care that you’ve found empty picture frames at the market that match the living room decor, which you hang despite having nothing to put in them yet— though you look out for prints to go in them every market. But you don’t really care that he’s faking his enthusiasm. And only a week later, you find a photo of the two of you in the biggest frame; you don’t even have it in you to ask where he got the photo from when you know it was taken over a year ago back in the city, but your chest fills with warmth every time you see it, so you don’t really care about the mystery either.

Before you know it, you’ve been living on the island for four months already, and although you’re not entirely fluent in the language yet, you can hold conversations well enough, and the villagers are all patient and kind with you.

You’re still not ready to forgive Soonyoung yet, but you find yourself waking less and less angry every single day. Some days, you even forget that this isn’t the life you always wanted, but only for a little while. Only until you remember that this isn’t something you chose but were forced into by your ex-assassin ex-boyfriend. And then that warmth growing in your chest gets doused with ice, and you’re left feeling confused and sore until the cycle repeats again.

Earlier this morning, Bunny arrived at your house and announced that the pair of you are going to go get a late breakfast in the only town on the island— though it’s still the tiniest town you’ve ever seen—, located in the very middle of the island less than half an hour drive away. Of course, you didn’t argue the announcement; you’re always happy to spend time with Bunny, and you don’t get much of a chance to do it without the guys due to how busy she usually is fixing everything in the village.

So, the two of you have spent the past hours in Centre Town— as it’s so creatively called—, with Bunny showing you all the best stores and spots to visit, after a homely breakfast at Jeonghan’s favourite café in the town. Bunny says she doesn’t have a personal favourite café in the town, but because it’s Jeonghan’s favourite, it’s also hers by default, and you’re once again reminded of how adorably whipped for the man she is.

In fact, at every chance, Bunny always mentions Jeonghan, reminded of him in the oddest moments; it’s something that used to annoy you with your old friends back in the city, but with Bunny and Jeonghan, it’s just so pure and genuine, that you don’t think you’ll ever get annoyed by it. It does, however, make you more curious than ever about their story. You’ve learned glimpses of it over the months, but you’ve never asked because it’s never really been on your mind before, but now it is, so, you ask.

“Bun?” you call a little after midday on the drive back to the North Village, where you know the two men will soon be finishing work and getting home, and Bunny never misses a chance to tuck Jeonghan in for his post-work nap.

“Yes, Lala?” she replies, using the nickname Jeonghan first came up with for you only two weeks into knowing them, but the pair have since adopted as your new name. In fact, most of the locals have even started to use it, and honestly, you don’t mind. You think you prefer it than everyone calling you Myla, the name that was borne of Soonyoung’s love for you; it doesn’t really feel right for others to use it.

“How did you and Hannie meet?”

“Oh.” She laughs softly, smiling as she recalls the memory and leaning her head on her fist, elbow on the open window frame and cool air gently blowing back the wisps of her hair that have fallen out of her lazy updo.

You have to admit, right now, she looks like the beautiful love interest out of some kind of indie LGBTQ+ movie about finding yourself on a summer road trip with your first gay love that was never meant to truly be. The thought almost makes you giggle to yourself; you know she’d find it funny too, but the two of you would get distracted from the topic by discussing your fake love story, and you’re genuinely interested in her real one, so you keep the thought to yourself.

“Well, you know, typical story. Girl is out on date with some guy, sees pretty boy struggling to get his car started in the restaurant parking lot while his own date watches and whines about it. Girl offers to help, pretty boy is reluctant as she’s on her own date, but girl insists, and sends their dates off together for hers to drive the pretty boy’s whiny date home and far away. Girl finds out what’s wrong with the car and offers to fix it at her garage. So, they exchange numbers, girl fixes pretty boy’s car and falls for his smile the second it lands on her,” Bunny explains, in probably a not very straight forward way, but you understand. Even if you didn’t, looking at the tender smile on her face, you think that you don’t really need to know their origin story to know the important part of their relationship.

“You two were made for each other,” you say.

“Yeah, I think so too,” she agrees, beaming big and dopily proud. “I know you’re not together, but I think you and Soonie are the same, you know?” You sigh and she makes an understanding sound. “He fucked up big time, but honestly, with how he was raised, I’m not at all surprised. He didn’t even have anything close to family until me, you know?”

“You?” you repeat, raising questioning eyebrows. “How did you two meet? I didn’t even know you exist until arriving here.”

“Ah yeah, well, it was drilled into us to not talk about other Company members since we joined. And by drilled, I mean that in the painfully tortured to learn how to not give up the information to enemies searching for it kinda way.”

“Wait, wait, hold on a second,” you rush out as you shuffle a little straighter in your seat. “Just to clarify, you’re telling me that you worked with Soonyoung?”

“Yeah. I thought that was obvious by now?”

“I mean, I suspected, but none of you confirmed it, so I didn’t want to assume.”

“Oh, right, yeah. Since we were kids, when the Company took me in; we were raised and trained together.”

“And to clarify, you were an assassin too?”

“Mm,” she confirms with a nod. “Though I was also one of the main mechanics and worked more as a getaway driver. But I was also sent on those kinds of jobs too if it suited my skillset. But Hosh…he really was the best of us all.”

“Right,” you mumble, gaze sliding aside to stare unseeing out of your window as you think about it all. After a few thoughtful moments, you look at her again; she looks entirely at ease, so you know she doesn’t mind the topic. “What happened to you?” She gives you a bewildered look. “You’re here now, have been for over five years.”

“Oh, right.” She nods understandingly, eyes back on the empty road ahead calmly. “I left.”

“What?” you whisper in shock. “Left? Just–just like that?”

“Mm, basically. A few months into knowing Jeonghan, I knew I could never live a normal, happy life with him, so I quit and asked him to run away with me, to where my past wouldn’t ever catch up with us. And here we are. Well, Soon’s here too now, but he’s like a brother to me, the only family I have beside Jeonghan, so I’m glad he’s here and didn’t stay behind much longer.”

“I didn’t know giving it up was an option,” you admit quietly a few seconds later, after you’ve registered her words and what they truly mean.

“For people like Soon and I, they don’t have an option,” she retorts, sounding oddly cocky even with the little snort she lets out with her amusement.

“What does that mean?”

“Well, I knew, and still know, so much about the Company that they can’t touch me.” She shrugs, as if it’s as simple as that, as if she really has too much knowledge and material on this Company for them to deem it a smart move to send someone after her.

“And Soonie?”

“He’s Hoshi; everyone’s too scared to even try to kill him.”

“Really?”

She nods. “Yep. They know that if they fail to do it in one blow, he’ll make them regret their entire existence.”

By now, the village is coming into view, and you know that you don’t have much longer to talk to Bunny, because she’ll be off to her husband as soon as she’s parked the car. Your mind is reeling with everything she’s said, but you know there’s something you need the answer to; something you didn’t even know was a question in your mind until now.

“Does that mean he could’ve left at any point, and nobody would’ve gone after him?” You have a feeling you already know the answer, and that you don’t truly want to hear the words, but now that it’s on your mind, you have to ask; you have to know.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Bunny confirms, too distracted driving through the village and determinedly towards the hill to be as attuned to you as she usually is; too distracted to realise that you’re already hurting and her words only make it worse. You don’t want her to stop, not at all, but part of you wishes she’d at least soften the blow instead of being so nonchalant about it. “I mean, they would’ve tried to get him to stay, of course; Hoshi really was the best. But at the end of the day, he’s feared for a reason. He could’ve left if he really wanted to.”

It’s what you knew she would say. It’s what you feared she would say. It’s what you wish she wouldn’t say. But you know it’s the truth.

Ever since Bunny spoke those words earlier, it’s all you’ve been able to think about. Although you tried to push it aside, tried to focus on finding homes for the new knickknacks you bought in town, tried to focus on reading your new book by Soonyoung’s side on the sofa, tried to focus on cooking and eating dinner by his side like you do every night, you can’t.

“Everything okay, baby?” Soonyoung asks when you’re both back on the sofa, usual cups of soothing tea in hands for your nightly routine, and your eyes doing nothing but staring off unseeing, mind lost elsewhere.

“Hm?” you reply, forcing your eyes to focus and find him on your left, to find his concerned frown already locked on you. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you’re okay; you’ve been spacey all day.”

“Oh.” You lower your gaze to stare into your mug for a few moments as you contemplate if you really want to confront him about this or just try harder to let it go. It doesn’t take long for you to admit to yourself that you won’t ever be able to let it go, that you care too much to do that. “Did you really mean it when you said you loved me?”

Soonyoung is silent for long enough that you can’t help but lift your head to look at him, only to find him looking at you as if he doesn’t even recognise you. “What did you just ask me?” he whispers incredulously.

“If you really did love me when we were together.”

“What the fuck?!” he sputters and quickly puts his mug on the coffee table, along with your own so that he can take your hands into his and hold them securely. “Of course I meant it! Why are you even asking that, baby? What did I do to make you question my love for you?”

“You chose Hoshi over me.”

“What?” His eyebrows furrow as he frowns. “No, I didn’t. It’s not like that at all.”

“Bunny told me you could’ve left,” you inform. His grip loosens on yours a little. “She left it all behind for Jeonghan; because she loves him and wants a life with him, a future. If you wanted that with me, why didn’t you do the same?”

In all the ways Soonyoung could’ve responded, all you expected him to say and do, you didn’t imagine the lack of response, never thought he would have nothing to say, no argument to explain his past choices. It’s all the answer you need.

“Right,” you mutter and pull your hands away to get up and go to bed without another word. Soonyoung doesn’t try to stop you.

Strangely enough, during the days after the revelation, Soonyoung looks as if he feels guiltier than he did when he was leading you across the globe. And unlike those weeks, he doesn’t try to apologise, doesn’t try to talk to you and earn your forgiveness. He gets up hours before you every morning to go to work like usual, comes home to shower and change like usual, then does his own thing away from you.

It’s weird not having him following you around or using your lap as his favourite headrest on the sofa. He doesn’t even join you in the lounge like normal, and you don’t try to get him to. You’re too hurt by what you’ve learned; that Soonyoung never deemed his love for you enough to leave the assassin life behind. That he couldn’t pick a future with you over killing.

Okay, you’re aware that you’ve very likely grossly oversimplifying it, but that’s truly what it feels like. Without him saying a word about it, what else are you supposed to assume? You’ve barely exchanged a handful of sentences since that night, and none of them have been related in any way, so as far as you’re concerned, there’s nothing more to be said about it.

It hurts, but you think that this might actually be the reason you walk away from the man. You don’t know if it’s possible, if there’s even somewhere else for you to go, because you know you can’t live anywhere else unless you want to be held accountable for the corpses Soonyoung created in the city in his fucked-up method of protecting you. And even if you could find another place, you’ve put too much work into making this house your home that it’d be painful to leave it. But you suppose, not as painful as living in the home you made with the man who never loved you enough to walk away from his dark past.

You feel kind of stuck, not sure what to do, how to move forward now. You know you’re unable to forget about it, to look at Soonyoung and not think about it, so you know you have to do something. Yet, you know that the only something you can really do is turn your back on him, but at this point, he’s such a huge part of your life, that you think that a part of you would be left behind with him, and you’re not sure you could ever fill that gap again. Not now.

It’s really not intentional, but you retreat into yourself in the following days, too caught in your own mind to be your normal self. You’re really not up for even leaving the house, so when Soonyoung knocks on your bedroom door to ask if you’re ready to go to Bunny and Jeonghan’s house for the weekly dinner and games night, you say you’re not going. You’re not sure if it makes your heart hurt more that he doesn’t even try to convince you, just reminds you to get dinner, then heads off, leaving you feeling more alone than you’ve felt in a long time.

Though, not even half an hour later, you hear the front door open, and movement downstairs. You really can’t imagine it’s Soonyoung back already, you’re pretty sure he would’ve called up the stairs to let you know he’s back, but you also can’t imagine any of the locals entering your home without permission, even if the door is always locked. It’s safe here, everyone knows each other and looks out for one another.

Yet now, someone is in your house, and you find yourself wishing you accepted Soonyoung’s offer months ago to teach you how to fight past basic self-defence. 

Just when you gather the courage to get out of bed with the intention of going downstairs to confront whoever broke into your home, you hear footsteps ascending the stairs, and you freeze with one foot on the carpet, the other still on the mattress.

It’s only seconds, but you feel like it drags on for hours until the steps stop outside of your bedroom door, and your heart jumps into your throat.

There’s a knock, and to your immense relief, a familiar voice calls through the wood, “Lala, are you awake?”

“Hannie?” you choke out, chest heaving as your lungs rush to fill, and you drop heavily onto your bed to try and tame the shaking of your body as the fear and adrenaline leaves.

“Mm, can I come in?” Shakily, you respond in consent, and then the door opens and Jeonghan appears with his usual gentle smile. Though upon spotting the way you’re trembling, his smile vanishes for concern to take its place, and he rushes over. “Oh, Lala, what’s wrong? Are you ill?”

“No,” you answer, shaking your head and letting him clutch your hands in his as he sits close to your side, thumbs stroking comfortingly over your knuckles. “I–I didn’t know it was you,” you admit.

“Who did you think it was?” His voice is a low murmur, something like fear creeping in. “Has… has someone said something to you? Threatened you? Made you think they’d hurt you?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” you assure, squeezing his hands. “Just general fear of a person raised somewhere you could never dream of leaving your front door unlocked, or walk the streets alone at night, even the day sometimes.”

“Ah, right, I see. I’m sorry for scaring you; I didn’t even consider you would be scared. I guess I’ve kind of forgotten that fear now.”

“That’s good, I’m glad you have. I hope I do too one day.”

“Me too, nobody should have to feel like this, especially in their own home.” You just hum and nod in agreement. “I brought dinner over, I had a feeling you won’t feel up to making anything, and I think, if anyone understands how you feel right now, it’s me.” You give him a questioning look that he smiles softly at. “Let’s go downstairs, and we can talk about it all over dinner, okay, sweetheart?”

“Okay,” you agree quietly, and let him help you up. He keeps one of your still slightly shaking hands in his all the way downstairs into the kitchen, until you’re sitting down in one of the already set places. He sits opposite you and waits for you to have a drink and start to eat before he lifts his own fork.

For a little while, neither of you say a word, though it’s not awkward or tense, it’s still as calm and comfortable as it always is around Jeonghan. You used to be worried that maybe you wouldn’t get particularly close to Jeonghan due to only really seeing him when Bunny or Soonyoung are around, but he quickly proved you wrong, and makes sure the two of you spend time together alone too. Although he’s obviously closer to Soonyoung due to working with him every morning, you think there’s a special kind of bond with Jeonghan that neither Soonyoung nor Bunny can ever understand. A bond only those with an ex-assassin partner can understand. Or ex-partner, in your case.

“Soonie told us everything,” Jeonghan says when over half of your meals are gone. You lift your gaze to look at him but don’t say a word, waiting for him to continue. “Actually, he told me the next morning. He wasn’t acting like himself, so I asked what was wrong, and he told me the general gist of it yet asked me to not say anything to Bunny, because he knew she’d feel guilty about getting the thought in your head.”

You hum to show that you’re listening and understanding everything; that you agree that Bunny would feel bad about it, knowing that her offhanded words have caused an issue between you and Soonyoung. But you don’t blame her, and you know Soonyoung doesn’t either, though convincing Bunny of that is another matter entirely.

“But when Soonyoung turned up without you tonight, my Bunny couldn’t ignore it, or that there’s obviously something going on with you two, so she made Soonie tell her. Last I saw, she was yelling at him for being an idiot,” he muses.

“Last you saw?”

“Mm, yeah, I was already packing up dinner to come here when Soonie started to explain and left just in time for the yelling to start.”

“Ah, right.” You nod and turn your gaze back onto your plate as you push your food around with your fork.

“Did you know that Bunny wasn’t born into the life they lived?” he questions, making you look at him again, confused about the sudden topic change, but willing to go along with it.

“She said they met as kids, but I didn’t know what that really meant; if she was just with another company before there or something.”

“No. She had a family.” Your eyes widen a little and you straighten up, shocked by the information and wanting to learn more. “She was a normal enough kid, though extremely gifted with mechanics and engineering. All that just kind of makes sense to her in a way I, and most people, can’t wrap our heads around.”

“Yeah, she’s really smart.”

“She is,” he agrees, smiling all softly smitten and proud of his wife. It makes your lips turn up into the first hint of a smile that has graced your features in days now.

“What happened to her family?” you wonder, knowing that something had to have gone tragically wrong for Bunny to end up being trained to be as an assassin as a child.

“They were killed. Turns out, her dad was the son of some big scary gang leader and ran away from it all; and was finally found. His wife was killed first, a few days before Bunny was left with her dad’s friend after making him promise to look after her, and then her dad was found dead that same evening.”

“She remembers all this?”

“Sort of,” he confirms with a little nod. “She has glimpses of it, but she was only nine and it was a traumatic time, so she blocked most of it out and never wanted to try to remember that time. I don’t blame her at all; I wouldn’t want to remember if I were her either.” You hum in agreement. “Anyway, it turns out that the man she was left with works for the Company to train new recruits. He usually worked with adults, but he figured he might as well put Bunny to the test. Of course, she didn’t know the first thing about fighting, but she was stronger than the average nine-year-old due to moving around heavy parts and tools so much, so he saw the potential. He only had her for a few months to get her good enough to be accepted, then sent her to the Company, and Bunny’s records were adjusted to say she died with her dad that day; some kind of murder suicide when he couldn’t face living without his wife anymore.”

“That’s…severely fucked up.”

Jeonghan lets out a laugh. “It is,” he agrees. “But there’s a point to telling you her backstory.”

“There is?”

“Mm.” He nods and has a quick drink before responding. “Bunny knows what it’s like to be loved; to have a family. Soonyoung doesn’t. He was taken in from an orphanage before he could even hold his head up. He was raised by people only interested in creating a weapon, not loving a little boy.” Jeonghan takes a moment to frown off to the side before looking back at you, lifting his lips a little again upon spotting your own frown. “He didn’t know what it means to care and be cared for until Bunny arrived when he was seven, and he finally had a friend. She stood up for him when he was pushed too hard or punished for things out of his control; he was their golden child even then, so he was always held to a standard his little body and mind couldn’t live up to at that point. And the worst part is that he thought it was normal, never fought back because he didn’t know any better. Bunny had to teach him how to just… be a human.”

“I think part of me knew that,” you confess quietly. “He’s…not actually the most adept in ways a kid raised with love and morals should be.”

“He tries.”

“He does,” you confirm without hesitation; you’ve never doubted that about Soonyoung at all. Even when he does the most fucked up stuff, you know he tries to be better; he just needs more time to learn how.

“Which leads us to the issue at hand.” You give him a questioning look. “Bunny did once know a family, a life outside of all of that; she knew better; she knew what love was and that what they did was morally fucked up. She spent nine years in the real world, so she knew what it was like, and due to being a mechanic she’s always had the skills to build a civilian life if she wanted to.”

“And she did, because of you.”

“Yes, exactly.” He nods. “But Soonyoung has only ever known that life. He’s had glimpses of the real world on jobs or when with you, but he…he’s never lived it, not really. He’s killed so many people, has so much blood on his hands and conscience, that he probably never imagined anything else for himself. He probably never thought he deserved anything more, not with the unforgivable acts he’s committed on another’s order.” Jeonghan reaches over the table to hold your hand where it lays limp on the tabletop. “I think that the only way he was ever going to get out of it was this way; to protect the only person he’s ever loved.”

“But…Bunny is his family,” you try to reason quietly. There’s no strength to your voice, it’s all being used up on processing Jeonghan’s words, his explanation to why Soonyoung didn’t put his love for you over his life as Hoshi.

“She is, and he loves her like a sister, but she’s not the woman he wants a life with. Bunny asked him to leave with us five years ago, but he refused, even knowing they may never see each other again. It hurt him to do it, but he didn’t know anything else; had nothing to offer the world in return for letting him live a life away from it all. But to protect you, Lala, he’d do anything, no matter what the world has to say about it.”

Jeonghan leaves not long after cleaning up from dinner; he can tell you have a lot on your mind and need time to process, and you’re grateful for that. Though it doesn’t mean you manage to straighten your thoughts at all.

When Soonyoung gets home a little before 9pm, you’re still laid on your bed wide awake and staring up at the ceiling. Though when he comes up to check on you after you don’t answer when he calls up the stairs to say he’s home, you quickly roll over and pretend to be asleep.

Your heart aches at the gentle way he adjusts the duvet around you and presses a kiss to your hairline. The “I love you” he whispers against your skin almost makes you break, but he doesn’t linger, and soon, you’re left alone with nothing but your thoughts whirling in your mind and tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks.

For the first time in all the months you’ve lived on the island, you’re awake before Soonyoung. Though, that’s not surprising when you failed to get to sleep last night, mind too busy going over everything Jeonghan said to you; everything you know about Soonyoung and his actions and words towards you.

You know he loves you, you don’t think you’ve ever truly doubted that, despite what the past week suggests. But for a moment, you let a little doubt of his devotion to you in, and it festered into something so painful that you felt you might break in two. You have never doubted Soonyoung’s intentions towards you before this past week, and you never want to again; it really felt like everything you knew about the world was utterly wrong.

It’s taken until now for you to realise just how much you believe in Soonyoung’s love for you, how much you trust him, even knowing all you do about him. You know he’d never intentionally do a thing to hurt you, so he must have a genuine reason for remaining as Hoshi and not asking you to run away with him until the day came he had no choice but to make that move.

When that thought finally settles, finally makes a home in your mind, and refuses to budge, you know that you can’t avoid Soonyoung, or the subject, anymore.

You know it’s too early to have any type of meaningful conversation, Soonyoung won’t be alert enough yet— not when there’s no danger—, and you have been awake for too long to trust that you’ll make sense, so you’ll have the conversation later. But, for now, you can still make the first step.

When Soonyoung stumbles into the kitchen wearing only his boxers, eyes barely open, and hair a mess on his head, you’re momentarily stunned. You had genuinely forgotten that he sleeps in his boxers, and also how good he looks in so little clothing.

Even now, months out of his past life, Soonyoung keeps himself in great physical condition, partly out of habit, and partly because he likes feeling and looking so good. His muscles have always been practical, have never just been for show, but they’ve changed slightly in the time since you last saw so much of him. Before, he was more compact, strong, yet still lithe, and focused on speed and flexibility for the sake of his work. Yet now, Soonyoung doesn’t need to be fast or flexible for his job, just strong enough to lug around equipment and reel in thrashing fish; and the change in job has really shown in the ways his biceps and shoulders have grown bigger, stronger. Even his thighs are bigger— and they’ve always been strong enough to make you feel weak kneed— to support the strength and stamina he now needs.

For a few long moments, you just gawk at Soonyoung, unable to stop yourself checking him out in the utmost appreciation. But the moment he freezes upon realising that he’s not alone for the first time in the morning, your focus returns and you wave a little in greeting before getting back to making breakfast.

“Uhm…you’re up early,” he comments, moving closer to stand around the other side of the counter to you, hands holding onto the edge and blinking rapidly at you as he tries to force himself to wake quicker, become more alert.

“Mm, do you want to go get dressed while I finish getting breakfast ready? It won’t be long.”

“Oh, right, I’m naked,” he comments a little dumbly as he looks down at himself. You also take the opportunity for one final look. “Sorry, didn’t expect you to be here.”

“It’s okay,” you assure, trying to be as casual as you can when you want to insist that he can wear even less more often if he really wants to. But that really isn’t wise to say, or act on, so you keep your libido under check to not risk ruining things.

“Uhm…okay…be right back,” he decides, and though you’re not looking at him anymore, you can feel his stumped expression aimed at you, before he turns and rushes back to the living room to get dressed into the clothes he picks out of the basket of clean laundry he’s kept in there this past week. Usually, all of his clothes are put away neatly in the bedroom along with your own— mostly in case any locals visit, notice them elsewhere, and question why they’re not in your shared bedroom— but the past week, you’ve barely left the bedroom, and he hasn’t wanted to disturb you, so he’s kept his freshly washed clothes downstairs with him for ease of access.

While Soonyoung is gone, you take a quick break from cooking to splash your face with cold water at the kitchen sink and then get back to it before he can return and question what the hell you’re doing. He doesn’t notice anything amiss when he steps back into the kitchen, and you’re very glad about that.

It’s the first meal you’ve shared in a week, and it’s the tensest the two of you have ever been. Soonyoung, although he usually devours anything you cook for him, chews slowly, and mostly just picks and pokes at his food. You’re not doing any better.

With a sigh, you put down your fork and look at him, making him look at you with slightly widened eyes, stopping mid chew, and almost freezing. “We… Did Jeonghan tell you what he and I talked about last night?”

“No,” he replies after forcing himself to swallow, probably too soon based on the way he winces then immediately grabs his glass to soothe his throat with his morning glass of cool milk once he’s done talking. “But I’m guessing it was about us.”

“It was,” you confirm with a few light nods. “He said some things that made me think about it from your perspective, and I think I might understand you better now, but I’d like to hear it from you, if you’re willing.”

Immediately, Soonyoung straightens up from his position hunched over his plate, nodding madly and eyes growing eager. “Yes, yes, of course. I hate that we’re like this, so I want to fix it.”

“Yeah, me too,” you admit quietly, picking your fork back up. “We’ll talk about it tonight, yeah?”

“Hannie won’t mind if I don’t go in today, not if it’s for our sake.”

“I know, but I haven’t slept, so I need to do that so that my mind is less all over the place for this conversation.”

“Oh, oh, right, yeah, I get it.” He nods. “Please go right back to bed after breakfast.”

“I will, it’s hitting me now that I know you’re willing to talk about it.”

“I’m always willing, I just… didn’t know how to say any of it the other day. Bunny helped me straighten it all out in my head last night.”

“Heard she yelled at you.”

“She did,” he confirms with a pout, whining a little. “I deserved it, but I still don’t like it when she does that.”

“She’s your sister, she just cares and wants the best for you.”

It takes Soonyoung a few seconds of just staring at you and blinking a little too much to be normal before his lips curl up into a little smile that looks so innocently happy that you can’t help but smile to yourself as he looks down at his plate. “Yeah, she is. She’s my sister.” He fills his fork and shoves it into his mouth to eat as enthusiastically as normal, with a smile turning his lips up the whole time.

Although you’re awake and fully mentally present when Soonyoung returns from work a little after midday, you don’t start the conversation yet, and neither does he; he goes right up to shower and gets into fresh clothes like normal, and you continue scrubbing the kitchen floor.

Even when Soonyoung is back downstairs, neither of you bring it up. He just refills your empty glass, gets himself a drink, and then kneels on the floor a little away from you to get started scrubbing that patch of tiles.

It’s the first time in a week that you’ve been around each other without any kind of tension between you; you had really missed it. Existing at Soonyoung’s side has always felt so normal and natural, especially the past months, that you really felt lost without him there. Though you know it was your own choice to take the time apart, you still didn’t like it and are beyond glad to have him back.

All the way until dinner, the pair of you just exist like normal; working side by side to tackle chores he hasn’t been able to handle alone, making plans to change the details of your home that aren’t quite homely enough yet, and cooking dinner.

It’s only when you’re both most of the way through eating and Soonyoung is done retelling his work week in depth— something he usually tells you about every day, but of course, hasn’t had the chance so he’s making up for the missed days, and you really don’t mind at all— that, finally, the moment comes.

“So…” he starts, turning his fork in his fingers a little awkwardly. “What–what did Hannie say, exactly?”

You take a moment to make sure the words are right in your head before you put down your cutlery to give him your full focus. Soonyoung immediately copies, wanting to show you that he’s listening and taking this seriously; he doesn’t need to say the words for you to know as much, it’s clear in the earnest gaze locked on you.

“That you never knew anything but that life. Even when you were with me, or out in the world, you were never fully there. You didn’t know anything more, and…didn’t think you deserved more than you had.” Soonyoung doesn’t say anything, but he does nod a little, silently confirming the words, and making your heart ache something awful. It takes you a few seconds to fight past the sudden lump trying to rise in your throat. “That you couldn’t imagine being able to live a normal life, because your skills were related to killing; nothing you can make a living with.”

“He’s right,” he confirms, tone a little bruised around the edges. “I’ve done so much bad shit, like fucking unforgiveable stuff, things I never want to tell you because I never want you to have that image of me in your head. I won’t deny it at all; it’s a source of fucked up pride for me that I was the best; that nobody would take up a hit on me because they were too scared they would fail and they’d then have to face being on my list. Hoshi…he doesn’t deserve happiness; he should have to pay for all he’s done.”

“Soon…” You reach out to him, but he doesn’t let you take his hands even if he clearly wants to.

“I know, I know you don’t see me as him, but I am,” he reminds. “And Hoshi doesn’t deserve this life, can’t function in this world. He doesn’t deserve you, my love, but because of you, I want to try to live in this world. I just couldn’t see a way out of it, not without putting you at risk.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” Finally, he leans forward across the table just enough that he can curl his fingers around yours and hold on as if your touch is the only thing that can tether him right now. There’s a pain in his eyes that makes you hold tighter, lean closer; keep him as close to solid ground as you can with a table between you. “They can’t touch me, I know that. But you…I knew if I left, they wouldn’t be happy and they’d get back at me by going after you.”

“Oh…”

“I never want to be the reason you’re in danger, and I hate myself that I couldn’t keep you safe.”

“What?” you frown, tugging his hands sternly so that he’ll pay attention to you and the words you’re about to say. “Are you a fucking idiot, Kwon Soonyoung?”

“I mean…sometimes, yeah,” he replies so innocently honest that you can’t help but laugh. The confused furrow of his brow and the sad drag of his features simply melts away at your laughter. His posture straightens and his eyes light up, lips curling without thought as he admires the smile on your face. “God, you’re beautiful,” he exhales heavily, so full of his affection and awe of you that he is unable to stop it filling his chest and spilling from his mouth.

“Ah, shut up,” you argue, cheeks flushing with the sudden compliment, and one hand lifting to cover your face. “Don’t change the subject.”

“I didn’t!” he insists, and when you peer over your fingers at him, you find him leaning closer with that stupid, endearingly cheeky smile of his on his face. “Your beauty is always on my mind somewhere.”

“Shut up!” you hiss and reach out to put your hand over his face this time so that you don’t have to see the love in his eyes as they remain happily locked on you. “I’ve forgotten what I was saying now,” you complain, dropping your hand down to the tabletop; Soonyoung immediately picks it up to place back on his face— though now cupping his cheek— and he contently leans into your palm. You can’t help but stroke your thumb over his skin, earning a pleased little sigh to spill from his parted lips. After a few seconds, you remember what you were talking about and lift your eyes from watching your thumb move against his sun-kissed cheek, to his sparkling gaze. “I have never felt safer than when I’m by your side, Soonyoung,” you inform, honest and tender. Soonyoung’s fingers hold onto you a little tighter at the words.

“Really?” he whispers in disbelief. You nod. “But you were almost kidnapped a week before getting here.”

“You weren’t by my side then,” you remind. “But I knew you would be, I knew you’d be back any second and protect me.”

“What if I wasn’t though?”

“The thought never crossed my mind. I have always believed in you, Soonyoung. I’ve always known you’d never intentionally hurt me.”

“Then why did you leave me because of Hoshi?” He frowns; looking as if the pain in his eyes has weighed him down since the day you broke up with him over a year ago. “If you knew I’d never hurt you, why did you break my heart?”

“Because I was scared you wouldn’t come home to me one day.”

“Baby, I’ll always come back to you,” he promises firmly.

“I know you’d try, but every time you came back injured, even slightly, I was reminded what you did, who Hoshi was, and that you won’t always be the best. I couldn’t handle that; the thought that one day, the tables could turn and you wouldn’t be able to save yourself, to come back to me.”

“Baby…”

“I figured that it was better I ended things and put distance between us, so that by the time that day arrived, I wouldn’t ever know. I could just go about my life blissfully ignorant and never know the day yours ended too soon.”

Soonyoung’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens, yet nothing comes out for a few long seconds. And when it does, it’s a pained type of exhale before he’s up on his feet and moving around the table to kneel on the kitchen tiles beside your chair. When he gently tugs, you scoot your chair back and let him turn your seated form to face him, allow him to securely hold your hands in his and press them to his mouth briefly. “I am so sorry,” he whispers, sounding more broken than you’ve ever heard him, even the day you broke his heart and he cried and begged you to take the words back, he didn’t sound this torn up. “I never– I never realised, never considered it from your point of view. If I had…”

“You wouldn’t have been able to quit,” you remind gently, freeing one hand from his hold to gently brush his hair back. “It doesn’t matter if you knew or not, Soonyoung.”

“No, but I would’ve listened to you,” he says, voice catching a little. “If–if I knew the real reason you broke up with me, I would’ve stayed away. I never would’ve tried to win you back. I never would’ve fucked up like this, and you could be…happy.”

“Soonie,” you exhale and pull him into the space between your knees to curl over him and hold him close. His arms wrap around your waist, fingers gripping onto your shirt for dear life as he buries his face in your stomach. “This is never what I expected my life to look like; I never could’ve imagined running away and having to learn an entirely new language and culture, but I…I’m not unhappy here. This past week has been hard, and it was at first too, but it’s not all been bad. We’re building a life here and…I’m glad you’re here with me. I can’t imagine you not being around, so please don’t do something stupid on the boat and fall overboard into the propeller.”

Soonyoung snorts a laugh and essentially nuzzles into your waist, making you yelp at the ticklish sensation and pull him back by a fistful of hair. He grins at you, cheeky, and a little sleazy, making you let him go to nudge him back. “Hey, I thought we were making progress there,” he declares, pouting as he obligingly crawls backwards as you give him a stern look.

“We were having a nice moment until you looked at me like that!” you respond, pushing him back with your foot against his chest when he leans forward again. He groans dramatically and lets your nudge topple him onto his back, where he lays feeling sorry for himself, staring up at the lazily swirling ceiling fan as you return to your dinner.

In fact, he’s still laid there when you’re done eating, and he makes no effort to move when you get up with your dirty dishes in hand. “Just step over me,” he offers, motioning vaguely with a put-on sigh. You give him an unimpressed look. “What? You step over me all the time!”

“I’m wearing a skirt, pervert.”

Immediately, he smirks at you, and you know he hadn’t forgotten that fact. “And? You saw this morning when I was in my boxers, it’s fair I see your panties in return!”

“That was your choice to walk around in your underwear,” you deadpan.

“I didn’t expect you to be up!” he defends, whining. While he’s pouting, you step over him, and he cheers back up at the view he gets under your skirt when you step over his head. Admittedly, you could’ve stepped over his waist, or chest, or just walked the long way around to get past him, but you’re feeling kind…okay, you just want to tease him with what he can’t have as payback for this morning. “Yes!” he exclaims excitedly, pumping his fists a little, then starts to wax poetic about how pretty your underwear are and how he’s missed seeing them on you, all while you make sure to keep your back to him as you wash your dishes, just so he doesn’t see the smile on your face.

Over the following days, things with Soonyoung are better than ever. That talk you had seems to have fixed issues you didn’t even know existed. Maybe there was a part of you both that needed those things said aloud, you just didn’t realise it on a conscious level. Or maybe the planets have just aligned to put you in each other’s immediate orbit. You don’t know what the exact reason is, but you’re glad of it and don’t have any intention of questioning the new kind of ease between you.

Honestly, you keep expecting him to try and win you back now that things are so good, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t push any boundaries, doesn’t make any remarks, and keeps sleeping on the sofa without question or complaint.

A few times, it’s you who almost changes things, not with your relationship exactly, but because of the sleeping situation, yet always bite the offer back at the last second.

Due to Soonyoung usually being gone for work hours before you’re even awake, you’ve never before seen the way he rubs his aching neck every morning. But the past few days, storms have hit, rendering the sea far too deadly to traverse, so he’s been getting up a little later and you earlier, unable to sleep through the relentless rain and thunder, giving you the chance to see the ache on his features.

Still, he doesn’t say a word and always does his best to hide his discomfort when he realises that you’re already awake and witnessing it. You know he’d love to climb into bed with you every night, and that he’d likely jump on the offer should you give it, but there’s something stopping you. You just have no idea what that something is.

Despite there having not been a storm for a few days now, Soonyoung and Jeonghan are off work. Well, Jeonghan is, Bunny claimed Soonyoung’s muscles to help her fix up things around the village that got damaged during the storm.

Though, that doesn’t mean you’re home alone, not at all. Jeonghan has decided to spend the morning with you at your house, helping you rearrange the living room because you don’t like that Soonyoung sleeps directly under the window with a broken latch. Admittedly, you could just replace the latch— and you plan to once you can get to the hardware store in Centre Town— instead of moving the heavy furniture around, but this is what you’ve decided to spend your day doing, and Jeonghan doesn’t even question it.

At least, he doesn’t at first, but Jeonghan— although an angel and the nicest person you’ve ever met— has this innate ability to just know when there’s something unsaid, and he’s not in the habit of ignoring it. “So,” he says when you join him with fresh, cold drinks where he’s now lounging on the couch to get his breath back from helping you heave the furniture around the living room to its new home. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you suddenly moving the sofa?”

“Oh, the latch is broken,” you inform, pointing to the window opposite you both. “It makes it draughty underneath, and I don’t want Soonyoung sleeping in a draught and getting ill.”

“That makes sense,” he hums, and you nod in agreement before sipping at your drink. “What doesn’t is the fact he’s still sleeping on the couch, Lala.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because you’re not mad at him anymore.” That makes you look at him questioningly. “Sweetheart, you let him sleep down here initially because you were mad at him for uprooting your life and being the reason you’re a wanted woman.” You nod slowly, agreeing, but not sure where exactly he’s going with this and feeling a little off kilter suddenly. “But you’re not mad at him anymore, about anything.”

For a second or two, you just stare at Jeonghan, processing what he’s said. You can see his lips turn up into a little amused smile as his words settle in your mind, and you know that he can see the revelation happening on your features.

“Oh,” you mumble, and he giggles. “I’m not mad at him anymore…at all.”

“You’re not.”

“Oh.”

“Mm, so, going to let him know?”

“I…will think about it,” you decide, still not sure why you’re keeping up that final wall, but you’re not quite ready to knock it down yet.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Jeonghan agrees easily, and pats your knee. “You take all the time you need, Soonie isn’t going anywhere.”

“I know.”

“Good.” He pats your knee once more, then leans aside to put now empty glass on the side table, before getting up. “Come on, let’s finish this and then go out for lunch; I want to show you a café in the West Village I think you’ll really like!”

Usually, you’re at home when Soonyoung gets back from work; you’ve never actually seen him on the boat before, and you especially haven’t been on the docks with Bunny waiting when the boat pulls in. Though seeing the way Soonyoung lights up bright enough to rival the midday sun upon spotting you there waiting, you think you might have to start making a habit of it.

“Baby!” he screeches, letting go of the wheel with both hands to wave at you brightly.

“Don’t let go of the wheel!” you yell back, noticing the boat veering. Soonyoung’s hands immediately return to the wheel with a sheepish grin, and an apology tossed over his shoulder to Jeonghan, wherever the older man is.

Not even ten minutes later, the boat is safely docked and tied up, and Soonyoung is bouncing along to you excitedly. “What’re you doing here?!” he exclaims, and almost reaches out to hug you, but then he remembers that he’s very sweaty, and pulls his arms back to himself with a little pout.

“We were just leaving the store when we saw the boat, so we thought we’d meet you two,” you answer, motioning vaguely to Bunny, where she’s closer to where the boat’s docked and cooing over her motion sick husband as he lays sprawled on dock with his eyes closed and a pout on his lips, soaking up the doting.

“Ooh, makes sense,” Soonyoung replies, nodding in understanding. “Wanna see the fish I caught?!” he asks suddenly and grabs your hand to lead you to the boat, help you aboard, and over to the icebox hidden out of the sun’s bright rays. “Look!” he enthuses, opening the tightly shut lid to proudly lift the biggest fish he’s caught so far.

“Wow!” you respond, impressed, but mostly playing it up just to watch Soonyoung beam and wiggle a little in his place. Even when he starts to prattle on about how he caught it and how he almost thought he lost it, you just continue to stare up at him with a smile, more than happy to listen to him talk about whatever he wants when he looks so thrilled about it. “Hannie says I’ll be promoted if I keep this up!” he informs as he leads you back off the boat with the icebox in his arms— you’re glad he’s slightly behind you so that you can’t get distracted by his bulging biceps and fall overboard.

“Promoted to what?” you hear Bunny question in a confused mumble, but Jeonghan just giggles tiredly, Soonyoung doesn’t seem to even notice, and you’re just content to bask in Soonyoung’s glowing pride, so you don’t let her bewilderment linger in your mind. She doesn’t press it either and instead gets to work helping Soonyoung lug everything off the boat to allow her husband to rest longer.

Of course, you wait with Jeonghan on the dock, sitting at his side and ignoring his teasing grin to instead admire Soonyoung’s strong physique now that you’re sitting safely and can’t swoon over into the sea. Though, you do let that thought run a little wild, just to imagine Soonyoung diving in after you to wrap his strong arms around your waist and heave you out of the water; the way his clothes will stick to his muscled body and water will drip off.

At least, you think about it until Jeonghan nudges you and you realise you’re literally gawping at Soonyoung; mouth dropped open and eyes big and dumb as they remain locked on him. Thankfully, Jeonghan doesn’t say anything, just grins at you teasingly, before he gets up and wanders off to help now that he’s no longer nauseous.

As soon as Soonyoung is finished doing everything he needs to for work, he’s right by your side, still grinning brightly, and all but bounces at your side the entire walk home— even with a heavy icebox in his arms.

“I was thinking, we can try that recipe you liked the look of; the one from the new book I bought in the West Village the other day,” you suggest as the two of you go into the kitchen, where Soonyoung puts the icebox on the counter.

“Really?” he asks, somehow looking even more excited than before; invisible puppy-dog tail wagging a mile a minute behind him. “Oh.” His mood suddenly dampens and he looks a little disappointed all of a sudden, bewildering you. “We can’t. That’s a low and slow recipe, we need to be here to watch over it, but we said we’d go to the hardware store today to get a replacement latch for the window.”

“I’d rather stay home with you,” you admit.

“With me?” he whispers, sounding surprised and awed all at once.

“Mm, no-one I’d rather spend the afternoon with,” you confirm, and just like that, puppy-Soonyoung returns, all but vibrating with his joy and smile so big you think it must hurt. But he doesn’t complain, just silently turns and skips off upstairs with a cheesy love song spilling from his lips as he goes.

When Soonyoung returns from his shower, he’s still floating on his joy, and can’t seem to stop himself from wrapping you in a hug once he’s in the kitchen where you’re preparing everything but the fish according to the recipe. His arms go around your shoulders from behind, head tilted against yours, and his chest rumbles at your back as he contently hums lowly, swaying the two of you in time to his wordless song; and you don’t even consider pushing him off. If your hands weren’t dirtied from the ingredients on the board before you, you’d have likely even put your hands over his arms encouragingly and leaned back against him, but they are, so you just let him sway you both for a handful of seconds.

Without a word— though still happily humming away—, Soonyoung lets you go and moves over to get started on preparing the fish. You only have a few more things to do, and then you wash your hands and just lean against the counter to admire how great he looks wielding that knife, confident. It’s very attractive.

“What?” he asks, voice a little low and one side of his mouth curved up slightly after a few minutes of your silent watching.

“Just admiring your skill, problem?” you retort.

“Never got a problem with your eyes on me, baby,” he flirts, winking at you before focusing back on his work.

“Good to know,” you reply lowly, deciding to flirt back. Soonyoung freezes in shock, then lifts his head to look at you with eyes wide and mouth parted, though you’re already turning away to get the pan ready for the fish with a sly little grin on your lips.

It’s when you’re about to step foot onto the bottom stair ready to go up to bed, Soonyoung already making up the sofa in the lounge, that you really think about it, and realise that you have literally zero reasons for making him sleep on the sofa. Especially when you’re adult enough to admit to yourself that you don’t want him to sleep on the sofa anymore.

Determinedly, you return to the living room, just in time to see Soonyoung peel his t-shirt off. You short-circuit for a moment, though manage to get yourself back on track just as his hands reach for the tie of his shorts. “Soonie.”

Immediately, his head jerks up to look at you in surprise. “You okay?” he checks, hands dropping to his side and eyebrows furrowing with the start of worry. “Is there a bug? If it’s wider than my pinkie and has wings, I’m sorry but your room belongs to it now.”

“No, no bug,” you assure with a soft laugh. “Come to bed.” Instantly, his eyes bulge and his mouth audibly pops open. “Hm?” You don’t wait for him to respond, and instead turn and head upstairs, though you’re barely off the top one before you hear him let out a victorious noise before rushing around— likely to tidy everything up.

By the time you’re done in the bathroom and have returned to the bedroom wearing one of his t-shirts like normal, Soonyoung’s perched on the edge of the bed, still wearing his shorts, and looking like he’s never seen the room before.

“Aren’t you going to lay down?” you muse as you cross the room to climb up onto the bed and get comfortable in your usual place.

“Is that my shirt?” he whispers dumbly. You just nod. “You’re actually going to kill me,” he declares before getting up. “Gotta brush my teeth.” You only hum, and then he rushes off to the bathroom.

When Soonyoung returns a few minutes later, he shuts the door quietly behind him and kicks off his shorts, before padding over and climbing into the empty gap beside you a little tentatively. Though when you only watch him quietly and don’t show any sign of discomfort, he relaxes and turns the lamp off before settling down.

There’s probably a lot that could be said right now, a lot that should be said, but you don’t say a word, neither does Soonyoung. You both slowly fall asleep more content than you have been for a long time.

It really shouldn’t surprise you at all, you know how affectionate Soonyoung is, but for a split second upon waking up to the sound of an alarm ringing, the body pressed against your back and secure arm around your waist almost makes you panic.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung’s low, rough morning voice murmurs directly behind you before he lets you go to roll away and turn off his alarm clock— you hadn’t even noticed last night that he brought it upstairs. Without thought, you whine and blindly reach behind you to grab his arm and pull him back to you. Soonyoung chuckles, burying his face in your hair, and holds you tighter, not at all complaining about the silent demand for affection.

You’re not sure how long you lay there, comfy and content in Soonyoung’s embrace, almost dozing back off, but you know it can’t be that long really; he’s always been good at tracking time, even with his back turned to the clock.

“I gotta go to work, baby,” he announces softly, trying to untangle himself from you, but you lace your fingers with his and shuffle backwards until you’re as close to him as possible. “Baby,” he chuckles, sounding far too happy about this to even pretend to argue.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” You curl your left arm over his, bending his with your own so that you can tuck your connected hands up under your chin.

“Want me to stay?” You nod and he lets out a deliriously happy little giggle that makes you almost giggle too, he sounds so cute. “Okay, I’ll call out from work today,” he decides, making absolutely zero attempt to even pretend to be against the idea, not when you’ve said you want him to stay. He’d do pretty much anything you say, honestly, especially if it involves getting to hold you for longer.

Pleased, you hum in approval, letting your eyes close with every intention of going back to sleep. Unfortunately, your conscience kicks in and makes you unable to truly agree with the plan. With a disappointed exhale, you loosen your hold, shuffle away, and give him his arm back.

“Baby?” he questions utterly bewildered and pouting slightly when you blearily peer over your shoulder at him. “I’m not going to try anything, we can just cuddle,” he promises, making you smile amusedly; you’d laugh but you’re still too tired.

“Bunny would tell us off if you stay home without good reason,” you point out.

“Being with you is the best reason!” he defends, looking genuinely offended that you’d say otherwise.

“Not when it means Han going out to sea alone; you know how protective she is.” Soonyoung deflates and rolls face down to groan into his pillow. “Exactly, so, off you go. See you later,” you say, and take the chance to pat his ass— it’s right there, it’s impossible to resist—, before you turn back over and get comfy.

“Touch my ass again,” he requests, then cracks up when you blindly reach back to hit him, though he’s already rolled out of bed, so you just hit empty air. “Alright, alright, I’m going. Go back to sleep, I’ll see you later, baby.” You just hum, and then he’s out of the room and making sure to shut the door behind him so that he doesn’t disturb you any further as he gets ready for the day.

After waking up pressed together the first morning after sharing the bed, it seems only natural to cuddle every night. It happens without any discussion too; you just tuck up against Soonyoung’s side the second night, and he doesn’t hesitate to put his arm around you as if it belongs there.

It’s not just at night that the affection reappears at full force as if you never broke up and it was forced to a stop. At every available opportunity, Soonyoung approaches you to put his arms around you and hold you close. The first time you curl up against his side on the sofa, he gets so happy that he doesn’t stop giggling, and consequently ruins the calm cuddling, causing you to move away from him; but he calms— mostly— and pouts so cutely at you that you can’t fight the urge to crawl right back into his arms.

Still, even with sharing a bed every night, even with holding one another at any given chance, even with moments where you’re certain Soonyoung wants to lean in and kiss you just as much as you want him to, things don’t really change. The two of you are in some kind of weird, unlabelled middle ground where you can’t realistically say “we’re just friends” anymore, but you also can’t say you’re in any kind of romantic relationship. Which, you don’t really mind, you’re genuinely enjoying all the affection and don’t really see the need to change things.

But once again, it’s Yoon Jeonghan who puts everything in motion.

“No! That’s cheating!” Soonyoung accuses, pointing a finger at Bunny from feet away, the pair standing in the middle of Bunny and Jeonghan’s living room, arguing yet again over the rules of a game. Soonyoung always accuses Bunny of cheating, Bunny argues back because she hates the false accusations, and you and Jeonghan just watch it all happen and wait for the moment Soonyoung realises he just hasn’t understood the game, again.

You’d think that after this many weekly game nights, Soonyoung would understand the rules of the games the four of you always play, but nope; the man can kill a person 57 ways with a piece of string, but he can’t understand the rules of a game with a minimum recommended age of 8 years old.

“So,” Jeonghan starts quietly, leaning closer to you where he’s sitting on your left on the sofa, bowl of popcorn in the space between you and almost gone thanks to the weekly dramatic entertainment of the pseudo-siblings before you.

“What?” you wonder, giving Jeonghan a suspicious side eye.

“Just wondering when you’re going to tell him you’re still in love with him.” He shrugs and tosses a piece of popcorn into his mouth. You blink at him a few times, then ever so slowly, turn your head forward to look at Soonyoung.

And then it hits you, right here and now, that Jeonghan’s right; you’re in love with Soonyoung. You’re still in love with Soonyoung.

You realise that you never fell out of love with the man, not really, you just convinced yourself you had because it was for the best. Admittedly, you weren’t wrong when you first decided to stop loving him; it really was better for you then to lose all feelings for the man. But it’s been over a year since then. It’s been months since you stopped being angry at him, since you let him back in. Not that you were doing a very good job of keeping your heart closed to him before then.

“Oh,” you whisper on an exhale, and hear Jeonghan’s pleased little giggle to your left, but you don’t pay it any attention, your sole focus is on Soonyoung and Soonyoung alone. Because Jeonghan is right— again— about you being in love with Soonyoung, and he’s right in his implication that you should tell Soonyoung. Without a thought besides “fuck it”, you decide to follow his words. “Soonie!”

Immediately, Soonyoung turns his head to look at you, his expression turning so soft and adoring, smile lifting his previously angrily pouting lips. “Yeah, baby?”

“Let’s get married.”

Jeonghan cracks up, tilting aside and leaning on the arm of the couch to his left with how sudden and hard he starts to laugh. “Not what I meant!” he wheezes.

Though, again, you’re not paying his amusement any attention and are instead focused on Soonyoung. Soonyoung who doesn’t seem to be fucking breathing. Worried, you get up and rush over to hold his face as he keeps his eyes glued to you, and his hands instinctively lift to hold onto your wrists. “Breathe, baby,” you encourage, stroking your thumbs over his cheeks.

Thankfully, Soonyoung is prompted to act like a functioning human and sucks in a harsh breath, coughs on it a little, but quickly returns to breathing properly. “Y–you want to marry me?” he whispers out, sounding choked and disbelieving. You nod, smiling a little, encouragingly. “Because of the locals? Because of the story we’re together and–and marriage is the next natural step in a story like that?”

“I truly, wholeheartedly, without hesitation, can say that I do not give a fuck what they think, Soonyoung,” you assure, amused by his reaction. You didn’t know how he’d react— honestly, you haven’t ever thought about proposing to him before, so it’s understandable you’ve never considered his reaction before— but you’re very surprised by his reaction and never would’ve expected it.

“You don’t?”

“Not in the slightest bit.”

“Then…why?”

“Why did do I want to marry you?” He nods, looking so adorably lost, yet hopeful at the same time. “I want to marry you, Kwon Soonyoung, because I am so violently in love with you.”

Soonyoung barely gets a surprised, soft inhale out, before he’s surging in to kiss you. Of course, you don’t hesitate to respond, and wrap your arms around his neck, his own winding around your waist as he melts against you.

“Ew!” Bunny exclaims, though she sounds fondly amused, while her husband cheers and claps from the sofa in between his pleased giggling. “Okay, great, we’re happy for you, congrats, now either detach and lets finish the game, or go fuck in your own house.”

You and Soonyoung do as requested and stop kissing, chests heaving as you lock eyes, and then immediately and silently decide to rush out of their house, with the pair laughing and catcalling behind you both.

“Baby, baby, baby,” Soonyoung calls, slowing and making you slow down too, only a few metres away from your house.

“Yes?” you reply, turning to look at him, feeling impatient now that you’ve got the chance to have your way with the unfairly attractive man for the first time in over a year, but always willing to slow down and hear him out when he requests it.

“Are you sure about this?” he checks, turning a gentle kind of serious as he gently brushes your hair away from your face with the hand not pressed palm to palm with your own.

“Fucking?” you ask bewildered.

“No,” he chuckles. “I know you’re good with that, we’re great at that together.” You nod in enthusiastic agreement— you two really did have a great sex life together back then—, and he giggles at your reaction. “Glad you agree.”

“I do, so let’s go inside and—”

“No, no, baby, I’m not done.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t mean are you sure about the sex, I meant us. You just asked me to marry you, and I want to make sure that you really mean it; spending the rest of our lives together.”

“Of course I do,” you assure and press a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you, and I want this to be real, not just a cover story.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too, I’ve always wanted that.”

“I know.” You frown, guilty and apologetic, but he kisses your head and you know he forgave you long ago, if he was even holding it against you in the first place. Knowing Soonyoung, he never blamed you, was never upset with you, just the situation he got you both into, and upset at himself. “I’m sorry it took me this long to realise that I never stopped loving you.”

“Oh… really? I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t think I could ever do that. You’re a lot of things, Kwon Soonyoung, but capable of doing anything to make me hate you, isn’t one of them.”

“Good.” Satisfied with your answers, he presses his lips to yours in a kiss that feels like a promise for a long, happy future together, yet also a threat that you won’t be able to walk in the morning without your thighs shaking. And honestly, you’re more than okay with that.

Kwon Soonyoung is a lot of things: cheeky, handsome, fun; still a lightweight with alcohol, great in bed, terrible with technology; in wonderful physical condition, quick on his feet, observant; once a highly sought after assassin, now a mediocre fishman, and awful at board games. But mostly, he’s the man you love with everything in you, and you’re more than happy to spend the rest of your life by his side.

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