SUM. just some things about being in a relationship with them
(BLDHS MLST) . includes: kim geonwoo, hong woojin · domestic fluff, est. relationship, a little smut (nothing detailed), slice of life
note. i’ve started rewatching bloodhounds.. mainly to see those red shorts again 😮💨
KIM GEONWOO
oh my gosh geonwoo :(
this man literally loves you to pieces.
he’s got it bad.
this could go either way to be honest.
he could be adorably shy when he tries to flirt :(
but also i can see him being the smoothest mf EVER.
personally i think he’d be a mix of both.
smooth flirting but if you reciprocate at all? his eyes go big and his ears go red and he panics.
geonwoo might look like a violent man because of the scar on his face and the frequent bruises and injuries.
but really he’s just a soft, cute little bunny
he also trusts you an awful lot and tells you more things than he tells most people so he’ll always protect your secrets really well.
he also really really loves seeing you in his clothes like loves loves it. there’s not a single oversized shirt he owns that you haven’t worn at least once.
any time you speak he always has this wide smile on his face and absolutely adores the sound of your voice.
he gets proud smiles on his face when he makes you laugh and snaps candid photos of you, saving them on his phone to look over before a fight if you couldn’t be there.
as soon as he gets home he greets you with a hard kiss and then a LONGGGG hug.
seems like the kind of guy to cup ur face a lot when kissing you, probably rubs his thumb over your cheek too.
FOREHEAD. KISSES.
will keep his arms around you or help you with dinner while he tells you about the fight.
also cuddles afterwards.
there’s lots of spooning, he loves to be the small spoon and feel protected by you for once.
he needs to remember how special he is from time to time.
so love him, play with his hair, tell him to not stress or simply help him relax in other ways.
geonwoo has no dominant bone in his body when it comes to sex, i’m sorry to say.
he’s so buff but once you’re towering over him he’ll completely submit himself to you.
loses it when you praise him, will become a whimpering mess for you.
he is not into dirty talk i think but you could make him cum with your sweet words.
he’d also mark you when he’s lost and would kiss them and apologize if he hurt you.
lowkey a pillow prince too.
HONG WOOJIN
he is definitely the type of boyfriend that will hold things very high so you can’t reach them.
and when you do he kisses you and has a soft gleam in his eyes that tells you how much he loves you.
is so sweet and caring to you.
random pics everywhere, his phone, cameras are full with you.
he is so fun and always down for whatever crazy ideas you’ve got brewing in your head!
24/7 can make you smile.
food is his love language, (this man does not play about his rib-eye).
but also loves to show his love with basic touches like playing softly with your hair, holding your waist.
basically keeping your body close.
l o v e s it when you blush or give him some kind of reaction.
he’d tease you quite often about these lol cause my man is playful af (yet possessive when jealous).
and fights would be nothing but petty and ridiculous.
the two of you weren’t the type to bottle things up—you argued, bickered, and then made up like nothing happened.
usually within a day, one of you would crack and things would go back to normal.
woojin always wants you in his corner when he fights. you are his good luck charm and the only one who is allowed to wrap the bandages around his hands before he slips into his gloves.
not that he needs any luck with the skills he has, but he loves seeing you press your sweet kisses on his boxing gloves and smile at him before you hug him tightly and tell him to please be careful.
whether he wins or loses he’d still want to celebrate with you any way he can because he knows it won’t be the last.
he often uses you as a pillow while sleeping, he’s the big spoon most of the time.
his hands always touching and roaming around your body.
very domestic and soft during sex and will make sure the both of you have a good time.
tease.
yup he’s a tease.
lives for making you squirm under his touch.
when it’s lovemaking he treats you like a princess.
he will worship your body and shower you with praise—always makes sure your pleasure comes first.
but when he’s submissive he will do anything you want him to, no questions asked.
warnings: humiliation kink, edging, oral (m & f), sex toys mentions, choking, sex positions
18+mdni
a/n: i might make alan and/or baekjeong ones next
pairing: Hong Woojin x female reader
my masterlist
sfw:
Woojin is the type of person to try to make you laugh with his stupid jokes. Especially if you’re mad at him he does this to lighten the mood.
He kinda has a hard time to talk about his feelings so it might take him some time to tell you how he feels.
He loves taking you out on dates. Sometimes it’s an expensive steak house other times it’s the arcade but he always wants you to have fun.
Woojin loves when you wear his clothes and he loves it even more when they smell like you afterwards.
Something that he would never admit is that he loves doing cringy couple trends with you. Like when you tell him you want to do one he would complain while doing it but when he misses you he always rewatches them.
nsfw:
he would lowkey have a humiliation kink. Maybe not public humiliation but like he loves seeing you embarrassed.
Woojin would have the biggest edging kink. Like he’d tie you to the bed post and just edge you for hours and hours and he would also vary from a vibrator to a dildo to his fingers.
He’s huge. It still takes like at least 5 minutes for you to get used to him.
He loves oral. Honestly he prefers receiving than giving but he won’t mind either.
If you’re into it he would love choking you like just imagine, him taking you from behind and then pulling you up with his biceps while whispering what he’s gonna do to you.
Woojin also loves filling you up. Maybe not with intention of pregnancy but he just loves seeing it drip out of you.
His favorite sex positions would be missionary, doggy, cowgirl, spooning.
Warnings: established relationship, sex in the workplace, creampie.
Words: 1.3
Request: "Hey, how’s it going? I saw you’re into writing stuff for Park Bo-Gum, and I’d really love a story where Young Dong Ju totally loses his mind over a photo the reader sent him. Like, he tries to keep it together but can’t, and ends up taking her somewhere in the office. Would you be up for that? Thanks so much!"
A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be kind 💕
“Morning,” She said with an easy smile, lifting her head slightly as she passed one of the admin officers on the way to her desk.
The station was its usual late-morning hum, phones ringing, printers working overtime, someone laughing in the break room two doors down.
It felt routine. Ordinary.
Then, from the left, a door creaked open.
She barely had time to register it before a hand shot out, fast and firm around her wrist, yanking her into the narrow rest area. The world spun, door slammed and then she was up against it, breath caught in her throat.
“What the…”
Her words were cut off by lips crashing into hers, hot, open, desperate.
It wasn’t gentle. It was wild, like he hadn’t kissed her in years. For a split second, she panicked, struggled but then his hand cupped the back of her neck, and his scent hit her
Suddenly she knew.
“Dong Ju!” she whispered against his mouth, exasperated, flushed.
But he didn’t stop. If anything, the sound of her voice made him kiss her harder. His other hand slid up under the hem of her shirt, warm palm splayed across her lower back like he needed to feel her skin or he’d die.
She gripped his shoulders, pushed at his chest “We´re at work” she hissed.
His forehead dropped to hers, breath coming fast. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
He was already rocking his hips into hers “You really thought sending me that photo while I was stuck here was fair?” he said in low voice.
She smirked, tilting her head. “Fair? No. Effective? Absolutely.”
His jaw clenched. “I couldn’t even look at you this morning.”
“That’s why you were so twitchy in the meeting?” She laughed
“I didn’t hear a single word,” he muttered, like he hated himself for it. “I was hard the entire time… Couldn’t even stand up without…” he broke off, pressing his face to her neck. “Then you walked past me and smiled like nothing happened.”
She shivered, his lips were at her throat now, teeth grazing skin. “Because nothing did happen”
His hands dropped to her hips, gripping tight. “Stop tease me.”
She tilted her head, just enough to let him kiss lower, her breath catching despite herself. “Dong Ju! Not here.”
“But… I need you” he whispered, right against her pulse “I’ll be fast...” His hands slid down as his fingers twitched at her jeans button, and she slapped them away.
“Don’t!”
He looked up, lips flushed, breathing hard, hair already falling into his eyes “ please baby”
She tensed, eyes narrowing. “You’re insane.”
“I won’t take long,” he promised, lips trailing lower. “… before anyone even notices.”
“That’s hardly reassuring.”
“I mean it,” he said, nipping at her neck.
“I thought you had self-control.”
“Not when it comes to you.”
Their mouths collided again, teeth scraping, breath mingling. His hands moved fast, yanking at her jeans with the finesse of a man already falling apart. She tried to keep protesting, tried to keep the upper hand, but his lips were on her throat again, and her body was already responding.
“You’re so needy,” she teased, biting her lip as he pulled himself free, cock heavy and twitching in his fist. “You're really gonna fuck me against the wall like a desperate teenager?”
“Yeah,” he said without hesitation, voice cracking. “I am.”
He slid the tip of his cock through her folds, and her breath caught.
“You’re soaked,” he whispered, like it was some holy revelation.
A low, breathy moan slipped past her lips, she smirked against his mouth. “What can I say? You have that effect on me.”
“Oh yeah?” he breathed, lining himself up, the swollen head of him dragging through the slick between her thighs. He eased in with a groan, just the tip at first, and her hands flew to his shoulders as the stretch hit.
“Oh…fuck.” A soft moan escaped his lips.
She pressed a finger lightly to them, smirking against his mouth. “Shhh… you’re going to get us caught.”
His eyes darkened, “I can’t help it.”
“Oh…” He eased in slowly and she clenched instinctively. “Feels so good.”
She swallowed the moan that wanted to slip free, biting her lip instead. “We need to keep it down,” she murmured, tilting her head so he could kiss her jaw softly.
“mhmmmmm you feel so fucking good” he dragged out.
“You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?”
He gave a shaky laugh, “Every second.”
His movements grew a little firmer. “Baby… you’re squeezing already, don’t do that…”
“What?” she whispered innocently, clenching again just to tease him.
He gasped, head thunking forward to rest on her shoulder. “You’re mean.”
Her grin widened, even as her breath faltered from the pressure of him slowly sinking all the way inside. He wasn’t gentle, he was too desperate for that. The thrust was hard and deep, and her back hit the door with a muted thud.
“You like it when I’m mean,” she whispered, letting her hands roam over his chest.
“God,” he moaned, rutting into her in short, needy thrusts.
She tightened around him savoring the way his body jerked at the sudden squeeze.
He yelped, “Stop … fuck, I’ll cum like that…”
“You’re such a mess,” she breathed, lips brushing the corner of his mouth in a slow, wicked kiss.
But her own body was burning, as she rocked her hips up into him, matching his pace, feeling the delicious friction.
His hand slid up her thigh, holding her open as he slammed in harder, faster, each thrust driving her closer to the edge.
Her breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut. “Dong Ju…” she whispered.
He growled low in his throat, hips stuttering, “Tell me… tell me what you want.”
She bit her lip hard, nails digging into his back as waves of heat crashed over her. “More,” she breathed. “Harder. Don’t stop.”
His thrusts became brutal, wild but still careful enough not to make a sound, each movement filling her, pulling her tighter.
“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he hissed, voice strained, pupils dark and wild. “I’m gonna…”
“Not yet,”
He growled low, the sound vibrating through her chest, as his hands slid up to her waist, pulling her against him. “You’re driving me crazy”
He sank his teeth just barely into her skin, sending a sharp thrill down her spine. “You feel so good, God…” he rasped, voice thick with need.
She arched into him, breath hitching, her hands clutching at his shoulders as his hips slammed harder, deeper.
“I can’t take it…please…” He groaned like it physically hurt, burying himself deep.
“Cum for me pretty boy” she breathed, voice barely more than a moan.
She felt the way his body seized, the way his cock twitched as he came, hot and thick, deep inside her. His hips kept moving in tiny, helpless thrusts, chasing the last wave of it, forehead pressed to hers, lips trembling.
Their breaths were loud in the tiny room. He didn’t move for a second, just held her, panting.
Then he brushed a shaky kiss to her forehead, “Thank you baby"
His hands trembled slightly as they lingered on her waist, still holding her close.
She smiled softly against his skin, fingers tracing lazy circles on his neck.
“Anytime,” she whispered, breath still catching.
She shoved her jeans back up, cheeks flushed, but Dong Ju just stood there, shirt wrinkled, hair wrecked, belt hanging loose, dazed like he’d just been electrocuted.
“We’re never doing this again.” she muttered, yanking her shirt straight.
“That’s what you said the last time.”
She froze in the doorway, half turning with narrowed eyes.
note: I'm gonna drop it... I love WAY MORE his hair in season 1, the first episodes, plus his earring and the cut in the eyebrow. He looked hella hot in every single era tho. I'm gonna be posting more about BloodHounds, and that my requests are open! (remember that my first lenguge is not english and I use the translator a lot to help me write, so sorry for any mastakes!)xoxo
Your mother barely makes it through the doorway before leaning her weight against the counter, one hand pressing to her temple, exhaustion written into every small movement. There’s flour on her sleeve, the faint smell of coffee clinging to her clothes, and the kind of tired in her eyes that makes your chest tighten before she even speaks.
“Can you take care of dinner tonight?” she asks, her voice gentle but worn down at the edges.
You hesitate, not because you don’t want to help, but because you already know how this is going to go. Slowly, your gaze shifts past her, toward the living room. The low, excited commentary coming from the living room, the occasional thud of movement, the unmistakable sound of your brother and his best friend completely absorbed in something that, apparently, matters more than basic survival.
Your brother, Geon-woo, sitting forward on the couch and right next to him, just as focused, just as still, is Hong Woo-jin. The glow of the TV reflects faintly against their faces, both of them locked into whatever fight is playing like it’s happening right in front of them instead of on a recording.
“Why me and not them?” you complain, pointing openly toward the living room, your tone edged with disbelief. “They’re literally doing nothing.”
“I heard that,” your brother mutters, not even turning his head.
“Good,” you shoot back immediately. “Then you can also hear me asking why I’m the one stuck cooking while you sit there like—like a statue.”
“Because we have to watch the fight!” he calls back, like that alone should end the conversation.
“It’s a recorded fight,” you argue, stepping a little closer, your voice rising just enough to carry into the room. “Not live. You can watch it after you help me.”
Your brother leans forward slightly, completely absorbed again, and Woo-jin doesn’t even pretend to care, if anything, his focus sharpens, like the conversation behind him has already faded into background noise. Your jaw tightens.
“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath.
Your mother exhales softly, cutting in before you can escalate it further, her voice calm but firm. “Don’t fight with them. It’s just for tonight, okay? Tomorrow, they’ll help.”
And just like that, the irritation drains out of you, replaced with something softer, heavier. You can see it now, the way her shoulders slump just slightly, the quiet exhaustion she’s trying not to show too much of.
“Fine,” you mumble, running a hand through your hair as you turn toward the kitchen. “But if they starve tomorrow, I’m not stepping in.”
The kitchen is quiet in a way that feels almost too heavy at first. The overhead light stays off... you don’t even consider turning it on. Instead, you rely on the softer, dimmer glow from the small lamp near the corner, casting warm shadows across the counters. It’s easier this way. The harsh white light above has always made your chest tighten, dragging up memories you don’t like to linger on, sterile hallways, the faint beeping of machines, the cold stillness of places you never wanted to be.
The dough comes first, flour dusting your hands. It doesn’t take long before your rhythm finds you, your thoughts quieting as your body moves on instinct alone.
The filling simmers softly on the stove, releasing a warm, savory smell that fills the room as you stir it, occasionally glancing back at the dough to make sure it’s the right consistency. The rhythm settles in quickly, mix, knead, fold, stir, until the silence becomes something softer, something almost peaceful.
“Do you need help?” The voice comes from behind you, low and casual, but close enough to make you stiffen for just a second before recognition settles in.
You don’t turn right away.
“Nope, I’m fine,” you reply quickly, a little too quickly, already setting the dough aside to focus on the filling like that’s been your only priority all along.
“Forget I even asked” Woo-jin says, his tone laced with that familiar mix of amusement and mild annoyance. “Sometimes I forget how stubborn you are.”
You finally turn just in time to see him pulling his red sweatshirt over his head, the fabric catching briefly before it slides off completely. For a split second, his shirt lifts with it, revealing a glimpse of toned skin, the faint line of muscle from training that you definitely don’t stare at—
“…What should I do?” he asks casually, like he didn’t just walk in here and completely ruin your train of thought.
You busy yourself with the spoon in your hand, stirring the filling again even though it doesn’t really need it. “What about the fight?” you ask, finally glancing back at him.
He shrugs, leaning one shoulder against the counter like he belongs there. “It’s not that important.”
You raise a brow “really?”.
“Really" he just watches you for a few seconds, eyes lingering a little longer than they should, like he’s taking something in, memorizing it, or maybe just enjoying the fact that you’re alone in here and not out there. Then, with a small tilt of his head, he adds, “Besides, I’m afraid you’ll poison the food to kill me and your brother.”
You let out a quiet laugh despite yourself, nudging him lightly with your arm. “Please. If I wanted you dead, I’d be way more creative.”
He catches your arm before you can pull it back, quickly. His grip isn’t tight, but it’s firm enough to pull you a step forward, closing the space between you until there’s barely anything left of it. His other arm comes around you just as naturally, drawing you into a brief, warm hug like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
It shouldn’t feel like this.
But it does.
“Now tell me…” he murmurs lightly, his voice low near your ear, “what should I do?”
You blink, a little thrown off, your hands hovering awkwardly for a second before you gently push against his chest to create some space again. “First,” you say, trying to sound unaffected, even though your heart’s beating just a little faster now, “go wash those hands. Who knows where they’ve been?”
He looks down at his hands like he’s considering it, then back at you with a slow, teasing grin “I bet you’d like to know where they’ve been.”
“Woo-jin!” your eyes widen slightly.
He laughs amused, completely unbothered by the way you’re glaring at him now like you’re seconds away from throwing something. “Relax,” he adds, holding his hands up in mock surrender before finally pushing himself off the counter. “I’ll wash them.”
What you don’t know... what you can’t know
Is that the fight playing in the other room is one Kim Geon-woo and Hong Woo-jin have been waiting months for. That they talked about it for weeks, argued over it, analyzed every move like it actually mattered.
And yet Woo-jin walked away from it without a second thought, because the chance to be alone with you, even like this, even just helping with something as simple as dinner outweighed everything else.
-
The gym feels unfamiliar. New space, new people, new eyes. And after everything that happened over the past year, the move, the constant quiet worry about leaving your mother alone for too long, it takes a moment to settle back into something that used to feel like second nature.
You roll your shoulders back, adjusting your stance in front of the punching bag, fingers tightening inside the wraps as you focus.
Breathe.
Then strike.
The impact travels cleanly through your arm, you hit again, sharper this time, letting your body fall back into rhythm, memory, into something that doesn’t require overthinking.
“You sure know how to hit.” You glance to the side, noticing him again, the guy who’s been hovering nearby for the past half hour. Tall, broad-shouldered. He leans casually against the post beside your bag, watching you with an easy smile that doesn’t even try to hide his interest.
“I know,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips as you land another hit, lighter this time, more for rhythm than force.
He chuckles, pushing himself off the post, stepping just a little closer. “Confidence too, huh? I like that.”
You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head slightly as you adjust your stance again. “You don’t even know me.”
“I can learn.”
There’s something playful in his tone and you don’t think much of it. It’s harmless. Just conversation, someone being friendly in a space where that’s not unusual.
A few meters away, Kim Geon-woo lowers his hands slowly, his focus no longer on the training in front of him but somewhere else entirely.
On you, more specifically...on the way the guy beside you keeps stepping closer. “…Hey,” he mutters, nudging the person next to him without looking away. “He’s getting pretty close, isn’t he?”
Beside him, Woo-jin is already watching, has been watching longer than he should or he'd like to admit. Tracking every small movement... the way the guy leans in, the way you laugh softly at something he says, the way you don’t move away when he closes the distance again.
Something twists in his chest.
“I don’t want to be overprotective, but…” Geon-woo trails off, his brows pulling together slightly, something uncertain settling in his expression.
“Do you want me to separate them?” he asks, his tone controlled, but there’s an edge underneath it now, something that wasn’t there before.
Geon-woo finally glances at him, a little surprised. “What? No, of course not—” But he doesn’t get to finish, because Woo-jin is already moving.
“Don’t worry,” he throws over his shoulder, not even waiting. “I’ll handle it.”
-
“I can show you how to do a proper hook, if you want.” the guy’s voice is closer now, you notice it this time.
You shift your weight slightly, glancing at him with mild curiosity. “You think I need help?”
He grins. “I think you could hit harder.”
“Oh?” you challenge lightly, raising a brow.
“Yeah,” he says, stepping in just a bit more, lifting his hand slightly as if to demonstrate. “Here...your form’s good, but if you rotate more—” his fingers reach toward your wrist, and don’t quite make it, because someone else gets there first.
Your breath catches slightly as your arm is pulled just enough to the side, your attention snapping up immediately “I’ll show her.”
The voice is low, Woo-jin steps between you and the guy without hesitation, placing himself squarely in the space that had been slowly disappearing. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him, solid and unyielding in a way that leaves no room for argument.
“You can go,” he adds, not even sparing the other guy more than a glance. “I’ll take care of it.”
You blink, caught off guard, your gaze flicking between them. “Woo-jin, there’s no need—” you start, your voice softer, a little confused, a little embarrassed by how abrupt this is.
“You came with me,” he cuts in, not looking at you, his grip on your wrist tightening just slightly, enough to keep you there. “I’ll help you.”
It’s not a suggestion, he doesn’t even gives you space to deciding, but you don’t understand why that doesn’t bother you as much as it probably should.
The other guy scoffs under his breath, his expression hardening as he looks Woo-jin up and down “…Right,” he mutters, stepping back. “Didn’t realize you needed a bodyguard.”
The guy lingers for half a second longer, like he’s considering pushing it, but something in Woo-jin’s stance, in the way he doesn’t move, makes him reconsider.
Just like that, gone.
-
Your gaze drops almost unconsciously to where his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist, firm and steady, as if he had never intended to let go in the first place.
For a moment, you simply look at it, at the contrast between your skin and his, at the subtle tension in his grip, at the way his thumb rests just slightly against your pulse point as if he can feel the rhythm there.
“…You’re acting weird,” you say after a moment, your voice quieter now, softer than before, as if raising it might disturb whatever this is between you. Your brows pull together slightly, confusion settling into your expression as you try to read him, to understand what just happened and why it feels like more than it should. “What was that?”
The answer comes too fast.
“Nothing.”
You watch him for a second longer, searching his face, catching the tension in his jaw, the way his gaze flickers just briefly before steadying again.
“It wasn’t nothing,” you insist, your tone still gentle but more grounded now, more certain. You don’t pull away from him, but your attention sharpens, your focus narrowing entirely on him. “You just… cut him off like that. You didn’t even let me answer.”
“He was too close,” he says, and this time, his eyes don’t leave yours. There’s a firmness to his words, something that suggests he believes it entirely, that in his mind this explanation is more than enough. “I did the right thing.”
Your eyes drop again, drawn back to the point of contact between you. His hand hasn’t moved. The grip may have softened slightly, but it’s still there, still holding you in place as if the conversation itself depends on that connection not being broken.
You swallow lightly before looking back up “…Then why are you still holding my wrist?”
The question is quiet, but it lands harder than you expect. His gaze flickers downward, following yours, as if only now realizing what he’s doing, or maybe as if he’s been aware of it the entire time and simply chose to ignore it.
His grip loosens gradually, his fingers relaxing just enough to ease the pressure without fully breaking the contact, as if some part of him is reluctant to let that connection disappear entirely.
“Why are you so upset about it?” he asks instead, deflecting the question rather than answering it, his voice quieter now but edged with something sharper underneath.
You blink, momentarily thrown by the shift “I’m not upset,” you reply, your brows knitting together again as confusion settles deeper. “I just… don’t understand.”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” he says finally, his voice lower now, controlled in a way that feels deliberate, like every word is being held back just enough to keep something else from slipping through, something that’s been sitting beneath the surface for longer than either of you has acknowledged.
Your breath catches before you can stop it “…What does that mean?” you ask, softer now, your voice almost cautious, suddenly aware that you’ve stepped into something deeper than you intended.
He just looks at you. The space between you feels smaller now, despite the fact that neither of you has moved. The air shifts, thickening with something unspoken.
-
You barely have time to process the look on Hong Woo-jin’s face before he moves.
It isn’t abrupt in a way that draws attention, but it’s decisive, his hand tightening around your wrist again. The contact sends a small, involuntary jolt through you, your breath catching as he turns, already guiding you away from the open space of the gym floor before you can fully react.
“Woo-jin...what are you doing?” you start, your voice low, more confused than alarmed as you try to keep up with him, your steps falling into pace with his without much resistance.
He just keeps walking, weaving past equipment and people until the noise begins to fade, until the open space gives way to a narrower hallway leading toward the back rooms.
Only when he pushes open the door to an empty training room and pulls you inside with him does he finally stop.
The door shuts behind you with a soft but definitive click.
It’s just the two of you.
The quiet presses in almost immediately, heavier than before, thick with everything that hasn’t been said. You take a step back instinctively, your wrist still caught in his hand as you look at him, trying to read what’s going on behind the tension in his expression.
“What is wrong with you?” you ask, your voice still hushed, though there’s no real need for it anymore. The question is threaded with a frustration you don’t fully understand yourself.
He lets out a breath, running his free hand through his hair, pacing once across the small space before stopping again like he doesn’t trust himself to stay still. “Nothing,” he says, but it comes out rough, unconvincing, like the word itself doesn’t carry enough weight to cover what’s actually going on.
“You dragged me in here over nothing?” you press, your brows pulling together as your confusion sharpens into something more insistent.
That does it, you can see the shift the moment it happens, the way something in him snaps tighter.
“Keep your voice down,” he mutters, stepping closer, his tone low and edged, his eyes flicking briefly toward the door.
You blink, thrown off. “Why?”
“Because if he hears this,” he says, quieter now but more intense, each word deliberate, “I’m done.”
Your breath catches, the meaning behind it sinking in before you can stop it “…Done?” you repeat, softer now, your voice dipping unconsciously to match his.
He exhales slowly, like he regrets saying it, like he didn’t mean for it to come out that way, but it’s too late to take it back now.
“Woo-jin…” you start, hesitant now, testing the ground carefully. “Why would that matter?”
He laughs under his breath, but there’s no humor in it, just frustration
“That’s the problem,” he says, shaking his head slightly, his gaze dropping for a second before lifting back to you. “You really don’t get it.”
“Then explain it to me,” you insist, stepping closer again, closing the distance he had tried to maintain. Your voice is quieter now, “because right now, you’re the only one acting like something’s wrong.”
For a second, he doesn’t say anything.
“You want to know what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice lower now, rougher, like the words are being dragged out of him instead of chosen.
You don’t answer, you don’t have to.
Because he’s already stepping closer, already closing the last bit of space between you until there’s nothing left of it. “I didn’t like him looking at you like that,” he admits, the words coming out sharper than he probably intended, frustration threading through them. “I didn’t like you laughing with him like it was nothing. Like I’m supposed to just stand there and watch.”
The air shifts again, “You don’t have any right to that,” you say quietly, not accusing, just stating what you’ve always known to be true.
“I know,” he snaps, the response immediate, almost defensive. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
His gaze drops briefly to your lips before snapping back up, like even that was too much, like he’s fighting himself with every passing second. “The point is,” he says, slower now, more controlled but no less intense, “I shouldn’t feel like this in the first place.”
Your heart skips.
He exhales sharply, his hand tightening slightly around your wrist again, not enough to hurt but enough to ground himself. "Like this,” he repeats, quieter now. “Like I want to pull you away every time someone gets too close to you. Like I—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head as if the words are too much once they start forming. “You’re his sister. I shouldn’t even be this close to you right now.”
But he doesn’t step back, not even a little.
You swallow, your pulse quickening, something warm and unfamiliar curling low in your chest as his words settle in.
"Just kiss me" you say breathlessly, like taking the courage to say that took everything in you.
His hand comes up to your face, fingers brushing your cheek with a firmness that isn’t gentle but isn’t rough either... but certain, like he’s done hesitating.
“Don’t say things like that unless you mean them,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost unsteady now.
“I mean it.”
And that’s all it takes, the distance between you disappears in an instant.
He kisses you like he’s been holding it back for too long, because he has. It’s not careful, not slow, not something he’s thought through. It’s sharp and sudden and intense, his hand tightening slightly at your jaw as yours instinctively grip his shirt, pulling him closer without thinking.
For a brief moment, everything else seems to fall away so completely that it almost feels unreal. All that remains is this.
And then, just as suddenly as it all came together...it breaks.
“Hey, did you see where they went?” It’s Geon-woo.
The effect is immediate, the moment shatters almost violently, the weight of reality crashing back in as both of you freeze without thinking, your breath catching mid-motion. Woo-jin pulls back just enough to create the smallest space between you, though not enough to fully separate, his forehead resting briefly against yours as if he needs that second to steady himself, to gather whatever control he’s just lost.
Outside, footsteps echo faintly in the hallway, closer than they should be.
“Woo-jin?” your brother calls again, his voice clearer now, close enough that it sends a sharp jolt through your chest. Your heart reacts before your thoughts can catch up.
Woo-jin moves first, his hand slips from your face back to your wrist, the motion quick but careful, and he guides you with a quiet urgency toward the side of the room, out of direct view from the door. His other hand braces lightly against the wall beside you, placing himself just slightly in front, not blocking you entirely but close enough that, if anyone were to look in, you wouldn’t be immediately seen.
“Don’t move,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that it barely carries beyond the space between you.
The footsteps move again, fading, until they disappear completely.
Only then does the tension shift, though it doesn’t disappear. It lingers, settling into the space between you in a different way now.
For a moment, neither of you moves. You’re still close, close enough to feel the warmth of him, to notice the uneven rhythm of his breathing, to realize that yours isn’t much steadier.
Eventually, Woo-jin exhales quietly, the sound softer than before, edged with something heavier now. When he finally speaks, his voice has changed.
“…We can’t do this.”
You lift your gaze to him, searching his face, trying to reconcile what he’s saying with what just happened only moments ago. “…Then why did you?” you ask, your voice softer now, not accusatory, just honest in its confusion.
His gaze drops for a moment, like he’s considering something, like he’s weighing what to say and what to leave unsaid. “…Because I wanted to,” he admits quietly.
“…You keep saying we can’t,” you murmur after a while, your voice softer now, more thoughtful than before. Your fingers shift slightly where they still rest against him, not pulling away, just… there. “But you’re still here.”
That makes him pause, ike your words land somewhere deeper than you intended. “And you didn’t stop,” you add, quieter now, your eyes not leaving his. “Not when you should have.”
A faint breath leaves him, a disbelieving laugh, though there’s no real humor in it. “Neither did you,” he points out.
For a second, it seems like he’s about to step back, like he’s going to put distance between you again, rebuild whatever control he lost. His shoulders shift slightly, his gaze dropping as if he’s already thinking about everything that comes after this, what Kim Geon-woo would say, what it would mean, what it would complicate.
“You really don’t make this easy,” Woo-jin says quietly, though there’s something softer in his tone now, something less like resistance and more like acceptance.
You tilt your head slightly, a faint, almost teasing smile touching your lips despite everything. “You’re the one who dragged me in here.”
“Yeah,” he admits under his breath. “I did.”
“If you’re going to keep saying we can’t,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper now, “then you should probably stop looking at me and go away, now."
Just a moment where the space between you closes naturally, like it was always meant to, like neither of you is trying to fight it anymore.
His hand lifts to your face again, gentler now, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheek as if he’s grounding himself in the reality of it.
You meet him halfway, your fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt as you close the last inch between you, the second kiss coming easier, more certain, like both of you already know you’re not pulling away from it.
For a moment, nothing else matters. Not even the fact that your brother could walk back in at any second, or that your mother would have a hundred questions you don’t have answers to yet.
“…We’re going to get in trouble,” you murmur, though there’s no real fear in your voice.
"I don’t care" he answers between kisses, not wanting to leave your lips not even for a second.
Your lips curve slightly, something warm settling in your chest as you nod once, like that’s enough, like you don’t need anything more complicated than that right now.
And neither of you doubted this time, you just kept making out in every sneak out.
• friends to lovers. it genuinely won’t work for him unless you were a friend first.
• he’s a hopeless romantic! pines for you like a black and white film star, watches you from afar all dramatically with a dreamy expression and gets irritated / annoyed when someone tries to make a move on you, the second lead who never had a chance.
• i feel like overall, his type would be strong, independent women who advocate for themselves and others. but if you’re the shy, quiet type then that’s totally okay too! he loves that shit and finds you so adorable, like gunwoo. and if you’re naturally shy and quiet around people you don’t know but the complete opposite around people you do, he’s immediately wanting to be someone you can let your guard down to.
• s1!woojin is vastly different from s2!woojin when it comes to crushing on you:
— s1!woojin would be shy and almost embarrassed if anyone that wasn’t you caught on. he’d deny it and find something to do but his heart would be racing! you’d find out, though, from how he acts towards you.
— s1!woojin would give you more food than himself, finding your appetite’s satisfaction more of a priority over his own. his eyes are always on the lookout for you, visibly brightening when you’re in frame. your mental and physical health is a priority for him, especially after that bullshit with smile capital.
— he’s serious when he needs to be and doesn’t play around when it comes to you. bc of his playful attitude, you question his intentions with you. you know he isn’t a playboy and never sees women as expendable, but woojin puts up a front at times and that makes it a little hard for you to see the real him. once you voice this concern to him, he drops it and you never see it come back up.
— s2!woojin wouldn’t be as vocal / direct, but he’d show it through actions. he keeps his distance but never in an aloof way, always in a protective way.
— you take up most of his time and mind, somehow always managing to be right where he is, which causes him to malfunction a little bit and lose his train of thought.
— s2!woojin speaks so softly and gently to you, his eyes so expressive and vulnerable, his voice sweet and tender for you.
— i can see him longing for you, wanting to claim his spot as your boyfriend—your man, so bad, but the fear of baekjong getting to you holds him back. so he has you live with taeyoung and gunwoo’s mom, just until this is all over.
• if you guys get tg during s1, i can see him confessing from the hospital bed 😭 not an ideal situation but he’s under the spells of drugs and working with what he’s got so, i’d say it’s a job well done!
“hey.” he murmurs. “i gotta tell you something.”
your expectant look makes him nervous. “geez, don’t look at me like that.” he airily chuckles, so clearly effected by your unintentionally strong gaze.
“are you blushing?” you squint your eyes playfully, leaning in to inspect the sudden rosy hue.
“you expect me to react differently when you stare like that?!”
you roll your eyes but your growing smile betrays you. “just say what you need to say, you weirdo.”
“close your eyes, first.”
you do, a small part of you interested to see what happens when you entertain his theatrics.
“are they closed?”
“yes, woojin.”
“all the way, right? no peeking.”
you open your eyes with a sigh. “i’m leaving.”
you’re not, you just stand to give the allusion that you are. but he folds immediately.
“i want to be your boyfriend.”.
you heard what he said, but your mind is still processing it. you cease all movement to let it catch up before turning fast on your heel. “what.”
“...i said i wanna be your boyfriend.” woojin repeats himself, still sounding confident as ever.
when you look at him, you don't see any signs of underlying intentions in his eyes. instead, they shine brighter when you peer into them.
“it's just the drugs making you say that.” your hesitance is quiet, but not hidden.
woojin picks up on that. “i don't need them to tell you what i've been feeling.”
you don't know how to react. you've been crushing on this guy forever and now that he says he not only feels the same, but also implies that he has for a while— you're frozen.
again, woojin senses your inner turmoil. “i'll say it tomorrow, and the day after that, and everyday onwards until you give me an answer.” he winks, lips splitting open into that smile you adore so much.
• the confession would go about differently if y’all got tg during s2. i got a very mature vibe from woojin this season, not to say he was immature in s1; but he isn’t as playful and lost the jokey attitude. the stakes are higher this season so that means a more serious version of woojin. it would be more of an implied statement than an outright one.
“what's wrong?”
“hm?”
“you look like something's troubling you.”
you try to brush it off but of course, he sees right through you. “you can tell me, y/n. maybe i can help.” and he says it so gently and softly, you almost gave up the longest, hardest secret you've ever kept: harboring romantic feelings for him.
instead you opt for answering his question. “i just hate when you get hurt.” it comes out more dismal than expected and you immediately backtrack. “i'm sorry, i don't know why it came out that way.” you give a pitiful chuckle in efforts to save yourself.
woojin remembers what the nurse at the hospital told him. sure, he needs to keep fighting to win but at what point does fighting become enough? can it ever be enough? fighting is all he has, it's all he can give. surely, he can make it enough.
“y/n, wait.”
you stop in your tracks, praying he doesn't think much of your blunder and drops it. but alas, someone up there loves you too much to let this opportunity pass!
you turn around to face him.
woojin looks like he's about to pass out. “i have to keep fighting, you know that, right?”
you nod, even though the truth hurts.
“so know that when i fight, i do it for you, too.” he steps closer, finding confidence in each step. “i know i'm going to get hurt a lot more and there's no saying what will happen...”
you watch him come even closer, closing any notable gaps between you both.
“but i won’t give up and i will come back to you.” woojin then leans down to kiss your forehead, the action solidifying his words.
• when woojin’s mad, he can be pretty intimidating (read: scary), but never to you. you know he’d never let his emotions take such control over him, that he doesn’t even realize who he’s talking to, how he’s talking, and what he’s saying.
• woojin strikes me as the type to subconsciously analyze you. his steel gaze steady as they intently watch you do just about anything, especially when you talk to him. his stare makes you nervous but you’d die before you tell him that. unfortunately, nothing gets past him and his laser-focus vision.
• woojin’s hair is so sacred, he doesn’t let anyone touch it, except for you, gunwoo, and the nice lady he calls “mom”.
• s1!woojin is lowkey into you bossing him around / being in charge STAY WITH ME NOW: you once pulled on his ear when he was intimidating someone a little too far for leverage and he quit SO FAST. i don’t see him talking back either 🌚🌚 i also think if you tugged on his hair to get his attention / get him to stop doing something, he’d be into that too 😛😛
• the type to get pretty with you. skincare, makeup, getting your nails done, you name it! he’s so ready to be your test model if you want to try out a makeup or skincare product. he loves feeling all clean and pretty, no toxic masculinity over here! he’s so the type to get some nail art / polish on his thumb or middle finger to match with your own nails. you guys go get mani-pedi’s together from time to time.
• i see woojin recognizing and appreciating how much work you do. if you’re a student and/or work, he’s getting your place ready for your arrival. real househusband shit. cleans your floors, counters, stocks up your fridge, vacuums the carpets, takes out the trash. everything!!
“in here!”
you follow the direction of his voice and are met with him spraying glass cleaner on your windows with a mask lowered to his chin and yellow rubber gloves that almost reach his elbow. “you’re home early.” he smiles all cute like he isn’t playing house.
“what... are you doing?”
“cleaning!”
you roll your eyes playfully, a smile pulling at your lips. “i can see that, what i meant was what prompted you to do this?”
“ahh,” he nods like he’s just remembered why he’s here. “i just thought that since you’ve been working late this past week, i’d take care of some things here for you.”
only you know how many things you have to do in a day, but he knows how to make your days easier to bear.
“i unloaded the dish rack and put your clothes in the dryer, your stovetop is squeaky clean, too! go check it out, i’ll only be a few minutes here.”
you instead walk up to him, drag him down by the collar, and plant a soft kiss on his lips.
woojin feels a bit lightheaded when he feels the tip of your tongue graze his bottom lip.
“now i’ll take a look.” you murmur, eyes taking in the sight of his dazed face watching you disappear around the corner.
it’s safe to say that your windows won’t need to be cleaned for quite a while.
• woojin is the type to subconsciously insert you into any and every context.
“i don’t think we should go to that restaurant. y/n went and she said it wasn’t all that good.”
“there's this really nice place where you can get shaved ice and it's just down that way. y/n's a fan of the cherry-berry flavor.”
• the type to be like “no, no, i’ve got it. you’ve done so much already.” and all you did was wash a spoon 😭
• he’s got a strong poker face but will lose it on purpose with you. he can't hide his true face from you.
• keeps some kind of sweet thing in his car for you. hard candy, chewy candy, etc.
• speaking of sweets, woojin strikes me as the kind to not have a sweet tooth, but he’ll either go get you or go with you to get whatever you’re craving at 2 am. he’ll ask for some of your treat and feed you his if he thinks you’ll like it.
• omg he’s so mother hen when you’re sick or on your period 😭 has all kinds of pads (or tampons!) and all your favorite foods / snacks. will make you tea as well.
• he's your biggest, loudest cheerleader. he’s so unabashed with his pride and joy for you, that you never notice who isn’t there.
“you see that girl? yes, the prettiest one. i’m the lucky guy that gets to be her boyfriend!”
• any problem, however big or small; woojin is always going to be there for you.
“it’s okay, we’ll figure it out together, hm? we’re a team, you and i.”
• and if you’ve already figured out a plan, he’ll be like “see? you’re so smart, i told you it would work it self out.”.
• on that note, woojin is a bit of a hypocrite. he downplays his troubles bc he genuinely thinks you shouldn’t bother yourself with trying to comfort him. not that he thinks it’s unmanly, but bc he’s always been the one comforting others and helping everyone else find the solutions to their problems. he can do it for himself as well.
“i’ll be okay, y/n. seriously, don’t worry about me.” he kisses your forehead and rubs your collarbone with his thumb, appreciating your worry but also simultaneously dismissing it.
“would you do the same for me?”
woojin definitely didn’t expect you to ask that.
“would you let me figure it all out on my own if i was in your position?”
you’re gentle with your tone even if your words are firm. you’ve found that your boyfriend needs a little extra tenderness to feel comfortable enough to lend you even 1/10th of the weight on his shoulders. you’re more than welcome to give it.
he looks down at his sock-clad feet. “no. i wouldn’t.”
you tilt your head slightly to meet his gaze. “we’re a team, remember? you and i.”
woojin doesn’t need to look in your eyes to know you mean what you say but when he does, all of his worries truly go away. a faint smile ghosts his lips. “you and i.”
• has your name saved on his phone as smth cute with an emoji / emoticon. maybe a heart or two.
• on that note, you’re his home screen.
• loves the smell of your perfume. your lotion and conditioner drives him just as crazy!
• i see woojin as the “let’s not go to bed angry” type of guy. arguments aren’t uncommon but when they happen, it’s serious.
he walks over to you and hesitantly reaches out for your hands. “i don’t want us to go to sleep like this.”
“i don’t either.” you murmur, like talking any louder will break this moment.
woojin places his palm at the base of your head as he presses a kiss to your forehead, a silent promise to make up for everything that happened tonight.
• takes you on shopping sprees twice a month!! his treat.
• so down to do tiktok trends if you ask! as long as it makes you happy :) any trend that showcases his strength (the ribbon around the bicep trend) is his favorite since he knows how much his strength attracts you. get y’all a man that knows what y’all like ladies!!
• kisses like a man starved. he simply cannot get enough, truly insatiable. woojin’s romantic with the hunger, though. always starting off strong with gentle touches and, making you feel wanted and appreciated. when he’s tired, his kisses become soft and slow, really wanting to take his time with showering you with his affection. when he’s all hot and bothered (🌚), i can see him being a tease; he gets mouthy and handsy too (🌚🌚). when woojin’s feeling lovey dovey, he’s soft and doting, letting you set the pace and take the reigns if you’re up for it.
• pda is a hard pass for him but he’ll still kiss your head and hand. the world may not exist when y’all are in public but he still maintains decorum.
• the type to throw you over his shoulder if you're acting stubborn so you lowkey show out on purpose 😛
• the type to put his life on the line for you.
• if you cry to him, he lowkey babies you but it's never in a corny way! he makes you drink water and talks to you in that sweet, gentle manner that makes you believe everything's gonna be okay now that he's here. i can also see him getting tear-eyed but blinks them back hard to be strong for you.
• the type to flirt shamelessly with you, but only if there's nobody else around. he'd get embarrassed quickly if someone else were to see that.
• he's big on cuddling, especially if y'all are in bed. personal space doesn't exist when y'all sleep so if you want space, you're gonna have to wake him up the first few times.
• speaking of sleep, woojin's a deep sleeper. he snores noisily only when he's super exhausted but otherwise his snores are soft and almost muted.
• i see his love languages being physical touch and words of affirmation. though, acts of service is a close runner up. woojin shows his affection to gunwoo through high-fives, fist bumps, and hugs. similarly, he shows his love for you through hugs, handholding, and kissing. we've all heard the hopecore speeches he's given gunwoo so whenever you're feeling doubtful, down, or just overall not good—he's there to tell you exactly what you need to hear. emphasis on the need bc that's more important and necessary than what you want.
you can find the second part here, third part here
word count: 2,1k
i'm so obsessed with good boy but my obsession with lee sang yi has been strong since bloodhounds, always the second male lead, my shayla 🥹
requests are open!
You didn’t tell anyone. Not that you were sick, not that you hadn’t eaten in over a day due to the loss of your appetite and energy, not that your head felt like it was stuffed with wet cotton and your body ached like you’d been sparring for hours.
It might have something to do with the recent streak of messages that you exchanged with your quiet, methodical, unreadable colleague with a stick in his ass - Kim Jong-hyeon. His messages were always short, never sentimental, but they still managed to drive you crazy. Don’t skip lunch today (that one time you’d been avoiding the canteen food because you had been punched in the gut on a mission so hard you felt for days as if you were going to throw up), Your caffeine intake is above normal this week. Drink water before 3 p.m.; Meeting got moved to 11:40. Bring actual notes this time, or maybe the worst of them that made you not speak to him for a week: Forecast says wind gusts over 20. Don’t wear the skirt you wore last Thursday.
The last one said: Weather says 4° and raining. Don’t be stupid to wear that thin coat.
Well, as a proof of your stubbornness, you decided to wear said coat and also said skirt, just to piss him off. But seeing his calm, indifferent expression was not worth laying on your couch while contemplating your life choices.
You had worked with Jong-hyeon for just under a year in the inspection division of the auditor’s office - long enough to know he preferred actions to words, silence to sympathy, logic over anything that could be considered as warmth. You joked around him anyway, prodded him with sarcastic comments just to see if he would twitch. He rarely did.
You had heard of his lost golden medal, the eye injury, the breakup between him and officer Ji Han-na. You once saw that he still had a picture of her in his wallet - smiling, radiant, the photograph worn in the edges. Such a heart-throb, you thought, breathing out loudly through your aching throat as you moved to your side, shivering even beneath the blankets.
One thing that you could say about Kim Jong-Hyeon was that he was observant - which was probably the most dangerous thing about him. He noticed everything.
Which is why, at exactly 2:13 p.m. on your second sick day - the second one you didn’t tell anyone about, didn’t put in the system, just disappeared without a word - someone rang your doorbell. Wearing socks that didn’t match and sweatpants that had become a second skin, you crawled out of the comfort of your living room, fully prepared to yell at a delivery guy for waking you up from your fever nap.
Except when you had cracked the door open, it was not a delivery guy. It was Jong-hyeon.
In plain clothes, black hoodie, hands in his pockets like he had every right to be there and none of the intention to explain why.
You blinked once, stupidly.
He blinked back, then lifted a small white plastic bag in one hand and said, “You didn’t answer your phone.”
You didn’t remember your phone ringing.
You blinked again, slower this time, like your brain was buffering under fever and disbelief.
“You called me?” you rasped, voice barely hanging together, every syllable like gravel scraping your throat.
“I called twice,” he said, calm as ever. “And messaged. You read them but didn’t respond.”
You stared. Not because of what he said, but because he was here - on your doorstep, in casual clothes, carrying the plastic bag like it was just another checklist item. Like tracking down your half-dead, flu-ridden body on a Tuesday afternoon was standard procedure.
“You tracked me down,” you said slowly, your fingers tightening around the edge of the door. “Like I’m some kind of fugitive.”
“You weren’t answering your phone,” he repeated flatly.
“Maybe I didn’t want to be found.”
His eyes narrowed behind his glasses - just slightly. A flicker, gone before it settled. “You didn’t want to be found,” he echoed, dryly. “While shivering, with a fever, probably half-delirious, and definitely stupid enough to skip three meals.”
“I had two oranges.”
“That’s not food.”
You sighed, gave up. Stepped aside.
He walked in without another word.
Your apartment wasn’t messy, just… uninhabited. Like you’d curled up in one corner of it and abandoned the rest. Jong-hyeon’s footsteps were quiet, but your awareness of them was loud, like your body remembered the sound of him even when your mind was still sluggish.
He made himself at home - not comfortably, not with ease, but with precision. Shoes by the door, hoodie sleeves rolled up, bag unpacked in a neat row on your kitchen counter. Medicine. Sports drink. Rice porridge in a sealed takeout bowl. A digital thermometer still in its box. A packet of heat patches. Your go-to coffee order with the right amount of milk, syrup and sugar. You had no idea how he had picked up on that.
You watched him from the couch, cocooned in two blankets. Your throat ached, your joints ached, but your pride ached the most.
“So you just showed up. Because of a missed text?”
“Because you don’t miss texts,” he said, glancing up just once. “And you don’t skip work. And you don’t disappear for two days without a single complaint, unless something’s wrong.”
He placed the porridge on your coffee table. Didn’t look at you. “And because I told you not to wear that damn coat.”
You opened your mouth to respond - something cutting, probably, something to match the heat crawling up the back of your neck - but then he turned to you with a plastic spoon and said, “Eat while it’s still warm.”
You did.
You hated that it tasted good. That it soothed your throat. That your stomach, traitor that it was, grumbled in appreciation. You hated even more that he sat across from you in the armchair and didn’t speak, didn’t comment, didn’t pry. He just watched, calm and unreadable, and somehow it was that silence that cracked you open.
“Do you… do this for everyone?” you asked, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
“No.”
“Right,” you croaked. “Just the sick, stupid ones who ignore dress code warnings.”
He didn’t look up from the notes he had started scribbling in the margins of a folded case file. “You make it very difficult to ignore you.”
There it was. Almost a compliment. Delivered like a reprimand. Wrapped in that clinical tone that tried so hard to be impersonal, and failed so spectacularly when he looked at you - really looked - and you felt it.
Noticed.
Registered.
Held in the kind of gaze that always made you feel a little like you were under a microscope and a little like you were falling.
You dozed off at some point. Fever dragged you under like a tide, and when you woke, the light had changed. Dimmed. Shadows stretched longer across the ceiling. The bowl was gone. Your blanket had been tucked higher over your shoulders and there was an unfamiliar hoodie in your lap.
Jonghyeon was sitting on the floor, back against the couch, legs stretched out in front of him, now only in his t-shirt, typing on his phone with one hand and sipping something from your mug with the other.
“My cup,” you said hoarsely.
“I washed it,” he replied.
“You don’t drink tea.”
“I do when there’s nothing else.”
You stared at the back of his head. His hair was still slightly damp from the rain - the fine strands curling at the nape of his neck. You could smell the faint, clean scent of whatever he used: something herbal, practical, expensive. You hated how well you knew it. Hated how you pulled the hoodie closer.
“You can go,” you said after a beat. “I’m alive. Crisis averted.”
“I know.”
But he didn’t move. Didn’t glance at his watch. Didn’t sigh in annoyance or reach for the hoodie you were now clutching like it belonged to you. He just sat there, on your floor, absurdly calm for someone who broke into your sick day like a one-man intervention.
“I put a new bulb in your lamp, it was flickering.” he finally said, unbothered.
“Oh.” Oh. “Thank you.”
The silence stretched - long enough for you to feel it settle between your ribs, heavy and real.
“You’re staying?” you asked, quieter this time.
“For a while.”
You should’ve rolled your eyes. Thrown a pillow. Said something cutting and clever about how he was hovering like a ghost with control issues. But your head was too heavy, and the fever had softened your edges. You didn’t want him to go. Not when his presence was the only thing in your apartment not swaying with the fever.
“You’ll get sick,” you murmured, turning on your side to face him more fully.
“I won’t.”
“How do you know?”
He tapped his phone screen once, checking something - maybe his schedule, maybe a case, maybe the exact second he planned to return to pretending he didn’t care.
“I don’t get sick from people like you.”
You furrowed your brows. “What the hell does that mean?”
He looked up. Finally. His gaze was level, unreadable.
“You run yourself into the ground before asking for help. You’ll skip meals before asking anyone to check on you. If I didn’t come, you’d still be lying here with two oranges and a mild death wish. That’s not contagious. It’s just infuriating. And stupid.”
You blinked. And blinked again. “Is that… supposed to be concern?”
He stared at you for a beat. Then:
“Don’t fish for sentiment. I brought medicine, not flowers.”
You let out a broken laugh, too hoarse to be pretty. “Thank god. I’d be really worried if you showed up with tulips.”
Another silence. Softer this time.
You didn’t remember closing your eyes. Didn’t remember your hand moving, either - until your fingers were brushing the back of his head. Just a light touch. Unthinking. Fever-drunken instinct. His hair was soft, softer than you expected, still faintly damp, curling slightly at the ends.
He froze - not sharply, but like a system processing something unexpected. He didn’t stop you.
You carded your fingers through once, twice, and felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten fractionally. It was a small thing, a private betrayal of a man who prided himself on control. You smiled into the pillow.
“You really do smell nice,” you murmured.
He exhaled through his nose. “You’re delirious.”
“Mm,” you hummed, letting your hand drop. “Maybe.”
And still, he didn’t move. Even when your hand slipped off his shoulder and back into the folds of the blanket. Even when your breath slowed again and your body curled back into itself, comforted.
He stayed. Sitting on your floor, staring straight ahead.
You drifted again, half-asleep, but not quite gone. Somewhere between the heat of the room and the weight of the blankets and the quiet company of a man who refused to name the way he cared, you felt it. That subtle shift. Like gravity had pulled him closer.
“Why her?” you asked, voice rough, barely audible, unable to stifle your curiosity and maybe something else. “Why Ji Han-na?”
Another long pause.
Then, low: “She made sense. We were in the same place.”
You waited.
“But?” you prompted, eyes still closed.
“We just are not anymore. There’s nothing more to it.”
Your lips parted, but nothing came out.
“I thought I wanted quiet,” he added. “Turns out I needed someone stubborn enough to ignore me. And sharp enough to know when I’m lying.”
You didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The ache in your chest wasn’t from the virus anymore.
“Do you still carry her photo?” you asked, almost childishly.
“No.”
A beat.
“I got rid of it last month.”
You opened your eyes.
“Why?”
He looked over his shoulder at you then - finally, fully - and for the first time all day, something in his expression cracked. The edges softened. The wall dropped an inch.
“I met someone more difficult.”
You let out a sound - half-scoff, half-wheeze. “That’s your type now? ‘Difficult’?”
He tilted his head. “Apparently.”
You turned your face into the pillow, cheeks hot for a reason that had nothing to do with fever. The hoodie he’d left on you still smelled like him.
“You can sleep,” he said, standing now, walking to the kitchen without ceremony.
“I already did.”
“Then sleep again. I’ll still be here.”
You blinked at the ceiling, voice low. “Why?”
He didn’t turn around.
But he said, simply:
“Because you didn’t ask me to stay.”
And then, in the quiet, you heard it - the sound of your kettle starting to boil.
You smiled.
Because for a man who never said what he meant, Kim Jong-hyeon had just said everything.
