gooner seo-wan who seems shy but is a freak in the sheets and completely switch up in bed :3
Kim Seo-Wan x fem!reader smut
oral f! receiving, p in v, subby! seo wan, idk what else to put lowkey
It starts with flashcards.
Kim Seo-wan’s sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of you, hoodie sleeves pushed up, notebooks spread out, glasses slipping down his nose as he frowns at the sentence he’s trying to memorize.
“Um... t-the purpose of administrative law is to... regulate the relationship between... private citizens and—”
“—the government,” you finish for him, smiling.
He blushes. Again.
“R-Right. Sorry. You’re distracting.”
You arch a brow. “Me?”
He rubs the back of his neck, eyes dropping to your legs tucked under his blanket. “You’re just... really pretty when you’re being patient with me.”
Oh.
Your chest warms.
Seo-wan always says things like that. Soft, almost apologetic. Like he doesn’t even realize the way he makes your stomach flutter.
And you’re trying to be helpful—he’s been studying nonstop for the civil service exam for weeks—but the way he looks up at you every time he gets an answer right, like he needs your approval more than the correct score...
It does something to you.
You scoot closer. Lay a hand on his thigh. “You’re doing great, Wan.”
His breath catches. He stares. Eyes big behind his glasses, mouth parted, face flushing pink down to his neck.
You dont know how it happens but you don’t hesitate . You just lean in and softly press your lips against his.
His lips are soft. Hesitant at first, like he’s scared you’ll pull away—but when you don’t, he exhales shakily and melts into you. His fingers twitch on the floor. He makes this tiny whimper when your tongue brushes his, and you swear it goes straight between your legs.
When you climb into his lap, he lets out the softest moan you’ve ever heard.
“C-Can I…” he swallows, looking up at you like you’re the test he can’t pass. “Can I touch you?”
You guide his hand under your shirt and his whole body shudders.
It doesn’t take long before you’re laying back on his bed, thighs parted, watching him kneel between them like he’s seeing the divine.
“Oh my god,” he breathes. “You’re so wet already…”
You nod. “You did that to me.”
He chokes. “F-Fuck.”
He lowers himself slowly, almost reverently, placing a kiss just above your clit like it’s sacred.
Then he licks you.
And moans.
His hips jerk into the mattress immediately, grinding down like he can’t help it, his tongue flattening over your slit, then flicking up to your clit in shaky little patterns as he pants into you.
You grip his hair. “Seo-wan…”
“‘M trying,” he whines softly. “I’m trying so hard. You taste s-so good—fuck, I can’t stop, I don’t want to stop—”
His voice is breathless, needy. He eats you out like he’s trying to memorize you now instead of laws and policies. Every whimper you make gets echoed with a deeper, more desperate moan from him.
He ruts harder into the bed. You glance down and realize—he’s soaked through his sweats. Precum has stained the fabric where he’s grinding against it like a gooner freak, and he hasn’t even touched himself with his hands.
“You’re such a mess,” you gasp, arching into his mouth.
“‘Cause it’s you,” he groans. “You’re perfect. You smell so good, taste even better—fuck, please cum, please cum on my face, I want it so bad—”
The filthy desperation in his voice sends you over.
You cum, thighs trembling around his head as he keeps sucking and lapping, moaning into your pussy like he’s possessed.
That’s when it happens.
He looks up at you — flushed, dazed, mouth and chin slick with your release — and something behind his eyes shifts.
He crawls up your body slowly, kisses you like he can’t breathe without it, and whispers:
“I need to be inside you right now. Please. I’ll go slow. I just—fuck—I need it. I need you.”
You nod and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in.
He doesn’t fumble now. He’s starving.
But when he pulls his sweats down and you see him fully for the first time, your breath catches. He’s… bigger than you expected. Long, thick, flushed, already leaking and twitching in his fist as he ruts against your thigh with a soft, broken moan.
You reach between you and wrap your fingers around him, smearing the precum down his length in slow, teasing strokes. His hips jerk.
“F-Fuck, that feels so good,” he pants, already trembling.
“Let me help,” you whisper.
You guide the thick tip to your entrance, and he nearly sobs when you line him up.
“Okay,” you say softly, locking eyes with him. “Now. Go slow.”
He pushes into you with a moan, hips shaking from the effort of holding back.
“Y-You’re so warm,” he chokes out. “You’re hugging me so tight—oh god, I think I’m gonna lose it—”
You kiss his jaw. “Go slow. I’m yours.”
He starts moving. Deep, smooth strokes that drag perfectly inside you, and the whole time he’s muttering—
“So soft, so good—fuck—you’re mine, right? Just mine? I want to fill you up. Wanna make you cum again. I’ll study twice as hard, I swear, just let me keep fucking you—”
You tighten around him. He gasps.
“You’re clenching so much,” he whines. “You like when I talk like that? You want me to be good or nasty? I can be both for you, I promise—”
“Wan, I’m close again—”
He bites down on your shoulder to muffle his cry and starts fucking you faster, chasing both your highs like he’s been training for this his whole life.
“Cum with me,” he begs. “Please, please—I’m cumming—!”
You both cum together—his hips stuttering as he shoots ropes into you, your body shaking—and then he collapses on top of you, panting, hugging you like you’re gonna vanish.
After a moment, he nuzzles your cheek and whispers
“…You’re still gonna help me study tomorrow, right?”
You laugh, breathless. “Only if you eat me out again when we take breaks.”
He blushes. But he nods.
“Deal.”
sigh seo wan i love you so much ill go slay that fire dragon with you💔
Warnings: SMUT THIS IS SMUT! Slight hairpulling, reader is afab... I think that's all...
Your hand trails from Seo-wan’s chest down to his stomach, your mouth hanging open in awe. He shifts next to you, his eyes nervously glancing up into yours.
“Seo-wan… can’t believe you’re all mine…” You mumble quietly. His breath hitches and his eyes flutter shut, his cock twitching from your words.
“Mmm… all yours… j-just…” he sucks in a sharp breath, “Please… touch me…” he begs. Your hand finally trails down to his throbbing cock, gently stroking him up and down.
His mouth opens to form words but he doesn’t find any and instead slams his mouth shut, gently thrusting up into your hand.
He stiffens and thins his lips into a small line, struggling to keep himself quiet. You slow your pace and watch him huff in frustration.
“Seo-wan…” You mutter, eyes raking over his body. “Please. Don’t hold back.”
He inhales through his nose and his brows knit together, a soft whimper escaping his mouth. Your lips curve up into a soft smile, the noise immediately traveling to your aching core.
Pre-cum spills down your knuckles and trails down onto the bed, making a mess of both you and him. The both of you haven't even fully started, yet he is so worked up.
You prop yourself up on the bed with your elbows, shifting between his legs. You gently start kissing up his base and to his tip before taking him into your mouth. He lets out a soft moan, his hand tangling into your hair.
You start to bob your head, your hands trailing up to his thighs and gripping down on them. Your finger tips dig into the sides as you try to hollow out your cheeks.
Spit and pre-cum starts to spill and drip out of your mouth, and in desperation you try your best to swallow it all up, but you can’t. It’s too much.
In the corner of your eyes you can see Seo-wan lift his head up to look down at you, his glasses slipping down his face. He squeezes his eyes shut again before throwing his head back.
Seo-wan’s hips buck up into your mouth, making you gag around his cock. You feel it get harder inside of your mouth and you moan around him.
“Mmm… you’re doing so good…” he mumbles quietly, making your heart flutter and your core clench around nothing. Your tongue circles around his tip and he whimpers.
You bob your head faster, making him thrust his cock up into your mouth again and causing a lewd slurping noise to fill the room.
His breathing quickens and you watch his face scrunch up. He tightens his grip around your hair and starts to babble out meaningless words between whimpers and whines.
“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum-“ he warns before thick ropes of cum spurt out into your mouth. You slowly pull off of him, being careful to not let anything spill out before swallowing.
You wipe what’s remaining off of your lips and sigh shakily, relieved that he came. He pulls up his boxers and tucks his soft cock back inside of them before laying you down.
Your back hits the bed and you watch him crawl between your legs, his finger tips running down from your stomach to the hem of your shorts.
“Just relax… okay?” He says shakily. His hands gently pull your shorts down to reveal your white panties. His mouth hangs open for a bit before he shuts it, pulling your panties down as well.
“You’re so wet.” He mumbles quietly, to which you nod frantically. He takes a finger and runs it along your slit, almost testing how sensitive you are.
He pulls his finger up to his mouth, sucking on it before before his face comes down to your pussy. You feel his breath blowing into it, eliciting a soft moan from you.
You run your fingers through his hair and try not to grind up against him. “Mmm… please Seo-wan… need you…” You whine, before he licks a stripe up to your clit.
A broken moan escapes you and you grip down on his hair harder than before. That only fuels him more and he starts to suck on your clit, the feeling more different from anything you’ve ever felt before.
You feel his fingers probe at your entrance before he slowly sinks them inside of your pussy, thrusting them in and out slowly.
You clench around him, his fingers hitting every spot that you didn't even know existed. You suck in a sharp breath and your thighs start to shake, threatening to clamp against his head any second.
“Fuck, Seo-wannn-“ you gasp out, his fingers pushing against the walls of your core. You can feel yourself suck him in which only makes you moan out.
His mouth continues to suck on your sensitive nub before he pulls off and starts to rub slow, gentle circles onto it.
“Shhh… just relax…” he guides you, continuing his movements. You nod, taking slow, deep breaths as he continues to thrust his fingers in and out of you.
You finally give into your thoughts and grind against his fingers, a soft moan escaping your mouth. You throw your head back in pleasure, feeling his digits pump in and out of your core.
He starts to push his fingers deeper and you feel him hit that spot that makes your back arch. You whine, desperately chasing your pleasure. Your hand trails from his hair to the sheets and you grip down, trying to find something to keep yourself stable.
You lift the upper-part of your body to look down at Seo-wan. His lips are parted and he's breathing softly against your sex. You lay back down and hear him whimper, removing his finger from your clit to push his glasses back up.
He removes his fingers and dips his head down, taking your sensitive nub into his mouth. You gasped from the sensation and your hand immediately finds his hair.
The feeling makes you cry out, bucking up against his face as you felt your orgasm rush over you. Your arousal coats his face and he laps it all up eagerly.
You try to catch your breath, looking down to see Seo-wan wipe his mouth with his sleeve. He presses a soft kiss to your clit before pulling your panties back up along with your shorts.
He crawls up next to you and pulls you into his chest. You inhale his scent before sighing contently, gently wrapping your arms around his waist.
There was no noise anymore besides the slight buzz of the fan and your breathing. You could both lay there forever, just soaking in the afterglow.
I wrote this back in March and didn't finish it... so I just decided to finish it because I need to practice with smut... this is only my second time writing smut, actually! So... I hope you enjoyed. (っ˘з(˘⌣˘ ) Also also also the title is a TV Girl reference because I LOVE LOVE LOVE TV GIRL!!!
The Princess and the Mage -Part One- (fluff/angst/comfort) 🩷💔❤️🩹
-Kim Seo-wan x You-
You first meet Seo-wan in the art room, a stub of a pencil tucked behind his ear, his glasses perched on the end of his nose like he’s been squinting at the same spot for hours. His sketchbook is open to a wild mess of tangled lines, a dragon’s claws, teeth sharp as lightning, eyes burning up the page. He doesn’t look up when you sit across from him, but you notice he has the best posture in the whole psych ward: rigid, careful, like he’s bracing for something to lunge out of the paper.
You clear your throat. “That’s cool,” you say, nodding at the dragon.
He glances at you, quick, suspicious, then back at the page. “It’s not just a dragon. It’s the Fire Dragon. It’s guarding the third floor, and it eats anyone who tries to leave.”
You pretend to think about that. “Good thing I’m not planning on leaving today,” you say. “Anyway, I haven’t leveled up enough. My mana’s too low.”
That makes him look up again, really look this time. His eyes are big and dark behind his glasses, and you can tell he’s searching your face for something. “You know about mana?”
You shrug, picking up a colored pencil and twirling it between your fingers. “Of course. And HP. And all the little blue potions that taste like chalk.”
A smile tugs at his mouth, the kind that looks like it hasn’t been used in a while. He pushes his sketchbook across the table. “Want to draw your weapon?”
You do. You draw a sword, clumsy and uneven, but he watches your hand like it’s the most important thing in the world. When you’re done, he adds a shield with a sun in the middle, then glances up. “We can fight the Fire Dragon together. But not today,” he says, serious. “It’s dangerous to go under-leveled.”
You nod solemnly. “Maybe later. First we have to rest up. Eat lunch. Take a nap. Charge our stats.”
Seo-wan thinks about this. “Good strategy,” he says. He hesitates, “Are you sad today?”
You blink, surprised, and for a second you forget how to answer. You almost say yes, because some days, the sadness sits in your chest like a heavy stone, refusing to budge. But here, with him, it’s lighter, easier. You push your hair behind your ear, staring at your sword drawing. “A little,” you say, honest. “But not as much when I’m drawing.”
He seems satisfied with that. “Me too.”
The routine starts to form. After breakfast you find him in the lounge or by the ping pong table. Sometimes you play, sometimes you just sit side by side, bumping shoulders, drawing new monsters or armor or fantasy pets. The nurses always watch you both with that soft, relieved expression, the look they give when something dangerous has turned gentle, for a moment. They tell you it’s good you spend time with Seo-wan, that you’re helping him. You never tell them that sometimes he’s the only thing keeping you anchored, too.
One afternoon, while you’re coloring in a treasure chest, Seo-wan leans in close, whispering like you’re sharing the world’s most important secret. “If you could have any magic power, what would it be?”
You think for a long minute. “Teleportation,” you say. “So I could leave whenever things get too hard, but still come back when I’m ready.”
He nods like that’s the wisest answer anyone’s ever given.
The friendship settles into something easy, something solid and quiet that grows roots in the hours between group therapy and lights out. Seo-wan starts to save you a seat at every meal, claiming the plastic chair with the least wobbly legs and pushing it out with the toe of his slipper when he sees you coming down the hall.
“Sit here, Mi,” he says one day, shortening your name so casually you almost miss it. “It’s the best chair. I checked.” He grins, and you try not to think about how no one’s called you anything but your full name in months, not like it mattered, until now.
The nickname sticks. “Mi,” he calls whenever he spots you, by the ping pong table, in the courtyard, even outside the nurses’ station when you line up for your meds. Sometimes it’s soft and secret, sometimes loud and triumphant, like you’re a player two he found just in time.
You let yourself get used to it. To him.
He starts showing you every new drawing first, turning his sketchbook so only you can see: a crab in plate armor, a mushroom forest full of smiling ghosts, a phoenix with feathers that look suspiciously like ramen noodles. He always asks what you’d name them, scribbling your answers into the margins.
“Mi, what color is the Phoenix’s fire?”
“Maybe blue today,” you say, just to see him nod, thoughtful, as if you’ve solved a puzzle no one else could.
It’s almost enough to keep your mind above water. Almost.
But some days are heavier than others. You feel it coming on before breakfast, a kind of gravity, thick and invisible, pulling everything down. You try to hide it, moving slower but still following the routine. Seo-wan notices, of course. He always does. At lunch he nudges your tray closer. At ping pong he doesn’t tease when you miss every shot, just stands by your side, tapping the ball back and forth with himself.
You sit together in the art room, your hand motionless over a blank page. He draws something complicated, you think, a spell maybe, or a charm. But you can’t focus. The world gets muffled at the edges, gray and far away.
He watches you for a while, head tilted, glasses sliding down his nose. Then, quietly, he sets down his pencil and scoots his chair close. “Mi,” he says, voice low and serious, “can I try something?”
You don’t really have the energy to answer. You just nod, tears stinging at your eyes for no reason you can name.
Seo-wan reaches out, slow and careful, and rests the palm of his hand against your forehead, the way you’ve seen the nurses do when they check for fever. His skin is warm. He closes his eyes, eyebrows drawing together in concentration, and starts to whisper a chant, soft, strange syllables you can’t quite make out. It sounds half like a prayer and half like the cheat codes he’s always muttering under his breath.
You stay perfectly still, not wanting to break the spell, not wanting to ruin the kindness in his touch. The world doesn’t feel so heavy for a second, not gone, just a little less crushing.
He opens his eyes after a minute, lets his hand fall, and gives you the smallest, proudest smile. “Okay, Mi. You’re healed. Full HP. Maybe even an extra life capacity.”
Something in you cracks, but it’s not a bad feeling. You can’t help it, you laugh, the sound shaky but real, and he lights up like you just scored a critical hit.
You draw together after that, and he doesn’t say anything about your silence, just fills the page with enough magic for both of you.
The nurses bring in the old projector again, wheeling it down the hallway like it’s made of treasure, not dust and duct tape. Someone claps. Someone else groans. It’s movie night, which means at least ninety minutes without group therapy, and Seo-wan says that technically counts as a side quest.
They pass around paper cups of watered-down juice and those awful, amazing vanilla cookies. You find seats near the back, because he says the back is where the “stealth class” always sits. The chairs are plastic and creaky and too close together. He picks the middle one and pats the seat beside him like it’s reserved.
The lights go low.
It’s some old animated movie you’ve never seen, a forest full of weird little spirits, a girl with messy hair and a cloak made of leaves. The sound is fuzzy but the colors glow, soft and strange. Everyone quiets down around you. Seo-wan sips his juice like it’s a mana potion.
You feel his knee brush yours once. Then again. Then he goes very still.
He doesn’t talk much during the movie. Just stares ahead with wide eyes, glasses catching the blue-green light from the screen. You’re pretty sure he forgets to blink sometimes. His fingers fidget with the edge of his sleeve. You watch from the corner of your eye as his hand moves to the armrest, slow, unsure, like he’s trying to disarm a trap. Then his pinky nudges yours. Just barely.
He doesn’t look at you.
You wait a beat. Then another. Then you shift your hand ever so slightly until your pinky hooks around his. It’s the lightest touch in the world, feather-soft and unspoken, like breathing in sync with someone asleep beside you. He doesn’t pull away.
The movie keeps playing. Somewhere onscreen, a spirit laughs.
Seo-wan’s thumb brushes your knuckle. It’s subtle, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Like he’s scared the moment might vanish if he acknowledges it.
You glance at him.
He’s blushing. You can see it even in the dark, the high flush across his cheeks, the way he ducks his head like he just crit-failed a stealth roll.
You squeeze his hand once.
He glances at you, nervous and glowing, then whispers, “Holding hands increases your defense stats.”
You smile, resting your head lightly on his shoulder. “Yeah,” you whisper back. “And your sanity meter, too.”
The movie is a new anchor, something the two of you reference for days. You catch him humming the main theme while brushing his teeth, and when you walk together in the garden, he tells you, “If there’s ever a monster in here, I’ll shield you. I’m a mage, remember? I can cast Barrier and Fireball. You just have to stay behind me.”
You laugh and tell him he’s silly, but he frowns, serious as you’ve ever seen him.
“Promise me, Mi. Stay behind me, okay? I can’t let anything hurt you. You’re not at full HP yet.” He squeezes your hand like he can transfer some of his own magic through your skin. “And if the dragon comes, we’ll slay it together.”
The next afternoon, you find him hunched over his sketchbook again. When you peek, your heart stutters because he’s drawn himself as his mage self, hair tousled, glasses glinting, robes covered in sigils and strange runes. Next to him is you, armored up like a princess-warrior, sword gleaming, shield with a sun at its center. In the background is the Fire Dragon, bigger than ever, smoke curling from its nose.
He looks up shyly and offers you a colored pencil. “You have to help me with the dragon’s flames. Only a princess can do that.”
You add blue fire to the dragon’s mouth, trying not to smile too wide.
He finishes the scene with tiny stars and hearts, then writes your names in the corner: Mage Seo-wan & Princess Mi, Dragon Slayers. He holds the drawing between you, like proof of something beautiful and secret. For a moment, you both believe it’s real, that the world really is full of magic, and you’re braver than you ever thought you’d be.
—
The next morning, you wake up to whispers. The staff has adjusted Seo-wan’s meds, trying a new combination because “he’s making progress.” You search for him in all the usual spots, art room, ping pong table, garden. He’s not there.
You find him finally, alone in a quiet hallway, knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped tight around his legs. His glasses are askew. His eyes, wide and wet, don’t meet yours.
“Seo-wan?” you whisper, crouching beside him.
He’s shaking. “It’s gone, Mi. The ambrosia, everything. There’s no dragon. There’s no quest. I’m just… I’m just here.” His voice is thready, all the confidence and magic vanished. “Why am I here? I was supposed to study today, but I can’t remember how many days I’ve missed, and..” His breath catches, coming too fast. “What if I never catch up? What if I can’t fix it? I can’t..I can’t..”
You don’t think, you just move. You wrap your arms around him, feeling how cold and small he’s curled himself. He resists at first, trembling, then sags against you, hiding his face in your shoulder.
You whisper, “Breathe. It’s okay, Seo-wan. You’re not alone. I’m right here. Just breathe with me. It’s not forever, okay? You’re safe, I promise. Even if it’s hard, even if it’s real, you’re still you. I still need you.”
He doesn’t calm, not really. If anything, your words seem to break something loose inside him. His shoulders shake harder. He draws a sharp, miserable breath that nearly turns into a sob.
“No you don’t,” he mumbles, voice cracking. “You don’t need me. Trust me, Mi, I’m useless. I failed the civil service exam more than four times. Four. My mom said nobody fails that many times. All my friends passed. I can’t get any other job, everything needs more school, and I can’t even finish this. I’m just..” He presses his forehead to his knees, choking on the words. “I’m just going to be nothing but a failure. Just a burden.”
You squeeze him tighter, letting his weight settle against you, refusing to let him slip away. Your own heart hurts with how much you want to pull him back from wherever he’s falling.
“Stop,” you whisper, almost fierce. “Don’t say that. You’re not nothing. I do need you, Seo-wan. I need my mage.”
He flinches, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m not a mage. I’m..” His voice breaks. “I’m not, Mi. I’m just a person. A failure of a person.”
You shake your head, reaching up to gently push his messy black hair off his forehead, cupping his cheek so he has to look at you, even if it’s through watery, half-closed eyes.
“Maybe you’re not a mage right now. Maybe there’s no magic today. But you’re not a failure, Seo-wan. Not to me. Never to me.”
He just stares at you, and it’s so raw, so scared and lost, that your own eyes sting.
“You’re the bravest person I know,” you say, voice shaking. “You come here every day and you fight. You keep going. You look after me when I’m sad. You make dragons out of nothing and let me be a princess. That’s not nothing. That’s… everything. You’re not a burden, you’re the reason I can get through all this.”
He shudders, and you wipe his tears away with your thumb, feeling your own start to slip down your cheeks.
“I need you,” you say again, quiet but steady. “However you are. Mage or not.”
Seo-wan stares at you for a long time, like he’s trying to memorize every word, like he’s afraid if he looks away you’ll disappear too. Slowly, tentatively, he curls his fingers around your wrist.
His grip tightens, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. He blinks, lashes sticky with tears, and asks in the smallest voice you’ve ever heard from him, “Promise you won’t leave? Even when the magic disappears? Even if… I’m just like this. Just me.”
The ache in your chest sharpens. You nod right away, your own voice thick as you press your forehead to his. “I promise. I won’t leave, Seo-wan. Even if all the magic’s gone, even if you can’t draw, even if you don’t feel like a mage at all. I’ll still be here. I want to be here. With you.”
He closes his eyes and lets out a trembling breath, his fingers curling tighter around your wrist, like a lifeline.
You hesitate, then you know you have to say it. You owe him that much, at least. “Can I tell you something?” you murmur, breath warm against his temple. He doesn’t answer, just nods, small and careful.
“When I first came here, I… I didn’t want to be alive anymore,” you say softly, voice barely louder than a whisper. “I wasn’t planning to try again, but I didn’t want to stay, either. I felt empty all the time. I didn’t think anything could ever make me feel… even a little better.”
Seo-wan looks at you, wide-eyed and startled, as if the world just tilted under his feet.
You force yourself to keep going. “Then I met you. And you..” Your throat closes, tears welling again. “You made me feel like there was something left. Even on the days where I can’t see it, even on the days where I think about disappearing again, you’re the reason I haven’t. I know you think you’re a failure, but you’re the person who saved my life.”
He just stares, stunned. A single tear slips down his cheek.
You brush it away, smiling even though you’re crying too. “You saved me, Seo-wan. You did. So don’t tell me you’re nothing. You’re my friend, and you’re everything I need right now.”
His breath hitches, shaky and hopeful and terrified all at once. He leans in, forehead pressed hard to yours, and you feel him breathe out like he’s finally letting go of something heavy.
“I’ll try,” he whispers. “I’ll try not to leave, either.”
They wheel out the battered old Scrabble set after dinner, the tiles faded and mismatched, the box patched with tape from years of bored patients. You and Seo-wan claim the corner table, sitting side by side in the yellow hospital light. He draws the first set of tiles and smiles, nudging your shoulder.
“Let’s see who gets the highest score tonight. If I win, you have to draw me as a dragon next time.”
You manage a small laugh. “What if I win?”
He thinks about it, lips pursed. “Then I’ll write you a magic spell for good dreams.”
It sounds perfect, but the game is slow tonight. You’re distracted, your mind snagged on what you overheard outside the nurse’s station, the soft, careful voices, the word “discharge,” the way they said his name. Seo-wan. They’re thinking about letting him go home. The idea feels like a hole punched through your chest, swallowing all the air.
You try to focus, but your hands move automatically, tiles clicking onto the board with words that just… spill out:
ALONE.
SORROW.
DRAIN.
EMPTY.
Seo-wan pauses mid-turn, studying the board. He spells “SHIELD” beside your “DRAIN,” and then looks at you, searching your face like he’s reading a language only the two of you speak.
“Mi?” he asks gently. “Are you okay?”
You force a smile, pushing another tile onto the board. “I’m fine,” you say, light as you can manage, but it sounds hollow even to you. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”
He doesn’t look convinced. He leans his chin in his hand, watching you with those serious, earnest eyes behind his glasses. “You know, you don’t have to always be okay with me. I can tell when you’re sad.”
You press your lips together, pretending to study your tiles, but all you can think about is what it would feel like to walk into the art room and not see him there. To eat breakfast alone. To be just Mi-kyung again, not “Mi” with her mage.
He nudges the board so the “SHIELD” is right beside “ALONE.” “If you want, you can use my shield tonight,” he whispers. “Just until you feel better.”
You almost cry. Instead, you rest your hand on his for a moment, squeezing. “Thanks, Seo-wan,” you murmur. “You always know what to say.”
The rest of the game passes in soft, lopsided words, he spells “HOPE” in the corner and grins at you, daring you to argue. You let yourself lean against his shoulder, holding on just a little tighter than usual, hoping the world will stay like this for one more night.
You start the drawing that night after he goes to bed, curled under his scratchy blue blanket in the bunk beside yours, glasses folded on the nightstand, lips parted like a little kid dreaming of stars. You sketch in the dark with a blunt pencil, slow and careful, your fingers moving more from feeling than sight.
In the morning, you steal colors from the art room and finish it under the window’s weak sunlight. You keep it simple: you and Seo-wan in your oversized hospital gowns, socked feet barely peeking out. You’re holding hands. He’s smiling, really smiling, like he did during the movie night, and you’re leaning in, gently pressing a kiss to his cheek.
You don’t exaggerate anything. You don’t turn him into a mage or yourself into a princess. Just the two of you. Real, soft, here. And still magical.
When you hand it to him that afternoon, he looks confused at first, like he’s not sure it’s meant for him. Then his eyes widen, and his fingers tighten on the edges of the paper like it might float away.
“You drew this?” he says, his voice quiet and a little breathless.
You nod, suddenly shy. “I wanted to… keep something. In case you go. I mean, not go go, just… you know.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Just stares at it like he’s looking at something precious, fragile. Then he presses the paper flat against his chest with both hands.
“This is my favorite drawing,” he whispers.
You laugh softly. “You say that every time.”
“No, I mean it this time.” He turns to you, still holding the drawing tight. His eyes are a little glassy again, but his smile is the kind that makes your stomach twist and flutter at the same time. “You’re really my princess, Mi. Even in the real world.”
Your heart stumbles.
You reach for his hand, and he gives it to you without hesitation, fingers warm and a little shaky. “You’re still my mage too,” you say quietly. “Even when the game’s off. Even when you don’t feel like it.”
He squeezes your hand. “Then let’s just stay like this. For a little longer.”
You nod, leaning your head on his shoulder.
The drawing stays tucked into his sketchbook after that. You catch him looking at it sometimes when he thinks you’re not watching, his fingers tracing the line of your smile, the tiny detail of the kiss.
You come back from group therapy and find Seo-wan’s door half-open, the afternoon sunlight slanting in dusty lines across the floor. At first, you think nothing of it, maybe he’s just sketching by the window, maybe lost in a game. But when you peek in, your stomach goes tight, he’s kneeling by the bed, folding clothes into a hospital-issued duffel bag.
You freeze in the doorway. “What are you doing?”
He glances up, startled, tucking a pair of socks into the bag. “Hey, Mi.”
You step closer, heart pounding. “Why are you packing? Where are you going? You..you said you wouldn’t leave me.”
He smiles, but there’s a flicker of nerves in it, too. “I’m not leaving. They just… they want me to try going home for a night. Sort of a test. To see if I can… you know, adjust.”
Your chest feels hollow. “Just one night?”
He nods, glancing down, zipping up the bag. “Yeah. I’ll be back tomorrow. They said if I do well, I might get weekend visits soon.”
You try to swallow the panic but it claws at your ribs, sharp and real. “But what if you don’t adjust right? What if you forget your meds, or your parents don’t..what if you can’t sleep, or something happens and you have a hard time, and then..then you’re not okay anymore..”
You hear the desperation in your voice and bite your lip, but you can’t stop. “What if you’re not okay and I’m not there to help you?”
Seo-wan stands, crossing the small room to you. He sets the bag aside and cups your elbow, gentle and steady, his eyes searching your face.
“I’ll be okay, Mi,” he says softly. “It’s just one night. I’ll take my meds, and I’ll text the hospital if anything feels weird. I promise I’ll come back. I want to come back. To you.”
You nod, but your breath is shaky. “What if it’s not the same when you come back?”
He smiles, soft and sad, and tugs you into a hug. “It’ll be the same. I’ll still be your mage. You’ll still be my princess.” He leans his head against yours. “And if it gets too hard, I’ll ask for help. I learned that from you.”
You hold on tight, trying to memorize the feel of his arms, the smell of his hair, the sound of his voice saying your name like it means something. “You promise?”
He pulls back, holding up his pinky. “I promise.”
You link your pinky with his, squeezing so tight it almost hurts.
He laughs, a little breathless, like he needs the courage too. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mi. Wait for me, okay?”
You nod, not trusting your voice. “Okay. But if you’re late, I’m sending a search party. Just me and the hospital security guard.”
He grins. “That’s a party I’d want to join.”
You watch him walk out, duffel slung over his shoulder, and stand in the quiet of his room until the light shifts and the sky goes gray. You don’t let yourself cry. You just whisper his name once, hoping he can still feel it all the way home.
You walk him to the elevator. His parents are waiting by the doors, hands folded, faces careful the way people look when they are trying to be brave in a place like this. His mom bows to you without knowing who you are. His dad squeezes his shoulder and you can see the worry in the way his fingers press.
Seo-wan looks back as the doors begin to close. He lifts his hand and waves like a kid on a field trip, small and sweet. You wave back, hugging your arms to your chest so you don’t reach for him.
Just before the doors slide shut, you hear his mother ask, soft and curious, “Who is that girl?”
The elevator takes him away.
—
On the ride home, Seoul rushes past the window in strips of light. Seo-wan sits behind his parents, duffel at his feet, eyes on the city that looks the same and not the same. His mother asks if he is hungry. His father asks if the pills make him dizzy. He says he’s fine. He isn’t sure.
At the apartment, everything is exactly where he left it. A neat desk. A stack of prep books with bright spines. A calendar with squares he stopped marking. He runs his fingers along the edge of a civil service workbook and feels the old weight drop into his chest.
Maybe I should start again, he thinks. Maybe this time I can pass. Maybe if I study harder. Then he remembers the nights he didn’t sleep, the way pages blurred, the coffee shakes in his hands, the first failure, then the second, then the fourth, the silence at breakfast when his mother couldn’t think of anything kind to say that didn’t hurt.
His father clears his throat. “We can plan. But not tonight.”
His mother nods, eyes wet. “Not too hard again, Seo-wan. Please. We want you here. Not lost.”
He nods. “Okay.”
She hesitates, then smiles a little. “That girl at the hospital. Is she your girlfriend?”
He flushes so fast it almost makes him laugh. “No. She’s my friend.” He tries the word and it feels good in his mouth. “Her name is Mi-kyung. I call her Mi.”
His mother repeats it, testing the sound. “Mi.”
He thinks of your hand in his, movie light on your face, the drawing you gave him tucked safe in his sketchbook. He wants to say she makes it easier to breathe. He wants to say you promised not to leave even when the magic disappears. Instead he picks up his cup and nods. “She’s kind.”
After dinner he walks alone to his old school. The campus gates are open. Students pass by with earbuds in, shoulders hunched under backpacks. He stands outside the library and watches them go in and out like a tide he forgot how to swim. He rests his palm on the cool rail and counts his breaths. In. Out. In. Out.
Next door, the internet café glows. The old sign still buzzes. For a second he can see the first time he clicked on Lost Valhalla, the relief that came like warm water, the way hours slid off him like weight. He steps toward the door. Stops. He stares at his reflection in the glass, at the hospital bracelet still looped around his wrist, at the face that looks more like his and less like the mage. He takes one step back. Then another.
Night gathers. He turns away and walks home.
His parents are waiting in the small living room, TV low. His father pretends to watch the news. His mother pats the cushion beside her.
“Did you visit the school?” she asks.
He nods. “I just looked.”
She studies him, then tips her head. “When I said her name earlier, you smiled.” She is careful, but hopeful. “You seem better when you talk about her.”
He feels it happen without permission. The brightening. The small light in his chest that isn’t a spell and not a game. “She draws with me,” he says. “She told me I saved her life.”
His father looks over, surprised. His mother’s eyes go soft. “You must be important to each other.”
He swallows. “I want to be the kind of person she can stay with. Not just a mage in a drawing.”
His mother reaches for his hand. “Then start with sleeping. Start with tomorrow. One page at a time. One day at a time.”
He nods. In his room, he opens his sketchbook and smooths the picture you made of the two of you in hospital gowns, your kiss on his cheek frozen in pencil. He presses his fingertips where your mouth touches him.
“I’ll come back,” he whispers to the paper, to you, to the quiet. “I promised.”
He lies down and counts his breaths again. He imagines your hand in his across the dark. Somewhere, in another building, you’re breathing too. He holds that like a lantern until sleep finds him.
—
That night, the hospital is quieter than usual. No movie, no group therapy, just the low hum of distant voices and the sound of nurses rolling their carts down the hall. You sit in the art room, doodling in the margin of your notebook, drawing little shields and tiny hands, anything to keep from missing him too much.
It’s late when the nurse finds you, her voice gentle as she sits down across from you at the table. “Mi-kyung,” she says, a small smile in her eyes, “can I talk to you about something?”
You close your notebook. “Sure.”
She folds her hands, trying to look casual, but you know this look, the one that means something big is coming. “The doctors have been watching your progress. You’re doing well. Your medication seems to be working, your mood’s improved. You’ve been participating in all your therapy, and… you seem a lot brighter lately. We’re thinking about starting the process to discharge you soon, maybe a weekend visit home, if you’d like.”
Your stomach twists. For a split second, all you feel is fear.
“Not yet,” you blurt, surprising yourself. “I..I’m not ready. Not unless Seo-wan can be discharged too. Or… at least, not unless he’s really okay. I don’t want to go if he’s still struggling, or if leaving would make him worse.”
The nurse’s expression softens, understanding flickering there. “You care about him a lot.”
You nod, swallowing hard. “He helped me. He made it so much easier to be here. I just… I can’t imagine being out there if he’s not okay. I want him to be better. Really better. Not just… gone.”
She smiles, a sad, gentle kind of smile. “You’re a good friend, Mi-kyung.”
You look down at your hands. “He calls me his princess,” you whisper, cheeks burning. “He thinks I saved him. But… he saved me first.”
The nurse squeezes your arm. “You’ve both helped each other. But it’s important for you both to get better for yourselves, too.”
You nod, but it’s hard to imagine being discharged into a world that doesn’t have Seo-wan sitting next to you at breakfast or drawing dragons in the art room. The thought of being out there without him makes the air feel too thin.
The nurse stands, giving you one last reassuring look. “We’ll keep talking, okay? We’ll make sure you’re both ready, whenever that time comes.”
You nod again, watching her go. When you’re alone, you flip to a new page in your notebook and write his name at the top, then draw a little heart beside it, hidden in the margin, just for you.
—
You’re in the art room again when you hear the sound of footsteps in the hall, slow, a little unsure, and familiar in the way your chest already reacts before your mind can catch up. You turn toward the doorway just as Seo-wan appears, duffel slung over his shoulder, hospital bracelet still around his wrist, glasses slightly crooked.
You don’t even think.
You run straight to him and throw your arms around his shoulders, hugging him so tight he lets out a surprised little “oh!” against your hair.
But he hugs you back immediately, arms winding around your waist like he’s been waiting all night to feel this again.
“I missed you,” you whisper into his shoulder, voice small but certain.
“I missed you too, Mi,” he says, like a sigh. “More than I thought I would.”
You pull back just enough to look at him. “How was it? At home?”
He shrugs, soft and a little sad. “It was okay. My parents were nice. They tried really hard not to say anything too careful, if that makes sense.”
You nod. You know that tone.
“I visited my old school. Didn’t go in. Just… looked,” he adds. “I almost went to the PC café next door. Where I first played Lost Valhalla. But I didn’t. It didn’t feel the same anymore.” He looks at you, his voice quieter now. “I thought maybe that was a good thing.”
“It is,” you say gently. “That’s progress.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I still feel safer here, though. Because of you.”
Your heart nearly stumbles. You reach for his hand, threading your fingers between his. “Then stay,” you say, trying to smile. “At least for now.”
His brows knit, the faintest wrinkle in the space between them. “What about you?”
You hesitate. “They… talked to me. About possibly discharging me soon too.”
His face shifts, surprise, then something like worry.
“But I told them not yet,” you say, squeezing his hand. “Not unless you’re better too. Not unless you’re ready. Because I don’t want to be out there if you’re not okay, Seo-wan. I need you to be okay.”
He stares at you for a second. Then, quietly: “You meant it, didn’t you?”
You tilt your head. “What?”
“When you said I saved you.”
You nod. “Every word.”
His hand tightens in yours. “Then I’ll keep getting better. For both of us.”
You smile at him, full and fragile and real. “Then maybe we both will.”
The change comes quietly, but once you notice, you can’t unsee it. Seo-wan, who’d started to color outside the lines of fantasy, suddenly throws himself back into the game. But something’s off. The light in his eyes isn’t the same, he fidgets more, his smile is wrong at the corners, and when he talks about mana and dragons, his voice doesn’t ring with wonder but trembles like he’s walking a wire.
At breakfast, he bumps your tray with his elbow, too hard, then fakes a gasp. “Careful! If you spill your eggs, you lose HP. The Fire Dragon’s on alert this morning.” He grins, but it falters when you only manage a half-smile.
You try to play along, “Then maybe I’ll cast a shield charm. Think I have enough mana?” but he just nods, a little too quickly, eyes darting to the nurses behind you.
Throughout the day he keeps it up, piling on little details. “Don’t forget your ambrosia, Mi,” he insists at lunch, pouring juice with exaggerated care. “Can’t go on a quest without a full mana bar.”
You watch him carefully, noticing how his hands shake a little as he fiddles with his cup. When someone asks him what day it is in group, he answers, “It’s Dragon’s Eve, right? That’s why the sky looked so strange this morning,” but his voice is too high, the story falling apart at the edges.
You catch him alone in the art room later, hunched over a page, pencil moving back and forth but not drawing anything. The paper is just a mess of half-erased lines, angry and frantic. You sit down beside him, quiet for a moment, letting the weight settle between you.
He glances up, eyes red-rimmed, breath too quick. “Did you know the Fire Dragon’s been getting stronger?” he says, and for a second you want to believe it, just to see him smile for real.
But he can’t even meet your eyes.
At dinner, you’re both silent, picking at your food. He holds up his cup and tries to force the old smile. “Shall we toast?”
But his hand trembles, juice sloshing over his knuckles. You take your own cup, tapping it gently against his. He manages a tight laugh, then sips, but when he sets it down, he doesn’t look at you.
“This juice tastes weird today,” he mutters, almost under his breath.
You stare at him. He only calls it “juice” when he’s present, here, real. “Seo-wan?” you whisper.
He goes stiff, eyes wide. “Yeah?” he asks, voice fragile.
You search his face, something breaking inside you. “You just called it juice.”
He closes his eyes, like he’s been caught mid-fall. He tries again, desperate, “Ambrosia, I mean, I meant ambrosia, because, because we need mana..”
You shake your head, reaching for his hand. “Seo-wan, look at me. Please.”
He does, and that’s when you see it, real fear, bright and raw, not from monsters or magic, but from the world itself. His lips tremble as he finally lets the words go.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and his whole body starts to shake. “I’m trying, Mi, I’m really trying. I know I should be getting better. I was doing better, I really was, but then they said I could leave soon and..” He swallows, voice breaking. “I don’t want to go. I don’t know how to be out there. I don’t know how to do anything right, not even… not even this.”
You slide your chair closer, pulling him into your arms. He collapses against you, his breath stuttering, tears wetting your shoulder. He clings to your hospital gown like he might slip away if he lets go.
“I thought if I just… if I acted like I wasn’t better, they wouldn’t make me leave,” he sobs, muffled against your chest. “I’m scared, Mi. I’m so scared. What if I can’t handle it? What if I mess everything up again?”
You stroke his hair, holding him as tight as you can, wishing you could shield him for real.
“It’s okay,” you whisper fiercely. “You don’t have to pretend, not with me. I’m scared too, Seo-wan. I don’t want to leave without you. I don’t want you to go if you’re not ready. You’re not alone. Not ever.”
He sobs, harder this time, letting the fear and exhaustion and heartbreak spill out. You just hold him and rock him gently, letting him fall apart in your arms, whispering again and again, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here. You don’t have to be okay yet.”
For a long time, there are no words, only shaking and tears and the soft hush of your promise in his ear.
When he finally lifts his head, eyes swollen and voice small, you cup his face and wipe his cheeks.
“We’ll face the world together,” you tell him, voice trembling but sure. “One day at a time. Even if it’s scary. Even if there’s no magic.”
He nods, trusting you because there’s nothing else left to do.
—
You’re curled up on the floor beside his bed, knees pulled to your chest, the hem of your hospital gown brushing the carpet. Seo-wan sits cross-legged on the mattress above you, one of his old civil service prep books open in his lap. The spine is cracked and the pages are wrinkled at the corners, but his voice is steady as he reads aloud, slow and deliberate.
It isn’t anything romantic, just a section on administrative law, some dry definitions and examples about public institutions, but he reads like it matters, like reclaiming this part of himself is a kind of magic all its own.
You rest your cheek on your arm, eyes closed, listening to him speak.
Every now and then he pauses to reread a sentence under his breath or scribble something in the margin. You don’t talk. You just listen, safe in the warmth of his voice and the gentle rhythm of the words.
Eventually, his voice starts to trail off. He glances down, a little sheepish. “Sorry, it’s boring, huh?”
You smile, lifting your head. “Not at all. I like hearing you talk.”
He ducks his head, flipping the page even though he’s not really reading it anymore.
You sit up slowly, stretching your arms above your head, and then you reach up, soft, deliberate, and press a kiss to his cheek.
He freezes.
Your lips are warm against his skin, just for a heartbeat. Then you pull back and rise to your feet, brushing imaginary dust from your gown. “I should go to bed,” you murmur, trying to sound casual, like your heart isn’t thudding wildly in your chest. “Goodnight, Seo-wan.”
You turn to go, but before you can take a full step, his voice stops you.
“Mi?”
You look back, and he’s staring up at you, eyes wide, ears flushed, fingers clutching the edges of his book. He looks like he might be dreaming, afraid to move too fast in case you vanish.
“Yeah?” you say softly.
He closes the book and sets it aside. Then he shifts to the edge of the bed, feet brushing the floor, and reaches for your hand. You give it to him without hesitation.
He rises just enough to be close, just enough for his eyes to meet yours. “Can I…” he starts, then falters, his thumb brushing your knuckles. “I want to try something.”
You nod once.
And then he leans in, tentative and trembling, and kisses you.
It’s the softest thing in the world, barely more than a breath, a brush of lips that tastes like fear and hope and something new. His hand trembles against yours, and he stays close when he pulls back, like he’s afraid you might disappear.
But you don’t.
You smile at him, small and real, your heart blooming in your chest like a sunrise you weren’t sure you’d ever see again.
“Goodnight,” you whisper, voice catching.
He nods, still dazed, still staring at your lips like he can’t believe he was brave enough to touch them.
“Goodnight, Mi,” he says, and it sounds like the softest spell he’s ever cast.
In the morning, you wake to pale sunlight spilling through the window and a strange, light feeling in your chest, like something heavy has shifted at last. You sit up, heart still fluttering from last night’s kiss, and find yourself smiling before you even realize it.
When you shuffle down the hall to breakfast, Seo-wan is already waiting, hair mussed, glasses fogged from his tea. The minute he sees you, he grins, really grins, bright and unguarded, and slides a chair out for you.
You sit beside him, close enough that your knees bump under the table. Neither of you say anything about what happened last night. You don’t have to. Every glance is softer, every word quieter, threaded with a new kind of promise.
He’s different today. He doesn’t talk about mana or dragons. When the nurse pours him juice, he just thanks her. When someone complains about the eggs, he laughs, rolls his eyes, and makes a silly face, and you realize how long it’s been since you heard him laugh just because.
In art therapy, he draws again. This time, he sketches two people walking hand in hand through an open gate, the sun shining high above them. There are no monsters lurking at the edge of the page. Just you and him, stepping out together.
Later, in group, the doctor asks about goals for the week. Seo-wan glances at you, then lifts his chin. “I want to get ready to leave,” he says. His voice is steady, almost proud. “Not just for me, but… with someone. With Mi-kyung. I want to try living out there again.”
You feel tears sting your eyes, but you don’t look away. You squeeze his hand under the table, and he squeezes back, sure and gentle.
That afternoon, you walk the garden path together, wind tangling your hair and his. He tells you about his parents, how he might try studying again, but only if it feels right. He asks about your favorite place in the city, and you promise to take him there someday soon.
There are still bad days ahead, and neither of you pretend otherwise. But for now, Seo-wan doesn’t hide. He stops talking about potions and HP, and instead starts making real plans. Lists in a notebook. Numbers for future apartments. Simple meals you can cook together, things to look forward to, little anchors for the world outside.
Every night before bed, he knocks softly at your door just to say goodnight. Sometimes, you kiss him on the cheek. Sometimes, he kisses you on the lips, shy and sweet.
—
Discharge day comes with a tension in the air, a crackle of hope and nerves, staff bustling around, the sharp scent of fresh sheets and too-strong sanitizer. The sun is high, windows wide open. You watch as Seo-wan gathers his few things into his old duffel, face bright with nervous excitement. You help fold his sketchbook, the two of you grinning, hearts pounding at the thought of what’s next.
His parents arrive, smiles tight but real. They hug him, thank the nurses, bow to you. There’s laughter, photos, even the nurse who always brings extra cookies presses one into his hand for the road.
You linger by the doorway, waiting for your name to be called too, bag ready, hope tucked into every heartbeat.
But the nurse doesn’t call you. She glances at you with a careful look, one you’ve learned to fear. She only says, “Wait here, Mi-kyung. The doctor will talk to you in a bit.”
Your stomach sinks. You hold your bag to your chest and try to steady your breathing.
Down the hall, Seo-wan hugs his parents and steps toward you, duffel over his shoulder. He’s already halfway through the doors, eyes searching for you. When he spots you, still in your hospital gown, not packed, standing awkward and alone, his face falls.
He rushes over, confusion creasing his brow. “Mi? Why aren’t you packed? Aren’t you coming?”
You look at your shoes, tears blurring your vision. “They’re not letting me go yet. They said I need more time. They wouldn’t tell me how long. I thought… I thought maybe if I did well, if I stayed positive, they’d let me leave too. With you.”
His eyes fill with tears, voice breaking. “But that’s not what we talked about. We said we’d go together. I can’t..Mi, I can’t just leave you here, I can’t..”
You wipe at your face, chest aching. “I tried, Seo-wan. I really tried. I want to go with you. I want to be with you, out there. But they won’t let me. I’m sorry..”
He looks at his parents, lost and desperate, then back at you. He drops his bag and pulls you into his arms, not caring who’s watching, not caring about the rules. He clings to you, shaking.
“It’s not fair,” he whispers fiercely into your hair. “I don’t want to go if you can’t come too. I promised I’d stay with you. I promised, Mi.”
You hold him, clutching the back of his shirt, tears soaking his collar. “I know. I know. I promise I’ll come soon. I promise.”
His mom stands nearby, quietly wiping her own eyes. His dad looks away.
“I’ll wait,” Seo-wan breathes. “I’ll wait for you. However long it takes. Don’t forget about me, okay?”
You shake your head, crying harder. “Never. Never.”
They call his name again, urgent now. He kisses your cheek, then your forehead, then pulls away, eyes wet and bright.
“I love you,” he says for the first time, raw and trembling, so only you can hear. “Don’t forget. I love you.”
You want to say it back, but the words get tangled in your tears. You nod, mouth trembling, and watch as he walks away, every step tearing a new ache inside you.
You stand in the hallway, hospital gown cold against your skin, holding the promise of him like a flame in your hands.
—
The apartment is quiet when Seo-wan gets home, so quiet it hurts. His mother hovers at the kitchen counter, watching him as he unpacks his bag. His sketchbook lands on the desk with a thud, but he doesn’t open it. He can’t, not yet. Not when the empty chair beside him aches with your absence.
His parents try to fill the silence with kindness. His mom brings him warm soup and soft, gentle words. His dad turns the TV up, pretending the noise is enough.
Seo-wan thanks them, tells them he’s just tired, and shuts himself in his room. He sits on the bed for a long time, staring at the blank walls, feeling every second of missing you. The hospital seemed so small and suffocating, but now the apartment is worse, too big, too echoing, no sign of your laugh or your slippers by the door.
He finds his old civil service prep books stacked in a neat row, untouched for months. The spines look like a challenge, a mountain he never managed to climb. He sets his jaw and opens the first one, letting the pages flutter, scribbling notes until the margins blur.
At first, it helps. He thinks about you, your voice, your hand in his, and tells himself if he works hard enough, keeps busy enough, you’ll be proud when you get out. He’ll be worthy. He’ll be ready.
But as the hours drag on, the words swim and tangle. He remembers the pressure, the breathless chase after grades and test dates, the way it felt to fail. His parents peek in, voices tight with worry.
“Seo-wan, you don’t need to rush,” his mother says, laying a gentle hand on his back. “You’re doing so well. You don’t have to prove anything.”
He just shakes his head, closing the book a little too hard. “I need to do this. I need to stay busy. If I don’t, I’ll… I have to be someone she deserves, when she gets out. I can’t mess up again.”
She looks at him with that mix of pride and sadness, then slips from the room.
That night, after hours of staring at the same page, Seo-wan gives up. He grabs his jacket and slips out, feet carrying him on autopilot down the street. Neon lights flicker over the Internet café sign, just like always. He stands outside for a long time, watching the glow through the glass, watching the old faces at the PCs.
The pull is too strong.
Inside, the whirr of fans and the tap of keys drown out his thoughts. He finds a corner, logs in, and before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s opening Lost Valhalla.
The login screen blinks, the music rising in his headphones, and suddenly it’s all there again: the old comfort, the familiar quests, the false, safe magic. His heart stutters. For a while, he loses himself in it, slaying dragons, collecting potions, building a world where the real pain can’t reach him.
But it doesn’t take long for the lines to blur. The game seeps back into the edges of his mind: he starts thinking in mana bars and status effects. The shield you drew for him appears in his dreams, the world inside the screen easier and kinder than the one outside.
When his mother calls to check on him, he tells her he’s just grabbing coffee, just needed air.
But when he logs off, the city feels less real. The ache of missing you is worse than ever, sharp and raw. He wonders if you’d understand. He wonders if you’d be disappointed.
He hugs his jacket tighter around himself as he walks towards home, afraid he’s slipping back into the very thing he promised he’d leave behind.
—
They discharge you on a gray morning, the kind where every shadow feels heavier and every sound echoes a little too loud. The nurse hands you a plastic bag with your things and says you’re ready, but you don’t feel ready at all. There’s a hollow ache where anticipation should be. You don’t have a phone, no way to call Seo-wan, no way to let him know you’re finally free. All you have is the address he once wrote for you, careful and crooked, on the back page of his sketchbook.
So you walk.
It takes almost an hour across the city, bus fare spent on bottled water, shoes rubbing blisters on your heels, the world loud and foreign after so many months inside. But you make it, finally, to his apartment building, heart thudding. His mother answers the door, her eyes widening in surprise and relief. She hugs you, quick and tight, then points down the hall. “He’s in his room. You… you’re just in time, I think.”
You step inside, calling his name softly. But the room is empty. The desk is covered with papers, some torn and wrinkled, his duffel tossed on the bed, sketchbook half-open. The only thing on the wall is a single yellow post-it, crooked and stark: I’m sorry.
Your throat closes. Your pulse turns to ice.
You run out the door, down the street, barely mumbling to his mother that you’ll be back, you just need to find him. You sprint the three blocks to his old classroom building, the one he showed you once, just beside the glowing Internet café.
You burst into the lobby, scanning the handful of students, desperate, half-crazed with dread. He’s not there.
You take the stairs two at a time. Every landing, every echo of your own footsteps in the stairwell, you call for him, quiet at first, then louder, urgency mounting with every floor.
You run up the last set of stairs, lungs burning, fear clawing at your throat. The heavy rooftop door groans open, spilling you into the cold, gray light. The sky is streaked with clouds, the wind fierce, searching, praying you’re not too late.
And then you see him.
Seo-wan is standing on the very edge of the roof, arms spread just slightly, face lifted to the wind as if he can see something you can’t. The city stretches out beneath him, dizzy and endless. For a second, you think he might already be gone, already lost to you, but then he turns his head, eyes wild and shining, and he’s talking to someone who isn’t there.
You freeze, heart breaking as you realize he’s not just on the edge, he’s deep in it again, lost to the world you share, caught up in the one that used to keep him safe.
You try to keep your voice steady as you step closer. “Seo-wan,” you call, soft but urgent. “It’s me. It’s Mi-kyung.”
He flinches at your voice, but he doesn’t look at you. Instead, his gaze sweeps the rooftop, frantic, as if searching for invisible enemies. His hands clench and unclench at his sides. “Do you see them?” he whispers, his voice shaking, staring out over the city. “The dragons are back, Mi. There’s more than before. They’re all around us. The big one is right there, by the radio tower, can’t you see its wings?”
Your stomach twists. Tears prick your eyes. You nod, stepping closer, careful not to startle him. “I see them, Seo-wan. But you don’t have to fight them alone. Please, come here, let’s do it together, like before.”
He shakes his head, backing closer to the edge. “No, you can’t. Not this time. You’re not strong enough, your HP is too low. I have to keep them away so they don’t come for you.” His voice breaks, trembling with fear and desperation. “I wasn’t brave enough last time. I let the dragon get too close, and I almost lost you.”
You fight to keep your voice from cracking, hands trembling as you reach out. “You didn’t lose me. I’m here, I’m right here. You kept me safe, Seo-wan. You always do. Please, please, come to me. I need you with me. I can’t do this alone either.”
He looks at you finally, tears running down his face. For a moment, you see the boy you love, lost and terrified behind his glasses. “Mi?” he says, uncertain, like he can’t trust what he sees. “Is… is it really you? Are you my princess? Or are you… are you a trick? Did the dragon send you?”
Your heart shatters. You take another step forward, voice breaking on a sob. “It’s me, Seo-wan. It’s really me. I got out. I walked all the way here because I need you. I need my mage. I don’t care about the dragons, I only care about you. Please, come away from the edge. Please.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, swaying, fighting an invisible battle. You see him mouthing something, an incantation, maybe, or a prayer. For a moment, the wind picks up and he wobbles, and you nearly scream. You hold your breath, afraid to move too fast.
Then, shakily, he opens his eyes, looking at you with all the pain and longing in the world. “I’m so tired, Mi. The dragons never stop. I tried to wait for you, I tried to be strong, but it’s so hard out here. Everything hurts. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let you down.”
You’re crying openly now, reaching out with both hands, desperate and shaking. “You didn’t let me down. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever known. You waited for me. You survived. That’s all I ever wanted. Please, please, Seo-wan, come back to me. You’re not alone anymore.”
He blinks, tears spilling over his cheeks. The delusions war with the truth in his eyes, you see it, that flicker of recognition as the sound of your voice reaches him. He sways, caught between worlds, fighting to hear you through the roar of his own mind.
And then you step closer, closer than you should, arms out, pleading. “Take my hand, Seo-wan. Please. We’ll face the dragons together. Just… come here. Just one step.”
He hesitates, breath shuddering, then takes one trembling step away from the edge. Then another. You grab him, arms locking around his waist, pulling him close. He collapses into you, sobbing, shaking so hard you think you might both fall, but you hold him, and you don’t let go.
He clings to you, burying his face in your shoulder, and you whisper over and over, “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. I promise. We’re safe. We’re safe now.”
The dragons fade as you hold him, the city spinning out into silence, the real world pressing back in around you both. He sobs in your arms, and you rock him gently, refusing to let go until he believes you’re real, until he believes he’s safe.
You stay like that on the rooftop, tangled together, until the wind calms and the ache in your chest is no longer terror, but relief.
Summary: basically just a cute little mall date with Seo-wan, nothing much!
I hope you enjoy because this is my first fic! ^^
Shopping at the mall is my absolute favorite, and I mean favorite thing to do in the world. That’s because most of the time, Seo-wan will pay for whatever I want, like now.
“Hm… these leggings are so cute…” I mumble, frowning to myself. I move over so that Seo-wan can get a look at them and he thins his lips, almost like he’s thinking to himself.
“Do you… want me to buy them for you?” He asks. I quickly shake my head, gently hanging the hanger back onto the rod. I don’t want him to feel forced to buy me things, but it makes me feel special to know that he would want to get me something just because I like it.
“No, that’s okay, Seo-wan.” I murmur, softly smiling up at him. “Thank you though.”
We browse the store a little bit more before my eyes land on a pair of grey flared fold-over leggings. I gasp and immediately reach to pick them up, holding them in front of myself.
“Look look look! I didn’t think they sold things like this anymore…” I explain to him. He looks sort of confused, and I don’t really blame him. It’s not everyday you see someone as excited as I am over a pair of leggings.
My happiness is quickly demolished when I realize… the pants are too long for me. I frown and quickly put them back, walking to the back of the store. Seo-wan follows behind me, almost a little frantically.
At the back of the store, there’s makeup, lotions, hair and body mists, and of course, where you check out. I rush over to a few body mists and pick one up, inhaling it softly.
It was a very strong scent and hard to describe. I furrow my eyebrows, trying to figure out what it’s supposed to smell like before holding it up to Seo-wan.
“What does that smell like to you?” I asked him. He immediately scrunches his face up and for a second I realized that I must’ve forgot how sensitive his nose is.
He gently takes the mist from my hands and sniffs, his eyes roaming around the room. After a bit of thinking he hands it back to me.
“I dunno. It smells good though, you should get it. I like it.” He says, nodding his head a few times. I glance back down at the bottle before I realize- oh.
It literally says the scent on the front of the bottle.
“Iced lemon sorbet pink apple…” I mutter, squinting my eyes at the packaging. Seo-wan looks down at me like I just spoke in alien. He grabs the body mist from me and narrows his eyes.
“That’s the scent? Whattt…” he giggles, shaking his head a bit before handing it back to me. He smiles and sighs contently. “Well, I like it. Can I get it for you?” he asks.
Even if it’s something so simple, just a small offer, it means the world to me because the fact that he wants to get me something? Because it makes me happy? Because I like it? I start to cheese a little and nod once. “Yes… thank you…” I mumble sheepishly, squeezing the bottle.
We check out and make our way out of the store, looking at the other stores and seeing if we find any other ones that are interesting.
Eventually, he points to one store with lots of apparel and smiles. “Can we go in that one?” he asks, looking down at me.
I nod my head, loosening the grip on my bags a little bit. “Yeah. It has a lot of cool stuff, I can already see.” I mumble, walking towards it with him.
Inside, there is tons of merch for all sorts of shows, mostly anime related stuff. My eyes scan over everything before landing on a plethora of blind boxes.
Most of them are harajuku themed unicorns, so I just grab the first one I see. I flip the box around so that I can see the possible results. Each of them have their own theme, but also all look equally cute.
I look around for Seo-wan before I spot him looking through pins. I scurry over to him and hold the blind box up.
“Should I get this?” I ask him, tilting my head to the left. I watch him look over the packaging before his lips twitch into a tiny smile. He nods.
“Yeah, that’s cute. Where’d you find that?” he asks me. I turn over and point to the stack of blind boxes.
“I was walking around and just found them, I always see them but I’ve never actually gotten one…” I explain to him.
He nods slightly, choosing a pin and turning over to me. “Okay I’m ready to check out. What about you?”
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
After a little bit of more walking, I stop in my tracks and point to the food court. “Before we leave, can I get us something to eat?” I ask.
He looks down at me and seems a little shocked that I offered. I watch him gather his thoughts before nodding, glancing back over at the food court.
“Yeah… Yeah, that would be nice. I’m pretty hungry…” he murmurs, adjusting his hold on my hand. We slowly make our way towards a little ice cream shop. Surprisingly, there wasn’t a line, so we got the ice cream really quick.
He got mint chocolate chip and I of course, got something simple. Vanilla, like always. We walked over to an empty bench, sitting down with each other.
I glance over at him, and he seems to be enjoying the food. It feels like such a simple moment we’re in, but at the same time I’m so happy with everything that happened today.
“Thanks for coming with me.” I mumble, taking a small bite of the ice cream. He looks over at me and nods his head, swallowing his ice cream.
“Yeah. Of course, I had fun today.” he explains. We sit and soak in the silence with each other, just enjoying the comfort between us.
Moments like these fill me with joy, because I know that he’s having as much fun as I am. I know he feels the same way I do, and it just fuels my happiness.
I love Seo-wan. I really do.
Super random but I feel like Seo-wan has a sensitive nose. I cooked that up while writing… also I have to write through the website on my super old IPhone so it’s so BUGGY! Sorry I don’t know how to use tumblr that much…
You’ve been gone four days, four days that feel like a month, judging by the frequency of Seo-wan’s texts.
Seo-Wan: did u board yet
Seo-Wan: why does jeju have to be so far
Seo-Wan: ji-soo i miss u and i’m cold. this is a crime
Seo-Wan: u better call me later or i’ll cry fr
It’s not just clinginess. You know that. He’s been different since you met, raw in places that never really healed, needing constant tethering. You’d found him the month he got discharged, standing outside a coffee shop in the rain, arguing with a stranger about whether cats could reincarnate as humans.
Instead, he ended up in your bed two weeks later and never really left.
Six months in, and he still gets quiet when you pack for a work trip. Still lingers in doorways like he’s worried you won’t come back. But tonight, you’re finally done with your interviews and deadlines. You call him from the hotel balcony, the lights of Jeju City hazy in the sea air.
He answers before the second ring.
“Ji-soo.”
You smile. “Hi, baby.”
He exhales, shaky and relieved. “You sound close. Are you back?”
“A few more days,” you promise. “I missed you.”
A beat of silence. You hear the shuffle of blankets. “I missed you too.”
You talk for a while, he tells you about the neighbor’s cat who tried to climb in through the bathroom window, about how he forgot to water the plant by your desk but swears he talked to it anyway. He’s warm and drowsy and adorable.
You don’t notice it at first. The way his voice gets slower. Breathier. You’re used to his shifts in tone when he’s tired. But tonight, it lingers. The occasional hitch in his breathing. A slight rustle of fabric.
You pause mid-story. “Are you okay?”
“Mmhm.” Too fast.
You squint into the dark. “What are you doing?”
He exhales, sharp, like he forgot to mute for a second. “Nothing.”
A flicker of suspicion settles low in your gut.
You don’t call it out, not that night. You let it go. But two nights later, it happens again. You’re sitting cross-legged on your hotel bed, fresh out of the shower, and Seo-wan sounds like he’s trying to hold something in.
You wait until he breathes out a ragged little sound, not even a moan, just the faintest tremor.
Then you strike.
“Seo-wan.”
“Yeah?”
“Turn on your camera.”
Silence.
You smirk into the receiver. “Now.”
He hesitates. “W-why?”
“Because I asked.”
“…Ji-soo.”
Your voice drops. “If you’re going to get off to my voice, the least you can do is let me watch.”
Another silence. Then, tentatively, the camera clicks on.
The screen lights up.
At first, all you see is the low angle of his pillow, the side of his flushed face, his hand scrambling to adjust the camera like he didn’t expect you to call his bluff.
Then, finally, Seo-wan comes into full view.
His lips are parted, wet and pink. His cheeks are red all the way to the tips of his ears. And his other hand, well, you can’t see it yet. The blanket still covers him from the waist down, but the movement is obvious now that he’s not trying to fake it.
Your breath hitches, a slow grin spreading across your face.
“Hi, baby,” you say sweetly.
He swallows. “Ji-soo..”
“I knew it. You’ve been jerking off on our calls, haven’t you?”
“I..I wasn’t.. I mean..” His hand jerks under the covers, a clear involuntary twitch. “Not every time.”
You raise an eyebrow, teasing. “So you have been.”
He covers his face with one hand, groaning. “I’m gonna die.”
“Not before I get a good look at you,” you purr. “Come on. Blanket off.”
“Ji-soo…”
You tilt your head, voice soft but firm. “Seo-wan. We’ve been dating for six months. I know what your dick looks like when you leave the bathroom in a towel.”
He lets out a choked laugh, eyes flicking up to meet yours. There’s shame there, but underneath it, unmistakable want. He shifts a little.
“Do you want me to tell you what I’m wearing?” you murmur.
He nods fast.
“Too bad,” you grin. “You first. Blanket. Now.”
Another shaky breath. And then, slowly, he obeys.
The blanket slides down to reveal his stomach, the hem of his shirt bunched around his ribs, and lower, his hand wrapped tight around his cock, already flushed and leaking. He’s been holding back for who knows how long. His knuckles are white.
You let out a low, appreciative breath. “God, you’re hard.”
“Can you please..” His voice cracks, hands twitching, hips shifting. “Say something. Touch yourself. I can’t.. I missed you so much I think I’m gonna..”
“Don’t you dare come yet.”
He freezes, eyes wide.
You smile, gentle but commanding. “Not without me. Got it?”
“…Got it.”
You shift your phone slightly, letting the camera see a little more of your bare thighs, the hem of your robe slipping. His eyes lock onto the movement like a starving man.
“That’s it,” you murmur. “Look at me, Seo-wan. Keep going. Slowly.”
He obeys, movements shaky but deliberate now, hand sliding up and down his shaft. His breath stutters. “Fuck… Ji-soo…”
You reach between your legs, dragging your fingers over the damp heat there. His eyes widen as he realizes what you’re doing.
“I’m wet just watching you,” you whisper. “You’ve been hiding this from me? Doing this alone while you pretend to be innocent on the phone?”
He lets out a soft, desperate whimper. “I didn’t want to bother you. You were working.”
“You never bother me,” you murmur, voice low and warm. “You turn me on, baby. Watching you like this? I could come just listening to you breathe like that.”
His hips twitch.
“Not yet,” you warn again.
“I’m trying,” he pants, almost helpless. “Ji-soo, I need.. I need you.”
“I’m right here,” you promise. “Let me see you fall apart.”
His pace quickens. You match it with your fingers, both of you breathless now, the distance between you melted by the sound of skin and gasps and low, stuttering moans.
“Come for me, Seo-wan,” you whisper, just as your own body tenses. “Now.”
He does.
With a choked, broken cry, his back arches off the bed, cock twitching as he spills across his stomach, eyes fluttering shut. Your own climax crests just after his, soft and drawn-out, your mouth open around his name as your legs tremble.
You both collapse into silence. Just breathing. Just there.
After a long moment, his voice wobbles through the speaker.
“…I think I saw heaven.”
You laugh softly, heart so full it aches. “No, baby. That was just me.”
He grins, cheeks pink and sleepy. “Ji-soo?”
“Yeah?”
“Please never go to Jeju again.”
You hear the whine in his voice before he even says anything else, the kind of half-serious, half-desperate tone that always makes you want to tease him a little more.
You pout dramatically, even though you know he can see you smiling. “Aw, but we’re having so much fun. Don’t you like our little long-distance video dates?”
He groans, tossing his arm over his eyes, still a little breathless. “Ji-soo, that’s not fair. I need you here. In person. Not just on my phone while I’m..” He breaks off, cheeks flushing all over again. “I miss you.”
You soften, but you can’t help dragging it out just a bit. “Oh? You mean you don’t want to put on a show for me again tomorrow night? What if I call you from the hotel bath this time?”
He whines again, squirming in the sheets, making the camera wobble. “Don’t tease. You know I’ll say yes. I just..” He bites his lip, embarrassed, eyes darting from the screen to his own messy stomach. “You’re mean.”
You laugh, warmth curling in your chest. “I know, jagi. I’m the worst. But you like it.”
He huffs, rolling onto his side so you can see his sleepy, petulant face. “Not if it means you stay gone longer.”
“Hmm.” You run a finger down your own chest, making his eyes go wide again, teasing him even when you’re miles away. “Maybe I should stay another week. Just to see how desperate you get.”
He groans, tugging the pillow over his head like he can hide from you, but he’s grinning through it. “I’ll die. For real this time. I’ll actually die.”
You blow him a kiss. “Then you better survive until I get home. Or you’ll never get to come again without me watching.”
His laugh is muffled, happy, and a little shy. “Deal. Just hurry up, okay?”
You let your own teasing fade to something soft and genuine. “I’ll be there in a few days. And you can have me all to yourself.”
He sighs, all his petulance dissolving into relief. “Promise?”
“Promise. Now get some sleep, pervert.”
He whines again, but you can tell he’s happy, his eyes fluttering closed, content to hear your voice one last time before he falls asleep.
—
Seo-wan wakes late, hair a mess, your side of the bed cold. The apartment is too quiet, too tidy, and he wanders restlessly, checking the door every hour just in case you come home early.
By noon, he’s bored out of his mind.
He tries your old crossword books, flips through a magazine, sits on the floor and lines up all your shoes by color just to feel closer to you. But nothing really helps. He misses your voice, your touch, the way you fill up every empty space.
So he drifts, first to your desk, then the kitchen, then, inevitably, to the closet.
He’s never actually gone through it before. Not really. He’s respectful, always a little shy about your stuff. But today curiosity wins. Maybe you left a shirt he can wear, or a scarf that smells like you.
He slides open the door and breathes in the scent of your perfume and fabric softener, smiling to himself as he fingers a few hangers.
Then, on the shelf above your shoes, he spots a small velvet pouch and a box he’s never seen before.
At first, he thinks it’s some kind of fancy makeup or maybe a weird little perfume bottle. He pulls out the rose-shaped toy, turns it over in his hands, squinting.
It’s squishy. Cute, actually. Has a button at the base.
He sniffs it. Nothing. He pokes the button and nearly drops it when it starts buzzing, the petals trembling in his palm. He’s so startled he almost throws it back in the box, but then he stares at it a little longer, brow furrowing.
He has no idea what it is.
Seo-wan sets the rose aside and goes deeper into the box. There’s another toy, sleek, long, cool to the touch. He turns it over, presses the power button, and the thing vibrates to life in his hand.
This one he gets, sort of. He’s seen things like this online, in late-night search results he always closed in a panic. Still, something makes him look down at himself, then back at the vibrator.
He hesitates, then, cheeks burning, stretches out on the bed and lines the vibrator up next to his own dick, just to compare.
It’s close, but the toy is a bit longer, and maybe thicker at the tip.
Seo-wan stares, pouting. “Seriously?” he mutters. “This is what she likes?”
He tries holding both up to the light, just to be sure. Then he flops back on the pillows, sighing dramatically, the rose and the vibrator on either side of him like weird little trophies.
His cheeks are still pink. He’s more curious than ever, and maybe just a little jealous.
He wonders if he should text you.
After a while, boredom pulls Seo-wan out of bed and back to your closet for another look. He tucks the toys away where he found them, blushing hard the whole time, then scans the shelves for something less confusing.
That’s when he spots it, hanging in the very back: a little black-and-white dress, all frills and satin ribbons. He tugs it out, holds it up, and blinks.
It’s tiny. And definitely not something you’d wear to work.
His jaw drops as he realizes exactly what it is, a maid costume. Complete with lacy apron, puffed sleeves, and a headband clipped to the hanger.
“Have I… have I ever seen her wear this?” He tries to remember. He hasn’t. Not once.
He’s floored. He can’t even picture you in it without his brain short-circuiting. Suddenly he’s dying to know what else you’re hiding in here.
He kneels down and rummages through a box at the bottom of the closet. There’s a tangle of silky ribbons, another little bag, and, a pair of fuzzy, hot pink handcuffs.
He snorts, amused and a little flustered. “Okay, now you’re just showing off, Ji-soo…”
He picks them up, turns them over in his hands. They look harmless enough, soft, shiny, the kind of thing you buy as a joke. There’s a tiny keyhole on the side and a jingle of something metal in the bottom of the box, but Seo-wan is too distracted by the novelty.
On a whim, he slips one cuff around his wrist and clicks it shut, grinning at the silly thrill of it. He wiggles his arm, shakes the chain.
It’s funny. He laughs, flops onto the carpet. “Ji-soo, you’re gonna have to explain this one to me when you get home..”
He goes to undo the cuff, only to realize, belatedly, he never checked for the key. He glances at the box, nothing obvious. He pats his pockets. Nothing.
The key isn’t attached. It isn’t anywhere in sight.
A sudden wave of panic washes over him. “Oh no, oh no, oh..fuck.”
He yanks at the cuff. It holds firm. He twists his wrist, hoping it’ll slip free, but the fur just makes it harder to get a grip. He tries to remember every scene in every movie where someone picks a lock with a bobby pin, but the best he’s got is your collection of hair ties.
He is well and truly stuck. Alone. Handcuffed to nothing but his own wrist, wearing only his sweats, surrounded by a pile of your secret closet treasures.
He flops onto his back, defeated, stares up at the ceiling, and wonders if he’ll survive the embarrassment when you walk in and find him like this.
After twenty minutes of frantic tugging, checking under the bed, and even trying (and failing) to wriggle his hand out with lotion, Seo-wan finally gives up and grabs his phone with his free hand.
He hesitates, then sends you a message:
Seo-Wan: hey ji-soo
Seo-Wan: hypothetically do you have handcuff keys?
There’s a pause. Then your reply pops up:
You: …What did you do?
He stares at the screen, biting his lip, determined not to confess immediately.
Seo-Wan: nothing..
The typing dots appear. Stop. Appear again.
You: Seo-wan.
He sighs, cradling his cuffed wrist, cheeks burning. Maybe if he plays it off, you won’t be too mad. Or you’ll just laugh. But you’re definitely not letting it go.
Seo-Wan: i was just looking in your closet and found some stuff and maybe the handcuffs are on my wrist now and maybe i didn’t check for a key before i clicked it and now maybe i’m stuck
Seo-Wan: also sorry
You reply almost instantly, and he can practically hear your exasperated laughter:
You: Oh my god.
You: Are you really handcuffed right now?
You: Seo-wan you’re hopeless.
You: The key is in the pink jewelry box on my dresser.
He glances across the room. Of course. He stands up, trailing the handcuffs, and walks over to the dresser with as much dignity as a man with one fuzzy pink wrist can manage.
You’re just putting the finishing touches on your work email when your phone buzzes again.
You: Seo-wan, quit snooping.
You: You really don’t know what you’ll find in there.
Almost instantly, he replies:
Seo-Wan: but i miss u
Seo-Wan: your stuff smells like you
Seo-Wan: and also i found some weird things??
Seo-Wan: but it’s fine
Seo-Wan: i’ll stop
You grin, rolling your eyes. You know him, he’s definitely not going to stop.
And you’re right.
Seo-wan puts the key back in the pink jewelry box, then goes straight back to digging through your closet, emboldened by the thrill of discovery and maybe the hope of finding something embarrassing enough to tease you about later.
That’s when he finds an old, half-crumpled porn magazine wedged behind a stack of scarves. The cover is lurid and faded, but it’s definitely not something he’d have expected from you. He flips through a few pages, cheeks burning with secondhand embarrassment and fascination.
He sits on the floor for a minute, magazine in hand, honestly considering jerking off, just out of boredom, just because you’re not here, and maybe because it makes him feel closer to you. But he hesitates, mind drifting to last night’s call, and sets it aside with a sigh.
He rummages deeper, moving a shoebox, and finds… a paddle.
It’s smooth wood, flat, with a short handle wrapped in faux leather. He picks it up, examining both sides, turning it over in his hands with a puzzled look.
“Is this… a ping pong thing?” he wonders aloud, holding it out in front of himself. He gives it a few tentative swings in the air, even tries tapping it against his palm. “I didn’t know she played…”
He stops, suddenly suspicious, and brings it closer to his face, running a thumb along the edge. “But… why is it in the closet with the other… stuff?”
The realization doesn’t quite click. He just shrugs and puts it back, mentally making a note to ask you if you’ve got a table hidden somewhere in the building.
He lies back on the floor, surrounded by all your secrets, and wonders if anyone else’s girlfriend is this weird, or if he’s just the luckiest guy alive.
After flopping back on the bed and fiddling with the paddle a few more times, Seo-wan grabs his phone and shoots you a text:
Seo-Wan: hey ji-soo
Seo-Wan: i didn’t know you played ping pong
Your reply is almost immediate, clearly confused:
You: What are you talking about?
He snaps a picture of the paddle on your bed, sends it, then adds:
Seo-Wan: this! i found a paddle in your closet
Seo-Wan: is there a table somewhere or do you just collect them?
You don’t reply for a second.
You: …Seo-wan.
You: Sweet boy.
You: That’s not for ping pong.
There’s a beat where he just stares at the screen, reading your message, his brain spinning. The light finally dawns as he remembers the handcuffs, the toys, the magazine, his cheeks go absolutely scarlet.
Seo-Wan: oh
Seo-Wan: OH
Seo-Wan: …so what’s it for then
You’re clearly having way too much fun.
You: I’ll show you when I get home.
You: Maybe you can be my practice table, hmm?
He almost drops the phone, heart thudding. He fumbles another reply, halfway between scandalized and way too excited:
Seo-Wan: ji-soo!!
You: Love you, nosy boy. Now get out of my closet before you find anything else you don’t understand.
Seo-Wan: too late for that
Seo-Wan: hurry home
He lies back, clutching the pillow, face burning, equal parts mortified and suddenly, impatiently eager for you to come home and explain all your secrets in person.
He means to be good.
He really does. But the apartment is too quiet, and he’s seen all your old dramas twice, and there’s only so much snooping he can do without getting himself stuck in something else.
So, desperate for a distraction, Seo-wan turns on your TV.
He scrolls through a few channels, then flicks over to your streaming apps, cycling aimlessly: reality show, animation, some old variety show reruns. But then, as he’s clicking through the “Recommended For You” row, a title catches his eye.
Fifty Shades of Grey.
He knows what it is, sort of. He’s seen memes, and he’s heard people joke about it, but he’s never actually watched it. Curiosity (and maybe a little bit of leftover adrenaline from your texts) gets the best of him.
He clicks Play.
At first, it’s just awkward flirting and some elevator scenes, but before long, Seo-wan’s face starts to burn. He stares, slack-jawed, as the infamous contract scene pops up, Mr. Grey laying out all his rules, Anastasia asking hesitant questions. The rope, the blindfold, the paddle…
Wait. Paddle?
Seo-wan sits bolt upright.
He glances from the TV to your closet, then back to the screen. The handcuffs. The paddle. The magazine. The maid costume.
He’s not stupid. The gears in his brain start turning at a speed that makes him dizzy.
By the time the first “Red Room” scene is over, he’s clinging to the blanket, heart hammering, torn between mortification and wild, embarrassed curiosity.
“Oh my god…” he whispers. “Ji-soo…”
He scrambles for his phone, but hesitates, caught between desperately wanting to ask you if you’ve actually used all that stuff, and being way too shy to ever send the message.
He ends up just hugging your pillow, staring at the screen, wide-eyed, and wonders what exactly he’s gotten himself into, and whether he should be nervous or excited for when you get home.
Your phone buzzes.
Seo-Wan: am i like anastasia?
You blink at the message.
You: Seo-wan what the hell are you talking about
Seo-Wan: ana… from that 50 shades movie
Seo-Wan: i started watching it. i was bored
You groan, already half-laughing.
You: babe
You: why are you watching Fifty Shades of Grey
Seo-Wan: bc i miss you and i didn’t want to snoop anymore so i turned on your tv and it was there
Seo-Wan: and the guy uses a paddle. and rope. and makes her sign a whole contract
Seo-Wan: so i was just wondering if like
Seo-Wan: you’re christian grey and i’m ana?? 🤔
You cover your face with your hand, then start typing.
You: baby…
You: no.
You: I love you. And yes, I have some toys, and yes I might own a paddle
You: but I’m not going to make you sign a contract or be my sex slave 😭
Seo-Wan: oh thank god
Seo-Wan: bc he was kinda mean
Seo-Wan: and i don’t think i’d be good at… obeying 😳
You burst out laughing in the middle of the hallway.
You: yeah no kidding
You: you couldn’t follow instructions long enough to water a succulent
You: you’d get punished in like five seconds
Seo-Wan: wait some people LIKE that tho
Seo-Wan: are the handcuffs for punishment or fun?
You: we’ll talk about it when I get home
You: and no more Fifty Shades. go watch something soft.
Seo-Wan: what if i wanna be handcuffed again 😳
You stare at the message, biting your lip.
You: is that a request, Seo-wan?
Seo-Wan: idk 😳
Seo-Wan: maybe
Seo-Wan: if it’s fun and not like scary contract shit
Seo-Wan: and u still kiss me after 🥺
Your chest squeezes, affection blooming so suddenly it makes you stop in your tracks. He really is too much sometimes. Too sweet, too earnest, too down bad.
You: i will always kiss you after, baby.
You: Before, after, before, during, when you’re cuffed, when you’re not, when you’re whining like this
Seo-Wan: i’m not whining
You: 🙄
Seo-Wan: i’m not 🥺
Seo-Wan: …but also can you bring the fuzzy ones back when you come home
Seo-Wan: i’ll behave
Seo-Wan: or not. whichever gets me more kisses.
You practically melt in your shoes, fingers flying over the keyboard now:
You: maybe I’ll handcuff you to the bed and make you wait
Seo-Wan: wait ??? wait for what omg 😳
You: wouldn’t you like to know 😌
There’s a long pause.
Seo-Wan: i’m hard again
You: no jerking off without me.
Seo-Wan: 😭😭😭
Seo-Wan: ur evil
Seo-Wan: i love u so much it’s unfair
You: good. now go put on something soft and stop watching porn.
You: i’ll be home tomorrow night.
Seo-Wan: 🥺 okay
Seo-Wan: i’ll wait.
You: that’s my good boy.
Seo-wan does his best to be good. He really does.
He keeps your text open on his phone like a warning and a promise:
no jerking off without me… edge for me… i’ll be home tomorrow night.
He manages to avoid the closet. He even resists the urge to touch himself in the shower, though it’s torture. Instead, he cleans the kitchen, refills your humidifier, and takes a nap with your pillow clutched to his chest.
But by late afternoon, boredom gnaws at him again. He tries to read, but he’s too restless. So he wanders over to your desk and opens your laptop, thinking maybe he’ll put on a movie or check the weather.
The screen flickers to life. Your browser is already open.
He’s about to type in a streaming site when he glances up and sees the little row of tabs, one still open to a site he definitely recognizes. And then the history.
His heart stutters. His brain screams don’t look, but of course, he looks.
He scrolls.
Titles he never expected to see on your laptop pop up one after another:
“Good Boy Gets Edged and Begs”
“First Time Handcuffed POV”
“Shy Sub Misses His Girlfriend”
“Maid Outfit Ruined”
“Mouthy Sub Gets Punished (Soft)”
Seo-wan’s cheeks go crimson. His whole body heats up. He covers his face with both hands, like maybe he can unsee what he’s just seen.
Except he can’t. The titles burn themselves into his brain.
He scrolls farther and finds, god, his exact kinks, in categories, bookmarked. Some videos he’s sure you’ve watched more than once. Some, he swears, are basically just his last week alone, dramatized.
He can’t help it. His dick gets hard almost instantly, throbbing against the waistband of his sweats. He squeezes his thighs together, groaning, already wanting to give in and touch himself. But your last message floats through his mind again:
edge for me…
He clenches his fists, shutting the laptop with a gasp, and paces the room instead, flustered, needy, but stubborn enough to behave.
Seo-Wan: ji-soo
Seo-Wan: i accidentally opened your laptop
Seo-Wan: you have so much porn
Seo-Wan: did you… bookmark “shy sub misses his girlfriend” on purpose or was that an accident
You reply instantly.
You: don’t snoop, Seo-wan
You: maybe i bookmarked it for research 😌
You: or maybe you’re my favorite kind of porn
He melts right there, pillow pressed to his face, desperate for you to come home.
He stares at the closed laptop like it might explode.
He knows he shouldn’t. He knows.
But the curiosity is killing him.
This is what she watches? he thinks, red-faced. This is what she likes?
He glances toward the door like you might walk in and catch him in the act of thinking too hard, then cautiously opens the laptop again. He scrolls back to the history and clicks on one of the bookmarked videos.
The title makes him blush immediately:
“Good Boy Edged Until He Cries.”
He hesitates at the thumbnail. The guy looks kind of like him, soft-looking, lean arms, flushed face. The girl? Calm. Sweet-voiced. A little mean, but smiling the whole time.
He presses play.
It’s worse than he imagined.
Worse, because it turns him on so fast he can’t breathe. The way she talks to the guy, teasing, praising, commanding. The way the guy writhes under her voice. The way she tells him not to come and he whimpers because he wants to be good.
Seo-wan grips the edge of your desk with both hands, ears burning.
“Oh my god,” he whispers.
He lets it play. Watches all fifteen minutes of it with his knees pressed together, his dick hard and aching in his sweatpants. He doesn’t touch. He won’t. You told him to behave. He’s going to try.
But his brain is spiraling now.
Do I sound like that when I whimper?
Is that the kind of stuff she wants to say to me?
Would she really talk to me like that? Make me beg like that?
He rewatches a part where the girl strokes the guy’s thigh and coos, “Look at you, so desperate for me. Don’t you want to be good?”
Seo-wan’s throat goes dry.
Maybe I could be good like that. Maybe I could be better.
He pauses the video and slowly closes the laptop again, heart pounding.
Then, after a moment, he grabs your pink notebook off the shelf and scribbles inside with your favorite pen:
Seo-wan’s Research Notes (Sexy Edition)
• try to stay still when she talks like that
• do the puppy eyes thing, she likes that
• don’t come until she says (practice edging!!!)
• ask if she wants to use toys together sometime
• maybe ask about maid outfit 👀
• maybe practice being tied up?? (but google safe knots lol)
• don’t say “am I like ana” again, that was dumb
He stares at the list and adds one more line at the bottom:
– i just want to make her happy
Then he presses the notebook to his chest, flops onto the bed, and texts you:
Seo-Wan: ji-soo
Seo-Wan: i love you
Seo-Wan: i’m going to be the best good boy when you get back. just wait.
You step through the door, dropping your suitcase by the entryway and toeing off your shoes. The apartment smells like your favorite candle and instant ramen, a comforting welcome home.
You don’t see Seo-wan in the kitchen or the living room, but the door to your bedroom is cracked open and soft light spills onto the hall.
You walk in and pause in the doorway.
Seo-wan is on your bed, cross-legged, wearing an old hoodie of yours, your pink notebook open in his lap and your laptop glowing beside him. He looks up at you, face flushed, caught mid-scribble. For a split second, he just blinks.
“Seo-wan?” you ask, trying not to laugh. “What are you doing?”
He clutches the notebook to his chest, looking mortified and earnest all at once. “Uh, research?”
You raise an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Research on…?”
He hesitates, then glances at your laptop and back to you. “Um. Sex stuff.”
You burst out laughing, dropping your bag and coming to sit at the edge of the bed. “Oh my god. Did you go through my bookmarks?”
He ducks his head, grinning despite his embarrassment. “You said no jerking off. So I… studied instead. So I can be… you know… a better good boy.”
You reach for the notebook. “Let me see.”
He hesitates, then gives it to you. Inside, you find a list written in his messy, determined handwriting:
Seo-wan’s Research Notes (Sexy Edition)
Your heart squeezes as you read:
i just want to make her happy
You’re quiet for a moment, notebook pressed to your heart. Then you look up at him, smiling so wide it hurts. “Seo-wan… I think you just broke my brain.”
He looks worried for a second, but you crawl over and straddle his lap, cupping his face in your hands. “I love you, you ridiculous, adorable man. I love every single thing you wrote in here.”
He melts, wrapping his arms around you, nose nuzzling your cheek. “So… did I do good?”
You kiss him, slow and deep, your laughter bubbling between you. “You did perfect. And I can’t wait to show you everything, no contracts, no rules, just us. Okay?”
He beams. “Okay. Can we… start now?”
You grin. “We can start whenever you want, good boy.”
You kiss him again, slow and teasing, just to hear the little whimper he makes in your throat. His hands come up, gentle on your waist, but he doesn’t pull you close, just waits, squirming, needing you to lead.
“Tell me what to do, noona,” he whispers, voice rough with nerves and want.
You can’t help it, you laugh, biting his lower lip softly. “Seo-wan, I’m not older than you.”
He pouts, shifting his hips beneath you, arms winding around your waist. “I know, but… but…” He can’t quite find the words, his cheeks going pink again. “It just feels right. Sometimes.”
You cup his cheek, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw. “Sweet boy,” you murmur, your voice low, gentle but teasing. “You want to be taken care of that badly?”
He nods, almost shyly, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “Yeah. Just… want you to tell me what you like. Want to make you happy. Even if it means being a little bit… obedient.” His lips twitch into a tiny, nervous grin. “Sometimes.”
You can’t help but melt for him, the way he’s so earnest, so wide open. You press your forehead to his, noses brushing. “You don’t need to call me noona to get what you want, Seo-wan.”
“But it’s cute,” he protests, a little whine at the end, “and you like it when I’m good…”
You run your fingers through his hair, pulling just enough to make his breath catch. “I do like it when you’re good,” you whisper, voice softer now. “But I like it even more when you’re honest. When you ask for what you want. When you tell me how you feel.”
He swallows, eyes shining. “Right now I feel like I’ll do anything you say.”
You kiss the corner of his mouth, feeling his pulse flutter under your hands. “Then let’s start slow. You listen, and I’ll take care of everything. I promise.”
He’s quiet for a moment, blinking up at you, the flush on his cheeks dark and earnest. His hand slips under the hem of your shirt, gentle and slow, but there’s something in his eyes, a question he hasn’t quite voiced.
You stroke his hair, tracing a line down his jaw. “What is it, baby?”
He hesitates, then lets it out in a soft, uncertain voice. “Why do you have so many toys? If… if you have me?”
You pause, heart twisting at how honest and fragile the question sounds. You see it all over his face, the old worries, the need to be enough, the way he wants to make you happy but isn’t sure if he can measure up.
You press your lips to his forehead, soothing. “Seo-wan, hey. Look at me.” He does, eyes big and searching. “I love you. You’re more than enough. The toys, they’re just for fun. Sometimes I used them when I was lonely. Sometimes I still like using them, even with you. But nothing, nothing, makes me feel the way you do.”
He still looks a little unsure. “But… that vibrator was kind of… big,” he mumbles, clearly embarrassed.
You bite back a laugh, stroking his cheek. “Babe. That’s not a competition. Toys are just… accessories. You’re the main event. You’re what I want. You’re what gets me off. The rest is just for when I want to mix it up. Or when I want you to watch.” You pause, grinning as his eyes widen. “Or when I want you to help.”
He flushes even deeper, but the tension starts to ease out of his body. “So… you like using them with me?”
“Sometimes,” you whisper, lips brushing his ear. “But only if you want to. I promise, nothing replaces you. Nothing even comes close.”
He lets out a slow breath, relief softening his whole body. “Okay. I just… I want to make you feel good. I want to be the one who makes you…” He trails off, too shy to finish, but his hands on your waist say the rest.
You tilt his chin up, meeting his gaze. “You do make me feel good. You make me feel better than good. You make me feel wanted. Loved. And so fucking turned on.”
His lips part, and you kiss him, slow and deep, letting him feel the truth of it, all the ways you want him, need him, love him.
“Now,” you murmur, fingers tracing down his chest, “do you want to try something new together tonight? Or do you want me all to yourself?”
He’s smiling now, that shy, eager grin back in full force. “Can we… try together? Just a little?”
You grin, pressing your forehead to his. “Whatever you want, sweet boy.”
You ease off his lap, giving him one last soft kiss before heading to your drawer. You pull out the little rose, rolling it between your fingers as you return to the bed. Seo-wan’s eyes are wide, shining with curiosity and a little awe, he swallows, gaze fixed on your hands.
You climb back onto the bed, settling beside him, and place the toy in his palm. “Do you remember how this works?” you ask, voice low and playful.
He nods, blushing. “I think so. I, uh… might’ve pressed the button earlier. It vibrates.”
You smile, tucking your legs beneath you. “That’s right. This is for me, but only if you want to try.”
He nods again, more eager this time. “Show me how.”
You take his hand, guiding it between your legs, your own heart thundering in your chest. “Here,” you whisper, fingers closing around his, helping him position the rose right against your clit. “Just like this.”
He’s so gentle, so careful, his thumb trembling over the button until you encourage him. “Hold it steady, baby. Now turn it on. The bottom button.”
He presses it, and the toy buzzes softly, sending a jolt through you that makes your breath catch. Your head tips back, a moan slipping out, and Seo-wan’s eyes go impossibly wide.
“Like that?” he whispers, voice shaky with awe.
You nod, breathless. “Yeah, just like that. Move it a little, slow circles. Don’t be afraid. Just… watch me.”
He does, his eyes fixed on your face as he follows your whispered directions, slow circles, a little pressure, then pause, then move again. You reach for his free hand and squeeze, grounding yourself in his warmth, in the way he’s so present for you.
“That’s perfect, Seo-wan,” you pant, pleasure cresting with every steady pulse of the toy and every look he gives you, needy and fascinated and so, so loving. “You’re making me feel so good, baby. You’re the only one who can.”
He bites his lip, cheeks red and eyes shining. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathes. “Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything. I just want to make you come.”
You guide him a little faster, your voice breaking on his name, your hands never letting go of him. He watches every second, worshipful, hungry, desperate to please.
When you finally fall apart beneath his hands, the toy buzzing and your whole body shuddering with release, you pull him into a breathless, messy kiss. “You did perfect,” you murmur, still trembling. “My sweet boy. No toy could ever compare.”
He beams, pride and love written all over him, and pulls you closer, ready for whatever you want next.
Summary: Basically just like reader BLEGHS and Kim Seo-wan is distraught… HEADCANONS!!! I have a fic for this coming soon though. ^_^ FOR 🍪 ANON!!!
Before!
Seo-wan is seen as a kook by everyone else in the hospital besides you. He doesn’t realize of that of course, too immersed in his delusions to see that, but you play a role in them.
Seo-wan sees you as his “princess” or so he calls you, whatever that means. It’s charming, yes, but it’s also very silly to you.
He tries to spend most of his time with you in the hospital. He braids your hair like a princesses and adds little flowers in it.
In his free time, he will draw you two together on whatever quests his mind comes up with, wether it’s fighting a dragon or drinking tea together.
Whenever you play ping pong with each other, he pretends to lose just so that you can feel a sense of pride in something, even if in all honesty you aren’t actually good at it.
After he fakes his loss, he pretends to sulk and acts as if he is upset just so that you can pepper his face with kisses like always.
Whenever his hair gets matted due to not bringing a hairbrush of his own the the hospital, you brush it out for him with your own.
He also forgets to adjust his glasses throughout the day so at every chance you can, you stand on your tip toes just to fix them up for him.
You both have the same nurse, Da-eun, so when she comes to check up on Seo-wan, just to check his blood pressure and for him to take his meds, he always make sure to ask about you.
You often lend him things for his own entertainment in the hospital, which he forgets to return back to you most of the time. You don’t mind, and instead excuse his poor memory every time.
Eventually you both make a full recovery and leave the hospital, returning back to your shared apartment.
Unfortunately not long after, you face a relapse. Nobody noticed, not even Seo-wan. The intense emotions of everything collapsing onto you was just too much to handle, and you only knew one way out of it all.
After!
After the incident, Seo-wan isolates himself from everyone. He stays inside and studies all day, not even going out with his friends to study all together like he used to.
He keeps all your stuff, even if there isn’t anything to do with it. It reminds him all to much of you and every time he drives himself to do it, guilt gnaws at him and he has no choice but to leave everything where it’s already been placed by you.
He often goes through your stuff as if he’s searching for a reason why you did it. He can’t help but blame himself with the situation, even if he did no wrong.
When he finally gets the motivation to actually go out and do something, he walks past a woman who looks similar to you, style and all. To make matters worse, they were even using your favorite perfume.
This causes him to shut down completely. He goes home and cries his eyes out, wanting to do anything to bring you back but he knows it just isn’t possible.
Seo-wan often sleeps on your side of the bed. It still has the smell of your shampoo. If he just closes his eyes and pretends you’re there, everything will be okay.
In his free time while working at the convenience store, he often scrolls through your social media pages. He was never active online, but ever since everything happened he finds himself looking through your reposts or liked videos.
Whenever he sees something in stores that remind him of you, he feels that he has to buy it. He stores it on one of the shelves in your shared room, looking at it for a little longer than what would be normal.
His parents invite him to dinner and the entire time he can’t help but think about you. The food they made was your favorite and it squeezed his heart even more. He left early, returning to your previously shared apartment.
If you are like, “Wow! These headcanons sure do sound like a Chappell Roan song about a subway…” yeah that’s because it was kind of inspired by the subway I’m sorry I didn’t know how to write this GUH!!! But I tried I hope you like this 🍪 anon mwah I love you so much pretend I’m tucking you in bed and reading you a bedtime story and give you a smooch on the forehead before you get some nice great rest…
The Princess and the Mage -Part Two- (fluff/comfort) 🩷❤️🩹
-Kim Seo-wan x You-
You don’t remember the walk down from the roof, only the feel of his hand clinging to yours, his shoulders hunched as if he’s carrying the weight of the whole sky. When you step back out onto the street, it’s like everything is washed in new light, shaky, uneven, but real.
Neither of you says much. He just walks close, letting you guide him, your arms brushing as you move. Every few steps you glance at him, half afraid he’ll disappear, but he’s there, head bowed, eyes red and rimmed with exhaustion, but alive.
You reach his apartment, the familiar number on the door, the smell of soup lingering from his mother’s last attempt to coax him to eat. He stops you outside, voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s not tell them… about the roof. They’d just worry more. Please.”
You nod, squeezing his hand. “We don’t have to. We’ll be okay.”
His mother opens the door before you can knock, surprise and worry flickering across her face when she sees the two of you together. “Seo-wan? Mi-kyung? Oh, thank goodness, are you all right? Where were you?”
Seo-wan glances at you for a split second, then pastes on the best smile he can manage. “Just walking. Needed some air. Mi found me and brought me home.”
His father appears, standing awkwardly in the hallway. There’s a pause, the weight of unspoken fears hanging in the space between you all.
Then, all at once, Seo-wan squares his shoulders, turning to face them. “I want to move out,” he says, voice trembling but sure. “I’m going to live with Mi-kyung. In her apartment.”
His parents look at each other, startled, concern written all over their faces.
“Seo-wan…” his mother begins, worry heavy in her tone. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? After everything, after how things have been lately, maybe you should stay here a little longer. Just until you’re more settled.”
He shakes his head. “I need this. I need a fresh start, somewhere new. I’ll be okay. I have to try. Please.”
His father studies him, eyes narrowed with concern. “Is this what you want, Mi-kyung? Do you… think you can handle it?”
You step closer to Seo-wan, resting your hand on his arm. “Yes. I want him to stay with me. I know it’ll be hard, but we take care of each other. We always have. We’ll keep each other safe.”
Seo-wan nods, giving you a look that says thank you without words.
His mother sighs, pressing her hand to her chest. “We just want you both to be safe. And happy. Please, call us if you need anything. Anything at all.”
“I promise,” you say, squeezing Seo-wan’s hand, both of you clutching each other like lifelines. “We’ll be okay. I’ll look after him.”
His parents look at the two of you, young, bruised, but holding on. They exchange another worried look, but in the end, they nod.
That night, when you close the door to his old room behind you and he slides his bag off his shoulder, you both let out a long breath. You sink down onto the bed together, exhausted and shaking, but together.
Seo-wan rests his head on your shoulder, fingers tangled in yours. “You really want me?” he whispers, hope and disbelief mingling in his voice.
You press a kiss to his hair, holding him close. “Always.”
—
The first weeks living together are quiet and sweet. Your apartment is small and cluttered, but Seo-wan fits into your space the way he always fit beside you in the hospital: careful, gentle, quietly grateful for every shared meal and every night spent together on the battered old couch. You take turns cooking, doing laundry, buying snacks. Some days, he makes you tea and reads aloud from library books. Other days, you just exist side by side, a kind of easy, shared peace neither of you ever thought you’d get.
And at first, he seems happy, lighter, even. You catch him humming sometimes, or dancing in the kitchen when he thinks you aren’t looking. He draws little cartoons on sticky notes and hides them in your bag for you to find at work. At night, he curls around you, whispers I love you, holds on like he’s scared he’ll wake up and find it was all a dream.
But then the old ache creeps in. The civil service exam. He studies for hours, piles of notes spreading across the table, highlighters rolling onto the floor. He bites his nails, drinks too much coffee, forgets to eat lunch. When the results come, one point short, he goes silent. The light leaves his eyes. He barely talks for days.
You try to cheer him up, cook his favorite food, bring home funny little trinkets from the convenience store, leave notes on the bathroom mirror. But nothing sticks. The spiral pulls him down, and you see the old panic, the shame, the fear.
Finally, you find him one afternoon, sitting on the floor, surrounded by study books, head in his hands. Your heart aches for him. You sink down beside him, take his hands gently in yours, and pull them away from his face.
“Seo-wan,” you say, quiet but steady. “We need to talk.”
He lifts his head, eyes rimmed red. “I’m sorry. I wanted to make you proud. I wanted to prove I could be good enough to stay with you.”
You shake your head. “Listen to me. I don’t care if you ever pass that exam. I don’t care about you being a civil servant. You could be anything you want, Seo-wan. You could work in a café, you could make art, you could even just, play games for a living.”
He blinks, confused. “Play games?”
You nod, smiling softly. “Yeah. People do it all the time. Some people livestream themselves playing games. Some eat on camera, or open packages, or travel, or just talk. They make friends, build whole communities online, and some of them do it as a job.”
He just stares, lips parted, like you’ve told him the sky is green.
“You mean… people would watch me play Lost Valhalla? Or other games? And I could… talk about dragons and quests and stuff?”
You squeeze his hands. “Absolutely. People love that stuff. There’s a whole world out there of people just like you, looking for someone to make them feel less alone.”
Seo-wan is stunned, searching your face for any hint of a joke. “Wait… I can do that? I don’t have to be… I don’t have to pass the exam to be good enough?”
You lean in, brushing his hair off his forehead, kissing him softly. “You are already good enough, Seo-wan. For me, for yourself, for anyone. You don’t have to be anyone else. I just want you to be happy. I want you to be you.”
For the first time in days, you see a flicker of something bright in his eyes, hope, disbelief, maybe even excitement. He lets out a shaky laugh, the sound caught between a sob and wonder.
“I… I never thought of that,” he says softly. “You really think people would want to watch me? That I could be happy doing that?”
You nod, pulling him into a hug, holding him close as you whisper into his hair, “Yes. You can be anything, Seo-wan. Anything at all.”
The conversation leaves Seo-wan quiet for a long moment, a shy, stunned smile blooming on his face. He looks at you, as if waiting for you to take it back, but you just squeeze his hands and nod, encouragement shining in your eyes.
He grins, cheeks pink and eyes bright in a way you haven’t seen in ages. “Okay,” he says, more breath than sound at first. “Okay, that’s what I’m going to do, Mi. I want to try it. How do I start?”
—
You both spend the next week turning your tiny apartment into the beginnings of a streamer’s world. You help him set up a Twitch account, guiding him through the endless steps, setting up email, checking usernames, choosing the perfect one. He spends hours scribbling possible names in a notebook, crossing out every idea until he writes SeoTheSlayer with a little doodle of a sword and a tiny, smiling dragon. You both agree it’s perfect.
You research equipment together, cheap but good camera, sturdy headset, a mic that doesn’t sound like he’s streaming from the bottom of the ocean. The packages arrive over a few days, and you open them together like birthday presents, both of you giggling at the bubble wrap and fumbling with instruction manuals.
The apartment isn’t glamorous, his “streaming office” is just the little nook in the corner where your laundry basket used to sit, the walls still bare, a bookshelf behind him stacked with old textbooks and a crooked potted plant. You tack up a couple of his drawings for background, dragons and cartoon mages, just for color.
He spends hours reading guides and watching clips from other streamers. You show him how to set up overlays, how to manage chat, how to make the camera angle look less like a mugshot and more like a cozy hangout. Sometimes he gets overwhelmed and you have to talk him down, gently reminding him it doesn’t have to be perfect, just real.
The night before his first stream, you find him fidgeting with his headset, twisting the wire around his fingers. “What if no one watches?” he asks, voice small. “What if I sound stupid, or freeze up, or just… suck?”
You cup his cheeks, making him look at you. “You won’t. You’re funny, and honest, and you care so much. People will feel that. And even if only one person watches, so what? That’s still someone who chose to hang out with you.”
He kisses you, gratitude humming between you. “Thanks, Mi. For believing in me.”
You watch him set up the next day, heart thumping in your chest as he goes live for the first time. The camera clicks on, his username, SeoTheSlayer, lighting up in purple in the corner, and there he is, awkward but bright-eyed, fidgeting with his glasses and giving a shy little wave.
“Uh, hi. I’m Seo-wan. Or, uh, SeoTheSlayer, I guess,” he says, voice trembling but steady enough. “I’m… new to this. So, uh, welcome, I guess.”
He starts with something simple, a silly online cooking game. He’s nervous at first, rambling too much, but you can hear his laughter start to come easier as the chat slowly grows. Ten viewers, then twenty. Then, suddenly, almost a hundred. He messes up in-game and burns digital rice, but laughs about it and makes up a story about the rice being possessed by a dragon. The chat lights up with laughter and encouragement:
Hey man, keep it up!
This is actually really wholesome lol
You have a good personality for this!
Your rice may be cursed, but your vibes are pure
Try playing Lost Valhalla! That’s my favorite game.
When he sees that last comment, he beams, forgetting for a second to be shy. “Lost Valhalla? That’s my favorite too! I, um, actually have a character who’s been through a lot of quests, and..” He trails off, catching himself, but the chat is already excited, begging him to play it on stream next time.
He gets raided by a small streamer near the end, suddenly there are emojis and messages everywhere, cheering him on, and for a second he just sits there, stunned, tears shining in his eyes. He manages a breathless “Thank you, thank you, everyone,” before ending the stream.
The second he’s done, he rips off his headset and races into the kitchen where you’ve been watching on your phone. He almost slips on the mat in his socks, all flustered and glowing.
“Mi! Did you see? I had almost a hundred people! And they were so nice, and someone wants me to play Lost Valhalla, and..Mi, they liked me. They actually liked me.”
You pull him into your arms, spinning him around as you both laugh, caught up in the magic of it. “Of course they liked you,” you say, grinning as he hugs you tight. “You’re you, Seo-wan. That’s all you ever had to be.”
He kisses you, and you can feel the change, the way hope settles, real and deep, in his chest for the first time in years.
You spend the rest of the night together on the floor, eating ramen straight from the pot, talking about his next stream, his new friends, and the world that finally feels big enough for both of you.
The next week he goes live again.
You’ve tidied the little office, moved the lamp so the light hits his face softly, and set a mug of green tea beside the keyboard. He’s bouncing his knee, headset around his neck, grinning like a kid on a rollercoaster.
“Ready?” you ask from the doorway.
He nods, breathless. “I’m going to play Lost Valhalla this time. Chat asked for it.”
“You sure you’re ready for that one?”
“I think so,” he says. “It’s just a game.”
The stream starts, and within ten minutes the viewer counter jumps, hundreds, then thousands. You watch from the couch on your phone, the chat scrolling faster than you can read:
He’s back!
This guy’s hilarious.
The way he explains quests makes me want to play too!
3000 viewers omg congrats!!!
He’s radiant. The nervousness melts away once the game loads, and he starts narrating every move, laughing, joking, giving the monsters voices, talking to the audience like they’re his party members. The energy in his voice reminds you of the first time you saw him draw a dragon in the hospital, alive, focused, glowing.
But then, an hour in, the shift starts. His tone changes, just slightly at first. He speaks to the characters like they’re really answering him. His gaze drifts past the screen, pupils dilating as if he’s watching something moving just outside the monitor.
“Did you see that?” he asks suddenly, half‑to the chat, half‑to no one. “The Fire Dragon’s in the sky tonight. The real one. You can feel it.”
The chat floods with laughing emojis, hearts, “bro’s in character!” messages. They think it’s part of the act. But you know that tremor in his voice; you can see the way his breathing quickens, how his fingers tighten around the mouse.
You slip quietly into the room, staying off camera. He doesn’t look back, he’s too lost in the world on the screen. You rest a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. He jumps a little, then laughs it off for chat. “That’s my partner, Mi, she’s my real‑life princess,” he says, smiling shakily at the camera. The chat explodes with hearts.
When he ends the stream, the counter reads 3 142 viewers. His face is flushed, eyes bright, heart racing. “Mi,” he gasps, turning in his chair, “three thousand people! They were cheering, they said I made them laugh, someone clipped the dragon fight, it’s crazy!”
You smile and hug him, but you can feel how hard he’s trembling. His pulse is still wild under your fingertips. When you pull back, his eyes are distant again, darting toward the dark window like he’s still seeing something flicker there.
“You okay?” you ask softly.
He hesitates, then nods too fast. “Yeah. I’m fine. It’s just… it felt real again. The colors, the sounds, it was like being back in it. Like the game wasn’t on the screen anymore.”
You kneel beside his chair, resting your hand over his. “It’s over now. You did amazing. You’re right here.”
He exhales shakily, shoulders slumping, the high draining out of him until he looks pale and small again. “I didn’t mean to..lose it,” he whispers. “It just happens when I play too long. I can’t always tell what’s real.”
You cup his cheek, make him look at you. “It’s okay. You didn’t lose anything. You came back. That’s what matters.”
He leans forward until his forehead rests against yours. “I love this, Mi. Streaming. Talking to people. It’s the first thing that’s made me feel… useful. I just have to find a way to keep the dragons out when I turn the computer off.”
You’re quiet for a moment, stroking his hair gently as his breathing steadies. The city glows through the window, washing you both in soft blue light. After everything, after the streaming and the dizzy happiness and the return of old shadows, you just want to make sure he’s safe. Really safe.
You brush your thumb over his cheek. “Well… you’re still taking your medication every day, right?”
He goes still. You feel the tension ripple through his shoulders. “Seo-wan?”
He swallows, looking away. “I… yeah. I mean..I was. I am. I will, it’s just…” He trails off, fidgeting with his sleeve, knuckles white.
“Seo-wan.” You keep your voice soft, no judgment, just worry. “Talk to me. Please.”
He sighs, avoiding your eyes. “It’s nothing. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
You gently tug his chin so he has to look at you, even if just for a second. “Hey. No secrets, remember? If something’s wrong, you can tell me. Please.”
His cheeks are already red. He bites his lip, staring at his knees, embarrassment written all over him. “It’s just… the meds. Sometimes I feel weird. Like… it messes with my body. I don’t like it.”
You wait. You don’t push, just rub little circles on the back of his hand, letting him gather the courage.
Finally, he mumbles, voice barely audible, “I want to be good to you. I want… when you’re ready, I mean… I want us to be… close. For real. And sometimes… it just… doesn’t work. I mean, my body doesn’t work. The medication makes it… hard.” He laughs, but it’s shaky, almost a flinch. “Not hard, actually. That’s the problem.”
You feel your heart break a little at how much it clearly pains him to admit. You squeeze his hand tighter, moving closer until your knees are touching. “Seo-wan. That’s not embarrassing. It’s just real life. A lot of people have trouble with that on medication. It doesn’t change how much I care about you. Or how much I want you.”
He looks at you, eyes shining and uncertain. “But what if… what if you want more? What if I can’t… ever? What if you end up hating me for it?”
You shake your head, reaching up to cup his cheek, making him meet your eyes. “I could never hate you. Not for this. I want you..all of you. I want you healthy and safe, and I want to figure it out together. If we have to talk to your doctor, we’ll do that. If we have to wait, we’ll wait. We’re not in a rush. There’s no right way to do this.”
He lets out a shaky breath, shoulders sagging in relief. “Really?”
You nod, kissing the tip of his nose. “Really. I want you here. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I don’t care about the rest. We can hold hands, we can kiss, we can talk all night, whatever you need. I just want you to feel safe.”
He laughs then, a watery, grateful sound, and leans into your arms. “Thank you, Mi. For not making me feel broken.”
You hold him tighter. “You’re not broken, Seo-wan. You’re just human. And you’re mine.”
—
The room is dim except for the computer screen still aglow with the afterimage of his stream, numbers still ticking in his mind, five thousand viewers, five thousand hearts beating for him in the wild electricity of the internet. You’re both buzzing, laughing, half-drunk on the joy of it, tangled together on the couch with the night pressing up against the window.
You kiss him, first light and quick, then hungry, mouths crashing together, your hands greedy on his chest and jaw. He laughs into your mouth, shaky and breathless, his fingers urgent on your skin. Every inch of him is desperate for you, except for the one part of him he can’t control.
You pull him into your lap, grind against him, press kisses along his neck, down his chest, up behind his ear. He gasps your name, hands fisting in your shirt. “Mi, God, I want you so much,” he whispers.
You smile against his skin, moving with him, everything heat and pressure and want. “I want you too, Seo-wan. I want all of you.”
He moans, voice trembling. You move your hands lower, gentle, careful, but when you reach for him, you feel it, he’s soft. He’s trying, you can feel him trying, but nothing’s happening. His breath stutters. You freeze, looking up.
He’s not meeting your eyes now, face turned away, breath suddenly sharp and harsh.
“Hey,” you say softly, brushing your lips over his cheek. “It’s okay.”
But it’s like he can’t hear you. His whole body is tense, trembling. He sits back, pulling away, burying his face in his hands. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Mi.”
You move closer, kneeling in front of him, but he shakes his head, voice cracking.
“I just..why can’t I do anything right?” He scrubs a hand over his face, shoulders hunched. “I used to think it was just my brain, but now it’s my body too. Every time I try to be… normal, it’s like I’m reminded all over again. I failed the exam. I failed my family. I failed at being better. And now I can’t even..” He breaks off, voice strangled.
Your heart shatters for him, for the kid still living inside him who thinks love and worth are earned by performance. You reach out, touch his wrist, but he flinches, ashamed.
“I just wanted tonight to be different,” he whispers, eyes shining with frustrated tears. “I wanted to show you that I could be enough for you, that I could give you something good after all the shit you’ve had to go through because of me. And I can’t even do this. I can’t even be..” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, voice so small. “I’m sorry. You deserve better.”
You move to sit beside him, pressing your side against his, refusing to let him drift away. “Seo-wan. Look at me. Please.”
He does, reluctantly, eyes raw and shining.
You take his hand, your thumb tracing gentle circles over his knuckles. “You’re not a failure. Not now, not ever. Not because of a test, or a job, or this. None of that is what makes you good enough for me. You already are.”
He shakes his head, tears slipping down his cheeks. “But I keep letting you down. My family, my teachers, the hospital, now you. I just want..” His voice cracks. “I just want to be someone you can be proud of. Someone who doesn’t need fixing.”
You gather him close, arms around his shaking frame, your lips pressed to his hair. “You don’t need to be fixed. You just need to be loved. I love you. Right now, like this. There’s nothing to prove.”
He sobs into your shoulder, every breath trembling with years of shame and disappointment. You rock him, holding him as if you could keep every piece of him safe.
“I love you,” you whisper, again and again, until he’s quiet, just shuddering breaths and the slow return of warmth to his skin. “You don’t have to be perfect for me. I want you, messy, complicated, sometimes scared, sometimes soft, always you.”
You lift his face, wipe his tears with your thumbs. “I don’t care about sex. I care about you. I want to be close, however we can. We’ll talk to your doctor. We’ll try new things. But you’re not a disappointment. Not to me.”
He leans into you, exhausted, breaking and mending in your arms all at once. “I’m sorry,” he says again, softer this time, almost a question.
You kiss his forehead, his cheek, his lips, holding his face in your hands. “You don’t ever have to apologize for this. Not to me. We’re in this together, okay? As long as you’re here, that’s all I want.”
He stays quiet for a long time after that, just breathing, his face still tucked into the curve of your neck, your hand smoothing through his hair. You can feel the storm settling in his chest, the way his shoulders stop trembling, his heartbeat slowly evening out against yours.
“I want to go back to the hospital tomorrow.”
Your whole body goes still.
You don’t pull away, but something inside you tightens instinctively. “What do you mean?” you ask carefully. “Are you… okay?”
“I don’t mean like that,” he says quickly, pulling back just enough to look at you, wide-eyed and earnest. “Not to be admitted. I mean… with you. I want to go with you. I want us to talk to them. About the meds. About how I feel. I don’t wanna keep pretending I’m fine when I’m not. If this medication is helping my head but hurting my body, then maybe there’s something else. Something that doesn’t make me feel broken every time I want to be close to you.”
Your shoulders drop with relief, and you reach up to cup his cheek, nodding. “Okay. Then we’ll go tomorrow. Together.”
He exhales like he’s been holding it in all night. “Okay.”
—
The next morning, you both wake up early. He’s quiet during breakfast, his fingers tapping at the rim of his cereal bowl, not really eating. You brush your teeth side by side in the mirror, his eyes flicking to yours every so often like he needs to make sure you’re still there. Still choosing him.
You are.
At the hospital, the front desk nurse blinks in surprise when she sees you both. Then she beams.
“Oh my god, Seo-wan? You’re glowing! You look amazing!” She waves another nurse over, and soon there are three familiar faces leaning over the counter, fussing over him like proud aunts.
“He gained weight, right? Doesn’t he look healthy?”
Seo-wan blushes, ducking his head, but he doesn’t deny it. He just smiles shyly and takes your hand.
When his old doctor comes out to greet you, she pauses, blinking at him like she’s not quite sure she’s seeing the same person. “Wow. You really do look well,” she says. “But I take it there’s something you want to talk about?”
He nods. “Yeah. There is.”
In the consultation room, you sit beside him on the little couch while he talks. He stumbles over his words a few times, but you squeeze his hand and he finds the courage.
“I’m doing better,” he tells her. “The meds helped stabilize me. I’m streaming now, I’m drawing again. I’m with someone I love.” He glances at you. “But… there are side effects I didn’t want to talk about before. Stuff I didn’t think mattered. But now they do.”
His voice lowers. “I want to be close to her. Intimate. And I can’t. I try. And it won’t work. And it makes me feel like… like I’m still failing at being a person.”
The doctor nods slowly, kindly. “Seo-wan, that’s more common than you think. And it’s not your fault. Some medications impact sexual function, libido, arousal, physical response, but there are ways to adjust. Different medications, dosages, sometimes even therapy can help.”
“I didn’t want to mess everything up,” he admits. “I thought if I told anyone, they’d just say I was being selfish. Like I should be grateful I’m not in psychosis anymore. Like wanting to be whole is asking for too much.”
“It’s not,” she says gently. “Wanting connection, pleasure, love, that’s part of recovery. Not a distraction from it.”
You can feel him breathing easier beside you. Slowly, a sense of hope creeping back in.
She writes notes, makes a few adjustments to his prescription plan, schedules a follow-up.
Before you leave, she looks at both of you with a warm, fond smile. “You’re doing really well, Seo-wan. And I can tell you’re not doing it alone. That makes all the difference.”
—
Outside, in the cold sun of late morning, you and Seo-wan sit on the hospital steps for a while, watching the breeze stir the trees by the parking lot. He’s quiet again, but it’s a different kind of quiet. Not the heavy silence of shame. This one is lighter. Contemplative. A new chapter ready to begin.
“Thank you,” he says finally, staring down at your joined hands. “For coming with me. For not giving up on me.”
You nudge him gently. “You showed up for yourself today. I’m proud of you.”
The new medication brings a rough few days. You’d been warned about this, “sometimes it gets worse before it gets better” but you didn’t expect how quickly Seo-wan’s reality would begin to blur at the edges.
You notice him pouring his morning juice with a flourish, holding the cup up like a trophy. “Ambrosia for the hero and his princess,” he announces grandly, handing you a glass with both hands and a bow.
You smile and take it, clinking your cup to his. “May our mana overflow.”
He beams, delighted. “That’s my girl.”
Throughout the day, he’s distractible, floating through rooms, getting lost between thoughts. He spends hours sketching dragons, on napkins, on the back of envelopes, sometimes just in the air with his finger. When the sun goes down, he stands at the window, peering up at the roof of your apartment building. “The Fire Dragon’s up there tonight,” he whispers, wide-eyed, “but don’t worry, Mi. I’ll keep you safe. My shield’s strong.”
It aches, seeing him like this, so bright, so tender, and so far from the Seo-wan who held your hand in the doctor’s office just a few days before. But you keep steady, doing your best to anchor him gently, not denying his reality but never fully stepping into it either.
You hug him when he’s anxious, kiss his forehead when he’s lost, make sure he eats, drinks, sleeps. When he calls you “princess,” you squeeze his hand and tell him you’ll let him slay the dragon if he gets enough rest. He laughs, says, “Deal.”
That weekend, he sets up for his stream, still sparkling with a kind of unfiltered, innocent energy. He wears his favorite hoodie (the one with the little mage embroidered on the chest), arranges his desk just so, and gives you a quick, giddy kiss before going live.
The chat explodes when he starts talking, his voice theatrical, his stories wild and funny. “Today, my party and I must defeat the Fire Dragon on the roof! My princess is here to heal us, so everyone, keep your mana high!” He waves his juice at the camera, declaring, “Ambrosia, the drink of champions!”
You watch from your phone in the kitchen, keeping an eye on the comments as hundreds, then thousands, tune in. They love him. The chat is full of hearts, dragon emojis, questions for the “princess,” and endless encouragement:
Dude, this is the best bit I’ve ever seen.
Protect the princess!
Is that real juice or a secret mana potion?
I could listen to you talk about dragons all day, man.
Where did you learn to roleplay like this?
He’s radiant, completely alive in the moment, spinning tales about magical quests and narrow escapes. To the viewers, he’s in character, brilliant, creative, hilarious. To you, he’s Seo-wan at his most vulnerable and unguarded, lost in a world only you truly understand.
You check on him during breaks, making sure he eats and rests, grounding him with soft words and steady touches. Sometimes, between matches, he looks up at you, confusion flickering behind his eyes, and you just kiss his knuckles and remind him he’s safe.
And when the stream ends, thousands of viewers sending him off with cheers and dragon jokes, you tuck him into bed, stroke his hair, and promise you’ll keep watch for monsters while he sleeps.
He murmurs, half-asleep, “You’re the bravest princess, Mi. I couldn’t do this without you.”
You hold him close, whispering, “I’ll always be here, Seo-wan. Until the dragons fade.”
You lie awake a while, listening to his breath settle, holding space for both the fantasy and the reality, loving every part of him, no matter which world he wakes up in tomorrow.
The morning sunlight spills in golden stripes across the bed, and for once, you wake to the sound of Seo-wan singing softly in the kitchen. He’s making breakfast, actually making breakfast, not just pouring cereal or boiling instant noodles, but humming as he cracks eggs and flips toast in the pan. You follow the smell to the kitchen, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and find him already dressed, hair wild and cheeks flushed with energy.
“Morning, princess!” he says, voice bright and warm. He spins the frying pan like he’s on a cooking show, then slides your plate in front of you with a flourish.
You laugh, sinking into the chair. “Somebody’s in a good mood.”
He grins, bouncing on his toes. “Guess what!” He flashes his phone at you, the notification from Twitch bright on the screen. “My first payout hit last night. Look at this, Mi. I..I didn’t think it would be this much. I thought it was a glitch. Look!”
You stare at the number, more than either of you made in a month at your old jobs. “Oh my god, Seo-wan. That’s incredible.”
He’s glowing, rubbing the back of his neck in that self-conscious way he gets when he’s overwhelmed. “Yeah, well… if only I could use it to buy a new brain, right?” He tries to laugh, but you see the flicker of old doubt beneath the humor.
You set your fork down and stand, moving to wrap your arms around him. “Oh hush. I love you and your brain just the way it is.”
He ducks his head, looking away, but his smile is helplessly wide. “You deserve a guy with a working body, Mi. Someone who..”
You climb right into his lap where he’s sitting now at the table, straddling him, cupping his jaw so he has to meet your gaze. “Shhh,” you whisper, “none of that. I want you. Always you.”
His hands settle on your hips, fingers tentative but hungry. You kiss him, slow, deep, pouring every bit of love and relief and pride you feel into it. And this time, you feel him respond, his hands tightening, his breath catching, his body alive and eager under yours.
You pull back, looking into his eyes, and he’s stunned, blinking up at you like he can’t believe it’s real. His cheeks are pink, his smile spreading, incredulous and bashful and just a little cocky for once.
You rock your hips, just a little, and his eyes flutter shut. “Is this…?” he whispers, voice trembling with hope and disbelief.
You kiss him again, laughing softly against his mouth. “Yeah. Looks like it.”
He exhales, shaky, grinning up at you. “Don’t move. Please don’t move. I..” He swallows, laughter bubbling up, equal parts relief and wild joy. “I’m so happy, Mi. I’m so..God, I thought I’d forgotten how.”
You lean in, brushing your nose against his, feeling the breathless warmth of him, both of you blinking back laughter and disbelief. His hands squeeze your hips, just a little firmer now, a question in every inch of contact.
He looks up at you, shy and earnest and hopeful, eyes shining as he whispers, “Mi… do you want to? I mean, really… do you want this?”
You smile, cradling his face in your palms, your thumbs stroking his cheeks. “Yeah. I really want this, Seo-wan. I want you.”
He lets out a shaky little laugh, something between awe and nerves, and you can feel his heart pounding through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. “Okay,” he says, almost like a promise. “Okay.”
You tilt your head, kissing him soft and slow, pouring every bit of reassurance you have into it. He kisses you back, deeper, more confident now, his hands sliding up under your shirt, fingertips skimming your bare skin and making you shiver. He moves his mouth to your jaw, your neck, his breath hot and quick, like he can’t get close enough.
You rock against him, feeling the urgency and wonder building between you, and he gasps your name, eyes fluttering shut. You kiss his eyelids, his forehead, his lips again, threading your fingers through his hair.
“I want all of you,” you whisper, “just like this.”
He pulls you closer, standing with you in his arms, carrying you to the bedroom with a kind of careful reverence. He lays you back on the sheets, kissing you like it’s the first and last time, every touch full of gratitude and hope.
He pauses, searching your face, checking for hesitation, but you only nod, smiling, opening your arms for him. You guide his hands, letting him know what you want, what you need, and he follows your lead, learning you all over again.
When he finally moves inside you, he’s trembling, whispering your name over and over, his forehead pressed to yours. There’s no shame here, no fear, only wonder, only love, only the gentle ache of being fully, finally together.
You move together, slow and sweet, the sunlight washing over you both, every soft sound a promise that this is real, that you’re here, that you’re both allowed to be happy.
After, you stay tangled up in each other, hearts still racing, his face buried in your shoulder as you stroke his back, his hair. He lets out a long, shivery breath, and you hold him closer, kissing his temple, his cheeks, his mouth, until he’s laughing softly again.
“I love you,” he says, voice wrecked and full. “I love you so much.”
You smile, pressing your forehead to his. “I love you too. And I’m so proud of you.”
Three months pass, and it’s like the world opens for both of you.
The apartment is still small, still messy, sticky notes with little dragons and hearts cover the fridge, tangled cables snake behind Seo-wan’s computer, and the laundry basket is never quite empty. But the whole place hums with the warm, happy chaos of a real home.
Every night, Seo-wan streams to an audience that keeps growing, fifteen thousand viewers now, sometimes more, chat scrolling so fast you can barely read it. He’s found his rhythm, his audience, and most of all, his confidence. The fantasy never fully leaves; sometimes he calls the chat his “party,” sometimes he spins up wild stories about dragons on the roof and you, the “princess,” bringing him mana between matches. But he’s grounded now, too. The medication is balanced, his sleep is solid, and after each stream, he comes back to you, real, present, a little sweaty and glowing with the high of being exactly where he’s meant to be.
Some days, you watch him from the couch, giggling at his antics, DMing viewers in the chat who ship you two together. Other days, you drag him out for a walk, both of you sharing headphones, the world outside finally a place you want to be.
The intimacy is better than you ever hoped for, sweet, sometimes messy, sometimes silly, always safe. He teases you that you’re his lucky charm, and you tease him back, but neither of you ever doubt how much you’re wanted. Every little touch, every laugh in bed, every lazy Sunday tangled together feels like a victory, a secret you both earned.
He gets his second big Twitch payout, and this time you both go out for barbecue, splurging on real meat and sides, Seo-wan buying you extra soju “because my princess deserves to be spoiled.” You toast to dragons, to streaming, to second chances. You watch him laugh with the waitstaff, thank the delivery driver, call his parents and promise to visit soon. His mom cries happy tears when he tells her he’s doing well.
You start thinking about the future, maybe a bigger apartment, maybe a vacation, maybe a cat. Seo-wan draws a doodle of a little dragon curled up at the foot of your bed, and you tape it to the wall, a promise that the magic isn’t leaving anytime soon.
On nights when insomnia hits, you curl up together and talk about everything, the hospital, the days when you both thought you might never feel whole again, and the wild, beautiful fact that you get to wake up together now. Seo-wan still gets anxious sometimes, still worries about letting people down, but he always tells you. And you always listen, loving him through it.
Some nights, after the stream ends and the chat says goodnight, he pulls you onto his lap and kisses you until you’re both breathless, murmuring, “Thank you for choosing me. For staying.” You hold him close and tell him, again and again, “I’d do it every single time.”
Everything isn’t perfect. Life never is. But it’s yours, and his, and somehow, somehow, it’s better than either of you ever dreamed.
