Ex Boyfriend Haechan x Reader (smut)
WC: 10.2k, unprotected sex, shower sex, rough sex, dirty talk
Haechan and Y/n broke up months ago but pretend to be together for their best friend Mark's wedding to not cause any drama or stress for Mark.
-------------------
The coffee shop is warm and annoyingly loud—too cozy for how icy Y/N feels when she spots him.
Haechan’s already at the table, hoodie half-zipped, one hand cradling a mug of something steaming. His eyes lift the second she walks in. Brown. Familiar. Still frustratingly pretty.
“Thanks for meeting me,” he says.
She doesn’t sit. “This is stupid.”
“Probably,” he admits, voice calm. “But we don’t really have a choice.”
She rolls her eyes and finally slides into the chair opposite him. “You walked away from me, Haechan.”
“That was two months ago.”
“It’s still fresh.”
He pauses, licking his lips like he’s holding something back. “I know. But Mark’s wedding is in a month. He’s our best friend, Y/N. He’s counting on us—me as best man, you as a guest. You think he’s not gonna notice something’s off?”
She leans back, arms crossed. “He should notice. It is off.”
“I’m not asking you to get back together,” he says, tone suddenly sharper. “I’m asking you to act like it. Just until the wedding. Just so Mark doesn’t spend his happiest week stressed about his two best friends falling apart.”
Y/N stares at him. Hates that he’s right. Hates the memories threatening to flood back: the nights she fell asleep on his chest, the fights that kept escalating until one day—he walked out.
“…What does this fake relationship even involve?”
His eyes flick up. “Nothing until the resort. Wedding week is when we’ll be expected to share a room, hold hands, laugh at each other’s jokes—basic couple shit. Until then, we just need to keep up appearances. If people ask what we’ve been up to, we need our stories straight. That means checking in, texting. Occasionally hanging out. Just enough to sell it.”
She snorts. “You want us to hang out?”
“Not like that,” he mutters. “I mean—text me if you go out of town. Let me know if you change your hair. We need to be believable, Y/N. That’s all I’m saying.”
“And then after the wedding?”
“We go back to not talking,” he says simply.
There’s a beat of silence.
“You really think you can pretend to love me again?” she asks.
His gaze flickers.
Then softly, like it hurts, “Again?”
Her heart stutters.
She looks away, jaw clenching. She should say no. She wants to say no.
But she thinks of Mark. Of the seven years of friendship. Of the speeches, the bridal parties, the endless toasts. There’s no avoiding Haechan. Not unless she wants to destroy Mark’s perfect week.
“Fine,” she says. “But I’m not kissing you.”
A slow, smug smile spreads across his face. “Not even a little?”
She narrows her eyes. “I swear to god—”
“Okay, okay,” he laughs, hands up in surrender. “No kissing unless absolutely necessary.”
“I hate you.”
“I know,” he says. “But we’re in love, remember?”
--------------
Mark takes a long sip from his beer, sneakers kicked up on the balcony railing of his apartment. The city below hums quietly beneath them, but up here, it feels like another world—like a bubble where they’re still just two boys who used to skip class and dream too big.
“I’m nervous,” Mark admits, voice low and raw with honesty. “I keep thinking something’s gonna go wrong.”
Haechan glances over at him, arms crossed. “It won’t.”
Mark smiles, but it’s tight. “You don’t know that.”
“You’re marrying the love of your life. That’s the opposite of wrong.”
Mark looks at him. “And I’m so glad you and Y/N will be there. Having you two around makes everything feel…safe. Like no matter what happens, I’ve got my people.”
Haechan’s throat closes.
Mark chuckles, leaning his head back against the chair. “You guys are next, you know.”
Haechan coughs, caught off guard. “What?”
Mark grins at him. “Don’t act surprised. You’ve been with her forever. You two are solid. I’m just saying…when it’s your turn, I’ll be there. Front row. Crying like a baby.”
Haechan exhales sharply, his grip tightening around the beer bottle. “Yeah… uh. Thanks. That means a lot.”
Mark turns toward him, voice soft. “So… when are you gonna propose?”
There’s a pause.
Haechan forces a smile, shrugs too casually. “Soon.”
Mark studies him for a second. There’s something unreadable in his eyes, but he lets it go.
“Why didn’t Y/N come today?”
“She’s… working late. Overtime,” Haechan answers quickly, avoiding eye contact.
Mark hums but doesn’t press. He just nods, takes another sip, and lets the silence stretch.
The truth sits heavy between them.
Haechan hates how easily the lie slips out now. Hates how guilty he feels watching Mark be so sure of something that ended in flames weeks ago. But he can’t undo it—not now. Not when the tickets are booked, the rooms are assigned, and Mark is smiling like the world’s finally perfect.
“I’ll see you at the airport,” Mark says eventually, patting his shoulder as he stands.
“Yeah. See you.”
Haechan watches him go, the weight of the lie crushing his chest as the door shuts behind him.
------------------
Y/N’s wheeled suitcase clips her ankle for the third time as she speed-walks through the terminal, eyes narrowing at the man beside her.
“I told you the flight was at eleven, not eleven-fifteen.”
“And I told you that I set four alarms,” Haechan replies, unbothered, sipping his iced coffee. “Not my fault my bed was warmer than you’ve ever been.”
She whips her head toward him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Haechan, I swear—”
“Hi!” Mark’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade.
They both freeze.
Mark appears with his fiancée on his arm, beaming like he’s never seen two people more in love. Y/N straightens up so fast her spine cracks. Haechan is smoother—his hand snakes between them like it’s nothing, fingers lacing into hers.
Y/N stiffens.
He doesn’t even glance at her as he leans down and presses a soft kiss to her temple. “There you are, babe,” he says with a warm smile. “We were just arguing about who loves the other more.”
Mark laughs, completely buying it. “God, you guys are gross.”
“Get used to it,” Haechan quips.
Y/N forces a smile, squeezing his hand like a warning. He squeezes back. Harder.
They head toward the gate together, fingers still linked, and it feels wrong. Not because it’s unfamiliar—but because it used to be so natural.
Their seats on the plane are beside each other. Of course they are. 14A and 14B.
Y/N slides into the window seat without speaking. Haechan drops into the aisle seat with a sigh, tossing their shared backpack under the seat ahead.
“You’re not still mad about the coffee comment, are you?”
“No,” she replies flatly.
He smirks. “Liar.”
The air hostess walks by, glancing at them with a cheerful grin. “You two are adorable. How long have you been together?”
Y/N opens her mouth, but Haechan beats her to it.
“Five years.”
She turns slowly, giving him a look. He just smiles, teeth and all, like nothing’s wrong.
“Wow,” the hostess says. “Still sitting beside each other on planes? That’s real love.”
Y/N manages a tight laugh. “Yeah. Something like that.”
She doesn’t mean to fidget. Doesn’t mean to grip the armrest like it might save her soul. But the second the plane starts rolling, her throat tightens.
Haechan notices.
Of course he does.
“You still hate flying, huh?” he murmurs.
She doesn’t answer, just stares out the window, knuckles white.
His voice drops—calm, soft. “It’s just takeoff. Statistically the safest part of the flight.”
“I don’t care about statistics,” she mutters.
“You never did.”
The plane lifts.
Her chest tightens.
“Hey,” he says gently. “Breathe in with me.”
She doesn’t move.
“Come on. In…”
She glares at him.
He raises an eyebrow. “Fake girlfriend or not, I’m not letting you pass out from anxiety in seat 14A.”
Reluctantly, she breathes in.
“Now out.”
She exhales.
“Again.”
They do it three more times. Slowly. Quietly. And she hates that it helps.
When she finally unclenches her fists, she feels his fingers brush hers on the armrest. Not a hold. Just a quiet touch. A reminder.
Not real. Not anymore.
But it lingers.
-------------------
The heat hits them the moment they step out of the car. The resort is stunning—white sand, turquoise water, palm trees swaying like it’s a movie set. Laughter and wedding prep buzz all around, but Y/N barely hears it.
Not when the front desk receptionist is saying, “Room 207. King suite. Welcome, Mr. and Mrs.—”
“Wait,” Y/N cuts in, blinking. “King?”
Haechan takes the keycards without missing a beat. “Perfect. Thanks so much.”
Y/N whirls on him as they step aside. “A king bed?”
He shrugs, dragging his suitcase behind him. “Did you think we’d be in bunks like a summer camp?”
“I didn’t think about it at all,” she hisses, eyes darting around to make sure Mark or his fiancée isn’t nearby. “We’re broken up, Haechan.”
“And yet,” he says cheerfully, “we’re a fake couple for the week. So get comfortable, sweetheart.”
She waits until dinner is in full swing, music playing by the pool and everyone distracted, before sneaking up to the front desk.
The receptionist looks apologetic from the second she asks. “Unfortunately, ma’am, we’re fully booked for the entire week. Every guest room is spoken for.”
Y/N nods, trying to swallow her disappointment. “Right. Okay. Thanks anyway.”
She doesn’t know he heard.
But Haechan’s been standing around the corner, half-shielded by a decorative plant, drink in hand and expression unreadable.
--------------
“Didn’t take you long to try and ditch me.”
Y/N freezes mid-unzipping her toiletries bag. “What?”
He closes the door behind him, dropping onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. “The desk. You trying to score your own room. That’s cute.”
“I just… I didn’t remember it was a one-bed situation. I thought I called and changed it.”
He snorts. “Right. Total accident. Silly you.”
She turns, frustration simmering. “Why do you even care?”
“I don’t.” He stretches out on the bed like he owns it, hands behind his head. “It’s just funny. You can sleep in the tub if you want.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“Better than a coward.”
That one hits.
The room goes quiet.
He doesn’t mean to say it. Not really. But it’s out there now, and he won’t take it back. He never does.
Three Years Ago
Haechan spots her from across the deck. He’s mid-sip of his drink, but his gaze doesn’t leave her. Not once.
Mark catches him staring. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Who is that?” Haechan asks, eyes gleaming.
“My friend from uni. Off-limits.”
“Off-limits makes it sound like a challenge.”
Mark groans. “Haechan—”
But he’s already moving.
He slides up beside her casually, offering a crooked smile. “Hi.”
She glances at him. “Hi?”
“You look like you belong in a painting.”
She blinks. “Wow. Is that your opener?”
“It’s working, isn’t it?”
She fights a smile. “That depends. Are you always this full of yourself?”
“Only when I see something I like.”
She raises an eyebrow. “And what is it you think you see?”
He leans in just slightly, his voice dropping.
“Trouble.”
She laughs—really laughs—and Haechan knows in that moment he’s completely screwed.
Back in the Present
Y/N turns away without another word, pulling her clothes from her suitcase in sharp, jerking motions. The silence between them is louder than ever.
And Haechan, lying in the bed they used to share so easily, stares at the ceiling—remembering the first time she laughed because of him.
Now he’s lucky if she doesn’t flinch when he breathes too close.
“I’m not sleeping in that bed with you.”
Y/N’s voice is firm as she yanks a blanket from the closet and marches to the small resort couch, already curling her knees beneath her. The fabric’s scratchy, the armrest digs into her shoulder blade, and the throw pillow smells faintly of sunscreen.
Haechan watches her from the bed, one arm behind his head. “You’re being dramatic.”
“No thanks,” she mutters, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
He sighs. “Come on. You act like I’m going to maul you in your sleep.”
She doesn’t respond.
He frowns, his voice edging sharp. “You know I wouldn’t.”
“I know,” she says quietly.
Something shifts in him, but he doesn’t show it.
“Fine,” he mutters. “Suit yourself.”
He rolls over, facing the other way.
Hours Pass
He can’t sleep.
The bed is too big. Too cold. Too wrong with only him in it.
He stares at the ceiling, fists clenched under the covers, jaw tight with frustration. Not because she chose the couch—but because she didn’t even hesitate.
Because he hates that it still hurts.
Because he hates that it’s his fault.
Haechan swings his legs over the bed, standing quietly.
The blanket’s slipped off her shoulder, one foot sticking out like it always does. She’s curled tight like she’s bracing for something.
He grabs a spare pillow, walks over, and kneels down beside her. Carefully. Silently.
He scoops her into his arms, lifting her just like he used to when she fell asleep on the couch at his place. She doesn’t stir.
He lays her down gently, pulling the comforter over her, tucking it around her like muscle memory. One long breath escapes her lips, her face softening in sleep.
He turns away, returning to the couch without a word.
-----------------
Y/N stirs as the early sun peeks through the curtains.
Her limbs stretch slowly against the plush mattress, eyes fluttering open—
She’s in the bed.
Her eyes widen.
She sits up fast, blinking in confusion, only to spot Haechan, curled uncomfortably on the too-small couch, arms crossed over his chest, legs dangling off the end.
A tight pull tugs at her chest.
He carried her. In the middle of the night. Without saying a word.
He always does this—never apologizing, never explaining, but always doing. Fixing things quietly. Making space. Offering warmth in silence.
Y/N smiles a little, biting her bottom lip.
He looks so peaceful like that. Tired. Soft. Familiar.
Her gaze drifts down to his hands—those hands that used to know every inch of her. His arms. His shoulders. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her cheek.
She wonders if his touch still feels the same.
She swallows thickly, immediately shaking her head, burying the thought.
No. Don’t go there.
This isn’t real. This is pretend. This is for Mark.
Still, she can’t help but whisper so quietly it doesn’t reach him—
“Thank you.”
The breakfast terrace is all sunlight and laughter. White umbrellas flutter in the ocean breeze, and the wedding party is already seated around a long table filled with fruit platters, mimosas, and way too many croissants.
Y/N walks up beside Haechan, forcing a smile as his hand instinctively finds hers.
It feels practiced now—his fingers sliding between hers, the subtle brush of his thumb across her skin. To anyone watching, it probably looks natural.
To her, it feels like a memory in the shape of a lie.
“You’re late,” Jaemin teases from across the table.
Haechan grins. “We were… occupied.”
Y/N elbows him lightly. “We were asleep.”
The group laughs, and the topic moves on. Conversations crisscross like a net. Wedding details. Hair appointments. Boat excursions.
Through it all, Y/N plays the part. She leans toward Haechan at the right moments. She laughs when he whispers something into her ear. She even rests her head on his shoulder for a moment during coffee, his arm draped behind her chair.
But they don’t kiss.
Not once.
And Haechan doesn’t look at her the way he used to. The way he wants to.
----------------
Mark pulls him aside, catching him just outside the patio doors while the rest of the group heads off toward the pool.
“Hey.”
Haechan turns. “What’s up?”
Mark rubs the back of his neck. “You and Y/N… you guys okay?”
Haechan blinks. “Yeah. Why?”
Mark hesitates, frowning. “I don’t know. You just seem a little off.”
“We’re fine.”
Mark doesn't look convinced. “It’s just—usually you guys are, like… inseparable. She’d be in your lap by now. You’d be kissing her hand or talking her ear off while she smiles like an idiot. You’ve barely said anything to each other today.”
Haechan forces a casual shrug, hands in his pockets. “Our neighbors are loud. We didn’t sleep great. That’s all.”
Mark relaxes a little. “Oh. Okay. That makes sense.”
“Yeah,” Haechan lies smoothly. “Probably just tired. We’ll be back to normal tomorrow hopefully.”
Mark claps his shoulder. “Cool. Good. I was just worried. You two are like the gold standard, you know?”
Haechan swallows, something sharp pressing behind his ribs. “Yeah. I know.”
What a blessing and burden to hear that from your best friend.
Mark brightens. “Anyway—group’s heading to the private pool around two. Then drinks at the bar before dinner. Should be fun.”
“Sounds good.”
Mark grins and heads off, leaving Haechan alone with the lie still burning in his mouth.
--------------
The pool is sparkling, the late afternoon sun painting everything golden. Music drifts from hidden speakers, fruity drinks flow freely, and the wedding party is scattered across lounge chairs and inflatable rafts.
Y/N walks out in a deep blue one-piece, low-cut and clinging in all the right places. Her sunglasses are perched on her nose, lips glossy, hair damp from the quick rinse she took before coming out.
Haechan is already in the water, half-submerged and lazily floating. His hair is slicked back, droplets glinting on his shoulders and collarbones. He turns just as she walks by—
And stares.
Not subtly.
She notices.
She tries not to smirk.
“You gonna keep gawking or say something?” she murmurs, sliding her cover-up off slowly and folding it over a chair.
He tilts his head, lips twitching. “Just trying to remember how I ever let that go.”
Her smile falters for a second. But she brushes it off, stepping into the water, pretending the coolness is the only thing giving her goosebumps.
“Couples photo!” someone calls.
The bridesmaid with the camera waves them over. “You two—get together! Right in the middle. You look so good.”
Y/N and Haechan glance at each other. Silent agreement.
Fine. Let’s perform.
He wades to her, hand finding her waist easily. It burns where he touches. Her palm rests against his bare chest—too familiar, too soft, too dangerous.
“Closer,” the bridesmaid says.
They move closer.
“Maybe hold her face? Yeah, like you’re about to kiss her.”
Y/N’s heart jumps. But she nods, tilts her head like it’s all for the show.
Haechan’s thumb brushes her cheekbone. His eyes flicker to her mouth. The space between them narrows.
Too close.
She turns her head at the last second.
His lips catch her cheek instead.
Click.
“Aw,” the bridesmaid sighs. “You two are unreal. These pics look like a honeymoon catalog.”
Y/N forces a laugh. Haechan just stares at her, unreadable.
They swim apart after that, but her skin still tingles.
Y/N lounges on a towel, towel draped around her waist, drink in hand. A bridesmaid sits beside her—friendly, curious.
“So,” she says, nudging her gently. “You and Haechan… seriously. You two look like the kind of couple people make movies about.”
Y/N chokes slightly on her mimosa. “God, please don’t say that.”
The bridesmaid laughs. “Sorry. But I mean it. You still have that spark. It’s rare, you know? Five years together and you’re still all over each other.”
Y/N stares into her glass.
The bridesmaid lowers her voice. “So… when’s your big day?”
Y/N lifts her eyes slowly. Smiles. It’s small and brittle and practiced.
“Soon.”
The bridesmaid squeals, and Y/N plays along. But deep down, the word echoes in her chest like a stone dropped into still water.
Soon.
As if pretending long enough might somehow make it true.
-----------
The room is dim, sun beginning to set behind gauzy curtains. Y/N is sitting at the vanity, drying her hair with lazy motions while Haechan scrolls on his phone, pacing behind her.
He stops suddenly.
“Mark’s getting suspicious.”
She looks up in the mirror.
“He pulled me aside again,” Haechan says, running a hand through his damp hair. “Said we’re not acting like ourselves. We’re being too careful.”
Y/N sighs. “What do you want me to do? Jump your bones at breakfast?”
He gives a humorless laugh. “I’m saying we need to play it up. Laugh more. Touch more. Look like we’re still in love.”
She turns the hairdryer off, silence thick between them.
“It’s already so hard,” she says quietly.
He pauses.
Y/N moves to the edge of the bed, towel around her shoulders. Her eyes are glossy, lower lip trembling.
Haechan’s whole body tenses. “Hey… hey, don’t—”
“I’m fine,” she mutters, blinking quickly. “It’s stupid.”
But the tears come anyway. She sucks in a shaky breath, and it all starts pouring out, her voice cracking around the edges.
“This is cruel, Haechan.”
He moves closer, panic bubbling under his skin. “Y/N—”
“I should’ve been married by now. I should’ve had everything planned. My life was supposed to be happy. And instead, I’m here lying to everyone I care about with a smile on my face while my heart feels like a fucking joke.”
He kneels in front of her instinctively, like his body moves without his brain.
She covers her face with her hands, crying quietly, shoulders shaking. Haechan reaches out but hesitates—his fingers hover just above her knee, too afraid to touch.
“I walk around pretending I’m okay,” she chokes out, “but I’m not. I’m not okay. This is so humiliating”
He looks wrecked.
Utterly wrecked.
He wants to say I’m sorry. Wants to say me too. Wants to hold her like he used to, like it meant something, like he still means something.
But the words don’t come. They never do.
Instead, Y/N wipes her face and straightens up, the pain shoved behind another forced smile.
“Forget it,” she says hoarsely. “We have a show to perform at dinner, right?”
She stands, moves past him toward the closet to change. Haechan stays frozen on the floor, still kneeling.
And for the first time since they started pretending, he wishes they weren’t.
Because seeing her like that—broken and brave and still trying—shatters him more than the breakup ever did.
-------------
Dinner is a hit.
Y/N is in a soft green dress that hugs her waist and floats around her knees, her makeup glowing just enough to catch the candlelight. Haechan sits beside her, wearing a button-down she once bought for him that he still can’t let go of. Their chairs are pulled close together. His hand rests comfortably on her thigh. She leans into his shoulder like it’s second nature.
It’s a performance—but it’s flawless.
They laugh on cue. Whisper into each other’s ears. She feeds him a bite of dessert with teasing eyes. He brushes a crumb off her lip with his thumb.
By the end of it, Mark claps him on the back, beaming. "I'm glad you guys are feeling better."
Haechan forces a grin. “Yeah. Better than ever.”
Y/N nods, heart cracking at the weight of it all.
-----------------
The music slows, lights dimming into soft golds and purples. A string of couples drifts toward the small dance floor. Haechan holds out a hand. Y/N hesitates—but takes it.
He pulls her close.
Her hands rest lightly on his shoulders, his arms circling her waist. They sway in time to the music, the beat lazy and romantic. It should be easy.
It’s not.
Y/N can’t look at him. Her gaze flickers everywhere—over his shoulder, at the floor, at the couple beside them—anywhere but at his eyes.
“You need to relax,” Haechan murmurs, just low enough for her to hear.
“I’m trying,” she whispers, voice tight.
He watches her for a beat, and then—she stiffens.
“Mark’s watching,” she breathes.
Without another word, she moves closer, chest brushing his. Her fingers curl at the nape of his neck as she forces a soft, adoring smile.
He mirrors it perfectly.
It’s second nature, the mask they wear.
So natural that when their faces draw near, their lips brush without hesitation.
A soft kiss.
Brief.
Automatic.
But the second it happens, Y/N’s eyes widen.
Haechan’s, too.
And then, without a word, he leans in again and kisses her.
Longer this time.
Slower.
Not gentle—intentional.
Her fingers tighten in his hair.
They start moving in sync, breathing into each other like they’ve done this a thousand times. Like their mouths still remember how to fall apart together.
Someone whistles. “Get a room!”
Laughter breaks around them. Mark’s voice carries through it all. “They’re disgustingly in love.”
Haechan grins mid-kiss, not pulling away.
“Come on,” he whispers into her lips, grabbing her hand.
The door slams shut behind them.
They don’t speak.
They don’t even pause.
He pushes her back gently against the wall, mouths crashing again—hungrier this time. Her fingers are tugging at his shirt before she can think. His hands slip over her waist, her back, anywhere they can touch.
It’s not pretend now.
It’s not even close.
Her lips part, and his tongue meets hers with a groan. She moans into his mouth, pulling him closer like she needs him to fill the hollow ache inside her chest.
He kisses her like he misses her.
She kisses him like she never stopped.
And as they stumble toward the bed, breathless and aching and wide open, neither of them dares to say it out loud—
But both of them feel it:
This was never over.
The second the hotel room door clicks shut behind them, Haechan has Y/N pinned against it.
His mouth crashes into hers like he’s been starved for years, hands gripping her thighs and hiking her up so she wraps around his waist.
“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he pants against her lips, grinding into her, already hard.
She moans, clutching at his shoulders, her dress hitched up, the lace of her underwear soaked through. “Haechan—”
“Yeah, baby?” he huffs, biting at her neck. “Finally gonna stop pretending you don’t want me?”
She whines when his hand sneaks between her thighs, pressing against her. “Been walking around all week in that tiny dress, no bra—knew you wanted me to see.”
She gasps, body jerking when he pushes the lace aside and sinks two fingers inside her.
“God,” she breathes. “You’re such a fucking—”
“Say it,” he growls, curling his fingers, his mouth hot on her jaw. “Come on, you wanna act like you hate me? Let’s hear it.”
She bites back a moan. “You’re cocky, arrogant—”
“Yeah?” He drops her onto the bed, pulling her dress over her head in one motion. “That why you’re dripping for me right now?”
He’s on top of her again, mouth all over her chest, sucking bruises into her skin, tugging her panties down with his teeth.
“You should see how fucking pretty your pussy looks right now,” he mutters. “Bet it missed me.”
She arches, already desperate. “Need you—”
“Yeah?” His voice is low, dirty. “You want me to fuck you stupid like I used to?”
“Yes—”
He grabs her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Use your words.”
“Please, Haechan. Just—fuck me.”
He groans, yanking his belt open and pushing his pants down. He doesn’t even get them all the way off before he’s kneeling between her legs, stroking himself as he looks at her laid out for him, flushed and trembling.
“God, I missed this.”
Then he’s pushing in—deep, fast, no warning.
She gasps, nails clawing at his back.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “Still so tight for me.”
He sets a brutal rhythm, hips slamming into hers, one hand wrapped around her throat just enough to make her shiver. He watches her come undone, dragging filthy praise out between each thrust.
“Just like that, baby. Look at you—taking it so fucking good.”
“God, you feel so good, I—”
He grabs her leg, hiking it over his shoulder, pushing deeper. “Yeah? You missed this cock, didn’t you?”
“Yes—yes—Haechan—!”
She comes hard, clenching around him, body shaking. He fucks her through it, chasing his own release until he spills inside her with a rough grunt, face buried in her neck.
But he doesn’t pull out.
Instead, he kisses her.
Slowly.
Softly.
Like he forgot they weren’t supposed to feel anything anymore.
------------
Later, after they’ve both calmed, they lie tangled in the sheets, her hand absentmindedly tracing lines down his chest.
Neither speaks.
Not yet.
Then he shifts above her, cups her jaw, and leans in again. This kiss is different. No heat. No urgency. Just… longing.
When he enters her again, it’s slow.
Purposeful.
Their eyes stay locked.
He moves deeper, grinding gently, his forehead resting against hers.
“You still feel like home,” he whispers, almost to himself.
She doesn’t answer—but the way her arms wrap around his neck says enough.
There’s no filth this time.
Only murmured names and stuttered breaths.
His mouth finds her shoulder. Her fingers stroke through his hair.
Every thrust is tender, like he’s trying to remind her of something.
Like he’s saying everything he can’t admit out loud.
She whimpers when she comes again, face buried in his neck. And when he finishes with a soft gasp of her name, he stays inside her for a long time.
No one moves.
Eventually, he brushes a strand of hair from her face and kisses her temple.
Neither of them says what this means.
But both of them know—
This wasn’t part of the act.
-------------
The morning air was warm and gentle.
But nothing about the weight in Y/N’s chest feels light.
She stirs first—Haechan still fast asleep beside her, one arm slung across her waist, their legs tangled, bodies flushed with last night’s heat. His lips are parted slightly, lashes soft against his cheek. Peaceful. Like nothing's wrong.
But everything is wrong.
She stares at the ceiling for a beat too long before carefully peeling his arm off and sitting up, the blanket falling from her bare chest. She groans under her breath, dragging a hand through her hair.
"This never should’ve happened," she mumbles.
Before she can retreat to the bathroom, there’s a loud knock.
“Room service!” a voice teases on the other side of the door.
They freeze.
Another knock. “Oh my God, are you two seriously still in bed? Breakfast was an hour ago!”
It’s one of the bridesmaids—Minji, too nosy for her own good.
Y/N curses, grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around her body just as the door cracks open.
Minji pops her head in—freezes.
Her eyes go wide, her mouth already forming a smirk as she sees them both disheveled, clearly just out of bed. Haechan’s still shirtless under the covers, hair a mess, a faint bite mark peeking out from his collarbone.
“Oooh,” Minji grins. “Well, someone had a good night.”
Y/N groans again, burying her face in her hands. “Minji, go away.”
Minji laughs, already backing out. “I knew you two were still crazy about each other. You can’t fake that chemistry. Don’t worry—I’ll tell everyone to give you some alone time.”
Door shuts.
Silence.
Y/N lets out a long, exhausted sigh, standing and padding to the bathroom without another word. The blanket drops from her shoulders right before she slams the door, and a second later, the sound of the shower starting echoes through the room.
Haechan stays exactly where he is, staring at the ceiling now. His chest rises and falls in a slow, heavy rhythm.
Last night flashes in his mind in fragments.
Her moaning his name. The way she clung to him like she’d break if he let go. That second kiss when they were dancing—not for the show. Just for them.
He runs a hand over his face, jaw tight.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
How did something so perfect—so easy and right—end up like this?
He should get dressed. He should get up and fix this.
Instead, he lies back down, eyes still on the ceiling, listening to the water run and wondering when pretending stopped being enough.
-------------
The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
Haechan sat on the couch, scrolling through something on his phone, one leg lazily bouncing over the other. He didn’t even look up when Y/N came out of the bedroom, her expression tight, arms crossed like she was holding herself together.
She stood there for a moment, waiting—maybe hoping he'd notice. Say something. Ask what was wrong.
He didn’t.
So she spoke first.
“I don’t think this is working anymore.”
That got his attention. He looked up, blinking, confusion flickering in his eyes before settling into something unreadable. “What?”
Y/N didn’t answer right away. She swallowed. Her throat was dry.
“You’re always busy. I’m always second-guessing. It feels like we’re just…” she sighed, voice cracking a little. “Like we’re just passing time.”
He stared at her for a long time. Too long.
And then—he nodded.
No fight. No denial. No please don’t do this.
Just a quiet, “Okay.”
Something in her chest broke.
She blinked quickly, trying not to cry in front of him, not wanting to seem weak or desperate. She thought he’d at least argue. Tell her she was wrong. Tell her he loved her.
But he didn’t.
She tried to keep her voice steady. “We’re not even trying anymore, Haechan.”
“Maybe we stopped trying a while ago,” he said, voice low, unreadable. “Maybe this was coming.”
She stared at him, heart thudding in her ears. “That easy, huh?”
He hesitated—just a second—but it was enough to confirm it. “I don’t want us to end badly.”
And that, somehow, made it worse.
Because it was so calm. So final.
She gave a small, bitter laugh, looking away. “Guess there’s nothing else to say then.”
She walked over to the door, grabbing her coat with trembling fingers.
And still—he didn’t stop her.
Didn’t ask her to stay.
Didn’t say he loved her.
She paused with her hand on the doorknob, back to him, holding in every word she wanted to say.
And then she left.
Back in the present, her hand grips the edge of the bathroom sink.
Steam curls around her as she stares into the mirror, heart pounding.
She touches her lips, remembering how it felt last night. How it always felt. Like home.
But he let her walk away once. Without a word. Without a fight.
So she’d be damned if she let herself believe that kiss meant anything more than a mistake.
Even if it still hurt like hell.
-------------
The sun is already high when they meet the others for the day’s excursions—brunch, followed by some kind of boat tour. Haechan’s dragging his feet a little, tired but content, lips tingling from the memory of her kisses, her moans still echoing faintly in his head.
But when Y/N arrives, sunglasses perched on her nose and a light breeze tugging at her sundress, he stops breathing altogether.
She greets him with a smile that nearly knocks the air out of him. “There you are, baby,” she coos sweetly, sliding her arms around his waist.
He stumbles slightly, blinking. “Y/N—”
She silences him with a kiss. Quick. Sweet. Confident.
“Sleep well?” she asks, brushing her thumb over his cheek.
He nods dumbly. His chest tightens at how soft she’s being.
During brunch, she leans into him, tracing shapes on his knee under the table. She feeds him bites off her plate, laughing at everything he says, stealing sips from his drink, wiping a bit of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth and sucking it off her finger like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Even he forgets for a moment that it’s all fake.
“God, you guys are gross,” Mark says with a fond roll of his eyes. “Can you save some PDA for the honeymoon?”
“Sorry,” Y/N says, flashing a smile that could melt glaciers. “Can’t help it.”
She kisses Haechan’s cheek, her lips lingering. “You’re just too cute.”
And he swears, if he didn’t know better, he’d think she meant it.
But the second they’re walking ahead of the group, falling behind in the hallway as the rest head toward the docks, her hand slips from his. The smile fades. And when he tries to talk—
“Hey,” he says, reaching for her wrist. “That was…”
“Don’t.” Her voice is flat, cold.
His stomach twists. “Y/N, come on. What was that this morning—last night—?”
She keeps walking. “Nothing. We have a role to play, remember? Let’s not screw it up.”
“But you kissed me—”
“Yeah,” she says sharply, stopping to face him. “Because Mark was watching.”
Something in her eyes is dark, unreadable. She adjusts her sunglasses and walks away like he’s nothing.
And for the rest of the day, it’s a knife to the chest.
Because she keeps doing it. Touching him, whispering sweet things in front of the others, stealing kisses, hugging him like she can’t bear to be apart.
But the second they’re alone—on the boat deck, in the corridor, at the edge of the group—she shuts down completely.
Dry. Distant. Unreachable.
It’s like whiplash. Her sweetness feels like a trap now, and Haechan realizes with a sick twist in his stomach—
She’s punishing him.
And he doesn’t even blame her.
Because he let her go once without a fight. And now she’s showing him exactly what that felt like.
------------
The air is cool, laced with the sound of ocean waves and music drifting from inside the reception room. Fairy lights glow warmly above, laughter echoing from the tables. Y/N is dazzling as always, leaning against Haechan’s arm as someone snaps a photo. Her hand is on his chest again. Her laugh is practiced. Her lips brush his jaw in a lingering kiss that makes his heart ache.
But the second no one is looking, she lets go of him like he burns.
She walks ahead, socializing with the others effortlessly, never looking back.
Haechan barely has time to process the hollow in his chest when he feels a firm hand on his shoulder.
Mark.
“Hey,” Mark says quietly, pulling him toward the side of the balcony. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
Haechan blinks. “Yeah, sure. Everything okay?”
Mark smiles. “Yeah, just… I’ve been thinking. Y/N’s been super lovey-dovey lately. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see it—I was worried there for a bit—but…” He shrugs. “You ever think about proposing?”
The question hits Haechan square in the chest. He stares at Mark, throat tightening.
Mark laughs. “I’m serious, man. She clearly loves you. You two have been together forever. Maybe all this wedding stuff is getting to her. You should go for it.”
There’s a long beat of silence before Haechan reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his worn leather wallet.
Mark watches, confused—until Haechan slips a small velvet box from the hidden pocket inside.
“…What the hell?” Mark’s eyes widen.
“I bought this a year ago,” Haechan says quietly. “I was going to do it last spring. Had everything planned.”
Mark stares at the box, stunned. “Then why didn’t you?”
“You proposed,” Haechan replies simply, flicking the box open to reveal a delicate ring, the kind Y/N always said she wanted—thin band, oval diamond, nothing too flashy. “I didn’t want to take the spotlight. Figured I’d wait a while.”
Mark lets out a breath. “Dude. That’s…”
“I was just waiting for the perfect time,” Haechan continues softly, looking down at the ring. “But it never came.”
Mark wraps him in a tight hug. “Man, I’m so damn happy for you. I mean that. You’re gonna make her so happy.”
Haechan forces a smile, patting his best friend on the back. “Yeah. Thanks.”
But when Mark walks away, humming to himself, Haechan doesn’t move. Just stands there, staring at the ring in his hand.
He swallows hard, the bitter twist of irony cutting deeper than anything.
Because now all he can think is— “What the hell do I do with a ring when the girl I bought it for won’t even look at me anymore?”
He slips it back into his wallet, into the same pocket it’s been hidden in for over a year.
And for the first time, he wonders if it’ll ever come back out again.
---------------
Y/N is perfect.
Too perfect.
Her laughter is golden. Her hand fits neatly into Haechan’s. She’s feeding him bites of fruit from her plate, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin like he’s the center of her universe. Her eyes crinkle when she smiles at him—so lovingly, so convincingly, it almost makes him believe it.
Almost.
Because the second someone else is speaking, the second they’re not the focus of attention—she withdraws like he’s invisible.
Won’t look at him. Won’t touch him. Doesn’t say a word.
It’s driving him mad.
When the group disperses after brunch, he grabs her wrist and pulls her down the hall, into a quiet corner near the linen closets.
“Y/N,” he hisses, closing the door behind them. “What the hell are you doing?”
She blinks at him, all innocent surprise. “What do you mean?”
He exhales sharply. “You’re being cold. You act like you’re in love with me when people are watching and then you treat me like a stranger the second we’re alone.”
She just shrugs. “I’m acting like you did.”
That lands hard. He flinches.
She crosses her arms, her voice calm and cruelly steady. “You’re getting a taste of your own medicine, Haechan. You made it look so easy. All smiles in public. All distance in private. I’m just following your example.”
He stares at her, chest heaving.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you like that,” he says finally. “I was… scared.”
She scoffs. “Of what? Of trying?”
“No—of fighting for you and still losing you,” he says, voice cracking. “Because if I begged you to stay and you still walked away, then I’d know for sure you didn’t want me. That you didn’t love me anymore.”
He looks at her like she’s the only thing he’s ever cared about.
“And that would’ve destroyed me.”
Y/N blinks, throat bobbing. “It destroyed me anyway,” she whispers.
Silence settles between them like a fog.
“I’m sorry,” Haechan says, voice raw. “I should’ve fought harder.”
She holds his gaze for a long moment.
Then she smiles sadly. “I’ll always want you.”
And she walks away before he can say a word, heels echoing down the hall, leaving him leaning back against the wall like the wind’s been knocked out of him.
---------------
The evening sparkles with fairy lights, champagne, and the soft clinking of silverware. Everyone is dressed to the nines. But no one looks as devastating as her.
Y/N walks in like a dream—floor-length silk clinging to her curves, hair pinned perfectly, lips glossed and eyes shimmering. Haechan watches her from across the room in his black suit and navy tie, jaw flexing slightly when her eyes lock with his.
She doesn’t smile.
She just looks at him. All knowing. All heat.
And it’s enough.
The night starts with practiced poise. Toasts. Speeches. Laughter.
But the pull between them is magnetic. Electric.
Y/N perches beside him at the long table, her bare shoulder brushing his suit jacket. She leans in to whisper something to someone else, and her lips ghost past his neck. Haechan’s hand slides beneath the table, fingers brushing her thigh just once. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. Until dessert is served and he lifts his fork to her lips, feeding her a bite of cake. She hums, slow and sweet.
He cuts her meat without a word.
She places her hand over his on the knife, deliberately brushing her fingers along his knuckles.
No one around them notices how his mouth finds the curve of her shoulder under the pretense of a whisper. How she turns her head just enough to kiss the underside of his jaw.
They look like a couple in love.
But to them—for tonight—it almost feels like love again.
She lets him wrap his arm around the back of her chair. Her hand stays on his thigh.
She laughs with him, smiles at him, rubs her thumb along his jaw after he makes a joke.
The mask drops without effort.
It’s the most natural thing in the world.
By the end of the night, they’re tangled around each other under the pretense of comfort and champagne, but there’s a glimmer in their eyes—haunted, warm, and wanting.
Because for the first time in forever, they aren’t pretending.
They’re just them again.
Even if it’s temporary.
The wedding is tomorrow and all she can think is 'is this it? is the last time I'll be able to touch you and see you smile?'
Little does she know Haechan is thinking the exact same thing,
-------------
They don’t say anything when they enter the hotel room. Y/N turns the lock behind them, drops her clutch, and spins on her heel. Haechan barely gets a breath in before she’s fisting his tie and yanking him down into her mouth.
The kiss is filthy. Teeth, tongue, and months of pent-up longing.
He groans into her, stumbling forward until her back hits the wall. Her fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard as she kisses him like she’s starving.
He breaks away for just a second, panting against her lips. “You’re unreal,” he breathes, eyes blown wide. Y/N smirks, tugging his tie again. “Shut up and fuck me.”
They leave a trail of clothes from the bed to the bathroom, kissing and fumbling through their laughter. Her dress slips off her shoulders, pooling to the floor. His shirt is halfway unbuttoned when she grabs his belt and backs into the shower, turning on the spray as the steam instantly begins to rise.
Water pours down their bodies, hot and slick. She presses him to the tile, dropping to her knees on the wet floor. Haechan gasps when her mouth wraps around him, his hand flying to the back of her head.
“Fuck, baby—god, your mouth—always knew it’d ruin me.”
She gags and moans at once, hand stroking what she can’t fit as he throbs on her tongue. Her eyes stay locked on his, daring him to fall apart.
He nearly does.
“Get up,” he pants, pulling her back to her feet, pinning her to the foggy glass wall. “You want it rough? I’ll give it to you rough.”
He hooks her leg around his waist and thrusts in all at once, swallowing her strangled moan with his mouth. The sound of skin slapping echoes through the shower, the water cascading over them as he fucks her hard and deep, hips snapping like he means to make her feel this tomorrow.
“Missed this pussy—fuck—you’re still so tight for me,” he growls against her throat. “You missed this too, didn’t you?”
She whines as he pounds into her, head dropping back.
“Say it, baby. Say you missed me fucking you like this.”
“I missed you,” she gasps, nails digging into his back. “I missed everything.”
He kisses her fiercely, hips stuttering as she clenches around him.
“I’m gonna—shit—inside,” he groans.
“Do it,” she breathes, legs locking around him. “I want it.”
He slams into her once, twice—then groans her name against her lips, spilling inside her as the water continues pouring down their trembling bodies.
They stay like that for a while. Wrapped in each other, steam thick around them, the taste of desperation and memory still on their tongues.
But then he starts to move again—hands sliding down her back, lifting her slightly.
“You think I’m done with you?” he murmurs, voice husky and low. “Not even close.”
He kisses her slower this time—soft, deliberate—as he sets her down gently, turning her so her front presses against the glass wall.
“Let me love you properly now,” he whispers, positioning himself again.
And round two begins—slower, deeper, emotional.
The kind that makes her close her eyes and bite her lip because it’s not about lust anymore.
It’s about them.
She doesn’t know how they end up like this—bodies tangled beneath the heat of the water, her chest pressed to the fogged-up glass as he rocks into her from behind.
It’s slower now. Controlled. Like he’s savoring her.
His palm smooths up her spine before he curls his fingers into her damp hair, pulling gently to tilt her head back.
“Feel that?” he murmurs against her ear. “How perfectly you fit around me?”
Y/N chokes on a gasp as he thrusts again, long and deep. She feels every inch of him, her walls fluttering as he presses in and stays, grinding slowly.
“No one else gets you like this,” he growls, dragging his mouth along the curve of her neck. “No one else even fucking compares.”
She clenches around him at his words, a soft whimper spilling from her lips.
Haechan smiles against her skin. “Yeah… I know you missed this. You missed me. Missed the way I stretch you open—fill you up so good you forget your own damn name.”
She’s shaking, hands braced flat against the slick glass, her head hung low, biting back cries that sound too much like love.
“You were made for me, baby,” he pants. “You think I don’t know it the second I’m inside you? This pussy’s mine.”
Y/N doesn’t argue. She can’t. Not when she’s holding on so tight she feels like she might fall apart.
Not when every slow drag of his cock has her seeing stars.
Not when her heart feels like it’s being ripped in two.
“Tell me you feel it too,” he whispers, slowing down even more. His thrusts now feel like declarations. Gentle. Intentional. “Tell me you still need me.”
Her voice breaks when she finally speaks.
“I never stopped.”
His breath stutters in his chest.
“I tried to move on,” she admits, voice raw. “But no one was ever you.”
He groans softly, leaning forward to kiss her temple, her jaw, the corner of her mouth as he continues fucking her with those slow, perfect strokes that leave her gasping.
“You’re everything, Y/N,” he says, hands smoothing over her hips, her waist, her breasts. “You always have been.”
And god—she wants to believe him. Wants to believe this means something more. That when this wedding is over, they’ll figure it out. That she’s not just a last taste of something that used to be.
But tomorrow, they’ll go back to pretending. Tomorrow, someone else is getting married. Tomorrow might be the last time she ever sees him.
That fear bubbles up and makes her cling tighter to him, arms reaching back to pull him down until his chest is against her back, her hands cupping his jaw, her cheek turning just enough to kiss him blindly, messily.
“Please,” she breathes, breaking apart under him. “Don’t make this the last time.”
He doesn’t say anything, but the way his arms lock around her, the way his hips start to move faster, and the broken noise he lets out against her skin—it tells her everything she needs to know.
They fall apart like that—pressed together, soaking wet, hearts racing, holding on like the world might pull them apart at any moment.
And maybe it will.
But for now… he stays inside her, buried deep, refusing to move even after he’s spent.
Because leaving her now would be too much.
Too final.
--------------
Haechan stands in front of a hotel mirror, straightening Mark’s bowtie as the groom paces behind him like a caged animal.
"I'm sweating through my shirt," Mark mutters, wiping his palms down his slacks. “Do I look pale?”
"You always look pale," Haechan smirks, giving him a slap on the back. "You're good, hyung. Breathe."
Mark tries, chest rising and falling too fast. “You’ve got your speech, right? I didn’t dream that part?”
Haechan chuckles, adjusting his own tie now. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”
“You sure?”
He nods. “I’ve been ready.”
But when Mark turns around, distracted again by the tie he swears still looks crooked, Haechan’s smile fades. His fingers slide into his pocket, brushing over the velvet box he hasn’t taken out since yesterday.
He leaves it there.
He has a speech ready. But not the one he wrote down.
The ceremony.
The sun filters through the trees in soft golden rays, casting a warm glow over the outdoor venue. Strings swell in the background, violins playing as the guests hush and rise to their feet.
Haechan stands beside Mark, hands clasped in front of him, eyes straight ahead—until she walks in.
Y/N, in a soft blush dress that hugs her waist and flutters at her ankles as she walks down the aisle.
Her eyes meet his instantly.
And it’s like the world stills.
Her lashes are heavy with mascara, her lips painted soft pink—but it's the way she looks at him that unravels everything. Open. Raw. Like last night is still playing in her head, just like it is in his.
She takes her seat. Haechan tears his gaze away.
The bride enters, radiant and beaming.
Mark is crying.
The pastor begins to speak.
“Marriage is a promise—a vow made not just in words, but in action. It is choosing someone, again and again, through every season.”
Haechan’s jaw tightens.
His gaze flicks to Y/N. She’s already looking at him.
“Marriage is not perfect. It requires patience, forgiveness, understanding… and above all, love.”
He thinks about her laugh. Her silence. Her warmth. The way she trembled in his arms just hours ago, whispering that no one compared.
He thinks about how easily he let her go the first time. How afraid he was to lose her—and lost her anyway.
Y/N blinks slowly, her expression unreadable now.
But she’s still looking.
Still holding on.
The bride and groom exchange vows.
Cheers erupt as they kiss.
Everyone claps.
But Haechan’s hands don’t move. Neither do Y/N’s.
Because both of them are still stuck in a fantasy where it should’ve been them.
--------------
The lights are dimmed low, strung fairy lights casting a soft, romantic glow across the reception hall. Guests murmur in excitement as the clinking of glasses dies down and the DJ taps the mic.
“The best man would like to say a few words,” he announces.
Haechan steps up to the microphone in his suit and tie, one hand casually in his pocket, the other holding his glass of champagne. He clears his throat, gaze sweeping the room once before settling on the newlyweds at the head table — then lingering just a second longer on Y/N.
He smiles.
“Hi, everyone. I’m Haechan. I’ve known Mark since we were eleven and I saw him get pantsed at soccer tryouts. True story.”
The room laughs. Mark groans.
“But from that moment on, we’ve pretty much done everything together. High school, heartbreak, karaoke competitions, bad hair phases—”
Another laugh.
“—and then one day, he met someone. And that was it. That annoying, all-consuming, ‘can’t stop texting her even during boys’ night’ kind of love.”
Mark blushes, squeezing his new wife’s hand. Haechan chuckles softly, his voice going a little quieter now.
“It’s funny, watching someone find their soulmate. It changes them. Softens them. You look at them and you just… know.”
He turns slightly now, his eyes locking on Y/N across the room. She’s frozen.
“And thanks to Mark, I found mine.”
A hush falls.
“I didn’t expect it. I wasn’t looking for it. But there she was. Smart, stubborn, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She makes fun of me constantly, she takes up more than half the bed, and she always steals my fries even when she said she wasn’t hungry.”
A few people laugh again. Y/N doesn’t move.
Haechan swallows.
“But she’s it for me. The one. And I love her. So much.”
Y/N’s lip trembles.
“One day… that’ll be us up there.”
She breaks.
Her chair scrapes against the floor as she abruptly stands, covering her mouth and hurrying out of the hall. Murmurs rise. Mark looks confused, concerned, but assumes she’s just overwhelmed.
Only Haechan knows better.
He hands the mic back off, not saying another word, and leaves his glass on the table. Without thinking, without explaining, he walks out after her — heart racing.
He has no idea what he’s going to say.
But he knows he can’t lose her again.
The music is still faintly playing inside, laughter and clinking glasses filtering through the walls. But out here, it’s quiet. Moonlight washes over the garden in silver. Y/N stands near the edge of the stone path, arms wrapped around herself, trembling.
Footsteps approach.
“Y/N—”
She spins, eyes glassy with tears. “That was cruel.”
Haechan stops dead.
She blinks fast. “You knew we were broken up. You knew this—this whole thing was fake. And then you go and say that? In front of everyone?” Her voice cracks. “Why would you do that to me?”
Haechan shakes his head, jaw clenched. “It wasn’t fake to me.”
She laughs bitterly, wiping under her eyes. “God, I’m such a loser. I actually went along with this whole charade. I thought I could handle it. I thought I could hurt you the way you hurt me—” Her voice breaks. “But all I did was hurt myself.”
“Don’t call yourself that,” he says quickly, stepping forward. “You’re not a loser. Don’t ever say that again.”
She sniffles and looks away.
“I meant every word,” he says. “Every single one.”
Y/N opens her mouth like she’s about to argue, but then—
Haechan reaches into his jacket pocket.
He pulls out a velvet box.
Her breath catches.
“I bought this a year ago,” he says quietly. “I was going to propose. I was just waiting for the right time.”
She stares at it. Frozen.
“But then Mark proposed, and I thought… I should wait. I didn’t want to steal his moment.”
He looks up at her, eyes burning. “And then we broke up. And I didn’t fight. Not because I didn’t care—” His voice cracks. “But because I was in denial. I kept telling myself we were just taking a break. That you’d call. That I’d show up at your place and everything would go back to normal.”
He swallows. “But it didn’t. And I lost you.”
Silence stretches between them, thick with all the words they’ve held in for too long.
“You’re it for me, Y/N. I’ve been in love with you this whole time. I never stopped. And I know you haven’t either.”
She finally looks up at him—really looks.
Her voice is barely a whisper. “You hurt me.”
He nods, pain twisting in his expression. “I know. And I hate myself for it. I made you think I didn’t care, and that’s the biggest mistake of my life.”
Her eyes fill with tears again.
“I will spend the rest of my life showing you how much I do,” he says. “Every single day. In every small, stupid, tender way. You’re the love of my life, and I’m not letting you go again.”
She’s crying. Silent tears slipping down her cheeks as she presses a hand to her lips, as if trying to hold herself together.
Then, after a breathless pause—
She throws herself into his arms.
And he catches her like he’s been waiting forever.
Haechan pulls her in, hands cradling her face like she’s made of glass. Their lips meet in a kiss so full of longing, history, and love that it steals the breath from both of them. It’s messy, wet with tears, but it’s real—the kind of kiss that says I’m yours, I’ve always been yours.
Neither of them wants to let go.
A sudden noise behind them.
They break apart, just in time to see Mark stepping out of the venue, tux jacket slung over one shoulder, tie loosened.
“Hey,” he says gently, eyeing them with concern. “You guys okay?”
Y/N sniffs, quickly wiping under her eyes, pulling herself together. “Yeah,” she says with a small smile. “I just got a little emotional. But I’m fine.”
Mark nods, then pulls her into a warm hug. “Thanks for coming,” he whispers. “It means the world to me.”
He turns to Haechan, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “And thanks for that speech, man. You crushed it.”
Haechan smiles, a little breathless still. “Anytime, bro.”
Mark grins and heads back inside, humming along to the soft music playing from the speakers.
Silence settles over the garden again, peaceful now.
Haechan turns to Y/N. “Can we start fresh?” he asks, hopeful.
She smiles softly, shaking her head. “No.”
He blinks, caught off guard.
She steps closer, brushing his cheek with her fingertips. “I don’t want to forget any part of our story. Not the good, not the bad. We made it here. That’s what matters.”
A grin spreads across his face. “Okay. I like that better.”
He takes her hands in his. “Then let me ask you this, for the first time again—will you go out with me?”
Y/N bites back a smile, pretending to think.
Then—“Yes.”
Haechan beams.
Their foreheads touch, breaths mingling.
And just like that, it begins again.
Not a fresh start—but a better one.
Together.
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