bound to fall: inbound to you - choi seungcheol imagine
I TOLD YOU THERE'S MOREEEEEEEEEEE. i've written my fair share of fluff but this one THIS ONE IS THE PERFECT AMOUNT OF SMOOTH CHAOS I WANT
if you haven't read the first part, check it out here
for my other svt fics, check them here
All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.
(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)
The 2nd date was just as chaotic and magical, the combination only you can bring whenever you’re with him.
You should’ve known.
The moment he told you, “Dress warm,” you should’ve known he was planning something that would once again put your life, balance, and dignity at risk.
But no. You trusted him.
So here you are standing in the middle of a fully rented-out indoor skating rink, staring at the polished ice like it's your natural predator.
You look at him. Then at the ice. Then back at him.
“What,” you say slowly, “is it with you and challenging my sanity and motor skills?”
Seungcheol snorts, tugging his gloves tighter. “Challenging? I thought we were expanding your horizons.”
You give him the blankest, deadpan stare
“Asking me to fly, then putting me on moving frozen water that wants to kill me, is not ‘expanding my horizons,’ Cheol. It’s attempted murder.”
He’s already laughing, leaning slightly so his shoulder nudges yours “You’re dramatic.”
“I VALUE MY LIFE,” you shoot back. “I HAVE BONES. THEY BREAK.”
“Well,” he shrugs lightly, “I’ll catch you.”
“YOU SAY THAT EVERY TIME.”
“And I mean it every time.”
He holds out a hand. And because you’re down bad horribly, embarrassingly down bad, you take it.
He skates backward effortlessly, pulling you along as you wobble on legs that suddenly remember every embarrassing childhood memory you’ve ever had.
“Cheol—Cheol please—CHEOL DON’T LET GO—”
He chuckles, steadying your waist as your skates almost cross. “I didn’t let go.”
“You thought about it.”
“If I thought about it, you’d be flat on your back right now.”
You gasp “ARE YOU THREATENING ME?”
He grins, slowing down until your skates stop sliding. Then his hands slide up your arms and rest on your shoulders, warm even through the layers.
“No,” he murmurs, leaning down just a little. “I’m telling you to trust me.”
Your heart punches your ribs.
“I do trust you,” you mumble, glaring at the ice so he won’t see your blush. “I just don’t trust my ankles.”
“So don’t focus on the ice.”
He tilts your chin up with one gloved finger “Focus on me.”
“STOP SAYING THINGS LIKE THAT—”
He laughs, honestly delighted by how flustered you get
“You’re adorable.”
You smack his chest with your mittened hand.
“Don’t call me adorable I’m fighting for my LIFE.”
He leans in, voice brushing your ear “And I’m right here to save it.”
He’s enjoying this way too much.
Eventually after many near-deaths and dramatic shrieks, you both end up sitting on the edge of the rink, your legs dangling, cheeks flushed from exertion and him trying to teach you how to skate “properly.”
You huff. “You know… you didn’t have to rent the whole rink.”
He looks at you like it was obvious.
“I didn’t want anyone else to see you fall.”
Your jaw drops “That’s—that’s such a backhanded—”
He smirks, leaning closer “Also,” he murmurs, brushing a stray hair behind your ear, “I wanted you all to myself.”
You make an undignified noise.
His smile softens, less teasing now, more tender.
“You’re doing better than you think,” he adds, thumb brushing your cheek. “And you’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”
“Cheol…”
“Yeah?”
You take a deep breath “You’re… kinda ruining all future men for me.”
He laughs softly, forehead gently bumping yours.
“Good,” he whispers. “That’s the plan.”
And you swear the whole world melts like ice under your feet even though the rink is freezing.
His hands trail down from where they were resting on your shoulders to hold both your gloved hands. Now he’s just looking at you the way that makes your cheeks flame and every thought in your head disappear.
“What??” you ask him, putting on a scowl to mask the warmth on your cheeks
You can feel his hand brush your knuckles, as if he’s thinking whether he should answer that or just stay and stare at you.
“You’re pretty” He says lowly, smoothly.
You pull back, ready to hide away or maybe runaway but you kind of can’t because one that would mean you have to skate away from him which you can’t and two he’s holding you in place.
“You really like messing with my head huh?”
He laughs, before looking down at you again. Finding everything about you adorable he just wants to keep you here forever. Just him and you.
“In a good way? Absolutely” he smirks
“And since you can’t runaway from me right now…”
“What? WHAT IS IT? WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?! CHOI SENGCHEOL I SWEAR—”
You’re already mid rantm already freaking out when he grabs your face gently, tenderly
“Be mine?”
You pause, blink, like time stopped, rewinded and fast forwarded all at the same time.
He smiles, a small shy one you never ever see on him before he says
“Please?”
Then you’re hitting him, all over
“YOU– WHY WOULD YOU– WHAT DO YOU– YOU ALWAYS DO THIS! MAKE MY HEART FEEL THIS– AND I CAN’T EVEN–”
He chuckles at your panic, pulling you closer to hold you steady before you slip on ice
“Is that a yes?”
“UH YES!”
He smiles, pulling you again this time for hug. Holding you in his embrace.
And in that moment, it’s really is just you and him.
=
*THREE MONTHS LATER*
The morning is calm, too calm for Minho and Hyunsik’s standards.
You’re at your desk, headphones around your neck, tapping notes into your checklist. The guys are across the room arguing lightheartedly about what snack to get from the vending machine later. Very standard. Very boring.
Then the door opens.
Seungcheol steps inside, rolling his sleeves up, still in his crisp captain uniform. One hand in his pocket, the other holding his flight binder. He greets the guys with a nod.
“Morning.”
Minho salutes jokingly. Hyunsik bows like the polite uncle he is.
Nothing strange.
Until he walks straight to you. You sense him before you see him; his cologne, that stupid expensive one that makes your spine snap straight each time. You turn in your swivel chair out of pure reflex—
And your chair spins right into his waist. Your arms automatically loop around him. It’s instinct. You don’t even think about it.
He huffs a tiny laugh, hand sliding to your back as he leans down pressing a soft, warm kiss to the top of your head.
“Going now,” he murmurs, voice low just for you. “Long flight. Don’t wait up.”
You look up at him, smiling. “Stay safe.”
He brushes a thumb along your jaw before straightening. “You know I will.”
He walks out. The door closes with a soft click.
Silence.
You’re still facing the door, blinking. Then you slowly… very slowly… turn your chair toward your coworkers.
Minho is frozen mid-chew with a granola bar half out of its wrapper. Hyunsik has his glasses pushed up like he needs to triple-check reality.
Both are staring at you like they just witnessed the second coming of Christ.
“…What.”
Minho screaches “WHAT?????”
Even Hyunsik who is always calm goes “No, sorry—NO, NO, NO— rewind—that was—did he just—did you two just—?????”
You shrink into your blanketm “I… I don’t know how to explain this—”
Minho throws the granola bar at the wall “I KNEW IT. I KNEW THERE WAS VIBES. I SAID THERE WERE VIBES. HYUNSIK SAID NO—LOOK AT THIS—LOOK—AT—THIS—”
You’re flustered as hell, cheeks bright pink, hands waving like you’re trying to stop a fire alarm
“It— it’s been a while, okay?! We just—didn’t—broadcast it???”
Minho points dramatically at the door
“That man just kissed your HEAD like it was the WEATHER FORECAST. CASUAL. ROUTINE. DAILY. WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘A WHILE’—HOW LONG IS ‘A WHILE’—”
Hyunsik puts a hand to his chest, calming himself “So you’re… dating. Officially?”
You nod meekly. Minho screams into the air.
“SIR CAPTAIN CHOI SEUNGCHEOL—THE MAN WHO DOESN’T EVEN SMILE DURING BIRTHDAYS—IS DOING PUBLIC DISPLAYS OF AFFECTION??!??!?!”
You hide behind your fluffy blanket, voice muffled.
“I didn’t think he was gonna do that in front of you guys…”
“OH MY GOD HE’S WHIPPED.”
Hyunsik mumbles, half confused half amused “No, that is not whipped, that is marinated, grilled, and glazed.”
“He gave the ‘gentle kiss before long-haul flight’ treatment?! That’s husband behavior—” Minho’s hand flailing around like the dramatic man that he is
“PLEASE STOP TALKING—”
Minho leans in, squinting. “Do you… like… want us to leave earlier now when he comes by? Like should we vacate the room? Do you need privacy? Should we pretend we don’t exist?”
Hyunsik elbows him. “Stop teasing her.”
“I AM ASKING REAL QUESTIONS—”
You groan into your palms. Then—just your luck—the door opens again, Seungcheol pokes his head in.
“Oh—forgot my binder.”
The room goes DEAD quiet. He looks at you. Then at Minho and Hyunsik who are standing like two kids caught doing something illegal.
He narrows his eyes. “What did you two do?”
“NOTHING SIR,” they both blurt.
You’re dying inside. He grabs his binder, turns to leave… but pauses and looks directly at you.
“See you tonight, sweetheart.”
Minho and Hyunsik squeak.
The door shuts.
Silence.
Then Minho collapses on the floor “I CAN’T BREATHE—THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE—”
Hyunsik pats your shoulder like a supportive uncle “Ah… young love. I’m happy for you.”
You cover your entire face “I’m NEVER living this down, am I?”
Both men: “ABSOLUTELY NOT.”
=
Now that Minho and Hyunsik and some of the crew now know you two are official, they share smiles whenever they hear The Captain Choi speaks softer or when they see him walking down the tarmac in his uniform while carrying a very pastel bag and a very jolly girlfriend in tow.
The whole thing plays out like a tiny silent drama only you are aware of.
You’re down at the tarmac, tablet in hand, reviewing the technicians’ post-inspection notes. The evening sun is low enough to cast long shadows across the concrete.
Your focus is firmly on the line that says re-check hydraulic pressure when you hear the familiar tone of an introduction happening a few meters away.
It’s Hyunsik’s voice, all polite professionalism.
“—and this is Captain Choi Seungcheol. He leads our long-haul division. You’ll be seeing him around a lot.”
You don’t even lift your head at first. You’ve heard that exact intro about a hundred times.
But then the girl being introduced—bright smile, clearly excited, clearly new—lets out a soft, breathy, “It’s an honor, Captain Choi.”
You look up instinctively.
And you see it.
That look. Not subtle. At all. Eyes a little too wide, smile a little too sweet, posture straightening just a little too much as she takes in the intimidatingly handsome man in uniform.
Your boyfriend stands there, calm, polite, giving her the standard professional nod.
“Welcome to the crew. You’ll do great,” he says, voice even, hands behind his back.
He’s not flirting, he never does. But she drinks it in like he’s handing her the aurora borealis itself.
You narrow your eyes at your tablet.
Hyunsik catches the exact moment your jaw clenches. He coughs to cover a laugh.
Minho, standing beside him, glances at you then glances at the new girl and very slowly raises a brow like oh this is gonna be interesting.
You say nothing. You just flip to the next page of the report, aggressively annotating with your stylus like it personally offended you. The girl is still giggling at something Seungcheol said (he literally just said “good luck on training,” you know this for a fact), and your scowl sharpens.
Hyunsik leans slightly toward Minho “Look at her. She’s gonna burn a hole in that tablet.”
Minho whispers back, “She’s jealous. This is the first time I’ve seen her jealous. Oh my god.”
You inhale through your nose, pretending to ignore them. You are not jealous. You’re simply… observant. Aware. Protective.
…okay, maybe a little jealous.
Seungcheol finishes the introductions and turns, looking for you automatically. His eyes land on you, and instantly his whole expression softens, the slight smile he’d been holding turning into your smile. The one only you get.
He walks over, steps sure and confident, stopping right beside you.
“Hey,” he says quietly, as if you’re the only person on the tarmac.
You don’t look up. “Busy.”
He peers over your shoulder at the tablet. “You’re glaring at a checklist.”
“I’m… focusing.”
“Mhm.”
He leans down juuuust slightly, his voice a low hum only you can hear.
“You okay?”
You finally look up at him. His warm eyes, the gentle concern and your scowl melts a little on instinct.
“Fine,” you mutter.
His lips twitch. He knows exactly what this is and he’s absolutely delighted.
He murmurs, “Cute.”
Your brows shoot up. “I’m reading hydraulic notes.”
“You’re cute,” he repeats, completely unbothered, completely aware the two male techs are watching this unfold like a sitcom.
Behind him, Minho quietly pumps a fist. Hyunsik looks like he wants popcorn.
You glare at them now.
Seungcheol just chuckles, taps your chin lightly with one gloved finger, and whispers “Come meet me before I take off. I’ll look for you.”
Then he straightens, gives you one last soft look, and walks away toward the newly introduced crew.
The girl watches him go. You watch her watching him go.
Minho lets out a low whistle. “Oooooh, she jealous.”
Hyunsik coughs a laugh. “Scary jealous.”
You snap your tablet shut. “Hydraulic pressure looks perfect,” you say stiffly, walking off.
And the guys burst into laughter behind you.
Because yes—you’re jealous.
And yes—your boyfriend loves it.
Later before take off he finds you exactly where he knew you’d be. Behind the main console in the control room, headset slightly crooked, scrolling through weather data with unnecessary intensity.
You hear the door open but you don’t look up. You know it’s him. His footsteps are unmistakable—steady, confident, that “Captain Choi is entering” energy.
Hyunsik and Minho exchange a look like ohhh round two and then immediately swivel their chairs away to avoid getting caught spectating.
He stops right beside your desk.
“Baby.”
You keep tapping your screen. “Busy.”
He smiles. You can hear it, even without looking.
“You’re reading wind patterns from three hours ago.”
“I’m… comparing.”
“To what?”
You falter. “Stuff.”
A soft hum. Amused. Fond. Dangerous to your sanity.
He crouches beside your chair so you’re eye level, leaning slightly so you can’t avoid him unless you close your eyes which you’re absolutely tempted to do.
“You’re still mad?” he asks gently.
“I’m not mad.”
“Then you’re jealous?”
Your eyes snap to him, scandalized.
“I am not jealous.”
He nods solemnly. “Mm. Not jealous. You just looked like you were about to throw the tablet at the ground crew.”
“That was because the hydraulic notes were—”
He interrupts softly, “Sweetheart, you glared at the girl so hard Minho thought you were running a background check on her with your eyes.”
You groan and cover your face with your hands “I was not jealous,” you mumble into your palms
He laughs under his breath, warm and low, and gently pries your hands from your cheeks. He holds both your wrists lightly, thumbs brushing your skin.
Then he says it—quiet, certain, the way he says everything that matters:
“You don’t need to be jealous of anyone.”
Your cheeks burn. “I wasn’t—”
He leans closer, forehead almost touching yours.
“I only look for you. Only think about you. Only want you.”
You stiffen, pretending not to melt. “Well… good. Because I wasn’t jealous.”
“Of course you weren’t,” he agrees instantly, humoring you, eyes sparkling with amusement.
You swat his shoulder. “Shut up.”
He rises to stand, smoothing his uniform as he does, but before he heads to the door he bends down and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your forehead—right there in front of Minho and Hyunsik, who both freeze again like NPCs overloaded with emotion.
“I’ll message you before takeoff,” he murmurs
“And when I land. And during layover. And you better be here when I come back.”
You try to keep your voice steady. “I’ll… see if I’m free.”
He grins because he knows you’re lying through your teeth.
“Okay, baby. Whatever you say.”
He turns to leave. Hyunsik exhales like he had been holding his breath.
Minho mutters, “Please tell me you know he’s stupid in love with you.”
You bury your face in your hands again because yes—you were jealous. And yes—he definitely knows.
And yes—he absolutely loves it.
=
It’s a new day at the terminal.
Seungcheol should’ve seen it coming.
New co-pilot, fresh assignment, someone who didn’t grow up hearing Minho and Hyunsik gossip like aunties. Of course he’d eventually run into someone who had no idea that he, Captain Choi Seungcheol, was already stupidly taken and deeply obsessed with his air-traffic–controller girlfriend.
They’re halfway through the climb-out when the radio crackles.
Your voice comes through, calm and steady—professional, warm, the kind of tone that always makes something in his chest settle.
“Flight 908, climb and maintain FL360. Report reaching.”
His fingers twitch on the yoke. Not obvious. But enough that his new co-pilot glances at him.
“Copy, FL360, will report reaching,” Seungcheol replies, tone clipped and professional.
But the corner of his mouth gives him away. He can feel himself smiling. And of course—of course the new co-pilot notices.
“Hey,” the co-pilot says casually, “that controller—her voice is nice.”
Seungcheol stiffens halfway through pressing a button.
He keeps going, totally unaware of the way the temperature in the cockpit just dropped by five degrees.
“Kinda sounds cute, you know? Has that warm sound? Like someone who’d be pretty.”
Seungcheol turns very slowly “One,” he says calmly, “we are at ten thousand feet, please focus on your instruments.”
The other man blinks“Oh—yeah, sorry, Captain.”
Seungcheol looks back forward. Radio crackles again, your voice.
“Flight 908, confirm when passing one-eight-zero.”
He smiles a little. “See? That tone? Definitely cute.”
Seungcheol’s jaw works once—just once—before he presses the transmit button.
“Control, Flight 908. Passing one-eight-zero. And,” he adds pointedly, “your voice is distracting my co-pilot.”
You go silent for two beats. Then your voice returns, professional but tight with restrained laughter.
“…Flight 908, roger.”
The other guy chuckles “Oh—my bad. I mean, she just sounds—”
Seungcheol cuts in, tone flat: “She’s my girlfriend.”
His co-pilot chokes on his own breath “W—wait—seriously? Her? The controller?”
“Yes.”
“The one who just talked?”
“Yes.”
“The one whose voice I just—”
“Yes.”
He sinks into his seat. “Oh my god. Captain, I am so sorry—I didn’t—why didn’t anyone tell me?!”
Seungcheol flicks a switch, completely unbothered but definitely enjoying the panic “Because this is your first time on my team.”
Another beat passes.
Then he mutters under his breath, still mortified “Wow. Captain… you’re really dating the girl with that voice.”
Seungcheol allows himself a small, private smile as he checks the horizon.
“I know.”
Your voice comes through again, giving them a new heading. And Seungcheol thinks—as he always does every time you speak—
Pretty? She’s everything.
2 days later he’s finally back home.
He’s barely dropped his luggage when you practically bounce into him wrapped in his hoodie, hair messy from lounging on his couch, eyes bright like you haven’t slept in 48 hours just waiting for him.
“YOU’RE BACK—finally! I was going insane, Minho kept annoying me, Hyunsik sabotaged my coffee machine, and look—look what I found on your shelf—”
You’re mid-rant, waving the little airplane model he bought months ago, rambling in circles in that way he secretly loves—
And then you just stop.
Because he’s standing there, unmoving, suitcase still in hand…
And yes—yes he’s glaring. At the floor.
Eyebrows drawn tight. Jaw tense. Eyes narrowed at a completely innocent portion of hardwood flooring like it personally insulted his ancestors.
“What are you doing? Why are you—are you glare-battling the tiles right now?”
He doesn’t answer. He just keeps… glaring.
You step closer, waving a hand in front of his face.
“Hellooo? Earth to Captain Choi?”
He finally looks at you. And god, he looks ridiculous. Like a man who is very clearly upset but also very clearly trying to hide it from the love of his life.
“What’s wrong?” you ask, confused, head tilted.
He exhales, long and slow, tossing his suitcase aside and walking toward you then he wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into your neck like he’s grounding himself.
He mumbles into your skin “Your voice is pretty.”
You blink. “Huh?”
He pulls back, scowling but it’s that soft scowl he gets only with you, the one that says I’m annoyed but also I love you too much to mean it.
“My co-pilot said your voice is pretty.”
You stare at him for a moment then you break into laughter.
“Oh my god—that’s what this is about?”
He scowls harder. “It’s not funny.”
“It’s absolutely funny,” you giggle. “You look like you’re about to fight my vocal cords.”
“He was getting distracted,” he mutters, arms wrapping tighter around you like you might escape. “I didn’t like it.”
You slide your hands up to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you.
“You’re jealous,” you tease, eyes gleaming.
He doesn’t deny it. He just mutters, “I don’t like when anyone notices things about you they shouldn’t.”
You kiss his pouting lips once. Then twice. Then again because he’s too cute when he’s annoyed.
“Baby,” you whisper against his mouth, “you don’t have to glare at the floor. I only want you to notice me.”
He finally melts, arms pulling you flush against him.
“I notice everything about you,” he murmurs. “Especially your voice.”
You grin. “Pretty voice?”
He groans. “Don’t start.”
You laugh, hugging him tight and he hugs you back even tighter, muttering into your hair:
“He shouldn’t have said that.”
He gives you this look that flat, unimpressed, “don’t start with me” look but his arms are still very much around your waist like he has no intention of letting you go.
You poke his chest “Don’t pretend you didn’t complain. You literally asked me if I always talk that loud.”
He groans, tipping his head back like he regrets every life choice that led him to this moment.
“First of all,” he says slowly, “it was an observation. A neutral one. Scientific, even.”
You snort. “Wow. Captain Choi, expert on aviation, meteorology, and apparently my vocal volume.”
“You are loud,” he fires back, deadpan.
You smack his arm. “See?! You still think so!”
He smirks. “I said that over a year ago. Before I knew your voice would sound…” he stops himself, jaw clenching like he realizes he’s about to be vulnerable again. “…different.”
You narrow your eyes. “Different how?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he slides his hands down to your hips, pulling you closer until there’s barely space between you.
Then quietly way too quietly for someone who calls you loud
“Different when you talk to me.”
Your heart stumbles but you recover quickly, pointing dramatically at yourself
“I WAS TALKING TO YOU ON THE RADIO! OF COURSE I SOUND DIFFERENT!”
He raises a brow. “You sounded pretty.”
You gasp. “That’s just my voice!”
He fires right back, “Don’t sound so pretty then.”
You gape. “HOW?? Should I talk like a frog?!”
He finally laughs. That deep, rare laugh he only gives you.
He tugs you in, presses a kiss to your forehead.
“You know what I meant.”
You grumble. “No I don’t.”
He kisses you again, your cheeks this time. Then your jaw. Then the corner of your mouth, smiling against your skin.
“You talk loud,” he murmurs. “But only I get to hear you like this.”
Your cheeks burst into flames. You shove him lightly. “Stop saying things like that!”
He smirks “I told you—your voice does things to me.”
You hide your face in his chest, groaning dramatically.
“I HATE YOU.”
He chuckles, wrapping his arms fully around you like he’s claiming you on the spot.
“No you don’t,” he says into your hair “You’re in love with me.”
You don’t deny it, you just scowl while you take the bag on the counter. He watches you walk away with that unimpressed little strut of yours, arms full of expensive gifts he definitely overbought, and he already feels a headache coming on.
You hold up the scarf. Hand-stitched, limited edition, in a box that probably needs its own passport and sigh dramatically.
“Thanks, baby. Really. But next time, bring me home like… a magnet. Maybe a keychain. Something that costs, I don’t know, ten dollars? Not… whatever this is.”
He bites back a smile. “You don’t like it?”
“I love it,” you say instantly. “But that’s the problem! I’m gonna end up with a whole closet full of designer things I’m afraid to breathe on.”
He shrugs, leaning against the counter like he didn’t spend a small fortune overseas. “You deserve nice things.”
You wave that off like he’s talking about groceries, not luxury items. “Nice things, yes. Bankrupting-my-boyfriend things? No.”
He chuckles, the soft, deep one he only uses with you “Then why don’t you just come on my next flig—”
You spin around so fast he actually stops mid-sentence “BLA BLA CAN’T HEAR YOU SORRY WHAT WAS THAT?”
You’re already halfway to the kitchen, hands over your ears like a child avoiding vegetables.
He stares at your retreating back, eyebrows raised “…Really?”
You keep walking. “CAN’T HEAR YOU OVER THE SOUND OF SOLID GROUND AND STABILITY!”
He pushes off the counter and follows you, amused “You’re impossible.”
You grab a cookie from the jar. “Thank you, I try.”
He corner-traps you against the fridge, arms braced on either side of you. You freeze, cookie halfway to your mouth.
“Baby,” he murmurs, leaning close “You’re coming with me one of these days.”
You blink up at him. “…Bold of you to assume I won’t break up with you the moment you say the word ‘flight’.”
He kisses your cheek. “You won’t.”
You grumble, cheeks pink. “…I won’t.”
He smirks.
“Good. Now come here and let me give you the rest of your gifts.”
=
Your anniversary came by quick. A whole year of you bringing colors into his life, the kind of chaos only he wants.
When he finally steps through the apartment door, duffel slung over his shoulder, cap tucked under his arm, you don’t even get a proper hello before he starts again.
“Babe,” he says, voice still a little hoarse from hours in the air, “this is the perfect chance. Anniversary flight. Just you and me. Clear skies. I already checked the forecasts—”
You laugh without even looking up from the couch. “Absolutely not. Hahaha. No. I’m good being in love right here on land, thanks.”
He drops his bag with a dramatic sigh, like you’ve just denied him oxygen rather than altitude.
“Why are you like this?” he mutters, walking over.
“Because I’m sane?” you counter cheerfully.
“You literally dated a pilot.”
“Yes. A pilot who promised he wouldn’t bully me into the sky.”
“I did not promise that.”
“You implied it with your eyes.”
He gives you a look—the one the crew always calls his “command gaze”—but you’ve built immunity at this point. Still… it works enough that you glance up.
He’s standing in front of you, flight jacket half-zipped, hair a little messy from the long shift,
smiling that tired, fond smile that somehow always melts you first.
“Every single one of them keeps asking me when I’m finally bringing you on a flight. You’re embarrassing me in front of my team.”
“You’ll survive.”
He slides onto the couch beside you, immediately dragging you into his arms, practically caging you against his chest. You squeak, but he doesn’t let go.
“Babe,” he murmurs against your temple. “Anniversary. One year. Captain Choi’s girlfriend. Historic moment. You sure you don’t want to celebrate by flying with me?”
You poke his chest. “Yes, I’m sure. Still love you, still terrified of the sky, still happily on ground.”
He groans dramatically, throwing his head back. “Why is my girlfriend the only person on earth who won’t let me fly her somewhere romantic?”
“Because your girlfriend likes her heart rate below two hundred, thank you.”
He tightens his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder, voice dropping to something warm and soft and deeply unfair.
“What if I promise I’ll hold your hand the entire flight?”
“No.”
“What if I promise you won’t feel anything?”
“No.”
“What if I—” “Seungcheol,” you say firmly, turning your head so your nose brushes his. “I said I’m good being in love right here on ground.”
He stares at you for two seconds… then smiles. Slowly. Sweetly. Defeated in the cutest way.
“Fine,” he murmurs. “But only because you’re cute when you’re stubborn.”
“Good. Then you can stay right here with me and cuddle.”
He sighs again, but this time, he pulls you even closer—like he’d rather be here, with your legs tangled over his, than anywhere above the clouds.
“…okay,” he whispers, kissing your jaw. “Then ground it is.”
A few days later you’re in the control room. Just another normal day at work.
You don’t even look up from the monitor. You don’t have to, the moment the door opens, that stupidly comforting, stupidly recognizable scent of his cologne hits you first.
Warm. Clean. A little musky. The one he only wears after long-haul flights.
You deadpan immediately.
“Go away, Captain Choi.”
Hyunsik and Minho burst into laughter from their desks like they’d been waiting for this exact reaction.
Minho spins in his chair, grinning. “She still won’t agree to fly out, cap?”
You hear Seungcheol scoff behind you—dramatic, offended, and definitely smiling.
“She didn’t even check if it was me,” he mutters, stepping fully inside. “She smelled me and rejected me. Do you see what I live with?”
Hyunsik raises a hand. “Respectfully, hyung… that’s hilarious.”
You keep typing. “Respectfully, Hyunsik, I fear nothing. Not even rank.”
“Wow,” Minho whispers, “she really said mutiny.”
You finally spin your chair around and there he is. Fresh off duty, jacket slung over one shoulder, hair still pressed from the headset. Looking at you like you’re his entire favorite part of being back on land.
And you still say, “No. Absolutely not. I’m busy. Goodbye.”
He presses a hand to his chest. “I came here after a fourteen-hour flight just to see my girlfriend, and she treats me like a door-to-door salesman.”
“Do you have flyers?” you ask sweetly. “Because I’ll throw them away.”
The crew chokes on laughter again.
Seungcheol narrows his eyes at them. “Why are you two enjoying this?”
Hyunsik shrugs. “Free entertainment.”
Minho nods. “Also, we’ve been placing bets.”
“Bets?” you echo.
Minho points at a whiteboard behind them—oh god, there’s an actual tally.
‘When Will Captain Choi Get His Girlfriend on a Flight?’ Minho: Never Hyunsik: Anniversary maybe? Jaeho (the engineer): Give her two more years, she’ll crack. Captain Choi (written in his handwriting): Soon.
You blink. “You wrote soon?”
Seungcheol lifts his chin proudly. “Yes.”
“And how’s that going?”
He opens his mouth.
Hyunsik answers for him. “Poorly.”
Minho adds, “Tragically.”
You smile—smug, victorious, evil. “Exactly.”
Seungcheol steps closer, ignoring their snickers, leaning down until his face is level with yours, voice dropping to that low, quiet thing meant only for you.
“One day,” he murmurs, “you’re going to fly with me. I don’t know when. But I’m patient.”
You meet his stare without flinching. “And I’m stubborn.”
“That’s why we work,” he counters softly.
Hyunsik whispers loudly, “We’re wheezing, but okay…”
Seungcheol straightens, sighs, and finally lets the conversation go. He presses a quick kiss to the top of your head completely unbothered that the entire control room is watching—and says,
“Fine. Since you won’t fly, I’ll just wait for your shift to end and take you home.”
You roll your eyes but smile despite yourself.
Hyunsik: “God, they’re gross.”
Minho: “We love it though.”
=
You’re still in denial.
FULL denial.
The kind where your brain is screaming how did I get here while your body just… follows him like he’s gravity.
Because somehow—somehow—this man has talked you into flying overseas. Well more like tricked you.
And the first sign something was wrong was the luggage.
“Three days,” you had said flatly, watching him shove not one, not two, but three bags into the trunk. “You’re packing like you’re emigrating.”
He kissed your forehead. “I like options.”
“You brought a coat that could survive Antarctica.”
He shrugged. “I get cold easily.” No, he doesn’t.
Suspicious. Suspicious from the start. Then he asked your schedule for the week. Then he told you to clear two days. Then he picked you up at dawn.
“Where are we going again?” you asked five times.
“You’ll see,” was all he said, maddeningly calm, fingers laced with yours as he drove.
And then— Then you saw the terminal entrance.
Not the private hangar. Not the staff gate. The actual commercial passenger airport.
You whip toward him, betrayal all over your face “What. Is. This.”
He unbuckles, smooth and unbothered. “A trip.”
“A TRIP TO WHERE?”
“To the place you said you wanted to see.” He pulls out your passport like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Iceland.”
Your mouth falls open. “Iceland—ICELAND??? SEUNGCHEOL. YOU—YOU CAN’T JUST—WE CAN’T JUST—ICELAND???”
He cups your cheek with one warm hand, thumb brushing over your skin like he’s soothing a feral cat.
“You mumbled once,” he reminds gently, “that you always dreamed of seeing the aurora lights. Just once in your life.”
“I—yes—but—THAT WAS—THAT WAS A THOUGHT. A DREAM. A WISH. NOT AN ACTUAL TRAVEL PLAN??? YOU CAN’T—YOU DON’T JUST—OH MY GOD WE’RE FLYING TO ICELAND?!”
You’re seconds from spiraling. He sees it. He moves immediately. His hands hold your shoulders, warm, steady.
His voice lowers into that soft command that makes you want to obey without thinking.
“Hey, look at me.”
You do, breathing messy, heart racing. He leans closer, forehead almost touching yours.
“Relax, baby,” he murmurs, calm as a sunrise. “I’m not flying the plane.”
You blink. “You’re not?”
“No.” His lips curve in that gentle smile he only wears with you. “I’ll be sitting right beside you.”
You stare at him “You’re… sitting? Beside me?”
“Mhm.”
“Not in the cockpit?”
“No cockpit. No controls. No flying.” He squeezes your hand. “Just you and me.”
Your voice cracks. “Like… a normal couple?”
“Like a very in-love couple,” he corrects, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “On a very overdue vacation.”
You swallow hard because it’s happening. He’s really doing it. He took your offhand dream and built a whole trip around it.
And as he guides you toward the terminal, fingers intertwined, luggage rolling behind him, you mutter: “I hate you.”
He laughs softly. “No, you don’t.”
You squeeze his hand.
“No,” you whisper, cheeks warm. “I really don’t.”
You sit there.
FIRST CLASS.
Like—first class first class. Your seat could turn into a bed. There’s mood lighting. Someone offered you champagne you absolutely cannot drink right now because you’re too busy panicking.
And the worst part? Seungcheol looks like he’s home.
He greets the crew like they’re old friends, shakes hands with the captain and first officer, introduces you with that warm proud tone that makes your stomach flip.
“This is my girlfriend,” he says, and the captain actually gives you a knowing smile as if to say oh, so this is her.
Then he sits you down, buckles you in himself because apparently that’s something he’s decided he does now, and just when you’re finally breathing normally—
He stands up. Your head snaps toward him instantly.
“What—what—where are you going? Why are you standing? Sit. Sit back down. Please sit down.”
He smiles, leaning down to brush his lips across your forehead.
“I’m just talking to the pilot, baby. I’m not leaving you.”
“You are leaving! Your body is physically walking away!”
He laughs, actually laughs, hand squeezing yours before gently prying his fingers free.
“I’ll be back in two minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I CAN’T GO ANYWHERE I’M BUCKLED IN—COME BACK.”
He just chuckles and heads into the cockpit, closing the door behind him. You glare at the door like it personally offended you.
Ten full seconds later, the intercom crackles on.
At first it’s the pilot: “Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We’ll be departing shortly, so please settle into your seats and enjoy your flight with us today.”
Normal. Fine. Good. Then—
He continues.
“And before we begin our taxi, I’d like to acknowledge a fellow pilot on board today—Captain Choi.”
Your soul evacuates your body. You sit up so straight your spine clicks.
The pilot adds, amused: “He has a short message he’d like to share.”
You slap a hand over your mouth.
Because oh no. Oh no oh no oh no.
The warmest, smoothest voice in existence fills the entire plane.
“Hi everyone,” Seungcheol says, sounding way too handsome for the aircraft speakers. “This is Captain Choi.”
You grip the armrests like the plane is mid-turbulence.
“I’m not flying today,” he continues, light laughter in his tone, “but I’m traveling with someone very special to me.”
The flight attendants are giggling. The passengers are looking around, curious while you are actively trying to disappear into the seat.
And then he drops your entire heartbeat straight through the floor.
“So if you hear someone panicking on takeoff,” he says warmly, “don’t worry—that’s just my girlfriend, and I promised I’d be right beside her.”
You want to scream but all that comes out is a tiny, strangled noise as the intercom clicks off and the cockpit door opens.
And there he is. Smirking. Walking back down the aisle like your personal heart attack in human form.
He slides into the seat beside you, buckles in, leans close, voice low enough only you can hear:
“Miss me?”
You WHIRL on him the moment he sits, hands already smacking at his arm, his shoulder, the side of his chest—wherever you can reach.
“WHAT WAS THAT?!” hit
“WHY WOULD YOU—” hit
“ANNOUNCE—” hit
“MY PANIC—TO THE WHOLE—PLANE?!” hit hit hit
He just laughs. Actually laughs, deep and warm and delighted, like you’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen throwing a tantrum in first class.
He catches both your wrists easily—too easily—gently lowering your hands to your lap.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, still smiling, “you’re going to bruise me before we even take off.”
“You DESERVE it,” you hiss, cheeks blazing, voice dangerously close to hysterical whispering.
“You’re—oh my god—everyone thinks— I am NEVER flying with you again—”
“Mmm,” he hums, buckling his seatbelt with one hand and keeping your wrists in the other, “you say that every time.”
Your jaw drops. He leans back, relaxed, as if he didn’t just embarrass you in front of an entire aircraft.
Then he turns his head, eyes softening in that infuriating, heart-melting way that always ruins your ability to stay mad.
“Might as well make your first flight memorable, right?”
You glare. Fiercely. Or… you try to because your whole face is on fire.
“That—THAT—was not memorable,” you sputter. “That was criminal.”
He smiles. Slow. Tender. Devastating.
“I don’t know,” he says, brushing a thumb over your knuckles, “I’ll remember it.”
“You—WHY—why would you—”
“Because you’re cute when you panic.”
Then the plane moves, immediately you grab his entire arm. Clutching on it like your life depends on it.
“CAPTAIN CHOI.”
“Baby.” He squeezes your hand. “We’re just taxiing.”
You immediately grab the armrest again “You PROMISED you’d sit here!”
“And I am.” He turns his hand over, intertwines your fingers. “I’m right here.”
You let out a tiny noise of betrayal and anxiety and affection that you refuse to name. He leans closer, voice warm against your ear as the engines hum louder, the plane turning toward the runway.
“Don’t look at the wings,” he says softly. “Look at me.”
So you do because even trembling, even blushing, even furious and lovesick and overwhelmed—
His eyes make you feel grounded.
Safe.
Like maybe flying isn’t so terrifying when he’s the one holding your hand.
“Take off can be a bit scary”
He can see it. The way your eyes go wide, the exact moment your brain short-circuits because he said takeoff is a bit scary.
Your head snaps toward him so fast you nearly hit the window.
He bursts into a low, warm chuckle “Ah—ah, don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs, leaning in.
Then he kisses your cheek. Then the other. Then the tip of your nose. Soft, reassuring, unbearably gentle.
You freeze, every muscle locked.
And then—finally—he kisses you properly. Slow. Careful. Like he’s coaxing the panic right out of your lungs.
Your forehead drops against his shoulder, and he smiles against your temple.
“Focus on me,” he whispers. “Not the plane.”
You pull back just enough to glare, whisper-yelling “YOU SAID TAKEOFF IS SCARY—”
“Baby,” he cuts in, amused, “let me finish before you freak out.”
You clamp your mouth shut, because he’s technically right, and you hate that.
He continues, warm hand squeezing yours.
“It can feel scary,” he says, “but it’s normal. And you’re with me. I’m right here the whole time.”
You exhale shakily, fingers already gripping him like he’s the last stable object on earth.
He reaches up, brushing a thumb over your cheekbone. And after takeoff?” he adds, voice gentling. “You can sleep on me or watch a movie. Whatever you want.”
You mumble into his shirt,
“Your version of comfort is so… so… CHEOL.”
He laughs, chest shaking under your cheek “What does that even mean?”
“It means—” you clutch him tighter as the plane begins its slow roll toward the runway— “it means if I freak out, it’s your fault.”
He presses a kiss to the side of your head, lingering there “Then I’ll take responsibility,” he whispers.
And as the engines roar and the world starts to tilt upward you keep your eyes locked on him, exactly like he asked.
=
*A YEAR LATER*
Seungcheol hadn’t expected it to hit him in the middle of a 14-hour layover in Switzerland.
But that’s exactly how it happened.
He was strolling through a quiet, sun-drenched street near the hotel—coat still zipped up, scarf snug around his neck, cup of coffee in hand—when he passed by a jewelry storefront. Nothing flashy, nothing loud. Just… elegant. Timeless. The kind of place he could imagine you liking.
He stopped walking.
Backed up two steps.
Looked through the window.
And there it was.
Not even the ring. Not yet. Just the feeling.
That annoying, unstoppable warmth in his chest. The one he always gets when he thinks of you. The one he tries to pretend he can control, even though everyone who knows him can tell he lost that battle a long time ago.
He finished his coffee in one last swallow, tossed the cup, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.
The store was warm. Quiet. Everything covered in soft golden lighting. A staff member approached, polite, professional.
“Do you need help, sir?”
He nodded once. “I’m looking for an engagement ring.”
The woman smiled, expecting enthusiasm.
Instead, she got Captain Choi Seungcheol calm, unreadable, intimidatingly focused as if he were selecting critical aircraft parts instead of jewelry.
“Do you have something specific in mind?”
He didn’t even flinch.
“Yes.”
He did. You. He always had you in mind.
“Simple,” he said. “But not plain. Elegant. No complicated designs. Something that fits her hand without overpowering it.”
The woman blinked. Then smiled deeper “You’ve thought about this.”
He didn’t answer. Mostly because yes, he’d been thinking about it for months, and admitting that felt too vulnerable for a man who commanded entire flights.
She led him to a velvet-lined counter.
Opened trays. Displayed options.
And this is where Seungcheol in pilot mode kicked in. He dismissed ring after ring with gentle but brutally firm precision.
“Too wide.” “Too shallow.” “The stone is fine, the band is not.” “No, she’d hate that.” “That one looks like it’s trying too hard.” “Not symmetrical enough.” “This shade of platinum is off.”
Budget? Not even in the room.
The staff whispered among themselves.
“He’s very particular.” “He knows exactly what he wants.” “He must really love her.”
He heard none of it.
He was picturing your hands. Your soft, warm hands he always held during takeoff, the ones that cling to his sleeve when you’re nervous, the ones he kisses goodbye before flights.
He wanted a ring that would look like it belonged there.
Then the store manager came out, holding a velvet box.
“Sir, this just came in last week. Not displayed yet.”
She opened it.
And then he saw it.
A band of bright platinum, slim but sturdy—the kind that would never bend, never dull. A center diamond that sparkled clean and sharp, no frills, no excessive shape.
Just timeless. Quietly breathtaking.
Just like you.
He didn’t speak for a moment.
It fit the image he didn’t even realize he’d been carrying in his mind. Like the ring version of the way you smiled at him at the yatch that first night.
The way your eyes soften when you call him “cheol” instead of “captain.”
The way you light his whole world without trying.
“This one,” he finally said.
“You don’t want to compare others?”
“No. This one.”
The manager cautiously told him the price.
He nodded. “Wrap it.”
No hesitation. Not even a blink.
Because he wasn’t buying a ring. He was choosing forever.
While they prepared the paperwork, he stepped aside to a quieter corner of the store.
He leaned his back against the wall, opened the velvet box, and stared at the ring.
He imagined slipping it onto your finger. Imagined you gasping. Imagined you panicking and hiding your face, then rambling nonsense because you were overwhelmed.
Imagined that tiny tremble in your voice when you’d finally whisper “yes.”
And he exhaled, something tight in his chest easing.
This was right. This was exactly what he wanted.
When he left the store, the snow had just started falling. Slow, glittering flakes drifting down like the universe itself was nodding in approval.
He tucked the ring box deep inside his inner coat pocket—close to his heart.
He looked up at the pale afternoon sky, thinking of you back home, probably at the control room, probably yelling at Minho about something stupid.
His lips lifted, soft, small, the smile only you ever got to see.
“I hope you like it, sweetheart,” he murmured.
Because he already knew you were the only destination he never wanted to land from.
=
The ring was hidden. Safe. Tucked inside the lining of his flight duffel in a pocket nobody but him knew existed. He checked on it every night like some unhinged dragon guarding treasure. Not because he worried about it getting lost but because every time he touched the velvet box, he remembered why he bought it.
Now came the true final boss: convincing you to get on a plane again.
You were better than last year, sure, but you were still you. The woman who clung to his arm so tightly on flights that he lost circulation, who threatened to “swim home” rather than board on your birthday trip, who needed at least two weeks of emotional prep before stepping into an airport.
And here he was, needing you to fly across the continent for a secret proposal.
He ran a hand over his face, staring at the map of Europe on his office wall.
“She’s gonna kill me,” he muttered.
Hyunsik, who happened to walk by, poked his head in. “Who’s killing you?”
“Your eomma,” he deadpanned.
Hyunsik blinked. “That tracks.”
PHASE 1: PLANTING THE SEED
He started subtle. At breakfast: “Did you see that travel vlog about Croatia? Apparently the coastline’s insane.”
You didn’t even look up from your cereal. “Nope. But good for them.”
…Okay. Not subtle enough.
PHASE 2: INDIRECT APPROACH
You two were lying on the couch watching TV. He “casually” switches the channel to a travel documentary. Croatian cliffs, sunset over the sea, small islands glowing gold.
You raise a brow “…You okay?”
“Me? Yeah. Just—uh—reminds me of us. You know… beautiful places, good memories, sunsets…” he rambled
You stared at him like he was malfunctioning “…Are you having a crisis?”
He nearly facepalmed. Perfect. Smooth. A+ acting.
PHASE 3: MANIPULATION (THE WHOLESOME KIND)
At the gym, he tried another angle.
“What if,” he said between reps, “for our anniversary we go somewhere scenic? Outdoorsy. Peaceful. You can paint. I can relax. No crowds. No pressure.”
You lit up at the “painting” part — good sign.
“Like where?” you asked.
He shrugged, pretending to think “I dunno. Somewhere with nice sunsets… good wine… old towns… maybe… Croatia?”
Your eyes squinted immediately
“Babe. Did someone recommend Croatia to you? You’ve said that like… six times this month.”
He froze mid-rep “…No?”
You gave him a long, suspicious look. He avoided your gaze like a criminal caught red-handed.
PHASE 4: DESPERATION
Two weeks left. He was officially stressed.
You were cooking dinner when he wrapped his arms around you from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder.
“Love,” he started off so gently it scared even him.
“What did you do?” you asked instantly.
He groaned internally “This is why I have a reputation.”
He tightened his hold around your waist. “I was thinking… for our second anniversary… maybe we could go somewhere special. Somewhere you’ll love. Somewhere we’ll never forget.”
You stirred the pot. “Which is code for ‘somewhere that requires flying.’”
“Not necessarily!” he lied through his teeth.
Your silence said: I wasn’t born yesterday, mister captain sir.
PHASE 5: BARGAINING
He tried everything.
• “I’ll hold your hand the whole way.” • “You can sit on my lap the entire flight. I’ll take the reprimand.” • “I’ll buy you strawberry ice cream every day for a month.” • “I’ll—okay, fine—I’ll stop stealing your snacks.” • “I’ll even watch that drama you like without complaining.” • “I’ll let you pick the next three dates.” • “I’ll delete my scary movies folder.” • “I’ll never pretend turbulence is normal again— even though it is.” • “I’ll even let you win an argument.”
“…Now I know something is up,” you said slowly. “You never give me that last one.”
He rubbed his face. “Baby please.”
PHASE 6: THE BREAKTHROUGH
It happened unexpectedly.
He found you later that night scrolling through photos of your first anniversary — Iceland, the snow, the northern lights, your hand gripping his like he was your emotional support animal.
You smiled to yourself. Soft. Nostalgic. Fond.
He sat next to you, quiet.
“You really liked that trip?” you asked.
He nodded. “Only because you were there.”
You tucked your feet against him, leaning your head on his shoulder “I mean…” you said. “I guess… maybe… flying isn’t that bad. When it’s with you.”
His heart launched into orbit.
You continued, mumbling “And Croatia… looks pretty. If it’s just us, and you promise not to laugh at me when I panic—”
“I would never laugh,” he replied instantly, already planning which champagne to order.
“—and you sit next to me the whole time and don’t abandon me—”
“Never.”
“—and I get the window seat.”
He paused but he’d give up the sun if you asked for it.
“…Okay,” he whispered.
You beamed “So… Croatia?”
He pretended to think again “Yeah. Croatia sounds nice.”
Inside, he was losing his mind because MISSION COMPLETE.
You crawled into his lap, arms around his neck “Then it’s a date.”
He kissed your forehead, already imagining the moment he’d get down on one knee.
“Yeah,” he murmured, smiling into your skin.
“It’s definitely a date.”
=
Seungcheol woke up early.
Earlier than usual. Earlier than the sunrise. He lay there beside you, listening to your breathing, staring at the ceiling like a man about to commit a crime he was both excited for and terrified of.
Today was the day.
By sunset, if everything went right, you’d be wearing the ring.
And if everything went wrong… Well, no. He would not allow that.
He kissed your forehead, slipped out of the bed, and quietly rolled his small suitcase to the living room.
Time to get the ring.
He unzipped the front. Nothing.
He unzipped the side. Nothing.
He unzipped the interior linin, the secret pocket that he specifically redesigned one night when you were asleep. Still nothing.
He froze. “…No,” he whispered.
He opened every pocket. Nothing. He opened the suitcase wider. He turned the suitcase upside down.
NOTHING.
“No no no no no—”
Panic bloomed. Actual, physical panic. He dug again, slapping the pockets like they owed him money
“WHERE THE HELL IS IT—”
He caught himself, froze, and looked toward the bedroom door.
You were still asleep.
He breathed. No, no, he could still salvage this. He just needed to think.
“No. Get a grip,” he whispered, slamming the suitcase shut.
He tried the duffel bag next. Clothes flew everywhere. Shirts he folded with love now scattered like dead birds.
Still nothing.
Did I take it out? Did I hide it at home? Did I PUT IT SOMEWHERE SAFE? WHY AM I LIKE THIS? He internally screams
His hair was already a mess. His breathing was already unstable. His soul was already leaving his body.
Then the bedroom door creaked. He froze like a guilty dog.
You stepped out, rubbing your eyes, hair messy, wearing one of his shirts.
“…Choi Seungcheol,” you said slowly, blinking at the absolute warzone behind him “why does it look like you got robbed?”
He turned around so fast he almost snapped his neck.
“B-BABE! HI! GOOD MORNING!” Too loud. Too cheerful. Too fake.
Your eyebrows raised “You’re sweating.”
“No I’m not—this is—moisture.”
You looked around the room and him, standing in the middle of it all like an unstable Victorian widow.
“…Are you packing again?” you asked.
“No!”
You blinked “So… unpacking?”
“No.”
“…Looking for something?”
“NO.” The speed of his answers was concerning.
You stepped inside the room slowly, like approaching a wild animal. He started casually folding random shirts just to look normal. Except he folded them backwards, upside down, and into shapes unknown to mankind.
“Okay…” you said carefully. “Then why does it look like your luggage just exploded?”
He swallowed.
Think. Act. LIE.
“I—uh.” He scratched his head. “I was… uh… reorganizing.”
“…you reorganized by throwing your things everywhere?”
“Yes.”
You stared at him. He stared back, trying to look calm while his pupils screamed bloody murder.
“Are you nervous about today?” you teased. “The boat ride? The walk? The crowds?”
He grabbed onto that excuse like a drowning man. “YES. Exactly. That’s it. The boat.”
“We’re literally the only two booked on it.”
“…crowds scare me,” he insisted.
You laughed. He tried to laugh too but it came out like a cough.
He found it two hours later. In the most insulting place.
In your toiletry pouch.
He froze, staring at the velvet box sitting between your sunscreen and your face roller.
“…why,” he whispered to the universe.
Then he remembered he put it there himself two nights ago because you never check that pouch unless you're on the plane.
Except this morning, you needed cotton pads.
He was going to pass out.
He snatched the ring box, kissed it like a miracle, and shoved it deep into his jacket pocket.
“Babe, are you ready to go?”
He straightened, chest puffed out like he wasn’t just having a mental breakdown on the floor fifteen seconds ago.
“Yes,” he said proudly.
You eyed him.
“…Where did your panic go?”
“It left.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes.”
You shrugged. “Okay then. Ready for Croatia adventure day?”
He took your hand. He pressed a kiss to your knuckles. And this time, when he smiled at you it was real.
“More than ready,” he whispered.
Because now that the ring was back in his pocket, tucked safely over his heart…
He was finally ready to give it to you.
The whole day was like a page straight out of your own fairy tale. Every place looked like it came straight out of a coloring book. He lets you walk ahead, taking photos he’d keep for the rest of time. Not of the sceneries, just you, always you.
You two go to this hill side, the sun just about to set for the day.
You’re still rambling. Still half-buzzing from the scenery, from the colors of Croatia’s coastline, the glow of sunset getting caught in your hair. Still going on about “okay fine, MAYBE flying here was worth it but don’t get used to me agreeing to flights every anniv—”
When you turn around.
And he’s not next to you.
He’s lower
He’s— Your brain short-circuits.
“SEUNG—CHEOL—WHAT—WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHY—WHY ARE YOU—WHY ARE YOU ON THE FLOOR—?”
He actually laughs. He’s KNEELING. He’s LAUGHING while kneeling, one hand braced on his thigh, the other holding a tiny velvet box that you swear wasn’t there a second ago.
“Baby,” he tries, gently, calmly—like soothing a startled cat. “Sweetheart—”
“NO. NO DON’T SWEETHEART ME—WHY ARE YOU DOWN THERE?! STAND UP—GET UP—CHEOL—MY GOD—”
“You’re panicking,” he smiles, utterly fond, “and it’s very cute but please let me finish before you run away.”
You back up a step. He gently catches your hand.
“Don’t run away.”
You’re shaking your head violently. “I—what—Cheol, we—what are you—”
He takes a breath, squeezes your fingers.
And suddenly his whole expression melts every wall, every stern Captain Choi professionalism gone, replaced by the man who looks at you like you hung the moon the plane flies by.
“Two years ago,” he begins, “you were terrified of flying. Terrified of open water. Terrified of heights. Terrified of basically everything I loved.”
“HEY—!”
“But,” he continues, smiling, “you weren’t scared of me.”
Your breath catches.
“And you… you’ve been the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You make everything feel lighter. Better. You make coming home mean something again.”
His voice dips, thick with feeling “You changed my whole world without even trying.”
Your hands fly to your face. “Cheol—”
“And I want,” he says, opening the velvet box with a shaky exhale, “to spend the rest of my life with you. If you’ll let me.”
He looks up at you with the softest, surest gaze you’ve ever seen on him.
“Marry me?”
You absolutely break.
“WHAT—CHEOL—OH MY GOD—YOU CAN’T JUST—DO THIS—” You’re crying. And laughing. And yelling. And making absolutely no sense.
He’s smiling like his heart is going to burst. You swat his shoulder, almost knocking him off balance.
“WHY WOULD YOU DO IT LIKE THIS?? YOU DIDN’T EVEN WARN ME?! CHEOL I LOOK—WHAT IF I LOOK STUPID—”
“You look perfect,” he says immediately, pulling you closer by your hands.
“You’re LYING—” You choke on a laugh-sob, wiping at your face uselessly
“Say yes,” he whispers, thumb brushing your knuckles “Please.”
You throw yourself at him so fast you nearly knock him over, arms wrapping around his neck, your face buried into his shoulder.
“Yes—yes, yes, YES—are you insane—of course yes—”
He wraps his arms around your waist, standing up with you clinging to him like always, spinning you once because he can’t contain it.
Then he kisses you. Slow, deep, trembling with relief and love and everything he didn’t know how to say in words.
“You’re stuck with me now,” he murmurs against your lips.
“You bewitched me,” you sniff.
He laughs. “Good. I’m planning to keep you forever.”
The sunset dips fully behind the horizon as he finally slides the ring onto your shaking fingers.
Captain Choi, the man who once claimed he hated public affection and big gestures, holds you like his entire world is finally exactly where it belongs.
“Happy anniversary,” he whispers.
“Cheol,” you mumble, half-laughing, half-crying, “you dramatic, romantic, manipulative captain—”
“Uh huh,” he grins, kissing you again “And you still said yes.”
You don’t even make it ten steps past the proposal spot before the chaos begins.
Your hand is glued to your face. Like permanently.
Every few seconds you gasp. Then giggle. Then gasp again. Then cover your mouth because you’re giggling too much.
Meanwhile, Seungcheol is holding your other hand, walking beside you with that stupidly soft smile like he’s watching a baby deer learn how to walk.
“CHEOL—CHEOL—LOOK—LOOK AT IT—IT’S ON MY HAND—IT’S ON MY ACTUAL FINGER—”
“Sweetheart, I know. I put it there.”
“NO BUT—LOOK—IT’S SPARKLING. IT’S SPARKLING SO BADLY. DID YOU—DID YOU PICK THIS YOURSELF?! WHO LET YOU DO THAT?!”
Cheol chuckles, squeezing your hand. “I’m a grown man, baby, I can buy a ring.”
“NOT THIS RING YOU CAN’T—CHEOL THIS LOOKS LIKE—LIKE—OH MY GOD IT’S TOO PRETTY—WHAT WERE YOU THINKING—”
“I was thinking I want you to wear something beautiful for the rest of your life.”
You slap your free hand over your face again, nearly tripping over your own feet. “STOP SAYING THINGS LIKE THAT I’M GONNA PASS OUT.”
You walk another ten steps.
You squeak. Out loud.
“Oh my god—Cheol—look—look—IT’S LITERALLY GLITTERING. I’M GONNA—CHEOL I’M GONNA CRY AGAIN. WHY IS IT SO PRETTY???”
He’s openly laughing now, the kind that crinkles his eyes and makes his dimples show.
“You’re adorable.”
“I AM NOT—IM JUST—THIS RING—CHEOL THIS IS LIKE—MOVIE RING. PRINCESS RING. K-DRAMA RING. WHY DID YOU GET ME A RING LIKE THIS—”
He pulls you closer by the hand, stopping you in the middle of the walkway.
“Because you’re my princess,” he says softly, teasing but sincere “And because I could afford it.”
You smack his arm again. “THAT IS NOT THE POINT—CHEOL YOU COULD’VE JUST GOTTEN A NORMAL RING—”
He tilts his head, studying you with a warm smile “Do you want me to return it?”
You SNATCH your hand back like he just threatened to steal your oxygen.
“NO.”
“Then stop complaining,” he laughs.
“I’M NOT COMPLAINING—I’M—PROCESSING.”
And you continue to process. Very loudly.
All the way through the cobblestone street. All the way through the cute little alleys. All the way past the café where someone congratulates you two because yes, you’re THAT loud and THAT sparkly.
And by the time you reach the hotel lobby, you’re still staring at your hand, whispering:
“…holy crap… I’m gonna marry Captain Choi… with THIS ring… oh my god…”
He wraps an arm around your waist, kisses the side of your head, and murmurs:
“Get used to it, fiancée.”
You squeal so loud the receptionist looks up.
And Seungcheol just grins like he’s absolutely, hopelessly in love—with his overdramatic, ring-obsessed future wife.
