#vernon x reader

[renaissante5]

SEVENTEEN FANFICTION RECOMMENDATIONS PT 1 ──୨ৎ──

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ five stars given to all of these →

not so loud - dino x reader (@daechwitatamic) | friends to lovers, one bed trope, fluff, smut, slight angst

build this dream together (series) - joshua x reader (@joshujin) | f1 driver joshua x race engineer reader, fluff, angst, smut

rates of change - dino x reader (@wqnwoos) | dino x TA reader, idiots to lovers, fluff, slight angst

the tiger & the moon - hoshi x reader (@memoiresofaneternaldreamer) | circus performer hoshi x artist reader, smut, angst

statistically speaking... - mingyu x reader (@gyuswhore) | TA mingyu x reader, fluff, smut, angst

on call - wonwoo x reader (@kkaetnipjeon) | attending neurosurgeon wonwoo x resident reader, fluff, smut

slacking off - wonwoo x reader (@goldenhourology) | coworkers to lovers, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, smut

you've got boba eyes, dude - dino x reader (@wheeboo) | boba shop owner dino x mat racer attendant reader, fluff, slight enemies to lovers

caught in bloom, caught on you - minghao x reader (@wheeboo) | florist minghao x reader, fluff, slight angst, strangers to friends to lovers

double trouble - dk x reader x mingyu (@studioeisa) | fluff!

on the clock - vernon x reader (@sailorsoons) | coworkers to lovers, fake dating, fluff, smut

baby - hoshi x reader (@sailorsoons) | mafiaverse, childhood friends/exes to lovers, angst, smut

untitled - jeonghan x reader (@hoshifighting) | famous poker player jeonghan x famous poker player reader, angst, smut

𓏲ּ𝄢 some seventeen authors i absolutely love with similar fanfics ! : - @sailorsoons- @studioeisa - @haologram - @joshujin - @gyuswhore - @memoiresofaneternaldreamer

part 2...

currently listening to... i don't understand but i luv u - seventeen ♫⋆｡♪ ﾟ.

[woncheolisms]

look after you. (hansol vernon chwe x reader)

summary: courting gifts can be anything. a pretty necklace. a bracelet. maybe even a ring, if you’re bold. but vernon gives you socks, and you don’t know what to make of them.

pairing: alpha!vernon x omega!reader

word count: 7.2k

warnings: omegaverse au, abo dynamics, fluff, some humor, best friend!omega!seungkwan, misunderstandings but not angsty, mentions of heat and pre heat, smut, nsfw, fingering, thigh riding, multiple orgasms, knotting.

Hansol Vernon Chwe takes being an alpha very seriously. But not in the way conventional alphas would.

For example, when someone asks Vernon what he thinks an ideal alpha should be, he has some points that he will count off, a checklist of sorts in his head, requirements of being a good alpha, in his opinion. An alpha has to be strong, not physically, but mentally. He needs to be reliable, stable, someone the people around him can lean on. An alpha has to be intelligent and aware. He has to anticipate his omega’s needs and provide accordingly. Not just financially, but with thoughtful actions. An alpha must be nurturing, and he knows this is the point everyone around him gets hung up on. ‘Nurturing’? That’s typically a term associated with omegas. But Vernon stands by it. Alphas have to care, to be there emotionally, to make sure their omegas have them not just physically, but to love them for their emotions as well, to shift and release pheromones that will calm their omegas. Alphas have to be providers past the actual, financial implications of the word.

So Vernon vows to himself that if he ever gets the opportunity to be an alpha for someone, he would be the one that fits his exacting, rigid standards. That opportunity comes when he meets you.

You’re Seungkwan’s friend, which isn’t surprising. Pretty much anyone Vernon knows, he knows because they are Seungkwan’s friend. Vernon can’t understand how in hell Seungkwan can keep up with such a large friend circle. He knows everybody. But it helps indirectly because Vernon doesn’t go out of his way to meet people, so Seungkwan almost acts like the proxy for his social life.

That’s exactly how he met you.

Vernon almost didn’t go, since it was just supposed to be some kind of game night for Seungkwan’s study group. But Seungkwan insisted, really insisted, and Vernon had bailed on the last two social events Seungkwan asked him to come with, so he had to give in. He’s so glad that he did.

Just the scent of you makes him stiffen, which is very unlike him. Vernon isn’t usually much affected by omegas, hell, his best friend is an omega. But you smell so sweet, in this light and fresh way that almost energises him. Your smile is so bright as you introduce yourself, hair swaying when your head moves, and Vernon’s fingers twitch with the urge to touch. He has to visibly shake his head and blink, quickly introducing himself and shutting up so that he doesn’t act like a fool. You’re so pretty, and your voice is so calming and friendly. Vernon has this deep feeling in his chest that he wants to stay around you. Right by your side.

He hangs out with you twice more after that, all in big groups, but he manages to get near you anyhow. You’re so interesting to him. You talk about your major with a passion he can never muster, a fire in your eyes, your long term plans laid out already. You’re energetic, not as much as Seungkwan, but you know how to match the omega’s energy. And you’re also quieter with Vernon, like you understand that he’s laid back and deals with things differently. Only someone truly empathetic and kind can be like that, and Vernon’s heart soars. You’re so perfect, you’re perfect, and he will be damned if he won’t be the perfect alpha for you.

And so Vernon makes a resolve. He will prove himself. He will be the one for you, to take care of you the way someone with your spirit deserves. And he is absolutely not the kind to just pussyfoot around. So Vernon watches. Vernon observes.

When fall starts bleeding into winter, he notices how you love to be bundled up. The biggest coats and jackets, the most layers of anyone else in the group.

“Cold?” He asks when you show up at the campus gates where everyone agreed to meet so you can go to dinner together. You give him a sheepish smile and nod under your heavy hoodie.

“I get cold very easily.” You admit. “My hands and feet specifically.”

Vernon knows exactly how to fix it.

That night, he rummages through his closet and finds three sets of wool socks. His grandmother knits so many for him and his sister, and keeps sending them. Vernon wears one pair and keeps the rest for later use when his first ones are worn out. He swears by them, because she uses the finest wool for knitting. He contemplates between a navy blue pair and a grey one, ultimately going for the blue. He hopes you will like them.

When he finds you in the hallways the next morning, just before classes, he feels like his heart will beat out of his chest. He’s so nervous, and he worried himself sick last night about whether or not you would accept his gift. He wants to be there for you, to provide for you and understand your needs and take care of you. To be your alpha. This is it, the big moment.

He pulls you aside and away from the prying eyes of other students before slowly pulling out the small bag he put the socks in. You take it curiously, peering inside.

“You said your feet get really cold.” He quickly explains. “These are merino wool. My grandma makes them. They’re very warm, I promise.”

You look so surprised, blinking at the item in your hand. He watches your thumb run over them, feeling how soft they are.

“A-are you sure, Vernon?” You ask. “I was just complaining about the weather, I didn’t really think….”

Vernon immediately nods. He’s so sure. There’s no one else for him except you. You look a little hesitant, Vernon holds his breath, and then finally, you nod.

The air escapes his chest with a loud whoosh, and joy takes his place. He nods, more jerky this time, trying to tamp down his giddy smile.

“Thank you so much.” You look truly touched at the gesture, and that satisfies the alpha inside him. He took care of you, and you accepted his courting gift. You want to give him a chance. And as Vernon looks into your bright, warm eyes, he’s determined to never, ever let you down.

Vernon feels like he’s on cloud nine for the rest of the day, and when he lays in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, he’s already planning other ways to convince you that he is the perfect alpha for you. He has watched you intensely (in a non-creepy way), and he knows what habits you have, and how he can enrich your life with his own presence. His top priority is giving you as much love and care as he possibly can. His phone buzzes beside his pillow, breaking him from his thoughts. His heart kicks hard when he realises who the message is from.

[you]: i love the socks vernon thank you so much!

He grins so wide he feels like his cheeks might split. Your response encourages him so much. His alpha hums, settling like a warm weight in his chest. He goes to sleep with that same, stupid grin on his face.

Vernon did believe he was good friends with you, but you warm up to him even more after that. You love to talk and catch up whenever you meet him. You love the cat videos he sends you, and when you realise he likes them, you send them to him as well. He feels particularly giddy when you caption them with something like ‘reminded me of you’. You’re so wonderful, and Vernon can’t help that deep seated catch in his stomach that tells him he is falling in love.

He doesn’t mind.

But Vernon is still courting you, and he takes being an alpha to you very seriously. He goes shopping with his sister for the weekend and picks out one of those thermoses that keep liquids warm for hours, and not the dysfunctional, knock off kind that just look pretty. Sophia thinks it’s too plain, so Vernon frets over that, but he wants this to be practical, something you really need. This is about your comfort, and he won’t compromise on that. It makes Sophia snort.

“I’m surprised you managed to court her. With socks of all things.”

That makes him blink. “She loved them. She uses them all the time.”

Sophia only laughs.

Vernon fills the thermos with your preferred preparation of coffee on Monday and gives it to you when he finds you on a picnic table on campus grounds before your first class.

“It keeps liquid warm for at least 10 hours.” He explains himself. “It’s got thicker insulation, see? I looked it up before I bought it.”

You stare at it. “Vernon, this must have cost a lot-”

He immediately cuts you off. “Don’t worry about the price. I just hope it’s good and you use it.”

You give him a wide smile, biting your bottom lip and avoiding his eyes. Are you feeling shy? Vernon’s alpha soars.

“Thank you.” You mumble. Vernon shakes his head.

“Stop saying thank you.” It’s my job. I want to take care of you.

You only let out a little laugh and nod. Vernon feels the urge to lean over the table and kiss you. It takes everything in him to not do exactly that.

The holidays come and go. Vernon talks to you often, even when you leave the city to spend the days off with your family. You wish him a happy new year, asking him about his resolutions. Vernon’s wants to say ‘to make you my omega’ but he holds back. He doesn’t want to come off too strong and push you away. So he keeps it silently in his chest, and instead asks for yours.

[you]: definitely to hit the gym. i need to get better about being healthy :(

Vernon is already planning.

When he sees you next time, it’s because you come to the dorm room to see Seungkwan. He isn’t there, but Vernon is, so you offer to wait for your friend. Vernon is eager to let you in, patting his bed down and quickly tidying up a bit. He doesn’t want you to think he’s a slob.

(He isn’t. But he also doesn’t want you to think he is.)

“I got you something.” He starts, rummaging through the bag he put your stuff in. You raise an amused eyebrow.

“Again? You really shouldn’t have…”

Vernon shakes it off. “It’s nothing much, I promise.” He walks to you with what he got.

“It’s an athletic band, for when you go to the gym.” He explains. “I wanted you to have your own. And here,” He puts everything in your lap, “electrolyte pouches. This is the good stuff that athletes use. Mingyu told me about them. The convenience store stuff isn’t very healthy.”

Your mouth is agape, and you let out an incredulous laugh. “You really go out of your way, don’t you?”

I do. Vernon wants to say. Because it’s true. He won’t spare any expense, any effort, when it comes to you. He hopes that these attempts show them to you. This is what the courting period is all about. He wants to give you proof that he is well capable of being everything you will ever want and need.

“Thank you.” You whisper. It’s so soft, so laced with warmth, and Vernon’s alpha almost preens. Almost. It’s rare for alphas to react like that, but for Vernon, this is acceptance on another level. He vowed to himself that he would be your biggest support, your only one. And he’s succeeding. He’s well on his way to being your everything, just like how you’re his everything already. He gives himself maybe a couple of more months, then he will officially ask you to be his.

He’s generally a patient guy, but he really can’t wait.

…………………………………

You have a dilemma, and you really don’t know anyone who you can talk to about it except Boo Seungkwan.

Initially, you wanted to hold off on it. You’ve known Vernon for a while now, and you know how genuine he is as a person. He is truly one of the people you trust the most, because he’s so attentive and kind. Your omega likes him too, maybe a little too much, and you always have to remind yourself that he’s just a friend, nothing more. But you can’t help being enamoured by him. He’s so different from how you are, but you gel with him so well. There’s something so charming about him, you can’t help but be sucked in.

But Vernon’s brand of weird might be getting a little…. too weird.

When he first gave you socks that his grandmother knitted, you were shocked, pleasantly so. You were half inclined to refuse, but they were genuinely so soft and Vernon looked like he really wanted you to have them, so you accepted. You did have a cold feet problem, and you complained to him about it. He happened to have a solution in his home, so he got it for you. It was very nice of him.

But then he got you that really expensive thermos. You know it was expensive because you looked it up afterwards, cursing under your breath. You love your friends and would help them any way you can, but this felt like too much. Vernon didn’t care though, adamant on you having it. And you didn’t have the heart to refuse when he kept insisting. And goddamn, it did keep your coffee warm and cozy for hours, so you could happily sip on it for a long time. You still use that thing every day.

Then there was the little stuff, like electrolyte packets and a gym headband, or the muscle patches he got you when you complained about being sore (it wasn’t even that bad, you just like to complain). It seems that no matter what you say, Vernon is always listening, like he wants any opportunity to make your life better. It warms your heart, it makes your omega keen, but Vernon is swimming very close to dangerous waters. All this is doing is making you more and more inclined to him, his thoughtfulness and care makes you want to melt right into him. Because at the end of the day, he’s an alpha, and you want him more and more with every passing day.

As you said, dangerous waters.

Things really take a turn when he shows up at your dorm with toothpaste, the same brand you use on a daily basis. You stare at it.

“Yours was running out last time I was here.” He says, and he’s so nonchalant about it, like friends just notice something like dwindling toothpaste and buy it for you. You’re so flabbergasted that you don’t even think of rejecting it, just thanking him quietly instead. He nods, smiling.

Okay, you need to talk to Seungkwan.

You text Seungkwan about meeting you for lunch at a café outside campus. It’s not too far, but enough that you know you won’t run into any of your mutual friends there. You really don’t want to talk to anyone who won’t help you, and while you’re very social on most days, you’re in no mood to deal with people right now. You ignore the urge to stay home in bed, because you really need to do something about this Vernon situation, so you push yourself to go, despite the resistance in your body.

Seungkwan just thinks it’s a normal catchup meal when he greets you, but when you start to slowly tell him about what Vernon has been doing for the last few months, his jaw just drops more and more, his plate completely forgotten.

“You’re not serious.” He mutters when you finish.

“I am.” You sigh. “And I love it, you know? I do. It makes me feel….. some type of way. But that’s why you have to tell him to stop. I can’t keep assuming that he’s doing it for some other reason. My heart can’t take it.”

You feel intense emotions rise up in you, and you have to swallow them down. It surprises you a little, how heated and charged you feel, but you push the thought out of your mind, trying to focus. Seungkwan’s face is pinched in thought, but you can see in real time as it smooths in realisation.

“Oh my god, wait.”

You watch him curiously. “What?”

But Seungkwan doesn’t say, shaking his head. Then, he goes back to his food.

“I’ll talk to him, okay?”

You’re a little confused at the weird reaction, but you nod. You’re already feeling a little tired, even though you haven’t even been out of the house that long. You wish you had just stayed in and put this off for another day.

“Just be nice about it. I don’t want him to feel bad. He’s been doing such kind things for me, I don’t want to come off as ungrateful.”

But Boo Seungkwan has a whole other storm brewing in his head as he waves goodbye to you and heads to his dorm. He thinks he has a pretty good idea about what the hell Vernon has been doing, but he needs to be one hundred percent sure about it first.

Vernon is sitting at his desk, headphones on, when Seungkwan taps him on the shoulder. The alpha turns around. Seungkwan decides not to beat around the bush.

“So I was on a lunch date with Y/N.”

Seungkwan can see the exact moment Vernon’s face lights up. He sighs internally. His suspicions are true.

“How is she?” Vernon asks.

Seungkwan plops himself down on the edge of the bed. “Wouldn’t you know that? Since she’s your omega?”

Vernon huffs out a laugh. “She’s not my omega yet.”

Yet. “But you are courting her.” He doesn’t frame it as a question.

Vernon nods. Seungkwan wants to groan.

“And it’s going well?”

“It is.”

“Right. Sure. It’s going so well that the omega you are courting doesn’t even know she’s being courted.”

Vernon pauses, blinking at Seungkwan owlishly. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Vernon’s mouth opens and closes a few times, not unlike a fish. “I don’t understand.”

Seungkwan feels a horrific laugh bubble up in his chest, but he doesn’t say anything. He watches Vernon’s face go through a million emotions, confusion being the predominant one.

“I gave her a courting gift. She accepted.”

“You gave her socks.” Seungkwan deadpans.

Vernon frowns. “She needed them. She told me herself, her feet are always cold.”

Seungkwan groans at that, putting his head in his hands. “Hansol….”

Seungkwan laughs then, but Vernon doesn’t find the situation funny at all. A mild panic is curling in his chest, his mind racing. Did you really not know? Were you really clueless? He hadn’t said it explicitly, sure, but he was certain you got his meaning. He was taking care of you, showing you he could be a good alpha. Was he not clear enough?

Seungkwan’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “A courting gift, especially the first one, has to be something romantic. Like a bracelet or a necklace. Jewellery.”

Vernon puts his head in his hands, his elbows on the table. “I- I just thought it would be better if I gave practical gifts….”

Seungkwan huffs out a laugh. “Practical gifts are great, but fucking toothpaste, man?”

Vernon wants to bash his head into a wall. He looks at Seungkwan with pleading eyes.

“What did she say? Does she not like me?”

Seungkwan shakes his head immediately. “The opposite actually. She thinks you only see her as a friend, and she feels bad about liking you more than that because of how considerate you are.”

Vernon can’t believe his ears. He can’t. You think he’s not interested? He couldn’t have made his interest any clearer. But obviously, he went about it the wrong way, and now you feel shitty because of him. Vernon’s alpha growls, disapproving. He doesn’t like this feeling, knowing that he is responsible for any negative emotion you experience.

He needs to fix this.

Seungkwan doesn’t stop him as he tugs his shoes on, grabbing his phone before he leaves. He’s contemplating on sending you a text that he’s on his way to you, but he remembers the exchange you had with Seungkwan, and he fears that his text might make you spiral. So he just sets off, hoping he can catch you when you’re not too busy so you can talk it out. He always believed he didn’t want to rush you, but if it’s causing miscommunication, then he needs to make his intentions crystal clear.

He reaches your door in record time. You don’t have a dorm mate thankfully, since your last one dropped out and a new one wasn’t appointed to you. This is good, because it means you two can talk openly. He knocks and waits, shifting on his feet. He feels anxious and uncertain, and he prays he hasn’t ruined anything between you two, especially after he tried so hard to make everything go right.

You’re not answering. Vernon tries again, wondering if maybe you have headphones on and can’t hear him. Maybe he should text you that he’s right outside. He’s just contemplating on it when the door swings open.

You have a scowl on your face, lips pulled into a pout as you stick your head out. Cute. Vernon gives you a sheepish smile when recognition dawns on your features.

“Vernon.” Your voice is raspy. He shuffles.

“Sorry. Were you sleeping?”

You blink a few times, rapid movements as if trying to clear your vision. Vernon shifts again, feeling restless. He’s been feeling restless ever since he first knocked on your door. He scents the air instinctively. You smell…. just as you always do. Maybe sweeter? He can’t place it. Something is off, not in a bad way. But he can’t put his finger on it.

“This isn’t a good time.” You say, and your voice is still strained and tired. Vernon’s early anxiety is gone. He feels concern sting at his chest.

“Are you okay?” He has to ask, because a voice inside him is telling him that you’re not. You pause before answering, and it’s a little too long for his taste.

“I’m fine. Just tired. Can we talk in a few days?”

A few days? Vernon’s eyebrows furrow. His nose won’t stop twitching because of the alteration in your scent. He watches you, really watches you, the barely noticeable line of sweat on your hairline, your breathing just slightly more rapid than usual, how you’re gripping the doorframe like it’s holding half your weight. Vernon’s alpha bristles.

“Pre-heat?” He croaks.

You swallow tightly, he can see it with the way your throat bobs. When you don’t deny it, his alpha howls. His fingers twitch. It takes everything in him to not reach for you.

“So, later?” You ask again. He blinks.

“I was courting you.” He blurts. “The gifts. I- I thought I was being clear about it. But I wasn’t. That’s my fault, not yours. I should’ve said it, I should’ve gotten you something prettier or nicer. But I didn’t.”

Your jaw drops at his words. Silence hangs in the air for a few seconds.

“You like me?” Your voice is so tiny, so unsure. Vernon wishes he could rip the heart out of his chest and give it to you to prove that he doesn’t just like you, but that he’s in love with you. But he settles for better words.

“I wanted to show that I could take care of you. That I could be a good alpha and love you the way you deserve.”

Your eyes are bright. Your mouth is slightly open in an ‘O’ shape. You don’t say anything for a long while. Vernon feels despair sink in his head.

“I’m sorry.”

You seem to break from your trance. Your eyebrows draw together. “What are you sorry for?”

Before he can reply, your voice dies and you wince. Vernon feels his chest squeeze, hands reaching out before he can stop himself when he sees your poster hunch forward a little. He hovers uncertainly over you. Being in your space makes your scent get denser, heavier. Vernon grits his teeth hard. His brain feels like it’s short circuiting.

“You should get back inside.” He chokes out. “You shouldn’t be standing up right now. Your cramps will get worse.”

You don’t reply, almost like your mind is fogged. Vernon makes up his mind, very carefully placing his hands on your elbows so he can shuffle both of you backwards into the room.

It smells even more intensely like you inside. Vernon’s eyelids flutter, and he has to stop himself from breathing in deep. He gently guides you to the bed and you follow without much hesitation. You sigh into the pillows once your body relaxes, and Vernon pulls the blanket over you. He notices just then that you’re wearing the navy blue socks he gave you. His heart skips a beat as he leans beside the edge of the bed.

“Do you need anything?” He tries to make a mental list. He’s never really helped an omega with their heat before. When Seungkwan goes into heat, university policy is to leave the dorm and room with someone else for the duration, so he just stays with another friend. But Vernon isn’t a complete idiot, so he thinks. Painkillers, a warm water bottle, sustenance of some kind, something high calorie-

“Just stay here with me.” You pipe up. He freezes.

“I can’t.” He tries to say as placatingly as possible. “Your heat will hit soon.”

You blink up at him, and he notes the thin, shiny layer covering your eyes. “So?”

He stares. “So….. I can’t stay.” Or I will lose my mind.

“Yes, you can. You said you wanted to show me you can take care of me, right?” Your eyelids hang low, eyes only half open as you peer up at him. “So take care of me, alpha.”

Vernon thinks his head is spinning. No, it’s the room. The room is spinning. He is completely still in place, like a statue, because he feels that if he moves, he will sway and topple over. His alpha is howling, a chorus of ‘yes, yes, yes’ that chokes any other thought in his brain. Instead, he clenches his jaw hard and reaches his hand up to rest it carefully on your head. He brushes your hair back slowly. You sigh at his mere touch. You’re heated, already almost burning up.

“Are you sure?” He whispers. “You’re close to heat. You can’t be saying this just because your omega wants an alpha here with you.”

You let out a small laugh. “I’m in pre-heat only. I know what I’m doing. I’ve….. liked you for a while now.”

Vernon can feel how hot the back of his neck is. “Really?”

You nod. He lets out a shaky breath. He can’t believe his ears, almost like someone went in there and scraped all his brains out, leaving his head hollow and light. But his chest is so full that he feels like it will explode.

“Okay.” He says with an air of finality. “I’ll take care of you, I promise. You won’t want for anything. I’m here.”

…………………………….

You don’t really remember much of your pre-heats, generally. Most of the time, you spend it dozing in and out of sleep, eating whatever you’ve stashed in your room beforehand. This one is the same. You’re very sleepy, so you hunker down on your bed and nap as much as you can. The difference this time is that you’re coaxed awake every few hours by an alpha hanging over your bed, helping you sit up and feeding you small bites of warm food instead of your usual packaged stuff.

Vernon leaves whenever you fall asleep, coming back with stuff he picks up from restaurants, all rich and dense food that puts you in a good mood and makes you sleep longer. Two nights after he first showed up, you feel uncomfortable again, so you ask for his hoodie. He doesn’t hesitate for two seconds before he pulls it off and tugs it onto you.

“Better?” He asks as you sink into bed again. You hum in relief. It feels amazing to be surrounded by his scent like this. Your omega settles and your discomfort wanes.

“Much.” You reply. He nods. You watch him putter around, cleaning up plates and looking at how much water you still have. You know that you’re only settling with his hoodie temporarily. As your heat hits, his clothes won’t be enough. You will want him. All of him.

Your face flames at the thought. You really never could’ve imagined that Vernon would want to help you like this. You always assumed he was being a good friend, hence why you wanted Seungkwan to stop him. Because you were getting too attached to him, and you didn’t want to set yourself up for future hurt. Turns out, he was courting you, in some characteristically Vernon way of his. And in a way….. it worked. It made you love him more.

Days pass in your pre-heat haze. When you wake up one day, your back drenched in sweat and your heart racing so fast it makes you pant heavily, you realise you’ve hit your heat. You sit up slowly, struggling to unfold your tense body. Vernon isn’t here, probably out to get more supplies or a change of clothes for himself. Your omega whines. You’re wet between the thighs already. You rub them desperately together. Why is your alpha not back yet?

You’re just psyching yourself up to leave the bed when the door to your dorm swings open and Vernon steps inside, arms weighed by bags. He blinks, surprised to see you awake.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” He asks, pushing the door shut with his heel and placing the bags on your study table. You let out a shaky breath.

“Alpha.”

Something in your voice seemingly registers, because his head jerks up. You can feel his nose twitch when you shift, throwing the blanket off your sweaty body. Your scent hits him. You try to shuffle closer to him.

“Need you, please.”

Vernon wastes no time in toeing off his shoes and walking closer to the bed, settling on it and letting you come to him. You crawl into his lap, sighing in relief when your skin meets his. He still hasn’t taken his jacket off, so you tug impatiently at it. He obliges by discarding it, leaving him in a simple shirt and jeans.

You tuck your head against his neck like it’s second nature, like you’ve done it a million times before. You nose at his scent glands, eager to have it invade your senses straight from the source. You feel his hand run comforting circles over your sweaty back.

“You’re drenched.” He murmurs, tugging at your shirt a little where it’s sticking to your skin. You huff.

“‘M hot.”

“Do you want a change of clothes?”

No. I want you to take them off entirely.

You don’t say it, just biting your lip and nosing at his neck more. You know Vernon is here to help with your heat, but you suddenly feel so shy asking him to. God, this was your idea, and you can’t even bring yourself to verbalise it.

When your silence stretches too long, you feel a soft hand on your jaw, nudging your head up. Your eyes meet wide, brown ones.

“I’m here for whatever you need. Just ask, okay? I can’t know unless you tell me.”

He’s right. He’s being so logical and so sweet about it while you’re wallowing. So you nod, mustering up the confidence to peer up at him and say, “I want you.”

Vernon nods. “Okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

When he leans down to softly brush his lips to yours, your omega whines. You inhale shakily and press closer, kissing him properly. He takes it so slow, like he’s savoring every second of it, running his hands carefully, reverently, down your sides before sliding under the hem of your shirt. His skin is so cool against your heated body, and it’s a welcome relief. You sigh into his mouth.

Vernon grips just a little tighter, your flesh dimpling under his touch. It makes your body shift forward, your core grazing over his jean-clad thigh. Your breath hitches as pleasure zips up from your core.

That sets a charged, lazy rhythm. Vernon guides the movement of your body with a firm grip on your hips, back and forth, back and forth, your cunt sliding over his thigh. The rough material of his jeans provides delicious friction, while your flimsy shorts might as well not be there. You’re soaked through, and if you looked down, you’re sure you would see a dark patch on his jeans. He seems to not care about the fact that you’re ruining his clothes. He moans into your mouth, tenses his thigh periodically in a way that sends a pleasurable jolt up your spine. Your legs are spread wide apart, your slit open, pressing your most sensitive parts to him. He kisses you senseless as the pressure in your core gets tighter and tighter, your movements more rushed, more sloppy. He bites your bottom lip the exact moment your orgasm hits, washing over your body like a tidal wave, leaving you moaning and shaking, Vernon’s sure grip the only thing holding you steady.

“Good. Good girl.” He whispers into your raw, bitten lips. “Perfect. There you go.”

Your trembling body goes limp against his figure. He holds you there for a bit, letting you come down. You process what just happened. This was not what you expected, though you’re not complaining at all. It was so hot.

You’re shifted backwards slowly. Vernon lays you on the bed and presses a sweet kiss on your cheek, pulling back.

“You really should change clothes now, sweetheart.” He says. You giggle breathlessly and nod.

Vernon finds a fresh pair of shorts and a loose shirt. He helps you change. You really don’t feel hesitant about being naked in front of him. Hell, you just rode his thigh and came all over him. Speaking of, his jeans are ruined, you can see it a mile off. Vernon excuses himself to the bathroom once you’re settled, and when he emerges later, he’s dressed in sweats.

You eat the food he brought, more like he feeds you and you let him. It feels nice, being pampered and taken care of like this. You say as much to him. He lets out an airy laugh and shakes his head.

“That’s what my intention was the entire time.” He confesses. “I wanted to be a good alpha to you. And in my opinion, a good alpha is someone who knows how to take care of his omega. I was trying to prove that.”

You smile, watching him set the empty plate aside and pour you a glass of water.

“I already know you’re a good person, Vernon. You didn’t have to do all that.”

He shakes his head. “There’s a difference between being a good person and a good alpha. You needed to know I would be there through thick and thin, and I could anticipate your needs and make your life easier. To be loved is to be known, isn’t that what they say?”

You stare at him, speechless. Your heart squeezes in your chest, and you try to look for words, anything you can say to tell him how much this means to you, how much he means to you. But you’re tired, and your heat is messing with your head, and you can’t think of anything that will properly get your meaning across. So you put down the glass in your hand and lean forward, laying a kiss on his lips.

You feel him stiffen only briefly, kissing you back when he realises what is happening. You feel his hand cup your cheek tenderly, slotting his lips deeper into yours. You sigh into this kiss, kicking forward to once again settle in his lap like you did previously. It’s almost like instinct. It’s comforting for you, and with the way his free arm curls around you, you know he likes it too.

You don’t know if it’s your heat, or just the fact that it’s Vernon, but the air charges quickly, and the kiss deepens. Your bodies undulate together, small moans and sighs until you can feel a familiar ache in your loins, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Alpha.” You whine into him.

“I’ve got you.” He reassures you, like he always has. The world tilts, and you’re laid back on the mattress, his torso pressing you down deliciously. His mouth doesn’t leave you for a second, nipping and kissing, before his tongue licks into your mouth. Your pussy clenches around nothing.

Fingers dip into the waistband of your pajamas, tugging them off in one smooth motion. Fingers prod at your entrance, and you pull your knees up and apart. You’re already so wet, so ready, that he slides two fingers in immediately with next to no resistance.

“Fuck.” Vernon groans at the exact time you gasp. His fingers curl, pressing and rubbing, looking for that one spot. You moan and jerk.

“You’re so wet. You’re gonna ruin the sheets.”

He pulls back enough to look down at you. You watch in awe as the corner of his lip quirks up with a smirk you have never seen before. He looks so sexy like this, it makes your head spin.

“Soak my hand. Wanna feel it.”

You shriek when he presses into your soft spot, back arching off the bed. He coos, watching you with half lidded eyes, biting his bottom lip. You burn under his gaze, but it feels so good. Your orgasm is building up frighteningly quick, and before you know it, your legs are seizing.

You babble incoherently, trying to warn him, one hand fisting his shirt while the other tugs at the sheets. The knot in your core is so tight, ready to burst any moment, and he says the final words to get you there.

“Go ahead, baby. Be a good girl. Do what I said. Soak my hand.”

And you do, stars bursting in your vision at the same time that the knot implodes. You can hear how wet the sounds get, sloppy and filthy enough to make you flush. But you’re too preoccupied by how good it feels, washing over your entire body in waves. You know, even before you are fully down, that you are now addicted to this feeling, to him. His scent, heavy and reassuring and endlessly horny, you can tell. And his presence, sure and all encompassing. Your hands, still trembling, reach down, pawing and scratching at his pants.

“Alpha.” You’re surprised you can speak. “Off. Need- need you. Your knot. Please.”

Vernon doesn’t hesitate. With a few precise motions, his pants are pulled off and his shirt follows. You run your hands hungrily over his lean figure. He’s cut. You can trace the muscles, and it makes your mouth water. He’s so hard already, long and veiny and throbbing, and your pussy clenches pathetically. Your hips jerk.

Vernon wraps a hand around his shaft, pumping a few times. You see the precum leak from his tip and dribble down. Your legs twitch when he rubs his mushroom head up and down over your slit, gathering your slick. He groans.

“Look at that. You’re so ready for me, aren’t you?” You watch him bite his lip. You buck up again. Finally, he guides the head down, teasing your rim for a few seconds before sliding the head inside.

Your jaw goes slack as he slides in, inch by glorious inch, until you feel the base of his pelvis meet your skin. You can feel him throb even inside you, your walls squeezing and releasing over and over to try and get used to the massive intrusion. Above you, Vernon’s face is pinched, and he curses loudly.

“Don’t- please don’t do that.” His voice is strained. “I’m gonna cum too soon.”

You can’t help your breathless giggle, but you try to relax a little around him. You both breathe deeply, and finally, you feel the alpha move.

The pace is stable and reverent from the beginning, like he wants to feel every nook and cranny of your cunt around him. He fucks you like he’s making up for lost time, speeding up and then slowing down, watching his cock disappear inside your needy, sopping pussy and pulling out, the shaft shiny with your juices. Your eyes roll up at the feeling, how he carves through your opening, in and out, brushing over all the good spots as he moves. He changes the angle every couple of minutes, and you gasp loudly when he hits you just right.

He reads your body like an open book, immediately honing in on the spot and picking up speed. Skin slaps against skin, a plopping sound that fills the room and only turns you on even more, if that’s even possible. Vernon’s eyes run over every part of you hungrily, like he wants to commit all of it to memory, and you feel like you’re on fire under the heat in his gaze.

“I’m gonna cum again.” You whimper, feeling tears sting at your eyes as your pleasure crests to heights you have never felt before. Your whole body feels like it’s molten lava, bubbling up inside you until it overtakes your every nerve. Your hands scramble for purchase, and Vernon sees. He winds his fingers through yours and pushes up, pressing your intertwined hands above your head. Your back arches, body laid open for his eyes only. And under his watchful gaze, his soft words, you cum hard, wailing as you drench his cock with your juices, squeezing around him so hard that you almost black out. Something swollen catches on your opening. He thrusts rough a few more times before he surges forward, bullying his knot deep inside you. Your eyes roll. Your omega keens.

Vernon releases your hands, running his own carefully down your body, like he wants to milk the rigidity from your limbs. You breathe heavily, trying to blink the tears away. He nuzzles into your neck, nosing at it and inhaling deep. When you feel his tongue lick over your scent glands, you shiver.

“Sorry.” He whispers when feels it. “Too much?”

You shake your head and turn it the other way, baring your neck to him. You feel his shaky exhale. He runs his tongue over your neck again, scenting you properly. You bask in the feeling.

You’re so completely at peace here, with his knot inside you and his tongue on your skin. This is exactly what you needed. And it’s clear to you now that Vernon knows actually what you need, always.

🏷️: @picheolin-17 , @lovelylonelinesssvt , @scarlettveemin , @shad0wcast , @iluvhosh , @jimzk , @lucis-noctiana , @hannieweee , @xh01bri , @ilseamamuchoamingyu , @bleudandelion , @huihye , @markoplolo , @moondustmemories , @kaitieskidmore97 , @hocidust , @missaoki , @cheolwoo , @isaltedcarameows , @huiimoon , @tranquillitysoul , @weasleytwins-41 , @igetcarriedawaywithyou , @ateez-atiny380 , @piratekingateez2001 , @kpetts , @k4trinabluu , @sunnysidesins , @embrace-themagic , @escoupsue , @hxsxxk-180294 , @wxnderingthoughts , @meanieislife , @jiminie-08 , @w0nw0es , @lostinfakescenarios , @secret1234505 , @redemptions , @haoxiaoba , @junnhuisworld , @gojominn , @peachy-writings, @dreamingofpcy , @woozidreams , @booscafe , @tiffanylstrobel , @sannidokki , @evemds , @bramos91

[97latte]

request for vernon high sex drive but like make it nonchalant but it becomes too high he just breaks??

high sex drive!vernon headcanons

high sex drive!vernon is suuuuuper nonchalant. like maybe sometimes too nonchalant. to a point where it seems like his willpower is godlike—but in reality, it is not.

high sex drive!vernon doesn’t seem to bat an eye when you wear those short, short skirts of yours, when he “accidentally” catches you naked after your shower.

high sex drive!vernon lets you have your way during sex, letting you dictate whether you want to be on top, or be a pillow princess for the night. it seems that he simply does not care.

high sex drive!vernon, in truth, has been holding back his sex drive and his sexual fantasies from you.

high sex drive!vernon who clenches his fists so hard in his jean pockets when he sees you in those skirts. Oh how he just wanted to bend you over the dinner table and fuck you raw in front of all of your friends.

high sex drive!vernon who tries so hard to keep the image of your naked body burnt in his brain for days so when he is fucking his fist for the third time that day, he can pretend he’s cumming deep inside of your gummy walls again and again.

high sex drive!vernon who simply just cannot hold himself back anymore. he sees you get up to shower off his cum off of your back and his cock twitches—a signal that he is not done, yet.

high sex drive!vernon who has your arms pinned behind your back as he pistons himself in and out of your pussy, grunting and breathing raggedly in your ear. “fuck—you have no idea how much i’ve been holding myself back from fucking you like this. breaking you like this.”

high sex drive!vernon who cums for the second time, now making it a point to do so inside of you so he can watch it ooze out of your swollen lips as he roughly jacks himself off. he’d use his middle finger to scoop up the dripping cum, then pushing it right back into you again.

high sex drive!vernon who instructs you on how to move your hips as your knees give out from beneath you. he’d let out a moan when your sloppy movements rub his cock just right - gripping your hips hard as he tried to recreate that sensation without asking too much from you. he’s pinching your nipples, caressing your cheek, smacking your ass—his hands never leave your body.

high sex drive!vernon who feels his high coming for the third time and gets a little whiny. “y’gonna milk me dry baby? you gonna let me fill you up again?” he’s making eye contact with you, eyebrows scrunched up slightly, lips parted in breathy moans. pulls you down to messily make out with him as he filled you up for the second time.

high sex drive!vernon who is panting now, both of you slumped on top of your wet bed sheets—“fuck, i’m hard again.”

a/n: why is he so goddamn hot???!!! also i did not proofread this 😌 ty for the request, i had so much fun with this one 😛 <33

[seungcheorry]

“did you know…”, you begin, tracing vernon’s neck as he hums in delight.

“know what?”, the vibration of his throat reaches your lips.

“they say that your moles mark the places your soulmate liked kissing you in your past life”, your words come out calmly, even though your heart is beating loudly inside your chest.

vernon chuckles, firmly wrapping an arm around your waist in a silent plea of ‘please, don’t stop’.

“that’s kinda cute.”

“it is”, you nod, breathing in his scent. “and i think it’s true, that would explain why you have so many moles on your neck.”

“do i?”

vernon pulls back a little, just enough to look you in the eyes. he tries not to focus on how red and plump your lips are right now.

“you do. one on the left side, one on the right side, and one on the back”, you say with a little smile, like you had his body memorized by now - which you did.

he smiles softly. “and you’re the one who did it?”

“i mean…”, you bite back a smug smile. “who else could have loved your neck in the past life as much as i do today?”

“no one”, he says in a heartbeat. “plus, you only have one soulmate.”

you lean forward to peck his lips, humming when he deepens the kiss.

“and that’s me?”, you whisper against his lips.

vernon laughs. his eyes are closed, and you melt in the way his thumb is caressing the skin of your waist underneath your shirt.

“you said it yourself”, he whispers back. “who else could it be?”

a/n: i am just a girl with a heavy crush on her bias, pls forgive me.

[buntanteen]

svt fic recs list <3 - mixed edition - sfw & nsfw

summary: a mix of different editions ~ ot13 individual sections, hyung/maknae line, multiple members, idol!reader, gym rat!svt :)

contains: sfw section may contain potential suggestive content, nsfw section contains 18+ content (mdni), majority is afab!reader

✩ svt writing & fic rec masterlist ✩

✩ sfw section ✩

❥ hyung line & maknae line (individual sections) x reader

❥ Bf!Seventeen finding out they aren't your bias hyung line | maknae line - @vernonverse

❥ accidental confession hyung line | maknae line - @minghaoes

❥ Bf!Seventeen being jealous of your female BSF and getting sulky - hyung line | maknae line- @vernonverse

❥ multiple svt members x reader

❥ college besties jihan - @suhnshinehaos

❥ double trouble (seokmin & mingyu) - @studioeisa

❥ ot13 individual sections - idol!svt x idol!reader ver.

❥ how you two met - @seuonji

❥ svt when idol!reader dedicates a song to them - @xinganhao

❥ svt when idol!reader releases a breakup song - @xinganhao

❥ svt reacts to idol!reader having dating rumors - @xinganhao

✩ nsfw section ✩

❥ ot13 individual sections

❥ the seven deadly sins hyung line - @pochaccoups

❥ how svt prefer to get you off - @rubyreduji

❥ how svt spend valentine's day with their partner - @husbandhoshi

❥ seventeen and their favourite positions - @chimivx

❥ multiple svt members x reader

❥ double fucked (vernon & dino) - @rubyreduji

❥ leaderz line polycule (seungcheol, hoshi & jihoon) - @sluttywonwoo

❥ vernon fucking you while woozi watches (vernon & jihoon) - @rubyreduji

❥ melt an igloo (seungcheol & jihoon) - @woozivrsefactry

❥ siblings or dating (jeonghan & joshua)- @bitchlessdino

❥ brat (jeonghan & joshua) - @sunflowergyeomie

❥ untitled (seungcheol & jeonghan) - @mejaemin

❥ while he's gone (hoshi & vernon) - @100vern

❥ threesome with gyucheol (seungcheol & mingyu)- @svtswhorehouse

❥ rec (seungcheol & mingyu) - @hongcherry

❥ splashed (jeonghan & joshua) - @smileysuh

❥ gym rat!svt x reader

❥ gym crush! jihoon - @svtswhorehouse

❥ heavy lifting (mingyu) - @sknyuz

❥ Gym Rat Roommate!Seungcheol - @hoshifighting

bun note: hi all!!! sorry for how like...messy this post is?? there was just a lot of genres/different editions that i wanted to get out as one so here is this monstrosity haha. eat welllll~ sleep well~ enjoy the howoo concert content (weren't they so cool?!?!?!) bye byeeee~

[milk-moonbunnies]

Omg I love your works so much and I just saw your bts post on the trend of where like husbands come up behind their pregnant wife and lift their bellies to like help with the weight (?) and I would love to request if your could write one for svt (thank youu)

warnings: mdni, 18+, fluff, husband! svt x reader, pregnant! reader, softness, comfort, pet names, etc.

A/N: Y'all, I know nothing about pregnancy lmao, so your girl tried. [not proofread yikes]

SEUNGCHEOL - You were irritated, but not really, actually, maybe. Your hormones seemed to be flipping back and forth between the little annoyance of feeling your lower back ache by just standing, and the awe that you were actually growing a baby inside of you.

Right now? Annoyance prevailed, and your waddles throughout your home didn't help convey your simmering feelings.

You huffed, puffed, and pouted your way to the kitchen in search of something that could soothe you. You were hoping to find sweets, maybe dessert, but much to your added aggravation, you found nothing.

You bristled, already thinking about the offense you'd feel having to drive yourself to the nearest grocery store, and the fact that you'd have to see people while feeling like the size of a whale.

And that's how your husband finds you.

You were stewing in your thoughts, arms crossed with an adorable pout that makes him want to provoke you into something worse, just because he found it so cute - but survival instincts kicked in first, and he gently moved closer. "How are my babies doing?"

Seungcheol asks this while hugging you from behind, his palms sliding under your round stomach, and automatically picking up the extra weight without a second thought.

Your dull ache minimizes, and so do your negative feelings, your body naturally relaxing into your husband's. "It'd be better if you order dessert to our house in the next twenty minutes."

Your husband laughs, his kiss sweet against your shoulder as he nods his head in agreement.

Whatever you want, he's happy to provide, but he's going to hold you the whole time.

JEONGHAN - Jeonghan is staring at you, but that's pretty normal.

He always seemed to stare at you even back when you two were just dating, but now that you're pregnant with his kid?

"You could take a picture, y'know?" You teased. You had just stepped out of the shower, still naked, as you met Jeonghan's eyes through the mirror.

He was looking at you with soft eyes, a little smile playing on his lips as he leaned against the doorframe that led to your shared bedroom.

"And who said I haven't?" Jeonghan mused, earning an affectionate eyeroll from you. You felt normal, just bigger, rounder - especially in the stomach and breasts, but that was a given. Your body was changing, growing, and it made sense why your husband would stare lovingly.

He always told you that you were glowing, but you're pretty sure it's just him developing dad-brain. So, you shake your head, continuing your after-shower routine as your husband watched.

But it wasn't long before his self-control waned and he came up closer, grabbing your full hips as you combed your hair. His hands rubbed, massaging your hips, your waist, up to your breasts - giving them a squeeze. "So pretty," he praised, and your cheeks flushed as he dipped lower towards your round stomach.

When he lifted your belly softly, his arms flexed, holding the weight you carried daily now as his kid grew and his eyes softened even more.

"I love you."

JOSHUA - Ever since you got pregnant, you couldn't get your husband's hands off of you. He had become glued to you like your own personal bodyguard who had to have his hand on you somewhere, anywhere, at all times.

You wanted to go grocery shopping? Joshua had his large hand on your lower back, slowing his steps to your adorable waddle as you insisted on pushing the cart yourself.

You were washing dishes after a lovely dinner for the two of you? He's drying the clean dishes right next to you, his biceps brushing your shoulder every few seconds like your personal bubble was his.

He'd always accompany each touch with a compliment, telling you how beautiful you were, how much he loved you. It had seemed your pregnancy had only made him more smitten as time went on, and you were definitely not complaining. Especially when he'd twirl you around in his arms, his hands coming down to your stomach to caress as he pointed his next compliments to his child with soft eyes.

He'd tease your kid that they needed to be nice to you while you carried them, and like your kid could hear their dad, you felt your baby stretch into your ribs. "Oh, already doing the complete opposite, they must be yours." You teased, and Joshua rolled his eyes with a happy grin.

"More like they're like their mama, stubborn." He bantered, and his hands lowered, lifting your growing stomach with ease. His forearms flexed, and the weight on your hips eased, letting you melt back into your husband's chest with a happy noise.

"If I recall correctly, I'm pretty sure you told me you liked my stubbornness." You mused, and Joshua's little scoff of laughter tickled your neck before he gave the curve of your ear a soft peck.

"Yeah, and I will be lucky if my kid inherits anything of yours. Whether it's stubbornness or just your love, I'll love you both with all my heart."

JUN - Jun's love language had always been acts of service.

It didn't matter if he came home from a long, exhausting day at work; the moment he saw you, he'd drag you onto the couch with him, your feet pulled onto his lap, and ask you to tell him about your day as he started to massage the curve in your foot.

That was just who your husband was. Caring to a default, and he'd become even more doting when you two had found out you were pregnant.

Suddenly, it went from foot massages to him insisting he could take care of the chores. He'd already taken out the trash, you had deemed that a "boy job", and as you moved into your third trimester, he had become more stubborn in taking on your chores too.

It was like you were some delicate flower when you only felt like an elephant with how much your body changed as your baby grew, and Jun was nothing but loving every step of the way.

He never complained when you stole his pillow to use under your back when you two slept; he never said anything when you woke him up at three am, craving something that brought you out of your sleep and close to tears until he gave you a soft kiss, letting you know he'd get it for you, no matter what time it was and how much sleep he had.

He'd do anything for you, so when he notices that you hold your stomach every now and then, a little discomfort displaying on your face, he turns to the internet to figure out what's going on.

He finds his answer in the first link he's shown, and his eyes soften as he realizes just how much you had to deal with, even when he tried to make everything easier for you.

So, he does his best to help more.

It becomes routine for him to seek you out whenever you two are home, or even when you two are out and about - he'd simply bring you close, kissing your shoulder briefly before he picked up the extra weight in your stomach with his two hands.

It never failed to make him grin as you melted in his arms, sighing in relief as he held you, and he would stay like that for as long as you'd let him before you two continued with whatever you had been doing prior, but not before you gave him another kiss as a thank you.

HOSHI - "Just five more minutes," you sighed. Your eyes were closed as you spoke the words, your body tilting more into Hoshi's as you held onto his forearms. You could feel the veins that ran down to his wrists, and the way his forearms flexed along with his biceps as he held you close.

You could probably fall asleep just like this, standing up, with Hoshi holding your stomach. It's a relief you didn't know you needed during your pregnancy until your husband was telling you he wanted to try something out.

Supposedly, one of his friends mentioned this trend for pregnant women, and Hoshi all but perked up like a dog hearing their favorite words.

If there was anything, anything at all, to help you during your pregnancy, he was going to do it. He'd scoured the internet for tips for new parents, he read baby books in between work, and when he was home, he cornered you like you were going to run from him as he gave you a look that made you raise your eyebrows sceptically.

But as soon as his strong arms wrapped around you, holding your stomach, and letting the dull ache from your lower back disappear? You were putty in his hands.

"We could do more than five minutes, my love," Hoshi said softly, right by your ear, and a shiver ran up your spine as you felt his fingers flex, squeezing you affectionately. "I can do this all night, I mean- you've been doing this every day for the last six months. Let me take over for you."

WONWOO - When you approach your husband, Wonwoo's entire attention reverts to you. His eyes soften, taking in your lovely smile, the glow that he liked to claim was there way before you ever got pregnant, and then finally to your growing stomach.

His heart skips a beat, fluttering in his chest with a warmth that leaves him lost for words, before his eyes flicker back up to yours. "Hello, my love," He hums, and you get a kiss before you can greet him back. "What can I do for you?"

Ever since you got pregnant, Wonwoo had been adamant about providing for your needs even more than he already did. He was the one to go out at any time of the day for whatever your pregnancy craved. He was the one to bring your legs up to his lap, massaging your muscles until you were putty in his hands. He was the one he wanted you to turn to for anything, regardless of whether you were pregnant or not.

So, when you ask him to hold you with flushed cheeks, he can't help but smirk at such an easy request.

"Of course, my love." But before he gets the chance to reach for you, you're shaking your head, a giggle escaping as you move his hands lower.

"No, hold me here, my love."

And then it clicked, and his smile grew as he stepped closer to you.

"Oh?" He hummed, and his hands caressed your growing stomach with soft rubs, lowering until he could lift the extra weight with ease, and the relief was immediate for you. Your lips parted with a cute little "oh!" and your gasp came out before you could stop it.

His large hands barely had to flex to hold your stomach, and he watched with an amused grin as your shoulders sagged in happiness, your hands resting on his chest as you shuffled closer to your husband.

"Just for a few minutes, please." You were so cute asking him with wide blinks, and he couldn't help but lean down, kissing you with a slow kiss that had you melting even further into him.

"Anything for you, my love. I can do this all day."

WOOZI - Woozi was hovering. He was always hovering around you ever since the two of you found out you were expecting. It was like he was in fight or flight mode, trying to be there for you as a partner, but not sure how he could help you the best.

He seemed to have a permanent furrowed brow, his lips set in determination for something you weren’t entirely sure of. It was like he waiting for something, anything, with a tense body that actually distracted you from the way the baby inside your stomach was stretching its little limbs against your rib cage.

Motherhood, how magical.

Seven months along, and you felt like a whale. Your breasts were fuller, your stomach was rounder, your hips ached with your lower back - and there was your husband, hovering like you might let out a warrior cry before running away to leave him dazed and confused. It made you snort, rolling your eyes affectionately as you folded the clean laundry.

“If you’re going to be a helpful baby daddy, at least make yourself useful.” You teased, and your lover blinked, staring at you, dumbfounded for a moment.

“Huh?”

“Come here, make your hands useful for me.” You nodded your head in one direction, beckoning him closer as you folded a towel. You figured he’d either help you fold or help you put away the folded laundry. What you didn’t expect was for him to stand behind you and easily lift your stomach, instantly relieving you of the weight you carried every day now. “Oh!”

“Does this help? I saw it somewhere.”

Your head tilted back, your body naturally leaning back towards him. “Oh my god, never let me go.”

“Never dreamt of it.”

MINGHAO - You were grumpy, and you honestly didn't even mean to be. It was just everything.

You felt bloated, a little hot, a little overstimulated, a little tired, and a lot hungry. Pregnancy had been smooth sailing until you reached your third trimester, but after that, you felt a little crazy. You were ready to get a full night's sleep without a mountain of pillows to assist. Or better yet, if you didn't have to waddle everywhere. You felt like a penguin about to go exploring just to make it to your kitchen.

And you had decided no one could ever complain about back pain other than you. Your child was something you truly felt was testing your body as its own personal martial arts studio, or gymnasium, and you were ready for it all to be done.

The little app you had for your pregnancy said it was the size of a large cantaloupe, and you could feel it. Your hips and lower back ached, and that was just from standing still. So, yeah, you were grumpy, and your husband seemed to be getting the brunt of your sassiness as he greeted you with a smile.

"How are my beautiful loves?" He hummed, stepping into the kitchen to get closer to you.

Normally, you'd match his grin, give him a kiss, but all you could do was pout, stopping him in his tracks as you gave him a pointed look. "Don't even play with me right now."

Your husband was lucky you had missed the way he bit his lip to hold in his laugh, or you'd surely explode in your feelings.

Pregnancy, in his eyes, had made you even cuter than before, but he might be biased since it was his kid you were carrying. "Tell me what you need, let me take care of you." Hao mused, and you couldn't help but melt a little at his words, even if your pout remained the same.

"If you could carry your kid the rest of the way, I'd appreciate it." You didn't mean to be sarcastic, but your emotions had been a whirlwind since you woke up, and it came out before you could stop it.

Luckily for you, Minghao was your husband, and his smile only grew fonder as he moved closer. He took your words literally, and his hands wrapped under your stomach, easily lifting it, and relieving your little aches as he gave a little laugh. "Always. You just need to ask, my love, and I'll do anything for you."

Only your husband could turn your mood around in less than three minutes.

MINGYU - It has become somewhat of a routine between you and Mingyu when it was time for you to get up from wherever you may have been sitting previously.

Whether you were relaxing on the couch in the living room or simply getting out of the car, it had become increasingly more difficult now that you were pregnant. You felt bloated more towards your third trimester, and it took a lot of energy to move if you didn't get some kind of assistance.

It wasn't that you were unable to do things on your own; it was more that your face would pinch into a little wince whenever you did. The weight of your kid pressing into your ribs or back is enough to make you suck in a sharp breath and for your husband to almost insist you spend the rest of your pregnancy bedridden.

Which, if anyone knew you, that would be ridiculous - so you came up with a compromise.

Your husband, Mingyu, would become your anchor. He was always hovering around you anyway, mumbling about "need to protect both my loves." So, it became instinctive to reach for your husband's hand when getting around.

You still waddled and still insisted you could do it yourself, but nevertheless, your hand would go to his, and you were rewarded with kisses to your temple once you were standing on your own two feet.

"I know you can, but let me take care of you anyway," Mingyu murmured, and before you could rebut, his warm hands slid around your waist and underneath your stomach, lifting the weight from your hips and giving you further relief.

All sass left your body as you sighed, relaxing into your man's strong arms with a dreamy smile that matched his. "Fine, but don't let me go then."

"I wasn't planning to."

DK - Computer? How do I get my very pregnant wife out of the bathtub? She won't leave.

DK was kneeling on the right side of the bathtub, eyebrows furrowed with slight worry as he watched you. You had been in this tub of water for an hour, and you were pruning. "C'mon, Baby, get out, and I'll dry you off. Any longer, our baby is going to turn into a mermaid."

This made you snort, your lips curving up as your eyes flickered to the swell of your stomach poking out of the water. You were eight months pregnant and bath time was the only time the small ache of carrying his kid was relieved off your back and hips.

You waddled, you slept with eight pillows, and you were tired. You honestly weren't sure if you could lift yourself up, which made another round of sleepy giggles erupt from you as you stared at your husband with love. "Baby, I might just sleep here."

You watched with amusement as Seokmin brought his phone out, typing into the little screen with another furrow of his eyebrows, and you snorted at his search.

"Help me?" You asked with a grin, and Dokyeom was already snaking his hands around your hips, using a firm but gentle touch to help you. He didn't care if his clothes got wet; he was always happy to be your anchor as you leaned on him.

When you stood up, his hands naturally caressed your tummy, still in awe at how strong you were to carry his kid. And when he lifted your tummy a little, carrying the extra weight, your lips parted.

"Oh!" Dokyeom found a new favorite pastime for you, other than bath time, and he was perfectly happy with it - he wanted the extra practice before he carried his kid everywhere anyway.

SEUNGKWAN - It was no surprise that the moment your husband came home and saw you, he'd launch into a rant about his day like he'd been dying to since the moment he had to leave your side. You and he were truly best friends and lovers all wrapped up in one. You were the first person he wanted to tell anything to, and you felt the same.

It was a routine at this point that if one of you came home, you'd drag the other onto the sofa, giving a play-by-play of the day with the utmost seriousness. You got the gossip, the missed funny moments, everything - and when you became pregnant? Well, now it was a party of three.

But instead of your husband leading you to the couch like normal, he'd simply drop everything as soon as he crossed through the door and dropped to his knees before you. It had progressed to you barely getting a kiss in greeting before your baby, who snuggled into your ribs with a little annoyance for your comfort.

Seungkwan would simply kiss your growing stomach, his eyes sparkling as he flickered from your tummy to you, then back to your fuller stomach. "Have you been being nice to your mom while I was away?" He would hum, and your eyes rolled affectionately as you fought to keep your smile at bay.

"No, your little tangerine actually has been tiresome since you left - I think they know you're gone, they get restless." You teased, and Seungkwan's eyes sparkled brighter, his lips pressing another kiss to your tummy as he shook his head.

"Well, we can't have any of that." His hands move under your stomach, lifting the extra weight and relieving your hips of the little ache you got from carrying his child throughout the day. You sighed happily, and Seungkwan grinned up at you. He was still on his knees, carrying your stomach gently, and his hum was soft as he launched into his day.

He told his growing family all about his workday right in the middle of the entrance way, never once letting go of your stomach as he talked more to your belly than to you.

Eventually, you three would make it to the sofa, but for now, if he could hold you both, he didn't mind the bite in his knees as he kneeled on the wooden floors, his heart full and warmed with love.

VERNON - You don't even realize Vernon is watching you until he's suddenly right behind you.

You're seven months pregnant with his child, and it's beginning to take a toll. Mornings have become more difficult to roll out of bed. You've got at least six pillows tucked into you to try and ease the discomfort your lower back pings to you, but it's still there. It's become this little ache that accompanies you even when you waddle throughout the house.

Yes, waddle. Vernon says you don't waddle, but his opinion is now irrelevant while you carry his kid.

That's why you don't even notice him step behind you as you clean off the table. Dinner was done, and Vernon had insisted you rest while he cleaned up everything, but old habits die hard, and you're a little winded after a few swipes of the table.

"I told you to rest," Vernon murmurs softly and gently, and you're about to retort back before his hands slide around your round stomach, lifting the weight and immediately rendering you speechless.

"Oh!" You're mouth drops, and the back ache is momentarily gone as your husband holds you up.

It makes Vernon grin to see you like this, and he kisses your shoulder as you melt back into his body. "That's it, let me take care of you, Mamas."

DINO - Ever since you got pregnant, your husband has been online more than usual.

It's usually accompanied by a furrowed brow and multiple looks in your direction, but you figured he was trying to learn as much as he could about being a first-time parent. All you cared about were the actual doctor visits and the little app on your phone that told you your baby was the size of a mango today.

The thought was hard to process, but it made you motivated to eat fruit when you saw the message, so you found yourself pacing through your kitchen. You brought out fruit, the cutting board, your favorite knife, which you believed could probably cut through anything, and got to work making two bowls.

And it wasn't because you were eating for two. You rolled your eyes at the silly thought, your lips curving into a grin before you flickered your eyes to your left, where your husband had followed you.

That was the other thing: if your husband wasn't at work, he seemed to be your personal shadow, following you into each room, regardless of whether he had been in the middle of doing something.

You could feel him approach quietly, and you hummed as you put the same fruit equally between the two bowls. "I'm making you one, too."

You can hear him set his phone on the counter, his body coming closer from behind, before you feel his lips brush the back of your neck. "I saw something online-" and just as you go to ask him for more details, his large hands slide under your stomach, lifting the extra weight with ease.

The relief to your lower back is instant, and the knife falls onto the cutting board as you gasp. You can feel yourself melt in relief, leaning more into your husband as Dino grins against your shoulder.

"Does that feel good?"

Your little happy noise you make with an eager nod makes him hold you closer, his smile growing fonder by each second that passes.

대박 - you made it to the end!

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my bts mstrlst - svt mstrlst

[haologram]

everything we are ᯓ h.vc [m]

— synopsis: following an abrupt break-up that has lasted a year, you find yourself standing in front of the very apartment where your past lover sleeps, and where you once used to call home. two birthdays, several holidays and one sullen, teary 'could've been' anniversary later — you're ready to face him and ask the unexpected. – genre: exes to ??? ; angst, smut, fluff. — pairing: ex-boyfriend!hansol vernon chwe x fem!reader – word count: 12k. — rating: 18+. minors do not interact! – warnings: seungkwan plot device! lots of tears, breakups, mentions of food/eating, mentions of alcohol. smoking (weed), swearing, kissing, exes being exes that can't let go. smut warnings: unprotected sex (yeah yeah don't do it), pet names (babe, baby, etc.) ; brief oral/fingering (f.rec), dirty talk (sorry), body worship, slight breeding kink, ruined orgasms, clitplay, creampie. that's about it i think. enjoy? — what to listen to: iris - the goo goo dolls ; the only heartbreaker - mitski ; supercut - lorde ; if you leave me - seventeen ; winterbreak - muna ; perdoname - yoskar sarante ; beg for you (remix) - charli xcx, rina sawayama, a.g. cook, vernon. – author's note: [special thank you to @diamonddaze01, @hannieoftheyear + @ikeukiss for beta-reading most of this before i finished it off tonight!] he's bald! he's bald and he's falling in love with people who have hair! as previously stated, i could not finish off 2025 without thee hansol vernon chwe making his debut on my blog, and i'm incredibly excited to dedicate this one to none other than @sailorsoons ! i'm not going to get sappy because i'm not good at it and i know you don't like it, but please know i love you and i hope your birthday was a blast. here's to you, to 2025 and hansollie's debut on haologram! happy birthday, halali! ♡

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” 

You don’t have an answer for him; your hand clenched inside your jacket pocket, the other gripping the handle of your umbrella. You look up at him from under the rim of the pink shade, his eyes boring into your face. He looks upset, but perhaps...not with you. 

Maybe the circumstances. 

“I’m not sure,” you mumble back, your throat burning as you step back slightly. 

He stays silent as he averts his gaze to your boots, muddy from the rain and possibly jumping in every puddle available. You always liked doing that when the rain was light, and it usually ended up with him offering you a pair of sweatpants when you got home. 

Or, to his apartment. It’s not home to you, not anymore. 

He doesn’t say anything as he moves to the side, opening the door wider for you to step inside. You’re seemingly rooted in place until he turns his head to face the inside of his apartment. Slightly messy, with blankets and sweaters strewn everywhere. Candles burning on his coffee table fill the place you once called home with smells of salted caramel, vanilla and a hint of cedarwood. 

You’re quiet as you slip your feet out of your pink rain boots, your mismatched yellow and purple socks doing nothing to keep you warm from the freezing tile of his foyer. You shake off the umbrella, wrapping it closed and leaning it against the brick of his building. 

“No one will take it, right?”  “You know no one will.” 

You shove your hand in your pocket as you duck into his apartment, feeling the sting of tears prick at your eyes as you look around his living room. He’s got his journal open on the coffee table, the list of films you promised you’d watch together displayed in his handwriting. Smudges of blue and splats of ink from what you presume to be tears cover the page. 

The Netflix account you once shared is paused forty minutes into Mary and The Witch’s Flower. 

“I thought we said—”  “We said a lot of things, let’s not go down that rabbit hole.” 

You suck in a breath, nodding as he shuts the door. You hear the lock click, before hearing him skirt into the kitchen. 

“Drink?”  “Any soju?” 

A scoff is heard, before the familiar clinking of the green bottles you know he hasn’t touched and possibly been sitting since you left. Hansol never did like to drink alone. 

Even if it meant drowning in every sinking thought he had about you. 

He comes out of the kitchen with the bottled gripped between his knuckles, and a bottle of juice in his other hand. It’s new, and it’s one of your favorites. One that he hates. 

“Force of habit, huh?”  “I guess.” 

You inch towards the couch, the Persian rug beneath your feet soft and cushiony. You remember buying it with him, browsing a website he’d gotten from Seungkwan and buying three things while stoned out of your mind. The tiger blanket draped across the couch was one of the three, and a personalized cushion with your initials was the other. 

That was nowhere to be found. 

You perch on the edge of the couch, suddenly feeling hot as he sets the drinks on the coffee table. He still smells the same, soft aftershave and cotton deodorant. 

Cotton deodorant you used to buy for him, in bulk at Costco. 

He had half a stick on the vanity before you left. He’s had to have bought more since. 

He’s almost too close as he opens the bottles, flicking the caps onto the table and leaning back into the couch. Your fingers brush the sweating neck of the soju bottle as you grab for it, cold and slippery. He takes it from you abruptly, a bit of it spilling down his hand as he shakes his head. 

“Wrong one.” 

You look at the bottle in his hand, his fingers just barely covering the word Fresh scrawled on the label. Your cheeks heat as you nod, grabbing for the other one. 

Yogurt. 

“Do you need a glass?”  “No, I’m okay.” 

He hums, picking at the label on his bottle with his ringed forefinger. He doesn’t press play on the movie; he doesn’t move to comfort any sort of awkward situation. Hansol knows you’ll speak when you’re ready. 

“What’s the movie about?”  “The kid’s a witch.”  “Oh, cool.”  “Yep.” 

Silence. 

Agonizing, excruciating, debilitating silence. 

“Do you hate me?”  “What?” 

His eyes are wide as he quickly faces you; your eyes glued to the burning flame of the salted caramel candle on his coffee table. You bought that one. You bought it at a home goods store, and you remember scowling at him when he raised an eyebrow at you when you beelined for it – you'd told him you’d just wanted to get new pillows for the bed. 

Pillows you left behind. 

“Do you hate me, Hansol? I’d hate me?”  “I could never hate you.” 

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around the bottle of soju. He sighs, setting his down on the coffee table before running a hand through his hair. Or lack thereof, he’s buzzed it off since – chocolate brown hair you’d run your fingers through before bed or swipe out of his eyes when he was too concentrated on Mario Kart. 

He looks good. 

He looks...tired. 

“I could never hate you.” He repeats, and suddenly, the air feels thicker around you. Everything feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, your chest tight as you force yourself to look up at him. His eyes are rimmed with unshed tears, your jaw dropping slightly as you inch forward. 

He looks away, wiping his eyes quickly before clearing his throat. 

“You did what you thought was best. I can’t hate you for taking care of yourself, that’s what you’re supposed to do.” He mumbles thickly, shrugging his shoulders as he traces the spout of the bottle. You follow his fingers carefully, your heart sinking at the slight tremble in them. 

“I’m sorry I disturbed you tonight, Hansol.” You murmur back, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans, still damp from sprinkles of the rain. He shakes his head, sighing. You’re both staring at the condensation dripping on his coffee table. 

His coffee table that you bought together. His bottle of juice that he’s never going to drink. His television, and the remote that you always changed the batteries to because he would forget. 

His apartment. Speckled with you, everywhere. Everywhere you looked, you saw yourself. 

“You didn’t.”  “I did.” 

“Don’t tell me how I feel, Y/N. I’m so tired of everyone telling me how I feel, or how I’m supposed to feel, or whatever. I’m human, too. I can feel whatever I want. And you didn’t disturb me, okay? I wouldn’t have opened the door if I didn’t want to.” 

Your chest aches at the sound of your name from his lips, eyes wide as you look at him; his own still trained on the condensation gathering on his coffee table. You watch him as his eyes follow the drops sliding down the bottles, your tongue darting out slowly to wet your lips. 

“Why...did you?”  “Why did I what?”  “Open the door.” 

“It’s storming. You only like rain when it’s light.” He whispers to himself, before glancing at you. “You still...right? You still don’t like thunder?” 

It’s only been a year, but he acts like it’s been an eternity. 

Maybe it has been. 

Maybe it’s been a millennia for him, as it has been for you. 

“Right,” you nod, picking at your nail polish as your leg starts bouncing. He used to stop you – when he was your boyfriend. He’d splay his hand on your kneecap; his thumb would rub gentle circles into the side before giving it a squeeze. You found solace in the touch. 

Now? He’s more than a cushion and a half away, and the space between you is hot; it’s burning hot. And you so badly want to close the gap, to feel his hand on your knee and feel the comfort of him spread through your body. 

In any way. You’d allow it in any way. 

“It’s been a year. Today.” You clear your throat, and he closes his eyes – folding his hands in his lap as he leans back into the couch. He nods before resting his head on the back of his couch and opening his eyes to look at you. 

“...Is this where we do the whole ‘how have you been’ bullshit?” 

There is a lilt of a smile in his voice, but it doesn’t show on his face. You shake your head, shrugging your shoulders. 

“I don’t know.”  “You don’t know how you’ve been, or you don’t know if—” 

“I miss you, Hansol.” You blurt, wincing inwardly as you shove your hands under your thighs; your fingers cold from the bottle and the rain and the way all the blood in your body rushes to your chest to aid the fire of anxiety in growing. You shift, wondering how long you could stare at the coffee table before your eyes wore holes into it. 

“...Is that why you’re here?” 

You suck in a shaky breath, opting to close your eyes. If you’re going to cry, you don’t want to see his reaction to it. You don’t want to see the flame in his eyes when he tells you to get out, to leave – that you’re too little, too late. 

That he doesn’t want you anymore, and you’ll have to live with the regret of leaving him for the sake of nothing for the rest of your life. 

“I know I don’t get to say that. I know it’s my fault. I left, and I...I’m sorry, Hansol. I’m sorry that I was a coward and I jumped ship when things started getting serious. I was a douche, and you don’t have to miss me. You don’t have to feel anything, I just...” Your tongue darts out to lick your lips, the salty taste of a stray tear coating the tip. 

“I wasn’t even in the neighborhood. I was six blocks away; I’d gotten coffee with Seungkwan. He told me you still lived here, and that you were good. That you were doing well.” 

“And you wanted to...what? Check and make sure for yourself? Ruin it, if I was?” 

There’s no poison in his voice. Hansol has always been diplomatic, respectful. Sometimes you wondered if there was a single bone in his body that ever felt rage. The urge to make everything look like a war zone, the subtle need to want to destroy every relationship he’s ever built from the ground up. 

Sometimes, you feel that kind of rage. 

“I don’t know,” you murmur, tightly squeezing your eyes shut as you feel him shift on the other edge of the couch. A roll of thunder is heard outside, your fingers gripping the fabric of the cushion beneath your thighs as it fades. 

You don’t catch the way he instinctively reaches for you, before sinking back into the cushion. 

“I don’t know what I wanted to do. I don’t know what I’m doing here.” 

He hums, and you sniffle. One of your hands reaches to swipe at your face, wiping the tears on your jeans as you face away from him. You open your eyes, looking at the wall through the blur of tears. All the frames on the wall are still the same, and they hold all of your pictures together. Your face is still cemented in the memories, and you wonder how he felt looking at those pictures every single day. 

“Do you want to talk about everything?” He asks softly, and you glance over your shoulder to see him resting his cheek on his palm. His eyes are just as gentle and understanding as they’ve always been. 

As warm as they’ve always been. 

“It could help you...uh, figure yourself out.” 

Help you figure yourself out. 

“What is there to talk about? I left for no reason.”  “Don’t do that. You left to find yourself. You left to take care of you.” 

“And it was selfish,” you scoff, and he clicks his tongue. 

“You think so?”  “I know so.” 

“I think it would’ve been worse if I kept begging you to stay, knowing you wouldn’t have been happy here. I mean, look around,” he gestures to the apartment. There is so much of you, and so much of him. “Everything in this apartment was a display of what our relationship was. Everything was you and me, me and you and us. It was never just Y/N, and it was never just Hansol. I could not, in good faith, keep you here if it was me that was suffocating you. It was not fair.” 

“You could never suffocate me,” you mumble to yourself, feeling a few tears trickle down your face as you speak.  

It’s silent for a moment. 

“What about you, Sol?” 

The nickname slips from your bitten lips, and he sighs. 

“What about me, Y/N?”  “If the tables were turned. If I had begged the way you did, would you have stayed?” 

It’s not a fair question. You know it’s not, and you can tell he thinks it’s not as his eyes shut, and he silently nods his head. He tongues his cheek, running a hand over his buzzed hair and down his face. 

“That’s not a fair question.”  “I know.” 

You nod, choosing to refocus your gaze on the coffee table. There was a sticker you’d peeled off an apple a few weeks before you left, still stuck to the table leg. It looks glossed over, like it’d come unstuck and somehow been put back. Glue, maybe. Clear nail polish. 

“Why didn’t you change the apartment?”  “In case you ever found your way back.” 

There was a hint of hope in the back of his throat, and you realize that he’s wearing the same hoodie he wore the day you left. Baby blue, over a white t-shirt. You bought it for him, just a few weeks before you decided that things were too overwhelming. That the idea of forever was too similar to the feeling of impending doom, that seeing him so irrevocably in love with you when you couldn’t even understand the ache in your chest when you looked at yourself in the mirror...it felt unfair. It felt unfair to lose yourself in him. 

It felt unfair to have the goodness of Hansol’s heart in the palm of your hand. 

And it was unfair to get to break it into pieces as he knelt in front of you that very day, his forehead pressed against your thighs int he very same jeans you’re wearing now. The way his tears soaked through the material the same way the rain had, and how you bit back your own sobs as you carded your fingers through his hair that night – before untangling his arms from around your knees and walking out of the navy grey door you wish would open so you could bolt out right now. 

“If I beg now—”  “You never have to beg for anything. Not from me.” 

You felt your throat ache as you forced yourself to swallow, holding back a sob as he sighed quietly. 

“Can I...talk about what it was like not having you around?” His voice is tentative, almost like he was talking to a deer he didn’t want to spook. You nod in silence, letting the tears drip onto your pants freely as you continue to stare at the coffee table. 

“I still go by the grocery list you left on the fridge. Eggs, bread, strawberry jam and that gross fucking juice.” 

His words are enough to get a snorted laugh out of you, your hand reaching to dig into your pocket for the napkin you’d taken from the café you’d been at earlier. You wipe the tip of your nose with it, shaking your head. 

“I haven’t used pots or pans. I bought a crappy set from the dollar store to get myself through the days alone. I haven’t used the silverware, but I haven’t polished it either...so it’s just gathering dust in the drawer. I haven’t slept in the bedroom, either. I usually sleep here, on the couch. You left a tube of lipstick on the bathroom counter, and your shampoo is still in the shower caddy.” 

He nods, and you can feel the heat of his gaze leave your face. You peek at him through the corner of your eye, seeing him looking behind you – at the wall of photos. 

“I bought a sample size of your perfume, so the bathroom would still smell like it did in the morning when you would leave for work.” 

You can feel your chest ache; almost like someone had reached into your ribcage and squeezed your heart so tight, it could burst in their hand. 

“I refill the same disposable soap you bought the week you left. The detergent is still the same cotton scent, because you said that the other scents made your head hurt. I bought a new air freshener a few months ago but went back to return it because it was Febreze, and you don’t like Febreze unless it’s the Linen & Sky scent. I replaced the baking soda in the refrigerator, but the only food in there is what I mentioned earlier. Eggs, bread, strawberry jam.” 

“And the juice,” you utter, and you can sense a dull ache start to thump at your temples. You bring your fingers up to your face, rubbing slow circles. Your eyes are low as they flicker up to the wall next to the door – his caps are hung up in the exact order they had been when you left. His navy New York Yankees, blue Texas Rangers, black Chicago White Sox and a pink one he rarely wore unless the two of you were going somewhere together. 

It had your initials embroidered on the bill. 

“I left everything exactly the same. I wanted it to still feel like home to you, if you ever came back.” 

You turn to face him, seeing his eyes brimming with tears as he clears his throat, but interrupt him before he can speak. 

“I carry a Polaroid of us in my wallet,” you start, running a hand over your face as you bring your knees to your chest, leaning back fully into the couch. “I carry a Polaroid of us, and I would show it to guys when they asked me if I was dating anyone. I couldn’t bring myself to delete any of our photos, so I put them all in a locked folder and forced myself to never look at it. I’ve eaten so much peanut butter, and it doesn’t even taste good. I hate it, actually. I hate peanut butter.” 

He covers his mouth with his fingers, pursing his lips so as to not let his laughter out. You feel a smile try to fight its way onto your lips, but you swallow it down as you pick at a loose thread on the couch. You used to snip them when you still lived here. You’re sure if you reach just under the middle cushion, the gold pair of sewing scissors would still be tucked away safely. 

“I left, and I was miserable. I was miserable because I was doing everything to let go of something...of someone I was so sure I didn’t deserve. I was trying to erase you from my life, but you were already missing. I would order too much food and wonder what to do with the leftovers. I would see a poster for a new indie movie I thought you’d like, and I’d go to text you, typing in the message box before I realized I couldn’t just do that. It wasn’t fair.” 

“I saw the bubble pop up a lot,” he confesses softly. You must look confused, because he clears his throat before shrugging, “I once opened the chat while I was in the grocery store. I was going to ask you if we needed anything else. You were typing and then you stopped. I cried in the dry cereal aisle, a little girl called me a wimp, and I left without groceries. It’s kind of funny, now that I think about it.” 

“I’m sorry.”  “That’s the last time you say that to me. I’m sick of hearing it.” 

His eyes are serious, no longer glazed with tears. You nod slowly, before you run your tongue over your lips for a third time. It’s suddenly too dry in his apartment, and you feel your skin start to itch as you clear your throat. 

“I miss you, Sol.” 

You feel your eyes flood, a fat teardrop splatting onto your hand. You wipe it off on your jeans, before sniveling one last time and pushing off the couch. 

“Thank you for listening, and for letting me in.” 

He nods silently, before standing up. He doesn’t move towards the door – instead beelining for what used to be your shared bedroom. You wipe at your eyes haphazardly, drying your hands of what few tears were left on the back of your jeans. You can hear him rooting around, and you opt to move towards the hallway mirror to check your reflection. 

In the corner of the mirror’s frame is a Polaroid of you and him. Your cheeks squished together, with your birthday scrawled in blue marker across the bottom in his handwriting. A lopsided heart follows the date. 

It’s been so many years since that photo. It feels like so long ago. 

He’s wearing the same blue hoodie, and your shoulders brave the same hot pink windbreaker. 

He’d spotted it at a thrift store, the windbreaker. And the jeans you have on. And the t-shirt you wear to bed, still sullied with the scent of his deodorant and his toothpaste stain that doesn’t come out no matter how many times you wash it. 

And you realize – that you are entangled. 

You are everything he is, and he is everything you are. You mirror one another – from the love of cinema to the way you find each other in every universe; whether it’s in a baby blue hoodie and a hot pink windbreaker, in bottles of Fresh and Yogurt soju, or in a pink cap with your initials embroidered on it and the locket he got you with his engraved. 

It burns the skin of your chest under your shirt. 

Your bedroom at your mother’s house is riddled with more of him – from the single love letter you took when you left, to the odd collection of his shirt and hoodies you’d stolen from him over the years. He picked the forest green paint on the walls a few summers ago, and he made you a shitload of tchotchkes to line the floating shelves he’d helped you put up. You’d escaped there when you left him a year ago. 

Only a few miles from him. 

From home. 

You bring your hand to your chest, feeling around for the gold locket and finding it twisted in your cleavage. It held two pictures – one of him as a baby, and one of you together. Close to your heart, close to your soul – you carried him. 

You would beg. God, you would beg. 

You would – if it meant you didn’t have to leave. If it meant you could leave your umbrella outside and know that Mrs. Kim next door would borrow it in the morning to get her newspaper before putting it back. You would beg on your hands and knees if it meant that Hansol wrapped his arms around you in this very moment, and let you breathe in the cotton and salted caramel and vanilla and everything he’s ever been. 

You would beg, plead, pray to whatever God was out there to feel the warmth of his lips against your forehead. To hear that he missed you, he misses you. To stay up well into the night watching Princess Mononoke on his iPad in the kitchen while you bicker about how bad he is at polishing the silverware. 

To lay in bed with him and count his eyelashes. To stuff a towel on the windowsill so you can open the window and breathe in the petrichor but not ruin the paint. To throw the duvet off the bed and run your hands under his shirt, likely stained with splatters of kimchi stew and the juice he fucking hates but drinks because it reminds him of the way you taste. 

But it’s much sweeter when he thinks of it that way, he told you once. It tastes a lot better when it’s on your lips. 

He loves that gross fucking juice when it’s lingering on your tongue. 

You sigh, finally looking at your face in the mirror. Hansol is standing behind you, brows slightly furrowed as he seemingly stares at the back of your head. You jump, your hand splaying on your chest as you suck in a breath too quickly. 

“You jerk, you scared me!” 

“I’ll wear a bell next time,” he rolls his eyes, before holding up something in the mirror. Purple with white flowers, yellow with cats – your socks. 

Ones you lost a year ago. 

“Where did you find those?”  “Mrs. Kim next door found them in her basket after she pulled her clothes from the dryer yesterday. She said she remembered you running in your underwear for the newspaper and you were wearing the purple ones.” 

Your eyes widen, “I’ve never run outside in my underwear! And I had shorts on that day!” 

“My boxers do not count as shorts,” he snorts, before holding them out to you. “Underwear is still underwear, no matter who wears it.” 

“Pft. Whatever.” You mutter before hesitating to take the socks. It could mean the end of whatever this was – you would have to stuff them in your pocket and walk towards his front door. You would have to turn his doorknob and hold onto the threshold of his apartment as you slipped your feet back into your wet rain boots. You would have to stand in his stoop as you shook out and opened your umbrella. 

You would have to look into his eyes and say goodbye. 

And for how long? 

How long will goodbye be this time? 

You reach behind you and carefully take the socks, your thumb brushing him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t react – only watching as you tuck the socks into the pocket of your windbreaker. His eyes return to the mirror, the Polaroid in the corner catching his attention. 

“I haven’t looked at that photo in so long,” he murmurs, stepping forward slightly. You can feel the heat of his body on your back, before nimble fingers pluck the photo from the corner of the frame. He looks like he’s in pain as he takes it, as if it hurts him to move anything that was there when you left. 

His thumb wipes dust off the photo, particularly off your face. You look at the mirror and see the perfect outline of the Polaroid, formed by the dust. You reach over and wipe it off, before wiping your hand on your jeans. 

I’m ready to come home. 

Please. Ask me to come home. 

He glances up at the motion, tonguing his cheek as he manages to place the picture back perfectly. 

“Nice try.” 

You don’t respond, but he doesn't say anything else, either. He simply stares at the photo before sighing softly. He looks hesitant, and you continue to let your eyes linger on the heart-shape of his smile in the photo as you mutter under your breath. 

“It’s still raining.”  “It’s only going to get worse. I’m surprised you agreed to go out with Seungkwan at all.” 

You nod, before your eyes flit back to the mirror. He’s not looking at the photo anymore – but at you. His eyes are full of emotions you can’t place as he scans the entirety of your face, as if he’s taking you in; as if he can’t believe you’re real. 

As if he can’t believe you’re home. 

“You changed your mascara.” 

You blink, opting to clear your throat as you nod, “how’d you know?” 

“The other one was kind of blue, I think. This one is brown.” He shrugs, “I liked the blue one.” 

“I’ll wear it more often,” you reply smoothly, before realizing it was one of the responses you’d give him when he complimented something you donned during your relationship. The hot pink windbreaker, the jeans you have on, OPI polish in Cos-mo Money on your fingernails. 

“I mean, I didn’t...ugh. Sorry.”  “Mhm.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, and you feel your throat dry as his eyes continue their path around your face. Eyes, nose... 

Lips. 

“I miss you,” he murmurs. 

You feel your back stiffen as he shifts away, hearing his footsteps round the edge of the couch. He doesn’t sit down – instead, blowing out his candles as he gathers the bottles of untouched soju and tucks the unopened juice under his arm as he speaks. 

“I miss you, and I don’t want you to leave. I understand if you have to, and I’ll be here when you’re ready to come home.” 

You’re rooted in place as you watch him slink away into the kitchen, hearing him pour the liquor down the drain. The clinking of the bottles is mocking you as he rinses them, before sliding them into the glass-only recycling bin. The sound of the refrigerator opening pains you, hearing the clunk of the heavy juice bottle being slid into the door before it shuts again. 

For what seems like the thousandth time today, you feel your eyes sting with tears. Your nose burns as you wait for him to slip out of the kitchen, your fingers toying with the zipper of your windbreaker before it gets the chance to start feeling too sticky on your skin. You tug it off, bunching it up and tossing it over the back of the couch before running your hands over your face in frustration. 

“Too sticky?” 

He appears next to you; eyes rimmed red as he sidles up. Or at least you wish he would – he's a good foot and a half away. The tip of his nose is pink, and there is a soft sheen on his cheeks – from tears finally spilling, you assume. 

It makes you ache. 

It makes your teeth hurt, the bittersweet pain of watching the man who you were sure put the stars in the sky every night feel like he had to act like you were a stranger while still yearning for you – just to make you comfortable. Why does he do that? 

How can he do that? 

“Hansol?”  “Mmh?” 

You should feel pathetic, selfish, with the way the words crawl up your throat so easily. 

“Can I stay?” 

He doesn’t respond; his eyes glancing at the clock above the television. It was one of the first things you bought together – at yet another thrift store. It had a badly painted version of Shrek and Donkey on the face; the numbers shakily smeared, but the two of you bought it for giggles. It became a statement piece; your friends always commented on how ugly the thing was in comparison to everything else in your home. 

But it was so you, and it was so Hansol. 

So, who cares? 

“Please. Please, let me stay, Sol.” 

“You don’t need to beg. This is your home.” He shakes his head, and you can feel your voice shaking before you can even get the words out. 

“You don’t have to miss me because I miss you. You don’t have to love me, because I love you. It’s not transactional.” 

You almost miss the way he rolls his eyes, before he glances down at you by the slope of his nose. His brow is raised, your skin prickling at the sight. 

“Don’t tell me how to feel.”  “I’m not.” 

He shrugs, perching on the back of the couch. His hands are hidden in the pocket of his hoodie, and the proximity is enough to make your knees grow weak – worsening as a hint of that soft aftershave floats up your nostrils. 

“You are. I’m allowed to miss you, you know. I’m allowed to think about you before I go to bed at three in the morning. I’m allowed to feel the twist in my stomach when I look at the toothbrush you left that I haven’t had the balls to replace, as if you’re still here. I’m allowed to still love you, after all this time.” 

“I was gone for a year. You should hate me.” You lament, absently picking at your cuticles, “an entire year, Hansol. Two birthdays, yours and mine. So many holidays so many special events...all over my own insecurities of not knowing who I was and if I was even worth your time.” 

He scoffs, shaking his head, “a year, ten years, a millennia. My heart has only ever been my own when you’re not the one holding it. Only then, could you have told me how to feel, and I still wouldn’t have listened to you. I will love you even if you do not love me, and even when you feel like you don’t deserve it. Even when you know who you are, and especially when you don’t. Because I know.” 

You feel your lip jut out in a pout as you try to hold back the pathetic sob in your throat, only to see his hand slip out of his pocket and stop you from picking at your skin. He’s warm, like he always is. 

He’s warm, inviting. Comforting. 

You look up cautiously, only to see the same gaze you’d been used to in the mornings just a year ago. Soft, gentle, loving. Unadulterated adoration. 

Glazed over with a hint of uncertainty. Of the present, of the future. 

Of us, and everything we are. Everything we could be, and everything we are. 

You look around the apartment, the weight of his hand on yours seeping into your bones. You take everything in again – the coffee table, the condensation left from the bottles, the remote. The television. The journal, with smudged blue ink. The candles. The hideous Shrek clock. 

Your coffee table that you bought together. Your television, and the remote you always changed the batteries to because he would forget. The journal you bought him at a bookstore while he was preparing to visit his sister in New York City. The candles you bought around the time of that trip, because they reminded you of him – though he smells like cotton and they smell like candy. 

The blanket you knitted yourself when he complained about being cold one evening – it took you four months, but it was well worth it to see the giddy grin on his face when you finally threw it over him before bed. The glass chess set that had been gathering dust in the corner for far longer than you’d been gone – one that you lost three games to him on, and sulked for hours as he peppered kisses all over your face. 

Your bright red coat hung by the window, one that you’d gone frantic looking for as the colder months crept in – right next to his black one. 

Coats you bought together. 

“Can I see the bedroom?” 

He nods silently, pushing off the back of the couch as you nervously intertwine your fingers. He says nothing, only squeezing your hand softly as he leads you down the hall – as if you’d never been there. He twists the doorknob open; the room illuminated only by the gloomy sky outside. 

You reluctantly let go of his hand to step inside, your fingers flexing at your sides as you walk on the soft beige carpet. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and watching you stare at the floating shelves on the walls. Everything is still where you left it – wooden plane models, a few Smiski figurines, a singular LEGO wildflower bouquet. A deck of tarot cards that you used to fool around with him on long nights, stoned and flipping your bar of selenite through your fingers while he actively asked what upright Lovers meant. 

The bed is made – the sage green sheets neatly tucked and folded under the mattress. The pillows are fluffed and stacked exactly the way you left them the day you went out the front door. Your pitcher of water had been refilled, and the glass wasn’t fogged over – it was new water. 

Clean water. 

The window is open, and a familiar pink towel is rolled carefully and stuffed onto the windowsill – the room smells of petrichor and your perfume. You spot the wall still lined with your shared collection of vinyl records, the player still holding Dizzy Up the Girl by The Goo Goo Dolls. 

He bought you that one the day before you left. You remember laying on the floor with him, your head on his stomach while his fingers ran through your hair. You had told yourself you wouldn’t cry that night – but you did anyway, at half past four in the morning as he lay asleep in your arms. 

Your fingers gently run over the needle, before you pick it up carefully and place it on one of the grooves. The first few notes of All Eyes on Me play through the small speakers before you lift the needle and stop it. You let it fall back into its slot in front of the record, before folding your hands behind your back and turning to face him – your eyes immediately dropping to the floor. 

“Are you ready to come home?” 

You look up wearily, feeling your breath catch in your throat. 

“I love you, Hansol.”  “That doesn’t answer my question, Y/N.” 

You move forward abruptly, circling your arms around his waist and tucking yourself into his chest. He reciprocates carefully, almost as if he’s afraid. 

His hands tremble slightly as they ghost over your back, your own fisting the back of his hoodie as you press your face into the fabric. You feel his cheek rest on the top of your head, hearing a sigh slip from his lips as his hand slides up your back. Your voice is muffled as you speak into his chest, but you know he can hear you just fine. 

Hansol has always understood you, deeper than words. 

“I have to pick some stuff up from my mom’s.”  “Y/N. Answer the question.” 

“I’m ready to come home, Sol.” You murmur, before feeling the tips of his fingers move your hair away from your neck. He smooths it down your back with one hand, the other swiping stray tendrils from your forehead. You look up at him, resting your chin on his chest as he pads his thumbs over your cheeks. 

“I hate it when you cry. It makes my stomach hurt.” 

His honesty makes you snort, and you struggle not to roll your eyes as he continues to caress your face. He runs his thumbs over your brows, across your eyelids, down your cheeks... 

On your lips. 

“You cut your hair,” you whisper, and he nods. 

“I was having one of those moments. Like when girls give themselves bangs because they need to feel in control of something,” he shrugs, before his eyes light up slightly. “Didn’t you bleach—” 

“Shut up. You promised me we wouldn’t talk about it after it happened. Plus, you look like Buzz Lightyear. Leave me alone.” 

“I’ll have you know that being called Buzz Lightyear is actually a compliment,” he gloats, making you huff. 

“Yeah, because being compared to a delusional space cowboy is the way to go.”  “You did not just call him a delusional space cowboy, bro.”  “You did not just call me bro, Hansol.” 

He bites back his smile, carding his fingertips through your hair. You close your eyes at the sensation, preening at the way it sends subtle shivers down your spine. 

“Call me babe, or something. Honey. I like doll, too, that was a good one.” You’re murmuring into his sweater, hoping you’ll open your eyes, and he won’t suddenly disappear. Your fingers reflexively tighten around the fabric of his sweater in your fists, and you hear the rickety laughter you’ve missed so much ring through the air. 

“I’m not going anywhere, just relax.” His fingers tug gently at the hair on the nape of your neck, making you scowl. Your lip juts out as you look up at him through damp lashes, eyes full of guilt. 

“Do you forgive me?” The words weigh on your tongue, and you feel the tiniest bit pathetic laying yourself out like this – but it’s Hansol. 

“Nothing to forgive, you know.”  “You don’t resent me at all?”  "Not one bit.” 

Your eyes scan his; narrowing at the hint of mischief in the depth of them as you pull back slightly. Your brows furrow, a scoff leaving your lips as you poke your finger into his chest. 

“You’re lying.” 

“I’m not. If anything...I just missed you.” He admits quietly, pressing his forehead to the top of your head before wrapping his arms around your neck and pulling you close, “I miss seeing you when I come home from work. I miss finding you passed out while folding laundry on the carpet. I miss holding you, like this.” 

He sighs, shaking his head as he tucks strands of your hair behind your ears before thumbing at your pierced earlobes. Small hoops loop through them – gold ones, a gift from him many years ago. 

“I miss sleeping next to you, in our bed. That couch has awful cushions, why did we buy it?” 

“...We didn’t. Seungkwan made us take it when you moved out, remember? Because we...you know. On it.” You glance up at him quizzically, his cheeks tinging pink as the memory settles in the forefront of his mind. He grimaces, baring his teeth slightly as he shudders. 

“I still can’t believe he didn’t knock.”  “It was his apartment, Sol.” 

“...And it was his couch, huh?” He snorts, glancing down at you. You nod, letting a smile paint your lips as your laugh slips out. He smiles at the sound, leaning slightly closer. His fingertips tug on your earrings lightly. 

“You missed me, right?” 

“Is this when you fake me out two or three times before you kiss me?” You raise a brow, palms clammy as he shrugs. 

“I could, or I couldn’t. Depends on your answer, and how much.” His face is ever so slightly closer to yours, and you never really know how to react to this side of him – now, or a year ago – despite being the only receiver of it for over half a decade. Everyone views him as someone so cool, so calm, so collected – no one really understands how easily flustered you get at his subliminally flirtatious comments, or the way he looks at you like he could eat you alive...or the way he eggs you on with his provocative insinuations and those stupid eyes of his until you fold like a house of cards. 

He’s an enigma of a man, a lover, a soul. 

“A lot.”  “A lot.”  “So much. I’ll get a billboard and make it say I love Hansol Chwe.” 

“Oh, you missed me so bad.” He chides, making you scoff as you dig your fingers into his sides lightly. He squeals, his hands grabbing your wrists and holding them away from his body, “don’t do that!” 

His eyes are considerably lighter than when you’d arrived – and you feel your cheeks grow warm as he lets your arms go, once more carding his fingers through your hair. 

“You’re still awful at detangling,” he murmurs, before cradling your face in his hands. “Horrible, awful, no good at detangling your hair.” 

“Yeah, well...” you huff, crossing your arms as you look away. “You kind of get used to someone else doing it for you.” 

He hums, “do you need to go get your stuff tonight?” 

You shake your head, glancing up at him with a small smile, “if I go tonight, the silverware won’t get polished. And we need that, so we can have dinner.” 

“I am not polishing silverware tonight.”  “Oh, yes, you are. I can’t imagine how dusty my forks are.” 

“Our forks, first of all. Second of all, we’re not polishing them tonight. We have other things to do,” he rolls his eyes, pressing a kiss to your hairline. 

You swallow the hitched breath in your throat, feigning nonchalance as you raise a brow at him. 

“Oh, do we? What other things, Hansol?” 

“The usual, you know.” He plants another kiss to your temple, “first order of business is actually ordering takeout.” 

“Takeout, he says. Have you got money for that?” You close your eyes as his lips brush the soft arch of your brows, your eyelids, forehead...the tip of your nose. “Last I checked, we were very frugal. Eggs, bread, strawberry jam.” 

“You made us expand our budget for your nasty ass juice. I think takeout can be an option tonight,” he mumbles against your cheek, and you feel your stomach start to flutter as he brushes his lips against it. “Second order of business is actually a shower. We can listen to that true crime podcast you like while I detangle your hair. This is just unacceptable.” 

“Maybe I should shave my head.”  “I’d hate for you to think that you’re a delusional space cowboy, babe.” 

Your eyes widen slightly at the pet name, but he doesn’t allow you to speak as he presses his lips to yours softly – smooth with the scent of strawberry lip balm. It’s chaste, it’s fast. 

Too chaste, too fast for your taste. 

“Third order—”  “No, no. Kiss me.” 

He raises a brow, but does as you ask. His lips mold against yours, your hands finding home on his chest. He moves to pull back, but you chase after him – pulling him back and deepening the kiss. You feel like you’re on fire as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him; your fingers pawing at his sweater as you slip your tongue into his mouth. 

The groan from his throat still tastes like home. 

He still tastes like home; like strawberry jam and your disgusting juice. Sweet, tart. Loving. 

“I missed you, Sol.” 

He doesn’t reply, his hand gingerly wrapping around your throat as he pulls you back in. The way he kisses you is desperate; holding you against him tightly as he pushes off the doorframe. He starts moving you backward, your hands wrapped around his wrist as the back of your knees hit the foot of the bed. 

“Sol—”  “Shh.” 

His lips never leave yours, his hand moving from your neck to the back of your head, tangling in your hair. He lays you back against the comforter gently, your hand fisting the collar of his hoodie. You tug at it as he licks into your mouth, a soft groan falling from your throat as his fingertips breach the hem of your t-shirt and graze over the skin of your belly. 

You pull back from his lips with a quiet pant, your own swollen as you blink up at him. You feel his fingers squeeze your side carefully, eyes searching your face. 

“Y/N?” 

His voice is soft as he hovers over you lightly, his knee slotted between yours, and you feel your throat burn as your hand strokes his jaw. 

“I’m sorry for leaving.” 

He shakes his head, his hands moving to hold your face, “stop it. Stop being sorry for taking care of yourself. I love you. I know you, and I know that if you felt the need to leave...you had to do it. Please stop being sorry. Just...just let me love you, even if you have to leave again in another year. In ten years, in a month...tomorrow.” 

You breathe out shakily, peering at him through teary eyes. His gaze is still everything it’s ever been. 

Warm, gentle. 

Home. 

“Please, just let me.”  “I love you.”  “I know, babe. I know.” 

You sit up abruptly, your hand moving to pull at the hem of his sweatshirt. He obliges, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side as you move up the bed. His lips find yours again as your head hits the pillow, slower than before. Like he’s savoring the moment, his fingers toying with the button of your jeans before he pops it free. He breaks the kiss briefly, pulling your jeans down with ease. You kick them off the edge of the bed as his hands slide up your thighs slowly, warm and soft. A finger snaps the waistband of your underwear against your hip, making you scowl as you swat his hand away. 

“Don’t be mean.” 

“M’not being mean, baby.” He bites back a smile, watching as you sit up on your elbows, feeling the bed sink slightly under him as he hovers over you, the tip of his nose brushing yours. You look up at him through your lashes, moving to bridge the gap as he pulls back slightly. 

“Sol?”  “I love you.” 

Your chest heats as he presses his lips against yours, his hand pushing your thighs apart slightly. It slides up your hip; his thumb rubbing circles into your lower belly before he slips it under the hem of your shirt. He deepens the kiss, pushing your shirt up to the bottom of your breasts as the cool air makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. You move to pull it over your head, tossing it somewhere across the bedroom before pulling him back to your mouth, slipping your tongue between his lips.  

His hands wander, softly clawing at your sides and enveloping your hips in the warmth of his fingers as your own pull at the short ends of his hair. His lips trail up your jaw, soft and feathery, before his teeth nip at your earlobe. Your knee digs into his side as he tugs lightly at your earring, and you twist away from him – only to feel the scrape of his teeth against your neck, earning a whine from your throat as your legs tighten around his hips. 

“Take your pants off,” you whisper, a frown tugging at your lips as you feel him shake his head. 

“Not yet,” he speaks against your skin, his lips trailing down your neck and across your clavicle. His hold on your hips loosens as his hands slide down your thighs, parting them further to slot himself between them as he peppers kisses down your chest – flattening his tongue on your nipple before you can speak. A choked sound leaves your mouth as he rolls his tongue over the sensitive bud, his thumb brushing over your neglected nipple with precision. He’s gentle, your thighs trying to close around his hips as he hums against your skin. 

“Missed seeing you like this,” he murmurs, switching sides and pulling your nipple into his mouth with a soft suck. Your breathing is shaky, embarrassingly shaky – and you feel him smile against your skin, “really? Already? I’m flattered.” 

“Shut up,” you bite, earning a chuckle as he trails his lips back up your neck with a tentative roll of his hips against yours. Your cheeks grow hot, feeling the weight of his cock against your clit through your flimsy underwear. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders lightly as you try to grind your hips up against him, only for him to pin you to the mattress. 

“God, I missed you.” His voice is gravelly, rutting his shaft against you harder before his hand suddenly slips between your legs and slide over the damp patch of arousal soaking through your panties. He presses his fingers against it, a gasp catching in your throat – your cheeks burning as you feel him pull away from your neck. Your fingers move to pull at his sweatpants, but he moves your hand away with a quick shake of his head as his hands slide down your legs. He follows their path with his lips, dragging open-mouthed kisses up your thighs and calves, even pulling your socks off to kiss the sides of your feet. 

His fingertips hook around the cotton fabric of your panties, his eyes flickering up to meet yours as he pulls on them gently. You lift your hips to let him pull them down entirely; the fabric flung somewhere across the room as he spreads your thighs, settling between them with a kiss to your hip. You cover your face with shaky hands as his lips trail across your skin, peering up at you through his lashes as he ghosts over your center. You peek out from between your fingers to see him biting back a smile as he shakes his head, “baby, it’s just me.” 

“Yeah, well—” Your sentence is cut short with a choked gasp as he flattens his tongue against your cunt, licking a fat stripe through your folds and gathering your arousal before sucking your clit into his mouth carefully. His eyes flutter shut at the taste, your teeth sinking into your lip to stop the embarrassing whine trying to claw its way out of your throat. He sucks harder, your fingers flying to his hair and tugging the short strands as best as you can before you feel his fingers prodding at your entrance. They slide in easily, your thighs closing around his head with a soft whimper. He forces them apart with his shoulders, pinning your rutting hips to the mattress with his arm as he curls his fingers inside you, his tongue working you over almost painfully slow — and the warmth in your lower just starts to spread as he pulls away.

“Did you touch yourself while you were gone?” His voice is much steadier than you trust your own to be, his fingers expertly working you open as you nodded, feeling his lips trail down your shoulder. “Did you think about me while you did it?” 

“E-Everyday,” you hate the meekness in your tone, your nails digging uselessly into his bicep as he smiles against your skin. His free hand trails up your arm, gently pulling your hand away from his body and kissing your knuckles. 

“Show me.” 

You force yourself to peer at him through your lashes, eyes low as he brings you closer to the edge — only to see him kiss the tips of your fingers, before pulling them into his mouth. Your lips part with a soft groan, rolling your eyes as you feel his tongue slide between them, perfectly coating them with his salvia before pulling them out and snaking your hand between your thighs. His eyes are dark — desperate, even. Needy. 

“Show me.” 

His fingers slow inside you as you swallow hard, dragging your fingertips through your folds, spreading them slightly and circling your swollen clit. His eyes don't leave yours as you cover your mouth with your hand, your thighs twitching at the stimulation. You break eye contact, your body feeling hot as you let your head hit the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut as the mix of your fingers with his bring you closer to the edge. 

“Sol, I’m—” 

He didn’t let you finish your sentence, pulling his fingers out of you just as the taste of your orgasm tried to hit the back of your tongue. You let your lips part, brows furrowing as the feeling died right at his fingertips. His fingers are wet against your thigh, and he has a small smirk toying with the corner of his lip as you pout. 

“Sol…” your voice is whiny as he trails his lips up your body, ghosting over your chest as you huff. “I thought you said you weren’t mad at me.” 

“Oh, I’m not.” He shakes his head quickly, but he’s not looking at you. His hand pulls at the waistband of his sweatpants, low enough to let his leaking cock spring free. It’s hot and heavy against your thigh, your mouth watering slightly as he looks up at you, “I could never be mad at you.” 

“Then why—” 

“Because I can,” he interrupts, wrapping his fingers covered in your juices around himself. He brushes a kiss to your lips, “because I want you to ruin me all over again.” 

Your eyes fluttered as he rolled his hips against yours, his length dragging through your wet folds and his tip bumping your puffy clit with a hiss from his lips. Your hands fist the sheets as he speaks against your jaw, “I thought about you every single day. Just like this.” 

“Sol—” 

“Fucked my hand thinking about you. Every night. Even the smell of your perfume made me want you, I missed you so much.” He’s whispering, and you can hardly hear him over the blood rushing to your ears, “missed seeing your pretty lips all swollen after sucking me off. Will you? Have I earned it?” 

He doesn’t let you respond, his hand gently tilting your chin up to slot your lips with his before snaking down your bodies and wrapping around his cock. He guides himself through your slit, teasing the thick head against your hole as you gasp into the kiss. 

“Please—” 

“Don’t beg.” He mutters against your mouth, “I won’t do anything if you beg.” 

“Sol, please—”  “Y/N.” 

His tone is warning as he circles your entrance, smearing beads of precum on your slick skin before gently easing himself inside you. Your thighs close around his hips instinctively, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he slowly sheathes himself in your gummy walls — before he stops, not even halfway in as he looks you dead in the eyes. 

“Tell me you missed me." His hands hold your thighs tightly, the rings on his fingers digging into your skin. Your mouth falls open as he gives a tentative roll of his hips, but he pulls right back out before you can savor the feeling. He shakes his head with a click of his tongue, "tell me you missed me, Y/N."

"Missed you," you whisper, tears pricking at your eyes as you tilt your head up to kiss him. He lets you, slotting his lips with yours as you wrap one leg around his hip, "missed feeling you. Haven't stopped thinking about you."

The admission is enough to make him grind his cock against you, the fat head bumping your clit over and over as you slip your tongue in his mouth. The kiss is all teeth and tongue as he rocks against you, a groan falling from your throat as you taste yourself all over him and making you clench around nothing. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you roll your hips with his, only for him to pull away with a chaste kiss to your lips, still ghosting over your face as he peered at you through thick lashes.

"I love you." Your hand cups his jaw gently, his own trailing up your arm to wrap around your wrist. He kisses your palm, leaning into your touch as his eyes close, "I love you, Y/N."

You pull him down to you, brushing your lips to his, "I love you, Sol."

He nods, tapping your hip with his hand and squeezing the flesh, "turn around."

You roll your eyes, a smile trying to fight its way onto your lips as his hands slide up your hips, helping you turn onto your belly, "you never change."

"Man of habit, what can I say?" His voice is low as he presses his lips to the dip of your spine, your skin littering with goosebumps as he moves your hips flush to his. He drags his mouth up your back, his fingers caressing the skin of your sides as he moves them up to your shoulders, gently wrapping his hand around your throat with a soft squeeze, "missed you so much. Missed touching you…kissing you. Having you."

"I'm here." You whisper back as he presses kisses to the side of your face, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips brush your eyebrow. "Have me."

"M'not gonna last very long," he murmurs against your cheek, your hand reaching back and tugging gently at his hair. His hand snakes between you, wrapping around his cock and dragging it up your slit with a hiss. You push your hips back against him, biting down on your lip as he nudges your clit, his lips pressing kisses to the curve of your jaw, "might not last at all, actually."

"Just wanna feel you," you let him tilt your head back, brushing your lips with his as he pulls you up, your back flush to his chest as he finally bottoms out. You clench around him, his nose buried in your neck as he inhales shakily. His hand falls away from your throat, slipping down to cup your tits, squeezing gently as he gives an experimental roll of his hips. You're embarrassed at the tremble in your thighs, the sharp breath you suck in as he mumbles against your skin, "there she is…missed this."

"Have it…use me," you whisper back, your jaw falling slack as he starts moving his hips into you. He keeps you close as he grabs at your soft skin, kissing up the slope of your shoulder, inhaling deeply at the dip of your neck before gently pinning you to the mattress. Your fingers grip the sheets as he kisses down your spine, hiding your face in the pillows as you meet his thrusts halfway. His rings are digging into your skin as he palms at your ass, the sharp sound of the smack registering before the sting of his palm, soothed by his grip as he kisses your shoulder.

You feel yourself growing fuzzy, your limbs melting into the fabric as he sucks the sweet spot just under your ear — his cock dragging perfectly against your walls and making your skin litter with goosebumps, the pillow absorbing your whines as your skin muffles his.

"Just take it, please…" he breathes out, his fingertips digging into the meat of your hips as his movements grow sloppy, "it's yours. I'm yours."

"M-Mine," you mewl weakly, and he only groans as he pulls out abruptly, flipping you onto your back and slotting his lips with yours as he slides back in. Your nails dig into his back, sinking down the expanse of his shoulders as he swallows your whimpers — the kiss is all teeth and tongue as he spreads your thighs with his hands, his lips trailing down your jaw and nipping at your earlobe.

"Should've knocked you up years ago, fuck." He buries his face in your neck, mouthing at the skin there as your breathing grows shaky, your walls clenching around him. He nips at your collarbone, "need to fill you up every day. Make you mine forever…you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Y-Yeah," your voice is full of air as your cunt squeezes around him, earning a spent laugh from his throat. His hand snakes between your bodies, thumb finding your puffy clit and making you jerk as he rubs tight circles into it, the coil in your belly threatening to snap. You let out a shuddered whimper, feeling his lips brushing the column of your throat, "missed this pussy so much, baby. So perfect for me. Made for me."

His lips are frantic, kissing every inch of skin he can reach as your breathless pants fill the room, the air smelling like sex and sweat as you wrap your legs around him. He snakes his slips into your mouth in a sloppy kiss, your thighs tight around his hips as you let go, soaking his cock in your release with a whine pouring into his mouth. He twitches inside you, mumbled reassurance as your thighs tremble, his forehead damp against your shoulder as he spills inside you.

He kisses the dip of it, stamping his lips along the column of your throat as he runs his hands up and down your thighs, squeezing softly as he meets your mouth again.

"I love you," you murmur, cupping his face in your hands as he hovers over you slightly. He nods limply, kissing you smoothly as his hands spread your thighs, holding your knees to your chest as he gives another slow roll of his hips — making you jolt with overstimulation as he lets out a weak laugh.

"Gotta make sure it takes, baby." He speaks into your mouth, kissing you chastely as your legs shake around him, "love of my life. I love you."

He mumbles something else, but it's lost as he kisses you firmly, overstimulating you both as he keeps making a mess between your thighs. You pull away, holding him away from you by the short hair, "what did you say?"

He blinks at you, raising a brow before his cheeks tinge with embarrassment. He shakes his head, trying to brush a kiss to your lips but you move away.

"Don't let me ruin this, Y/N." He sighs, closing his eyes as he presses his forehead to yours. He peels them open again, the swirl of adoration and worry circling the light amber of his irises. You give him a pointed look, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, "what did you say?"

"…Please don't leave me again." He buries his face in your neck, your eyes burning as he whispers against your skin, "please, please, please…don't leave."

You pepper your lips to the side of his face, pulling him away from your neck to connect your lips. Tears wet your lashes as you hold him close, your hands pressing against his cheeks as you pull back.

"Don't beg," you mumble, your voice thick as tears brimmed his eyes, "you never have to beg for anything. Not from me, never again."

"I love you, Y/N." "I love you, Sol."

YOU'RE ANXIOUSLY SCRUBBING PANS THE NEXT MORNING WITH A JOINT HELD BETWEEN YOUR LIPS.

You know he said you could come back, you know he said that you can stay…but something about it makes you nervous. The way his shirt barely covers the curve of your ass but still smells like him, the way you've relit all the candles around the apartment as he sleeps soundly in your shared bedroom. His lips were pouted when you slipped out of his arms early that morning, your body sore in places it hadn't been in months. The bathroom mirror confirmed the tightness of his grip — bruises littering your hips, nips of his teeth along your ass and thighs, even a mark sucked into the dip of your hip.

You foolishly texted Soonyoung if he could drop off something to take the edge off at the apartment — and you realized you'd forgotten to tell him that you would be there. His jaw had dropped as he held out the bag of pre-rolls, expecting to see Hansol in his comfortable sweatpants glory — only to see you, in the shirt that didn't even remotely cover the black fabric of your underwear. You'd paid him in a wad of cash and closed the door before he could say anything, shooting him a text the moment you lit one of the pre-rolls to please keep his mouth shut.

The vibrations of your phone on the counter, messages from your groupchat and Seungkwan — told you that he hadn't been able to do that for very long.

You'd opened the windows, the sky still gloomy but the air fresh and cool — settling the anxiety in your stomach as you dried the last pan. He'd been right — he hadn't touched them since you left, the dust settled on them from sitting in the cabinet for so long. You fumbled around the kitchen, pulling the silver polish from the top shelf of the pantry when you felt hands on your waist. You jumped, your hand settling on your chest when you realized it was him.

"You really need to get a bell," you mutter, feeling his lips curve into a smile against the back of your neck as he takes the silver polish from your hand and tosses it somewhere on the counter. His arms wrap around you, pulling your back to his chest as he squeezes gently.

"Called Soonyoung?" His voice is raspy, the way it always is when he's just woken up. You smell mint on his breath, and you figure you must've not noticed when he started moving around in your anxious state. You nod, holding the joint out to him over your shoulder as he sways you both.

"He already ran his mouth, can't keep a secret to save his fucking life." You mutter as you feel his lips brush your fingers, wrapping around the end of your joint and pulling back. He grimaces, "is this that gross ass strain you like?"

"Everything I like is gross to you. My juice, my weed, my favorite PopTart." "I'm not gross, and Brown Sugar Cinnamon isn't even close to being the best." "I'm gonna ignore that, and good thing I don't like you, Sol."

"I know you think that's a compliment and sick segue to say you love me, but not liking me is embarrassing as fuck," he snorts, gingerly placing the gross thing back between your lips. "Keep that shit to yourself."

"You're so fucking annoying," you mutter, smiling despite yourself. Your skin prickles slightly as you feel his hands slide down your hips and bunch his shirt under his palms. He slips his hands under it, thumbs barely hooking on the waistband of your panties before he presses his lips just under your ear.

"You wanna polish all this shit now?" "We didn't do it last night." "I'd argue we did better things last night—"

"Get off me, you little freak." You huff, trying to wiggle out of his hold but failing miserably as he only turns you around. You tongue your cheek, tapping the joint out on an ashtray you'd fished out from under the double-decked coffee table before letting him pull you close again. "You're not getting out of doing this today, Chwe. I mean it."

"Seungkwan invited us to lunch," he murmurs, caging you between him and the counter. You raise a brow, "Seungkwan invited us?"

"You, my girlfriend, and me, your boyfriend. Me and you. Us. We," he gestures between the two of you, "are cordially invited to lunch at the Boo Seungkwan residence. Expect ridicule, badgering and half a cold pizza slice because Soonyoung is already over there and stoned out of his mind."

You stopped listening after me, your boyfriend.

"You love me, right?" You ask softly, tugging at his shirt gently. Another plain white one, but there's a red stain on the collar that belonged to you. Red lipstick that didn't come out after you washed it twice, leaving a lingering of your presence behind.

Just like the bruises that littered your hips, and the toothpaste stain on your shirt that belonged to him. Just like your initials on his cap, the locket around your neck, the windbreaker, the hoodie. His journal, the stickers from your apples stuck to the leg of your coffee table. The sample bottle of your perfume that you'd seen sitting on the bathroom counter, and every single vinyl in your collection. The gross juice in your fridge that he didn't like but you loved, the Shrek and Donkey clock, the chess set…and everything you are. Everything he is.

You and him.

Him and you.

Together, in everything. Lingering, cohabitating, sharing…

Entangled, enamored, bounded by souls not willing to be apart…

Cosmically meant to exist as lovers.

"I do. I love you, Y/N." "I love you, Sol."

"…Enough to not polish the silverware tonight?"

HAOLOGRAM © 2025 || no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[saythenametotheworld]

A Christmas Proposal | c.vn

You told one tiny lie about being engaged to Vernon. Now you’re spending Christmas with his entire family. Faking it should be a walk in the park, except Vernon is playing the perfect boyfriend a little too well, and it’s throwing you off your game.

Genre: fake dating, smut Pairing: SEVENTEEN Vernon x afab!reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) MDNI Notes: 22k words. Loosely based on the movie The Proposal. Happy Holidays everyone! I hope you like this one <3 Disclaimer: I do not know them, nor claim they would ever in real life behave the way they were portrayed in this fic. If you see the same exact fic in a different blog, for ENHYPEN, that is me. I did not plagiarize myself. Otherwise, pls let me know.

You were halfway through a phone call when the elevator doors opened, one hand clutching your handbag as you rattled off reminders about deadlines, inventory counts, and the very real need to restock supplies before the holiday rush. 

“Yes, by next week,” you said, already walking. “No, I don’t care if it’s ‘usually fine,’ I want the warehouse well-stocked and ready—”

You stepped onto the floor and kept moving, heels clicking, bag swinging. You didn’t notice the way the floor fell quiet the moment you stepped in. People scrambled back to their desks, suddenly invested in their screens, shuffling papers that did not need shuffling, answering phones that were not ringing. A few heads ducked. A few shoulders squared. No one made eye contact with the icy, headstrong, amazonian boss who had clearly woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

You.

Still mid-call, you marched straight toward your office, listening to your warehouse officer explain that the warehouse was well-stocked and ready for the holiday rush and that everything would be fine. “I’m not asking for some words of affirmation, Joe. Show me that this confidence is not unfounded. I need updated numbers by lunchtime.”

It wasn’t until you pushed open the glass door that you finally ended the call, pinching the bridge of your nose for half a second before refocusing.

“Morning!” Becca said brightly, already there, already holding out your iced coffee like an offering.

You took it without slowing down. She fell into step beside you, launching into your schedule like she always did—meetings, contracts, things that needed signing before lunch, and ones that could wait until after. You dropped into your chair, skimmed the first page of the file she handed you. 

You were halfway through skimming the file when you noticed something in your periphery. You looked up and saw that there was a man standing just behind Becca. Tall. Good-looking. Broad-shouldered. Hands in his pockets. He was staring around your office like he had time to admire the view, eyes flicking over the shelves, the windows, the framed awards.

For a second, you wondered if you’d forgotten you were supposed to have a meeting with some model for your brand’s campaign.

You frowned. “Who’s your friend, Becca?”

“Oh—right! Sorry. This is—” She paused, then quickly nudged the man with her elbow

“I’m Vernon,” he said, smiling at you before Becca could finish. He gave a lazy little wave. “The intern.”

You blinked. The intern. He said it like this was a college club meeting. Or orientation. Or literally anywhere but here, where interns usually tried desperately not to be noticed. You stared at him. Then back at Becca. “Why is the intern in my office?”

Becca cleared her throat. “He’s the temp I told you about. He’ll be covering for me while I’m on maternity leave. Assisting you directly.”

You glanced back at him, unimpressed. “Is he ready for that?” you asked Becca.

“Yes. I walked him through everything,” she said quickly. “He’s picked it up really fast.”

 “So he knows this isn’t a light workload? Long hours, hectic schedules, all that?”

Before you could respond, Vernon leaned forward slightly.

“You can ask me, you know,” he said. “I’m right here.”

The room went very still.

You stared at him, more surprised than offended. Most interns shrank under eye contact. Apologized. Overexplained. This one had the audacity to interrupt you, like he wasn’t face-to-face with the person everyone else avoided before coffee. For a second, you couldn’t tell if he was clueless or if he just didn’t scare easily.

You didn’t like either option. “I won’t be needing you yet,” you said flatly. “You can go.”

Vernon didn’t argue. He simply nodded once, hands dropping from his pockets as he turned toward the door. “Alright.”

And then he left. The door clicked shut behind him. You and Becca stared at it for a moment.

You exhaled through your nose and picked up your pen. “What kind of temp did you get me?”

“He’s very competent. Just a little tactless at times. And he was once…” She hesitated. “…reported to HR for insubordination.”

“Insubordination?”

“Yeah, he was. But it was all a misunderstanding.” She paused for a second and then added, “Apparently, the way he talks pissed some people off. Which was why I thought he’d be perfect for this role.”

You slowly looked up from your paperwork. “What’s that supposed to mean?

Becca grimaced, then covered her mouth. “Okay. That—yeah. That was supposed to be an inside thought.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you went back to signing. “You’ve been working for me too long.”

She cleared her throat, tapping her tablet like she needed something to do with her hands. “Mr. Zhou just stepped into the lobby. Should we… um… go wait for him in the conference room?” she asked, already smiling.

“Fine,” you said, signing your name a little harder on the last paperwork. “But we’re unpacking that later.”

You were puzzled to see Vernon waiting by the car as soon as you stepped out of your office at noon. He looked out of place there, standing in a crisp set of suit and coat, looking like he was shooting an ad for Ralph Lauren. You were realizing in real time that he was unnecessarily too good-looking and too well-dressed to be someone’s errand boy.

He was holding Becca’s work tablet and the leather briefcase she’d usually brought to meetings.

“Where’s Becca?” you asked, not slowing down as you watched him open the car door for you.

“She’s gone,” he said, watching you settle onto the backseat. “Told me my secretary duties start today.”

“What do you mean she’s gone?”

Vernon blinked, confused. “Oh, you didn’t know? I thought she discussed this with you beforehand.”

You sighed, waved him off, and leaned back on the seat. As Vernon closed the door and rounded the car, you took your phone out and typed out an urgent message to Becca.

You: I’m docking your pay.

Vernon took the driver’s seat without ceremony, adjusted the mirror, and pulled into traffic. 

“Read the documents carefully,” you said without looking up. “And pay attention during the meeting.”

“I will,” he said. “To both.”

The car ride was quiet. You reviewed the agenda on your tablet while the city slid past the windows, aware of him in your periphery—too relaxed, but not sloppy. 

Your phone rang not even ten minutes into the ride and you sighed when you saw the caller ID. But answered anyway. “Hi, Grandma.”

“I just wanna remind you that you have a date this evening,” she said immediately. “You’re going, aren’t you?”

“No,” you replied. “I’m working.”

“You said that last week.”

“I was working last week too. I’m busy, Grandma. Right now, I’m heading out for a lunch meeting with suppliers.”

She clicked her tongue. “You’re always working. You can’t keep postponing your life like this. Why do you always put that damn company first?”

You pressed your lips together. “Grandma, this was your company. You put me here.”

“Excuses. When will you have a husband?” she shot back. “Or children? I’m old and dying. Do you think time is gonna wait for me? I just want to see you settle down and be happy. Is that too much to ask?”

You looked out the window. “You’re healthy. You’re strong. You’re not going anywhere.”

You heard her exhale sharply on the other line, clearly annoyed now. “If you don’t come tonight, I’ll erase your name from my will. You won’t get a single penny from me.”

“You’ve been saying that for years,” you said evenly. “Need I remind you that you only have one living relative and it’s me?”

She huffed. “Don’t test me. I might just donate my whole fortune to charity. You must go this time. I swear this one is better than the previous dates. His name is Pa—”

“I love you,” you said, cutting her off. “I’ll call you later.”

You ended the call before she could respond.

For a moment, the only sound in the car was the hum of the engine and the soft click of the turn signal. You slipped your phone back into your bag and leaned farther into the seat, already compartmentalizing the conversation the way you always did.

You caught movement in the rearview mirror. Vernon was looking at you. “Persistent grandma?” he asked when your gazes met.

You sighed, unimpressed. “Eyes on the road.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, tone mild enough to be irritating.

You let the silence stretch after that, your attention returning to the tablet in your hands. You scrolled through the agenda, noting the points you wanted addressed, the concessions you were willing to make, and the ones you absolutely were not. Vernon drove without comment, smooth and calm, like he wasn’t ferrying someone who could fire him on a whim.

You glanced up again, studying his reflection this time with intention. The angle of his jaw. The familiarity you hadn’t been able to put a finger on ever since you saw his face.

“Have we met before?” you asked.

“Yes,” he replied immediately. “We went to the same university. And met once at a freshman party.”

That checked out. You’d seen enough of him around campus for his face to register, even now. You hummed, “Knew you looked familiar. You have an unforgettable face.”

That slipped out unintentionally, making you pause. You considered taking it back, but you ultimately just decided to roll with it. You cleared your throat. “I mean—well… Have you seen yourself?”

“Sorry, what?” he asked, glancing briefly at you. “I didn’t catch that.”

But the slight smirk on his lips told you that was a lie. You rolled your eyes, then watched him for another second. “If we went to uni at the same time,” you asked, “how are you still interning? At this age?”

He grinned. “Are you discriminating?"

“I’m just asking.”

“As my boss or as someone who knew me from college?”

You exhaled through your nose, realizing now that Becca wasn’t exaggerating when she said Vernon can be annoying for some. “Forget it,” you said.

He just smiled, focusing on driving. But a few moments later, he said, “I just got out of a slave contract with my previous employer.”

You looked up. “I assume that’s an exaggeration.”

“It could be,” he replied, shrugging. 

You didn’t comment. Some jobs did feel like that. You knew it, even if you’d never experienced it firsthand. You’d never been employed under someone, except when you interned for your Grandma, but even that was hardly employment. You’d always been your own boss.

The car slowed as the restaurant came into view. Vernon found a parking space easily. “We’re here,” he said as soon as the engine stopped.

You straightened, already stepping out of the vehicle. “They’re gonna give us the revised version of the contract from last time. Remember to go over it very, very carefully.”

“Got it,” he replied, gathering his things and fixing his coat as he stepped out of the car.

You paused, looked at him once with furrowed brows, then said, “Lose the coat.”

He blinked. “What? Why?”

“Just lose it,” you said, waving your hand dismissively. “You’re gonna make these people think I brought a date to this meeting.”

The realization hit him a second later. “Oh.”

His ears turned red almost immediately, the color creeping up fast enough that it caught you off guard. He looked away, cleared his throat, and shrugged out of the coat with noticeably less confidence than he’d had five seconds ago.

“Right,” he said. “Okay.”

You didn’t respond. You were already walking.

He followed a step behind. You noticed the way he kept tugging at his sleeves, the way his shoulders squared like he was suddenly conscious about his posture. It didn’t slow him down, but it made him seem less casual and more shy.

You filed that thought in the far back of your mind and pushed open the restaurant door.

Vernon settled into his role faster than you’d anticipated. He learned your schedule within days, memorizing the gaps between meetings, the calls you always took walking, the ones you preferred, seated and uninterrupted. By the first week, he stopped asking what you needed and started having it ready before you spoke. Coffee appeared when you’d skipped breakfast. Documents were summarized and tabbed—never highlighted, because you hated highlights.

He remembered dates without reminders. Flagged clauses you would’ve circled anyway. Anticipated questions before clients finished asking them. He spoke only when necessary in meetings, and when he did, it was concise enough that no one dared interrupt him. 

“Your two o’clock wanted to move to three,” he said one morning, falling into step beside you as you walked down the hall. “Mr. Lee begged. Said something about traffic and divine intervention.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That divine intervention doesn’t outrank your calendar.”

You didn’t break stride. “Good.”

By the end of the second week, you—and everyone around you—had realized that you now have a second Becca, a more merciless one at that. People stopped going to you first. They went to Vernon. He filtered what mattered and killed what didn’t. When he brought you something, it was because it deserved your time. He filtered your calls ruthlessly. If something reached you, it mattered. If it didn’t, it never existed. People learned quickly that arguing with him was pointless; if Vernon said you were unavailable, then you were.

Occasionally, he tested his boundaries. Not in ways that interfered with work, but in tone.

“Do you always look like this when you’re thinking?” he asked once, watching you review a document.

You didn’t look up. “Like what.”

“Like you’re about to ruin someone’s life.”

You slid the folder toward him. “Page twelve.”

He glanced down, eyes scanning. “Ah,” he said. “There it is. I knew something was odd with this.”

In meetings, he was quiet, efficient, present without being intrusive. He passed notes when necessary, caught errors before they reached the table, and never spoke unless spoken to or unless you were about to walk into something avoidable.

“Clause eighteen,” he murmured once, sliding you a note.

You corrected the issue mid-sentence and moved on. Afterward, in the elevator, you said, “Good catch.”

His brows lifted in surprise. “Was that praise?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t,” he said, grinning. “But I will cherish it.”

By the third week, he stopped flinching when you corrected him. By the fourth, he started correcting other people before you had to. He learned quickly what earned silence versus what earned a look. Silence meant he was safe. The look meant he had exactly one more word before his internship became a cautionary tale.

He respected that. Mostly.

“So,” he said once, handing you a folder, “do you want the bad news first or the worse news?”

You took the folder. “If you ever phrase it like that again, you’re fired.”

“Noted,” he said calmly. “Then I’ll just say this contract is trash.”

You looked up slowly. He met your gaze without flinching. “Respectfully.”

You skimmed the page. Then the next. Then the clause he’d marked with a single tab. It was, in fact, trash.

You closed the folder. “Schedule a call.”

“I already did.”

He had an irritating habit of leaning where he wasn’t supposed to. Doorframes. Desks. The back of chairs that did not belong to him. He never slouched in meetings, never interrupted, but outside of them, he carried himself like he wasn’t intimidated by anyone in the building.

Including you. Especially you.

“Do you actually read all of these,” he asked once, eyeing the stack of reports on your desk.

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

He paused. “I guess you’re not like those other nepo babies who—um… nevermind.”

You lifted your pen. “Finish that sentence, Secretary Chwe.”

“Nope,” he said, chuckling nervously and retreating a step. “I’m quite attached to my paycheck, you see.”

You rolled your eyes, but Vernon kept his grin. “When will you call me by my first name?”

Your brows furrowed. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, there’s Becca. You address her not only by her first name but by her nickname.”

You tutted, shaking your head and deciding to ignore his question entirely. “Go. I don’t need you right now,” you said, waving him away. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he chimed, walking away. You returned to your screen. You didn’t fire him.By the end of the month, Vernon no longer felt like a temporary replacement to your intuitive and reliable Becca. He felt like his own fixture. An irritating, unnecessarily good-looking, deeply unserious, but very competent fixture.

“Is that Armani?” you asked, just as Vernon turned the engine off. 

He glanced back at you, then at his coat. “I think so? I got this as a gift for my birthday.”

You chuckled, reaching for the door. “Your clothes are too expensive for an intern.”

You stepped out of the car, eyes blinking at the blinding building right in front of you. Vernon fell into step beside you not 30 seconds later, and you noticed that he’d taken off his coat.

“You should keep it on,” you said.

He tilted his head. “But wouldn’t it make them think you brought a date to the meeting?”

You shrugged. “Maybe, but these people are worth impressing. I’m heading inside first. You go get your coat and make yourself look good.”

You were inside the building for less than two minutes when you ran into someone that made your eyes twitch. He called your name from across the lobby, his voice ringing out annoyingly.

“Is that you?” he asked when he approached you. “Well, damn. It is you.”

“Carlo,” you acknowledged, offering a curt smile.

“Oh, so you remember me,” he grinned, his eyes roving from your head to your foot, then back up to your face again, not without pausing briefly on your chest. “It’s been a while, huh?”

You nodded once, polite and brief, already angling your body toward the other direction. “It has. If you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way to a meeting.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re always busy,” he said, waving it off. “But who isn’t?” he added, laughing out loud.

He then launched into a recap of his life since the last time you’d seen him—his job, his connections, the people he knew, the Dubai prince he was chummy with, the places he’d been. It was all very impressive, apparently. You tried to interject twice. Both attempts failed. He spoke over you like it was muscle memory.

You remembered, dimly, the disastrous blind date your Grandmother had set you up on last year. Apparently Carlo was a friend’s son who was intelligent and sweet. You gave it a chance because you’d run out of excuses to decline. But Carlo was downright obnoxious. He was preposterous, talked only about himself, and after the date, he told every mutual acquaintance you both had that you were the reason why it never worked out after the first date—as if he didn’t blow up your phone asking for another chance after you refused to go on another date with him. He’d framed your refusal like a misunderstanding, and acted like persistence was a charm.

“So anyway,” he said, finally pausing just long enough to inhale, “I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner sometime. Catch up properly.”

You spotted Vernon a few steps away. “There you are, my love,” you called out with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

Vernon looked up at the sound of your voice, just as you crossed the distance and slipped your arm around his without asking, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve. For a moment, you thought he might ask what was happening. But he looked at you and at the puzzled Carlo just nearby and seemed to understand the situation right away.

“Sorry,” you said, turning back to Carlo with an apologetic smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “What were you saying?”

Carlo took a step back, posture stiffening, his grin faltering as his eyes moved from Vernon’s face to his tailored clothes, then back to you. Whatever confidence he’d walked into the lobby with seemed to deflate all at once.

“Oh, by the way,” you began, turning to Vernon. “Have you met Carlo? He’s in the export business. And the son of Grandmama’s friend.”

Vernon didn’t miss a beat. He offered his hand. “Vernon,” he said pleasantly.

Carlo stared, shaking his hand. You smiled and said, “My fiancee.”

“Oh,” Carlo said. “Fiancée.”

“Yes,” you replied simply. You could already imagine how this little lie would spread among your mutual acquaintances and business spaces you shared with Carlo, given how loose-lipped he was. But all you could care about right now was getting him to leave you alone.

“Well—uh,” Carlo said, shaking Vernon’s hand a little too quickly. “Nice to meet you. You two look… great.” He stepped back, already glancing at his phone. “I should get going. Busy day. You know how it is.”

You watched him retreat without comment, hurrying through the lobby until he disappeared entirely. Only then did you exhale.

You loosened your grip on Vernon’s arm, turning toward him. “Thank you,” you began.

“Your fiancée?” said someone from behind you.

You immediately froze, recognizing the timbre, the authority, and the unmistakable tone of your Grandmother’s voice. 

You turned slowly and found her standing a few feet away, handbag tucked neatly under her arm, eyes sharp and clearly amused.

“Did I hear that right,” she said, her smile widening as her gaze flicked between you and Vernon, “or am I finally losing my hearing?”

Vernon, to his credit, didn’t move. Neither did you. And somewhere between the impulsive little lie and her grin, you realized that things were about to blow out of proportion.

“OMG, Grammy. You heard that? I’m sorry. This is my assistant. I only said he was my fiancée to get that obnoxious Carlo off my back.” 

You could have said that and gotten it over with. But you couldn’t. The delight on your grandmother’s face was too precious for you to shatter with the truth.  So here you were, sitting across from her for an impromptu family dinner, Vernon holding your hand beside you. 

You were usually the most intimidating person in any room you walked into. Boardrooms, negotiations, crowded halls full of people waiting for you to speak—none of it ever rattled you. But at that dinner table, you were painfully aware of your posture, your hands, the way your expression changed with every interaction.

Your grandmother had that effect on you. She was the only person who could ever make you nervous, especially when it involved major life decisions like this.

It didn’t help that she was beaming like she’d just won the lottery. Vernon, as it turned out, was the grandson of an old friend of hers.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew my Grandma?” you had discreetly asked him earlier during the meeting with an investor, while your Grandmother watched from a few tables away.

She had insisted she’d wait until you finished the business meeting, and that was how you found yourselves trapped in this ‘family’ dinner.

“So,” she said, eyes bright as she looked between you and Vernon, “how did the two of you meet?”

You stiffened slightly, already bracing yourself. Vernon answered easily. “Oh, we met in college,” he said, reaching for his water. “We reconnected only recently when I started working for her.”

Your grandmother’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? And when did you start dating?”

You kept your gaze on your plate, listening. “About a month ago,” Vernon replied smoothly.

A month ago. You did the math immediately, your mind racing ahead of your body. That was the exact week he’d started working as your temporary assistant.

“And engaged already?” your grandmother said, delighted rather than suspicious.

Vernon nodded. “We didn’t see the point in waiting.”

She laughed, clapping her hands softly. “Oh, I love that. Life is too short to hesitate.” She turned to you then, eyes sharp and delighted. “So you mean to tell me you got engaged without telling me you were dating my best friend’s grandson?”

You opened your mouth, only to just close it again. Vernon cleared his throat. “It all happened rather quickly.”

“That’s what I love about it,” she said, waving a hand. “Destiny waits for no one,” she added, laughing.

You laughed too—awkwardly enough that you were sure you’d given it all away. You stared at the food on the table, suddenly finding your favorite dish from the best chef in the city unappetizing and dry.

“Does your family know?” she asked Vernon again.

Vernon hesitated, glancing at you for an answer. You had absolutely nothing to offer him. Not even a lie half-formed. So you lifted one shoulder, the smallest shrug you could manage.

He turned back to her and smiled. “Not yet. We wanted to keep it quiet for a while,” he said, shrugging lightly. “It hasn’t been very long. But I guess the secret’s out now that you know.”

Your grandmother looked like she might burst from excitement. “Oh, this is wonderful,” she said, already reaching for her phone. “They’ll be thrilled.”

You sat up straighter. “Grandma—”

“Wait,” Vernon said at the same time.

She waved both of you off, already dialing. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll just tell them quickly.”

You watched in horror as she put the phone to her ear. “Hello?” she said brightly. “Yes, yes, it’s me. You’ll never guess what I just found out.”

You sank back into your chair, heart thudding.

She spoke excitedly, voice warm and loud enough that you caught pieces of the conversation—laughter, delighted exclaims, repeated congratulations. You could hear someone else speaking on the other end, just as excited.

You didn’t catch the names, but you didn’t need to. Whoever was on the other end was laughing too. Your grandmother kept nodding along, with soft mm-hmms and delighted sighs.

“I know. I couldn’t believe it either.” She glanced at the two of you, eyes shining. “They’re here with me right now.”

Vernon didn’t move. His hand was still resting near yours on the table, close enough but not quite touching. He looked composed, if a little too still, like he’d decided that reacting would only make things worse.

Your grandmother laughed again. “Oh, don’t be dramatic. Of course it makes sense. Haven’t you always said fate has terrible timing?”

She listened for a moment, then hummed approvingly. “Yes. I’ll tell them.”

She ended the call with a satisfied tap of her finger against the screen and set her phone down carefully, as if savoring the moment. “There,” she said, pleased. “They are over the moon.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose. “Grandma—”

“You never even told them that you were seeing someone, Vernon,” she added. “They’re insisting on dinner soon. All of us.”

“That might be difficult,” he said carefully. “With work and—”

“Oh, nonsense,” she interrupted. “You’ll make time. You always do for family.”

She smiled at you then, softer and fonder. “And you,” she said, “I’m gonna excuse the fact that you kept this a secret from me.”

You pressed your lips together, offering something that might have passed for a smile.

Across the table, your grandmother reached for her glass, perfectly satisfied. Beside you, Vernon shifted just enough that his knee brushed yours under the table. Neither of you commented on it. But you both understood the same thing at the exact same time.

This had officially gone too far to undo politely.

By the time you finally parted with your grandmother outside the restaurant, you were exhausted. Not the kind of tired you felt after negotiations or long meetings, but the slow, creeping kind that sank into your bones and stayed there.

You slid into the backseat as soon as Vernon opened the door for you, barely waiting for it to close before sinking back against the leather. The city lights blurred past the windows as the car pulled away from the curb.

“That,” you said, staring at the ceiling, “went so wrong so fast.”

Vernon huffed a small laugh from the driver’s seat. “That’s one way to put it.”

You dragged a hand down your face. “I just wanted Carlo to leave me alone. I didn’t plan on my grandmother calling half the city to announce my engagement.”

“She seemed… enthusiastic.”

“Oh, trust me. That was her being restrained,” you muttered. You straightened slightly, folding your arms. “You’ve been with me long enough to know how she takes my love life very, very seriously.”

The car stopped at a red light. Vernon glanced at you through the rearview mirror. “You could let her have it for a few days,” he said casually. “Then tell her it didn’t work out. People break up all the time. We haven’t been dating long anyway. It’ll be believable.”

You sighed, nodding. “That’s the plan.”

The light turned green, and he eased back into traffic. You watched the city slide past again, your reflection faint in the glass.

“I’m sorry,” you said after a moment. “For dragging you into this. For the phone call with your folks. For—” You waved a hand vaguely. “All of it.”

Vernon shrugged, eyes on the road. “It’s fine.”

You looked at him. “You don’t have to say that.”

“No really,” he replied. “I don’t mind. I’ll just consider it part of the job.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’d hate the job if I were you.”

He tilted his head, considering. “Well,” he said, “it’s not the strangest thing I’ve been dragged into for work.”

You snorted despite yourself. The car slowed in front of your apartment building. Vernon parked and turned the engine off. You stepped out of the car, the night air cool against your skin. Behind you, Vernon followed, just another assistant at your side.

That was all it was supposed to be.

“See you in the morning, boss,” he said, handing you your bag as you both stopped in front of the elevator.

You nodded. “See you in the morning, Secretary Chwe.”

He nodded back, then stepped closer—so suddenly that you barely had time to register it before he was right there, warmth and presence crowding your space. 

You froze, surprised by the proximity. For a split-second your mind was racing to process so many things at once—the closeness, the clean scent of his cologne, his steady breathing, and the way you’d been holding yours without realizing it.

Then his arm lifted past your shoulder. The elevator button clicked softly behind you.

“Oh,” you breathed, the sound escaping before you could stop it.

Vernon pulled back, his expression unreadable for a second, before his mouth curved into a smile—one that made you pause. You’d seen that smile every day for the last few weeks, but this was the first time you’d found yourself completely disarmed by it.

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open, and air rushed back into your lungs like you’d been underwater. You looked away first, stepping inside without a word. 

Vernon remained outside, one hand lifting in a wave. “Good night,” he said.

The doors closed between you, sealing him out, and the last thing you saw was that damn smile.

The very next morning, you woke up to the sound of your phone ringing on the nightstand. You squinted at the screen. Grandma.

“Oh my god, what now?” you grumbled, sitting up before answering. “Good morning,” you croaked, rubbing your eyes.

“Pack your bags,” she said immediately, skipping any niceties. “We’re going away for the holidays.”

“It’s still two weeks before Christmas, Grandmama.”

“Oh, honey,” she gushed. “We’ll be spending the holidays with Vernon’s family.”

You straightened up, swiping at the alarm that had somehow joined the chaos. “Excuse me?”

“Yes. For a week. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“A WEEK?!” you echoed loudly, standing up on your bed now, clutching a fistful of your hair. “Grandma, what do you mean a week? What… Where—WITH WHOM?”

“Okay, young lady. Calm down. I can’t understand you when you’re rambling like this.”

“Grandma, I can’t—I have work. There’s the holiday promos, the rush, meetings and deals. I literally can’t even disappear for a day, let alone a whole week.”

“You have competent employees for that. I’m sure they can handle it,” she said casually. “Besides, I checked your calendar and you don’t have anything major that requires your immediate attention. Surely you can pause your micromanaging for a few days?”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed, offended. “I don’t micromanage—ugh. Not the point,” you muttered, more to yourself.

You took a deep breath and sat back on the bed. “Listen, Grandma. I haven’t met his family yet. I haven’t even been introduced as his girlfriend yet. I can’t just show up as his fiancee out of nowhere.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said, waving the thought away like dust. “But this is exactly the right moment. It’s the holidays.”

You paused, genuinely bewildered. “How did this even happen?”

“Oh, my dear, this wasn’t my idea,” she replied, her voice lighting up. “Vernon’s grandmother insisted.”

You let out a long, shaky breath. “Grandma—”

“Pack your bags,” she said cheerfully. “Don’t argue with me. I’ve already told them you’re coming and I already took care of everything.”

Now here you were, sitting in your office, heels tapping impatiently on the marble floor, fingers drumming against the wood of your desk. Every five seconds, you checked the clock, willing Vernon to appear.

Finally, the office door slid open, and there he was, smiling so calmly like things hadn’t blown out of proportion already. “Oh, there you are!” You exhaled sharply. “I need you to act as my fiancée. Again.”

His brows furrowed, confused. “Why?”

“Surely your family’s told you by now that I am to spend the holidays with you?” you snapped, exasperation leaking into your tone.

He shrugged. “I’ve been told. But… you don’t have to. I can get you out of it if you really hate the idea.”

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “I don’t like the idea. But you know as well as I do that dissuading my grandmother is impossible.”

He chuckled lightly. “You’ve never let anyone tell you what to do.”

You snorted, leaning forward. “I’ll have you know that my grandmother can—and will—tell me what to do. Ghosting blind dates is a walk in the park, but things like this? Yeah. No way.”

Vernon hummed in acknowledgment. “She does seem like the formidable type.”

There was a moment of silence between you, one so comical you could hear the crickets in your head. “So?” you prompted. “Will you do it, or not?”

Vernon just shrugged, eyes still playful. “Do I get a raise?”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated, but also relieved. “I’ll even make you a regular while I’m at it, Intern Chwe.”

Being the meticulous person you were, you drafted a contract days before the trip. Not a legal one, of course, but a set of rules you and Vernon both agreed to follow while pretending to be engaged. You and Vernon made it together and agreed to both of your conditions, especially involving physical intimacy.

You made a point to make sure holding hands and displays of affection were strictly in front of the family only. And of course no hugging unless absolutely necessary. There were clauses about sticking to an agreed context and backstory, and never answering major or intrusive questions without the other.

“How do you feel about sharing a bedroom?” he asked.

“Do we have to? Can’t I get my own guest room?”

Vernon shook his head. “You clearly don’t know my family at all. An engaged couple staying in separate bedrooms? They’re gonna be suspicious.”

That made sense. “Alright. But I’m taking the bed. You can have the couch. Or the floor. Whatever works.”

“Come on,” he said, mock-protesting. “It’s my house. I should get the bed.”

“And I’m your boss,” you countered. “Rule number five will be, I always win.”

“Now you’re just power tripping.”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Fifth clause. Very important.”

Vernon raised an eyebrow at said clause about ‘no kissing or hugging’. “Exceptions?” he asked casually. “Christmas games, dances, mistletoe… maybe a moment of festive goodwill?”

“Absolutely not,” you said firmly. “Exceptions are only if the world is literally ending. Or someone dies. Or—” You stopped yourself, realizing you were overexplaining. “Just don’t ask for exceptions.”

Vernon nodded, taking that in stride. “But the situation could call for a hug, you know?”

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just not.”

“Fine. But I’m telling you, my family will notice.”

“Just what kind of family do you have?”

Apparently, the kind who were affectionate and close, and took Christmas very seriously.

Days later, you boarded a plane with your grandmother practically vibrating with excitement beside you. She chatted the entire time—about the food, about the weather, about how nice it was that you were finally dating and thinking of marriage—while you nodded along, occasionally exchanging looks with Vernon over the divider between your seats. Thankfully, first class gave you just enough privacy that you didn’t have to perform more than absolutely necessary.

When you landed, the cold winter air hit you first, stinging your cheek. You’d barely stepped outside the terminal when a pickup truck rolled to a stop in front of you, horn honking cheerfully.

A jolly older man hopped out, grinning wide. “You must be exhausted,” he said warmly, eyes immediately landing on your grandmother. “It’s been too long.”

Her face lit up in a way you didn’t see very often these days. “Look at you,” she said, holding his arm affectionately. “All grown up.”

They hugged like no time had passed at all. Behind you, Vernon carefully placed a coat over your shoulder, its warmth engulfing you almost immediately. Then he leaned in slightly, one hand still on your shoulder. “That’s my uncle.”

Vernon introduced you and you offered a hand for a shake. “Lovely to meet you.”

The entire drive into town was filled with laughter and reminiscing, stories bouncing back and forth like they’d only seen each other yesterday instead of decades ago. Apparently, his uncle had spent a good portion of his childhood around your grandmother, running around while the adults talked business and dreams and things far too big for children to understand.

You watched your grandmother from the backseat, her smile so soft and sweet, and felt something warm settle in your chest.

“Just how long have you known this family?” you asked her, half-teasing.

Vernon’s uncle laughed before she could answer. “Oh, longer than me,” he said easily. “Her and my Ma go way back. Back when I wasn’t even born yet.”

She nodded fondly. “We were already friends when we both had nothing,” she said. “We used to talk about what we’d do one day, when life finally got easier. Now, we have money. But we’re both too busy to see each other.”

You hummed, thoughtful, eyes drifting out the window. A moment later, curiosity got the better of you. You turned slightly toward Vernon. “I don’t think you’ve told me what your family does?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Merchandising.”

That was vague. You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could press further, his uncle laughed and pointed ahead, where a tall building rose proudly in the middle of the city square. It stretched for blocks, glass gleaming even under the sky.

“That,” he said, clearly pleased, “is what my dear mother—Vernon’s grandma—built from the ground up.”

Your breath caught. It was a shopping mall. Not just any mall, either. You recognized the name immediately. You’d seen more than a few of them back home, even had business with them!

Slowly, you turned to look at Vernon, scanning him from head to toe like you were seeing him for the first time.

He noticed. “What?”

“Merchandising?” you said flatly.

He shrugged again, entirely unapologetic. You leaned back in your seat, stunned, eyes flicking back to the building as it disappeared behind you.

Great. Of course you’d accidentally gotten fake-engaged into another powerful family.

When the truck finally came to a stop, you stepped down onto solid ground and immediately turned to Vernon, catching him by the sleeve before he could move too far ahead.

“Wait,” you said under your breath. “Why didn’t you tell me you were rich?”

He blinked, genuinely taken aback. “What?”

“That mall,” you said flatly. “The one your family runs. You don’t just forget to mention that, not when you know we’re retail partners with them.”

Vernon huffed a laugh. “You never asked. And besides, I’m not rich. My family is.”

You stared at him. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is,” he said mildly. “Just not one you like.”

You scoffed, lowering your voice even further. “Then why are you working as an intern? In my company. For—” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, “minimum pay and maximum suffering?”

His mouth opened, like he was about to say something but his uncle’s voice came booming from a few steps away. “Vernon!”

He looked over his shoulder. “Coming,” he replied easily, then glanced back at you. “Come on.”

You followed them down the pier, heels clicking against weathered wood as the sea air wrapped around you. Only when you reached the edge did you finally understand why everyone had stopped.

A sailboat waited at the dock, white and pristine, bobbing gently against the water. You slowed to a stop. “Why are we getting on a boat?”

Vernon glanced at the sailboat, then back at you, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “My family thinks we’re better than everyone else,” he said, “so they bought a whole island and decided to live far away from the commoners.”

You stopped walking altogether. “I’m sorry—what?”

His uncle let out a bark of laughter, clapping a hand on Vernon’s shoulder. “That’s not true at all,” he said. “We didn’t move there. It’s just for family gatherings. Holidays. Reunions. That sort of thing.”

“And no, we don’t own the whole island,” his uncle added, looking out into the horizon, one hand on his hip. “Only half of it.”

Like that made it less unreasonable.

You’d spent years thinking your grandmother was extravagant—buying properties she rarely stayed in, collecting things simply because she could. But apparently, somewhere two thousand miles away, another woman had been doing the exact same thing.

No wonder they’re friends.

Vernon hovered beside you now, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence without looking at him. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

You opened your eyes. “I’m fine.”

He smiled at that, then held a hand out toward you. You hesitated for half a second, narrowing your eyes at him, then just as quickly, remembered the whole happily in love act had officially begun. So you took his hand and let him help you aboard the boat. 

You had a feeling this week is going to be a lot harder than you’d anticipated.

The ride out to the island was mercifully short. The boat cut smoothly across the water, cold wind biting at your cheeks until your eyes watered. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, breath fogging faintly in front of you.

Someone was already waiting there. A girl stood at the edge of the dock, bundled in a thick coat and scarf, waving with both arms like she didn’t feel the cold at all.

“That’s my sister,” Vernon said beside you. “Sofia.”

The moment your feet hit the dock, Sofia made a beeline for him, throwing her arms around his neck without hesitation. “You’re alive,” she said dramatically. “I was starting to think you’d fallen off the face of the earth.”

Vernon laughed, hugging her back. “You facetimed me three days ago.”

“Three days is a long time,” she shot back, then said something else under her breath that made him groan and flick her forehead lightly. You didn’t catch the words, but the sight of their teasing and laughter made your chest feel oddly warm.

Then Vernon turned slightly and gestured toward you. “This is—” He paused for half a second, then continued smoothly. “My girlfriend.”

Sofia’s eyes snapped to you, sharp and curious, then widened with unmistakable delight. “Girlfriend,” she said slowly, grinning mischievously. “That’s not what I heard,” she added in a sing-song.

Vernon sighed. “Please be normal. Don’t embarrass me.”

“Welcome,” Sofia said cheerfully, offering a hug which you returned awkwardly. Then she pulled back just enough to study your face. “Wow. You’re very pretty. Why would you wanna marry that guy?”

“Alright,” Vernon interjected, tugging Sofia  from behind by her jacket collar. “That’s enough. Go away.”

“What? I think she’s too good for you.” She turned to you. “You sure you don’t wanna change your mind?”

“Stop,” he chided softly, chuckling, “Don’t discourage her. She might just change her mind. Nothing’s decided yet.”

“Oh, what nonsense.”

The voice came from behind Sofia—calm, amused, unmistakably unimpressed. A woman stepped forward, elegant in every sense of the word, eyes narrowing playfully as she looked Vernon over.

“You left a perfectly good position in the family business saying you wanted to fend for yourself,” she continued, “and now you come home with a fiancée?” Her lips curved into a smile. “You didn’t even wait a year before crawling back.”

You were taken aback, instinctively scooting closer to Vernon after what you heard. In your mind, you were wondering who this was and why she seemed to dislike him.

But beside you, Vernon merely sighed, shook his head in exasperation, and told you, “This is my mom.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off-guard. Then it immediately clicked that this might be how they normally talked to each other, and all in good fun, you assumed.

His mother didn’t give you much time to dwell on it. Her attention shifted to you immediately, her expression softening as she stepped closer and pulled you into a hug before you could react.

“Oh,” you exclaimed. Behind her, you mouthed to Vernon, ’Is this normal?’

He just shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. “Welcome,” she said warmly. “We’re so happy you’re here.”

You laughed softly, a little breathless, returning the hug despite the nerves curling in your stomach. And then everything moved at once.

You were ushered forward, names thrown at you faster than you could catch them—aunts, cousins, someone’s partner, someone else’s child—smiles and greetings blurring together as you were guided further into the property. The words ‘Vernon’s fiancee’ kept echoing in your ears, and you felt a little lightheaded as you realized that lie felt bigger by the second, ballooning with every new face and every fond look directed your way.

Warm air hit you the moment you stepped inside the house, carrying the smell of food and something sweet. It was massive, but you barely had time to take it in before you heard someone call out your grandmother’s nickname.

“Oh my goodness,” a voice exclaimed, followed by hurried footsteps.

An elderly woman appeared with her arms already open, and your grandmother’s face lit up like a sunrise. They met in the middle of the room, hugging tightly, laughing, talking over each other all at once.

You watched them fondly, feeling warm all over and knowing it wasn’t because of the central heating. Then the noise swelled again around you, and you were being pulled into a hug by Vernon’s grandmother who had affectionately asked you to call her ‘Nana’.

Eventually—somehow—you and Vernon finally escaped everybody’s attention and you found yourself trailing behind him aas he led you down a quieter hallway. You passed through wide corridors, went up several flights of staircases, before he finally stopped in front of a wooden door that looked like every other one in the hall.

“Come on in,” he said, pushing the door open and letting you step inside first.

The room was spacious, sunlight spilling through tall windowsr. A queen-sized bed sat at the center, dressed in crisp white linens under fluffy navy blue duvets. A thick rug covered the hardwood floor, and a small writing desk sat neatly in the corner. A fireplace along one wall had a few framed family photos on its mantle. There was also a couch just in front of the fireplace, and you noticed a subtle scent of pine and cinnamon lingering faintly in the room.

“How big is your family?” you asked, your gaze drifting around, taking in the comfort and scale of the space.

“Not very,” he said, hauling the last of your luggage over to the corner and setting it down with ease. “Nana has five kids, all married with kids. And most of my older cousins are married too, so I’ve got eight nieces and nephews.”

“Wow. Are there like, thirty of you?”

“Almost thirty,” he said, shrugging, a small smile tugging at his lips. “If everyone comes home for the holidays this year, you’re looking at twenty-eight Chwes under one roof.”

“That’s a lot of people,” you murmured, scanning the room.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Well, my dad was an only child who had only one kid,” you replied, leaning slightly against the desk. “So, no aunts and uncles for me. No horde of cousins either.”

Vernon glanced at you from the doorway, tilting his head slightly. “Right, why didn’t your parents come here with you? I assume they’re thrilled that their only child is engaged.”

You froze, realizing in that moment that you’d never actually told him your parents had passed. Before you could answer, a sharp knock came at the door, swinging open just as quickly without really waiting for anyone to respond.

“Hello! I hope I’m not disturbing anything,” a warm, lively voice called out. Vernon’s mother stepped inside, carrying a tray laden with small snacks and a thermos of tea.

“No. We were just settling in,” you answered, trying to sound normal.

“I figured you’d be hungry after that long journey,” she said brightly, setting the tray down. She turned her gaze on you, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “How are you feeling? You’ve traveled so far! Are you comfortable? Did you eat enough on the plane? Oh, do you like sweets?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, blinking at the rapid-fire questions, completely overwhelmed.

“Oh, and I’m so sorry about the chaos,” she said, smiling as she poured tea into the teacup. “Our family tends to overreact. Especially with Vernon being the only man in the family who hasn’t married yet. Everyone’s just excited to meet you.”

You felt a genuine warmth spread through your chest. “Thank you,” you said softly, taking a small step closer to accept the cup she was offering.

“And how is my son? Is he good to you? Does he treat you well?”

“Oh, he’s… wonderful. He takes care of everything for me,” you replied, and in a way, what you said was true.

“As he should,” she chimed, looking proud. “He must have been really good to you for you to decide to get married shortly after dating. OH!” She exclaimed, practically jumping in her seat. “You haven’t shown us your engagement ring yet!”

You froze, eyes flitting to Vernon across the room. He too looked surprised. You were both realizing in real-time that you had forgotten one, if not the most important thing about this whole engagement thing.

The damn ring!

“Is this it?” his mother asked, reaching for your hand where your default favorite ring to wear wrapped daintily on your finger.

You glanced sideways at Vernon, your expression screaming Help me.

“Alright, Mom, we’re tired. We need some rest. Please give us some space,” said Vernon, walking over and gently tugging her mom away from you.

“Oh, fine,” she said, still beaming as her son dragged her all the way out of the door. “But you need to tell me everything later!”

“Okay, bye-bye,” Vernon said before closing the door to her face.

The silence that followed was like a breath of fresh air. You slumped onto the couch, exhaling a long, tired breath. “I can’t believe you forgot about the ring.”

“Nah, I think that’s on you,” he said casually, sitting on the edge of the bed. “This whole thing was your idea. You should have known getting engaged includes getting a ring.”

“Are you saying you didn’t know that?”

Vernon paused, head tilting, deep in thought. You sighed and waved a hand dismissively. “Forget it. Where’s the contract? Let’s go over it one more time.”

Vernon laid it out on the desk and went through the rules you’d carefully set up—holding hands only in front of family, no hugging, no kissing, agreed backstory, a clear understanding of what questions could be answered and which ones required a unanimous decision, and most importantly, telling everyone after the holidays that things didn’t work out and you had to break up.

You came to the clause about the bed, and after a short discussion, agreed to alternate each night between the bed and the couch. 

“Alright, get some rest,” he said after, standing up and walking toward the door. “maybe a shower if you’d like.”

You raised a hand. “Wait, where are you going? You’re not allowed to leave me alone. It’s in the contract. Rule number eight.”

His brows furrowed. “You okay about me being in the room while you shower and get dressed?”

Your cheeks heat up instantly. “Okay. You can go,” you said calmly.

He chuckled softly, hands in his pockets, turning to the door again. “I’ll just check out the field, see what’s there to expect. Don’t worry. I won’t be long,” he beamed, giving a small wave before closing the door.

By the end of that night, the engagement ring situation had been settled. You’d stared down at the ring already on your finger and said, “We can just say this is it.”

Vernon had squinted at it, thoughtful. “It doesn’t look like an engagement ring.”

You lifted your chin. “It does. The rock is a diamond. Just smaller than what engagement rings usually have. Do you have a better idea?” you shot back.

He didn’t. So that was that. The ring was promoted on the spot, its significance upgraded without its consent, and you both agreed never to question it again unless absolutely necessary. Preferably never.

And then the week began and nothing could have prepared you for what the holidays looked like in his family.

It was loud. Doors were always opening, someone was always calling out from another room, laughter echoing down hallways. There were meals that turned into three-hour affairs, dishes clattering, voices overlapping, debates breaking out over the most insignificant things. Someone was always touching someone else—an arm around a shoulder, fingers laced together, hair ruffled in passing. Affection here wasn’t saved for special moments. It was everywhere.

It was nothing like the holidays you knew.

Christmas, to you, had always been quiet. A peaceful dinner with your grandmother. Soft music playing in the background. Catching up, exchanging gifts, sitting side by side on the couch with wine glasses until you both got sleepy and called it a night.

Here, Christmas started days early and showed no signs of slowing down.

You were fed constantly. Asked questions constantly. Complimented, hugged, pulled into conversations you barely understood, handed drinks you didn’t ask for. At some point, someone insisted you had to try a dessert because it was “Vernon’s favorite growing up,” and suddenly he was there beside you, watching your reaction.

That was another problem entirely. Vernon was a little too good at this.

He held your hand casually, like it was second nature. Thumb brushing over your knuckles without thinking. He leaned in when people spoke to you, an arm slipping around your waist like muscle memory. He remembered to pull out your chair, to pass you food first, to check if you were cold before grabbing you a sweater.

None of it felt forced. If anything, you were the awkward one. “How are you so good at this?”

He glanced at you, amused. “Good at what?”

“This,” you said vaguely, gesturing between the two of you. “The loving boyfriend thing. It’s weird!”

His mouth twitched. “Would you rather I be awkward and obvious like you?”

You scoffed. “I am not obvious.”

“You flinch every time I touch you.”

“That’s because you don’t give me a heads up,” you hissed.

He just smiled, infuriatingly smug, and reached for your hand again as someone walked past. “Real couples don’t need a heads up for something like this,” he said, lifting your joined hands, then pressing a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

“What are you doing?” you deadpanned, but the smile on his lips remained.

“Nana and your grandma are looking right at us,” he said.

You turned your head to said direction, and found that they were, in fact, not looking. You scoffed, pulled your hand back and glared at him. “I’m docking your pay for this month.”

“You really think I need it?” he asked smugly, spreading his arms in a grand gesture.

You grimaced, taken aback by an arrogance you’d never seen in him before. “Stop. It’s your family’s, not yours.”

“Well, I’m part of this family, so…” he replied, shrugging arrogantly. You snorted, rolling your eyes but not denying your laugh.

Vernon has always been popular in your company. You noticed that much after weeks of having him beside you everyday. People were always ogling him, heads turned whenever he passed by, followed by giggles and dreamy sighs. It was different from when it was just you. Most of the time, people tried to avoid eye contact with you and turned the other way when they saw you coming.

Of course you knew why he was popular—it has all to do with his good-looks. You tried, but you could never deny that his appearance was, in fact, out of this world. Not to mention he’s tall, has good genes, and is intelligent. But other than that, there wasn’t much you could say about him as a person. You didn’t really know what he was like outside of work, after all. You never paid him that much attention unless he was giving you a rundown of the day’s agenda.

But here, in his home, surrounded by his family, you started noticing him more—not as your assistant, not even as your fake fiancée—but as someone in his own world. You saw the way he laughed freely here, all toothy and loud. The way he let his nieces climb all over him, how he listened when his grandmother spoke, how his mother scolded him and kissed his cheek in the same breath.

He was warm here. Soft and gentle in a way you’d never seen at work. And he was always close to you. His hand would find the small of your back in crowded rooms. He’d tuck you in beside him on couches, offer you food before himself, glance at you like he was checking if you were still okay. Sometimes you caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking, his eyes gentle and unreadable.

You told yourself it was part of the act. But as the days passed, surrounded by noise and laughter and far too much affection, you started feeling like you were the one pretending the hardest.

“You ready?” he asked on the morning of the 23rd.

You’d just finished touching up your makeup. “Yes.”

“Okay good. Let’s go. Everyone’s waiting.”

You hesitated, retracting your hand when he reached for it. Vernon looked at you like he was over it. “Well? Come on then.”

“It’s just…” you huffed, gesturing vaguely. “It’s a family pictorial. I’m not exactly… family.”

Vernon chuckled, reaching for your hand again. “We’ve talked about this. It’s not that deep.”

Except it was. You couldn’t fathom how Vernon could be so calm about this whole thing. Not just the family pictorial, but the whole sham of an engagement you two were in. 

“I can hear you thinking. Stop that,” he prompted, tugging you by the hand, all the way out of the bedroom.

The house was full. Not metaphorically—literally full. Every bedroom was occupied, couches were claimed, extra chairs pulled out from storage, voices overlapping in every corner of the house. The entire family had arrived, cousins and partners and children. You’d naturally been absorbed into it, everyone’s basically been treating you like family.

They had a tradition, apparently. A family photo every Christmas. Same spot, same arrangement, different years. It was said to always happen every morning of the 23rd, two days before Christmas. And everyone took it seriously, dressing up with intent and looking their best.

“You can’t not join,” Vernon reminded you, steering you toward the center of the room. “That’d be weird. Am I supposed to tell everyone, ‘this is a fake engagement so she’s skipping out’?”

You lowered your voice as people shuffled around you, calling names, arguing about height order. “That’s the thing. This is fake and temporary, but the photo we’re taking is gonna live forever in your family albums. Immortalized and revisited every year.”

He laughed softly, like it hadn’t even occurred to him that this could be a problem. “If you really feel that bad about it,” he said, shrugging, “you could always marry me for real. Clear your conscience.”

You gave him a deadpan look. He simply grinned, completely unrepentant, then gently nudged you forward as someone called his name again. 

By then, it was too late to back out. You let yourself be placed beside him, his arm slipping easily around your back like it belonged there.

The camera flashed.And just like that, this Christmas was immortalized as the year Vernon brought home a girl. If you didn’t get caught in the lie, then it would be the year he brought home a fiancée and things didn’t work out. If you did get caught, then it would still be the year he brought home a fiancée, but a fake one.Either way. It would be humiliating for him.

You thought that would be the end of it. But later, after breakfast, when the living room had devolved into noise and laughter and people sprawled across every available surface, Sofia pulled out a Polaroid camera.

“Oh, we’re doing couples,” she announced. “This is non-negotiable.”

Groans followed, and some cheers. You felt Vernon’s hand find yours before you’d even fully processed what was happening, his fingers lacing with yours like muscle memory.

“You weren’t kidding,” you muttered under your breath. “Your family really does love each other.”

“You love us too,” he murmured back, grinning.

“I’ve known you people for a week,” you retorted, scoffing. But then, looking around, you added, “But yeah. You guys are cool.”

You were herded onto the couch together, shoulders pressed close. Sofia crouched in front of you, aiming the camera. She looked into the camera, then at the two of you, brows furrowed.

“Are you guys really dating?” she asked, and you felt your heart drop to the floor. For a second, you wondered if you got caught, but then she added, “Scoot closer. This isn’t the 1800s.”

You chuckled and it came out strained. Vernon’s arm snaked around your waist, making you stiffen and glance at him. He gave it a gentle squeeze, urging you to relax. So you tried.

“Kiss!” someone shouted from behind, followed by a chorus of hoots and whistles.

“That’s enough,” Vernon said lightly, but firmly. “You’re not getting a show.”

There were groans. Booing. Someone yelled that he was no fun. He just shrugged like none of it bothered him.

“Smile!” Sofia prompted.

You smiled without thinking. Then the camera clicked, and the photo slid out with a soft whirr.

Vernon didn’t move right away. Neither did you. When you glanced at him, he was already looking at you. You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, eyes gleaming, a smile playing on his lips. You stared back, brows furrowing, confused at the attention he was giving you.

You waited a second. Then another. The smile on his lips didn’t change, it just stayed there, sweet and knowing, like he was in on something you weren’t.

Heat crept up your neck. You shifted slightly on the couch, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting, of his arm still resting behind you. “Why are you staring at me?”

He hummed softly, like he was thinking about it. But he still didn’t answer. So you stopped looking away. If he was going to stare, then fine. You could stare too.

But that was a bad idea. The noise around you slowly faded while you held his gaze, your heart thudding louder and louder with every passing second. His expression changed then, and you couldn’t tell what it meant. It was something between amusement and surprise.

Click!

You both broke at the sound, turning toward his sister.

“Oh,” Sofia said, already sprinting toward the tree just across the room. “This one’s going on the tree!”

Everyone eventually drifted off to do their own thing. The kids bundled themselves up and tore out into the snow, their shrieks of laughter muffled by scarves and knit hats. You stayed inside, lounging on one of the couches near the wide living room windows, a warm mug cradled between your palms as you watched them tumble and recover and tumble again.

Nana sat beside you with a knitted blanket over her lap, while your grandma sat across from you, glasses perched low on her nose.

“They used to do that too,” your grandma said fondly, nodding toward the window. “Run around like little monsters until we had to drag them back inside.”

You smiled. “Who?”

“Your father,” Nana replied with a smile. “And my kids. Every summer, without fail. They’d come stay here for weeks. This place was a rental at the time. We didn’t have enough money yet to purchase it.”

Your attention sharpened. You hadn’t heard much about that time—just fragments, half-remembered anecdotes your grandmother would mention in passing.

“Oh yes,” your grandmother chimed in. “We saved up a few months of salary just to rent this out for summer,” she added, laughing heartily.

Nana nodded, looking outside. “They were inseparable. Always muddy, always hungry. Your father was so polite, though. Even as a boy.”

Grandma chuckled. “Polite until he got comfortable.”

You laughed softly, the sound surprising you. “That sounds like him.”

“They were happy summers,” Nana continued, her voice warm with memory. “Those were good days. This place witnessed those kids grow up. Your mom and dad got engaged here.”

The room fell into a gentle hush, that subtle heaviness creeping in. You knew it all too well. It always happened whenever your parents were brought into the conversation. Nana reached out and patted your knee, her touch gentle and affectionate.

“You must miss them very much,” she said softly.

You swallowed, then nodded. “I do. But it’s okay. Really.” You managed a small smile. “I was young. I barely remember some things.”

That wasn’t entirely true—but it was the version you’d learned to give people, the one that made them stop looking at you like you might shatter.

Nana studied you for a moment, eyes kind but knowing. “Still,” she said, “we’re glad you’re here. You’re family too, you know.”

You blinked, throat tightening unexpectedly. “Thank you,” you said, meaning it more than you could explain.

Then, as if sensing the mood had sunk too low, your grandma straightened a little and clapped her hands together lightly. “Well! Speaking of family,” she said brightly, “have you two thought about where you’ll get married?”

“I—what?” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” your grandma laughed. “This is not an unexpected subject.”

You chuckled awkwardly. “No. No, it’s not. I just—we… Vernon and I haven’t discussed it yet.”

“But you’re gonna get married anyway, aren’t you?” Nana asked, placing a hand on your arm. “Why wait? You could do it here. After Christmas. The snow would be beautiful.”

“Oh, I love winter weddings,” your grandma gushed.

“I do too!” Nana agreed, also gushing. “My youngest had one and it was majestic!”

Your mind scrambled, panic blooming fast. After Christmas? Here? You could practically feel the lie ballooning again, threatening to burst.

“I think that might be a little—” you started, glancing desperately around the room, looking for Vernon.

“Oh, of course we’ll leave that up to you two,” said Nana, giggling. “But think about it and let us know. I know a good organizer who can give us an amazing event in short notice.”

Right on cue, the front door opened. Cold air rushed in along with laughter, Vernon’s uncle stomping snow off his boots as Vernon followed behind him, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Perfect conditions out there,” his uncle announced cheerfully. “Snow uphill is just right. We can go sledding today!”

The kids immediately erupted, cheers echoing through the house. Vernon’s gaze flicked to you, taking you in—your posture, your pallid face and horrified expression—and quickly understood that you needed him.

“Hello, ladies,” he greeted, kissing his Nana on the cheek and your grandma too. “I hope you’re not bullying my fiancee.”

They both chuckled, waving their hands. “Oh, we’re just talking,” Nana said, smiling. 

Vernon turned to you. “Wanna go sledding?”

“Yes,” you exclaimed with enthusiasm, not because you wanted to go but because you couldn’t wait to get out of there. “I love sledding.”

“Then we should go before they destroy the hill,” he smiled, offering a hand.

Nana laughed, waving a hand. “Go on, go. We’ll talk weddings later.”

You nearly tripped over your own feet standing up. Vernon fell into step beside you as you walked toward the main door, leaning in just enough to murmur, “You okay?”

“Pretty sure I was this close to spontaneously combusting,” you whispered back. “But yeah. I’m okay.”

Outside, the cold bit through your coat immediately. The sky was pale and endless, the snow untouched and glittering. Laughter was echoing from the hill as kids dragged sleds uphill.

Vernon handed you a pair of gloves without comment. You took them automatically, slipping them on. “Our grandmas suggested we get married here, just after Christmas. Apparently they both love winter weddings.”

“Oh, wow. What did you say to that?” he asked, walking over to fix your bonnet.

You scoffed, then rolled your eyes, letting him tie the laces of your bonnet under your chin. “What do you think? Couldn’t even get a word in. They were taking a mile a minute.”

He chuckled softly, patting your head after he was done with the laces. “Don’t mind them. Ultimately, the decision would be up to us. They can’t force us to do anything.”

You hummed to that, agreeing. Then you looked up at his hand, still sitting on your head. “You’re getting comfortable, Secretary Chwe.”

He grinned, defiant, not moving his hand away as he leaned down to say, “Except I’m not Secretary Chwe right now. I’m your baby.”

You grimaced, swatting his hand away. “Ew. As if.”

“Ah, it wasn’t ‘baby’. What was it, again?” he teased, walking backward. “My love, was it?”

You scowled, running after him to hit him. But he dodged easily. “You’re so annoying. I’m firing you first thing when we get back.”

“No, you won’t,” he grinned, holding out a hand. “You’re not gonna find a secretary who can do better than me.”

You scoffed, but you knew he was right. “Only for now,” you retorted. “As soon as Becca’s back, you’re out,” you added, then took his hand and followed him into the snow.

Sledding, apparently, was a two-person activity. You found that out only after everyone had already scattered across the hill, pairs forming naturally.

“Oh, I’m good,” you said quickly, hanging back near the fence. “I’ll just… watch.”

Vernon turned toward you, breath fogging in the cold. “You don’t wanna try?”

“I’m perfectly content being moral support,” you replied, hands tucked into your coat sleeves. “Very enthusiastic moral support.”

“Come on. It’s fun. You’re gonna love it,” he offered, smiling. Then he held a hand out to you, palm up.

“C’mon,” he said again. “One ride.”

You hesitated. You really did. You even glanced back toward the house, like the contract might physically manifest and slap his hand away for you. But then he tilted his head slightly, arm still extended, that stupid smile on his lips, and you sighed.

“Fine,” you muttered, stepping forward. “But hands around me is against the rules.”

He lifted a brow. “We’re sledding. I have to hold you.”

You considered that for a second, then nodded. “Alright. Compromise.”

You followed him, letting him guide you toward one of the sleds waiting at the top of the hill. The snow was packed down from use. You sat down first, legs tucked in, bracing yourself.

Vernon climbed on behind you and you stiffened immediately as his knees bracketed your hips, your back pressing flush against his chest through layers of winter coats.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice too close to your ear that it made the hair on your neck rise.

“I am relaxed,” you blurted, which was a blatant lie.

His hands hovered for a second, like he was giving you time to object. When you didn’t, he placed them carefully at your sides instead of fully around you, fingers gripping the edge of the sled.

“See?” he whispered in your ear, and you felt that in the way your heart started racing. “No rules broken.”

Your heart was already pounding like you were halfway down the hill. “Just… don’t move them,” you warned.

“I won’t.”

The sled jerked forward. Snow rushed past in a blur as gravity took over, the world tilting, the cold air biting at your cheeks. You gasped, half-laughing, half-panicking as the speed picked up.

Behind you, Vernon laughed too, his breath warm where it brushed your ear. The sled hit a small bump, and you jolted back instinctively. His arm tightened at your side—not wrapping, but close enough that you felt it anyway.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah!” you replied, grinning so hard as the wind whipped against your face.

When the sled finally slowed at the bottom of the hill, snow spraying up around you, you were both still laughing, breathless, a little unsteady.

Then the laughter faded. You looked up at him at the same time he looked down at you, and suddenly the space between your faces felt too small. Small enough that you could feel his warm breath against your cheek.

You blinked a few times, surprised and frozen in place. Vernon’s gaze dropped to your mouth, just for a second. When it lifted again, he swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing once. Seeing that and the intent in his eyes made your heart kick painfully against your ribs, like it was trying to escape.

Laughter and cheering exploded behind you as another sled barreled to a stop nearby.

You moved instantly, standing too fast, stepping away before your body could do something stupid. Cold air rushed back in like a shock as you brushed snow from your coat, cheeks burning despite the winter air.

Vernon cleared his throat. “That was fun,” he said, smiling like nothing happened.

You swallowed, looking away. “Yeah.”

Behind you, you could feel his gaze linger. You told yourself it was just adrenaline. Still, when he reached for the sled again and asked, “One more?” you didn’t say no.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. You drifted between rooms, between conversations—helping in the kitchen, sitting in on half-finished card games, watching kids chase each other until someone inevitably cried over a stolen candy cane. 

Somewhere in the middle of it all, you realized you’d stopped keeping track of where Vernon was at all times. Not because you didn’t care, but because you didn’t need to.

He was there when you glanced up from a conversation, leaning against a doorway, already looking at you. He was there beside you when someone handed out mugs of something warm, your shoulders brushing as you accepted yours. There were looks shared across the room, quick whispered comments that made you laugh under your breath, inside jokes forming without effort.

For once since you got here, there was no pressure to perform. No constant mental checklist. No fear that you’d look too distant for two people who were supposedly engaged. You were just genuinely enjoying yourself.

By nightfall, after a movie that half the room slept through, you found yourself walking back down the hall beside him, the house was quieter now, voices fading behind closed doors.

You were still laughing about a scene from the movie neither of you could take seriously. Your steps slowed naturally as you reached the door to the bedroom.

Vernon lingered in the hallway, hands in his pockets, watching you with a thoughtful expression. “You know,” he said casually, “you’re a really good person.”

You snorted, already turning toward the door. “Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

That made you pause. You glanced back at him, brows lifting. “Right. Sure you are.”

He rolled his eyes. “No, really. People at work call you Medusa, but I think they’re wrong about you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Oh, I don’t call you that,” he added quickly. “It’s just them.” 

You stared at him, genuinely caught off guard. “Medusa?”

“Like I said, they’re wrong. Please forgive them,” he said, smiling. “It’s just that they’ve never met someone so hardworking and intelligent. So sharp. So… wonderful. I think they figured there’s no way a real person could be that amazing, so they called you Medusa.”

Your stomach fluttered, completely against your will. But then you scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “Or,” you said, recovering, “it’s because people freeze when they see me. Like Medusa turns them into stone.”

He laughed. “That too.”

You laughed too, the sound echoing softly down the quiet hallway. And then for a moment, neither of you said anything. You were just staring at each other. When he leaned on the wall adjacent to the door, you mirrored him by leaning on his bedroom door.

Crossing your arms, you said, “It’s my turn on the bed tonight.”

Vernon chuckled softly, eyes glimmering, shaking his head. “No, it’s not.”

“It’s not?” you asked, feigning ignorance.

He opened his mouth—probably to argue, like always—then stopped. His gaze was still on you, that soft glow in his eyes was still there.

“…Fine,” he sighed, pushing himself away from the wall and walking toward you. He stopped just a breath away. “You can have it.”

You frowned, caught off guard. “That was too easy.”

He shrugged, reaching for the door knob behind you, leaning in so close. “Don’t get used to it,” he murmured, still not moving away even after he had pushed the door open.

You smiled, shaking your head lightly, and walked in. You took your cardigan off, reached the bed, arranged the blanket—you counted the steps in your head, not because you needed to, but because your chest was doing this ridiculous fluttering thing.

Vernon followed quietly, the ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips, and you watched as he picked up his blanket and headed to the couch. Then he gave you a small wave before disappearing behind the backrest. 

You lay down, smiling to yourself, staring up at the ceiling, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest.

This is bad, you whispered in your thoughts. This is so bad. You were smiling like an idiot. Because of Vernon Chwe! 

You exhaled through your nose. Okay. So maybe you were enjoying this holiday. A little too much. And yes. Fine. Vernon likes you. You weren’t imagining that. You’d spent your entire career reading people; you weren’t about to pretend you couldn’t read this.

But the more troubling realization was: you might be starting to like him back.

And that was bad because you had no idea how to tread this territory. This wasn’t in the agreement. There was no clause for catching feelings, no protocol for what to do if that ever happened.

“Hey,” Vernon’s voice carried from across the room, making your head snap that way, quieting your thoughts.

“Hey…” you murmured back.

“Goodnight,” he said softly.

You didn’t answer right away. You let yourself breathe. Then you exhaled softly, trying to get some control back, and making a decision right then and there. “Goodnight, Secretary Chwe,” you murmured.

You knew what it meant to call him that, knew how that sounded. But the words weren’t exactly for him. Not really. They were for you—a reminder to draw a line, to keep your head straight and not get distracted.

Because it turns out that the most dangerous thing about fake dating is not getting caught; it’s when things start to feel real.

The house was already awake when you stirred the next morning. You could tell before you even opened the door—voices overlapping downstairs, footsteps on the stairs, laughter that was louder than usual. Vernon noticed it too the second he stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp, sleeves rolled as he buttoned his shirt.

“Is it just me or is the house noisier than usual?” he asked, voice light.

You huffed a laugh. “Maybe your family multiplied in their sleep.”

You didn’t get far down the stairs before his mother intercepted the both of you, beaming, hands clasped together like she’d been waiting all morning for this exact moment.

“Surprise!” she said brightly.

Behind her, the living room was packed. Not just relatives—new faces. Older couples you didn’t recognize, younger people clustered near the windows, a few men Vernon vaguely waved at in recognition. Someone had already put music on. Someone else had brought food. There were flowers on the table that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday.

Vernon blinked once. “Mom, what’s going on?”

His mother laughed, waving him off. “Oh, we thought it would be nice to surprise you with an engagement party and invite our family friends, and your friends of course.”

“Your friends?” you asked, looking at Vernon.

“Yes, dear,” his mom answered. “Kids he grew up with and went to school with.”

She looped an arm through yours before you could take a step back. “I know it’s a lot, and you two have a penchant for keeping things lowkey. But don’t worry, this is just a small function. We won’t put you in too much spotlight, so no pressure.”

“Hah,” you exclaimed, then chuckled awkwardly. “Of course. No pressure,” you echoed, glancing sideways at Vernon.

“Mom,” he said, “you really didn’t have to—”

“Oh hush,” she said, already steering you further into the hall. “Everyone’s been dying to meet you properly.”

And just like that, the lie wasn’t a snowball anymore. It’s an avalanche.

You endured. That was the only way to describe it. Endurance. You smiled when people congratulated you. You nodded when they said you were beautiful together. You accepted hugs from women who smelled like perfume and winter coats and cinnamon.

Someone pressed a drink into your hand. Someone else asked how you met. You answered automatically, muscle memory carrying you through a story you’d told often enough that it no longer snagged.

Vernon stayed close. A hand at your back, a glance across the room when the noise spiked. Every so often, he’d hold your hand and give it a light squeeze, as if he was apologizing and asking you to power through.

His friends were easier than you expected. They were polite, warm, and a little teasing, the kind that only comes from a long shared history.

One of them clapped Vernon on the shoulder. “Good for you man. Moving away, starting over, meeting someone you wanted to marry.”

“Jealous, Gyu?” another guy scoffed. “Maybe if you stopped sleeping around like a menace—”

“Oh, shut up, Seungcheol,” Mingyu shot back. “You’re the one flirting with sad married women.”

“For the last time,” Seungcheol sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like this argument had worn him thin, “she’s not married. She’s divorced.”

You watched Vernon through it all—relaxed, carefree, amused, completely at ease in the presence of friends who knew him best.

“So,” Wonwoo cut in, eyes flicking between the two of you. “What are you doing these days, Vernon?”

“Yeah,” someone else added. “What happened after you left the company?”

That caught your attention. You glanced at Vernon. “The slave contract you were talking about,” you said slowly, “that was with your family?”

He grinned, entirely unapologetic. You scowled. “The hell? So you were a nepo baby too. How dare you call me one.”

Vernon laughed, head lolling back. You just stared at him, unimpressed. His friends too, apparently. They were just staring like they had no idea what was so funny. 

Vernon eventually noticed it, so he stopped, cleared his throat, and straightened up. “I’m working as a secretary,” he said, and then, with visible pride, slid an arm around your shoulder. “In her cosmetics company.”

The pause was immediate. “…Wait,” Seungcheol said. “You work for her?”

“She’s the CEO?” Mingyu asked, and Vernon nodded again.

“So you’re—” Wonwoo pointed at you, then back at Vernon. “—his boss?”

“Yeah,” Vernon said proudly. “She’s very cool.”

There was a second where you braced yourself, afraid they might judge him for it. But then Mingyu barked out a laugh. Then suddenly, everyone else was laughing.

“No way,” Seungcheol said, shaking his head. “You? Taking orders?”

Mingyu followed, grinning wide. “Do you have any idea how insane that is? This man has never worked under anyone.”

“Ever,” Wonwoo added. “He used to boss entire departments around like it was a sport.”

Vernon rolled his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“That’s extremely true,” Mingyu shot back. He turned to you, “He’s so annoying. And he doesn’t even realize it. He once made a manager wait because he ‘wasn’t done talking.’”

You blinked, surprised, then laughed before you could stop yourself. Nodding, you said, “He is kinda annoying. And tactless sometimes.”

Seungcheol pointed at you, delighted. “See? Imagine that kind of guy working under someone?”

Mingyu asked you, “Bet you’re always on the verge of firing him every day, huh?”

You shrugged. “Not really. He is annoying but I can keep him in line. And he’s pretty good at his job. There are only two people who can keep up with me, and he’s one of them.”

“Figures,” Wonwoo said, nodding like it all made sense now. “Leaves the family business, ends up working for someone smarter than him.”

“And marries her,” Mingyu added, grinning. “How poetic.”

Vernon didn’t deny it. If anything, he looked pleased, standing there beside you like this arrangement wasn’t something to be embarrassed about, but something he’d chosen.

You felt something warm settle in your chest at that. 

“So,” Mingyu said, dragging a chair closer and plopping down like he was settling in for a story. “I gotta ask. How did this happen?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You two,” Mingyu clarified, gesturing between you. “From boss and secretary to engaged and getting married soon.”

Seungcheol leaned forward, eyes bright. “Yeah. Did he seduce you with his wiles while pretending to work as your secretary?”

Vernon scoffed. “I did not seduce her.”

“You absolutely did,” Mingyu said. “Look at him. That’s a man who knows how to weaponize his good looks.”

You snorted. “That’s slander.”

“Oh, come on,” Seungcheol said. “You’re telling me he didn’t pull the whole competent, always-there, remembers-your-coffee-order routine?”

Vernon opened his mouth to protest again, but you beat him to it. “It’s not hard to fall for Vernon,” you said.

The table went quiet. You hadn’t planned to say that. It just slipped out.

You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of the way Vernon had turned fully toward you. “I mean—he is,” you continued. “He’s thoughtful. He pays attention. He notices things most people don’t bother with. He anticipates what needs to be done without making a show of it.”

Vernon didn’t interrupt. He just watched you, expression unreadable, eyes steady.

“He’s… considerate. And patient. And surprisingly kind. Of course, he’s sarcastic and all but even that is excusable because those little arguments are fun and makes every day less dull,” you added, smiling absently. “And he’s the sweetest. Which is annoying, actually, because it makes it hard to stay mad at him.”

You finally looked at Vernon.

He was smiling—but not the smug one, not the teasing one. This was softer, the same smile he had been giving you these last few days. The kind that looked like he was grateful for the existence of you. He looked like he hadn’t expected to hear all that, but he was holding it carefully now that it existed.

You gave him the same smile. Or as best as you could reflect it, hoping, and knowing, that he knew exactly what it meant. And you realized now that you had just crossed a line. 

Straight up just stepped over it without hesitation, after telling yourself very clearly the night before where it was.

Mingyu stood abruptly. “Okay. Nope. I’m too single for this.” He waved a hand between the two of you. “You’re both being disgustingly in love. Kissing in front of me would’ve been less damaging.”

Wonwoo laughed. “Agreed. Let’s move on before I start believing in love again.”

You huffed a laugh, but it came out weaker than you meant it to. Your chest was heavy with warmth and feelings and… and love.

But you had no time to dwell on it. Someone suggested games. Someone else brought snacks. Chairs were pulled, conversations restarted, the day rolling forward like nothing had almost happened.

But when Vernon held your hand under the table later, not for show because no one would’ve seen it, you didn’t move away. And for the rest of the day, you didn’t bring up the line you’d drawn. You just quietly stood on the other side of it.

The engagement party thing was over by noon. Guests left one by one, and the family resumed preparations for Christmas Eve dinner. You were gathered in the kitchen with the adults, helping out with the cookies.

Vernon was sitting in a chair beside you, casually chatting with you and his mom about holiday traditions.

“Your parents actually used to host the winter bonfires,” said Vernon’s mom, smiling fondly at you. 

“They did?” you asked, delighted to hear another anecdote about your parents.

She nodded. “Yes. Every year. And then your mom got pregnant with you, so they skipped a year. After that, the whole tradition just stopped,” she added, sighing. “They’d always made it so magical. We simply could not recreate it.”

Vernon leaned forward, gesturing with his mug. “I remember when I met her parents. Incredible people. And her mom’s so beautiful.”

The room froze. Adults exchanged sharp glances, eyebrows raised. His mom looked at him, brows furrowed. “You met her parents?”

“Yeah. I—” You nudged Vernon’s leg under the table, stopping him.

“But that’s impossible, dear,” Nana said, her voice laced with sympathy, “you couldn’t have. Her parents passed away a long time ago.”

You felt Vernon freeze beside you. Quick on your feet, you leaned slightly toward him, your tone casual as if nothing unusual had happened, as if your heart didn’t just sink to your stomach. 

“Oh, I took him to their graves,” you said smoothly. “He met them there.”

Vernon blinked at you, clearly realizing he’d made a mistake.

“I wanted to introduce him to them first,” you added, smiling, channeling your best acting yet. “I didn’t know our connection yet at the time, but they were probably thrilled to know I’m marrying their close friend’s son.”

“Aw,” Vernon’s mom sighed. “That’s very thoughtful of you, isn’t it?”

The tension in the room melted almost instantly, replaced by murmurs and soft chuckles from the other adults. Conversation resumed around you, with only a few glances exchanged—reminders of the near slip, and of just how good you were at thinking on your feet.

Vernon reached for your hand, so you glanced at him. He looked apologetic, and you could tell it wasn’t because he nearly revealed that you weren’t in a real relationship. You smiled at him, patting his hand and mouthing, ‘It’s okay.’

By the time dinner preparations were done, you were exhausted. Exhausted from the engagement party, from socializing with people who were basically strangers to you, and exhausted from helping out in the kitchen.

“This is nice and all, but I think I prefer our boring Christmas dinners, Grandma,” you told your Grandma while getting dressed for dinner.

She chuckled heartily, sitting in front of her vanity and trying on a different shade of lipstick. “Being surrounded by people you love on Christmas is how it’s supposed to be, my dear. It’s a shame I couldn’t give you this kind of warmth growing up.”

“Hey,” you chided, walking toward her and wrapping your arms around her shoulder. “I have no complaints, so you shouldn’t talk like that. You raised me as best as you can and taught me everything I know.”

Your Grandma melted in your embrace, sighing as she put the lipstick down. “Yeah, you’re a wonderful kid, alright. I just wished you were a little sweeter.”

“Please,” you chuckled, pulling away. “My lack of sweetness and my attitude in general is thanks to you, as well.”

“I know that, but couldn’t you be more affectionate? Or expressive?” she sighed, gaze following you across the room. “Learn a thing or two about expressing yourself from Vernon.”

“Too late for that,” you quipped, checking your reflection in the mirror once more.

Your Grandma sighed in defeat. “I guess I should be glad you’re marrying him then. He can express affection for both of you.”

Then came a series of knocks on the door. You quickly walked toward it, yanking it open knowing Vernon would be on the other side. 

“Hi,” he beamed, taking you in with his eyes. “You look amazing.”

You shrugged. “You don’t look so bad yourself, my love,” you replied, using your endearment, not because your grandma was there, but because… just because.

“Shall we?”

The dining room was warm, the scent of roasted meat and cinnamon filling the air. Dinner was loud like always in this house—chairs scraping, someone always talking over someone else, Nana shushing nobody in particular.

You ended up seated beside Vernon, mostly because every time you tried to move, someone asked you to stay. He passed you food without asking. You corrected his grip on the serving spoon once. He fixed it without comment.

At some point, his Nana leaned over.  “Is now the best time to talk weddings?”

Vernon chuckled lightly. “Nana, it’s Christmas eve. We’ll have time for that later.”

Nana tried to insist, but eventually gave up when you both refused adamantly. Later, when some cousins got up to chase the kids outside for an impromptu snowball fight, Vernon leaned closer. 

After dishes were cleared and the family settled around the living room for a low-volume carol playlist, you both slipped out to the balcony, leaving the laughter and chatter behind. The night was cold, and snowflakes drifted lazily downward, coating the garden below in soft white. Vernon wrapped a blanket around himself, then stood behind you.

“Is this okay?” he asked, wrapping his arms and the blanket around you.

You chuckled, feeling the warmth seep in immediately. “Are people watching?”

“Yeah. About a dozen of them,” he replied briskly. “I think I need to hold you closer. Make it more believable, you know?” he added, already tightening his arms around you.

You could tell he was lying, but you didn’t bother confirming. “You should, or we’d get caught,” you said, leaning your head against his chest.

“Your family has a lot of stamina,” you said after a pause. “I would’ve tapped out after day one.”

“You did better than I expected,” he replied, chuckling. “Everyone likes you. Nana adores you.”

“That’s terrifying,” you said, looking up at him. “She’s very perceptive.”

Vernon smiled, shifting a little and pressing his chin on top of your head. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Day.”

“I know. One more day and this is all over,” you replied, taking a long relieved breath. “We can finally go back to how things were.”

You felt him stiffen behind you, recovering almost as quickly. He laughed slowly. “I was actually thinking the same thing. When this is over, we could go back to our hectic, caffeinated daily routine, closing deals like champs, terrorizing the marketing head, pressuring manufacturers, calling the lab day in and day out for new and improved formulas.”

“You’re making us sound like bad capitalists,” you quipped, grinning. “I mean we’re capitalists but we're not that bad.”

Vernon chuckled, his chest vibrating against your back. “And I was also thinking…” he paused, loosened his arms, and turned you around so you could face him fully.

He braced his hands on the railing, caging you in as he stared into your eyes. You held your breath and looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

“I was thinking maybe we could go out on nice dinners sometimes. After work,” he continued. “Go on a road trip on weekends. Maybe catch a movie if you’re into that.”

“Like bosses and secretaries do?”

He huffed a laugh. “I’m pretty sure they don’t do that.”

You shrugged, still looking anywhere but his eyes. “They might. If they’re… dating.”

The word lingered between you, more meaningful than you meant it to be. Vernon stayed quiet for a few moments, then, softly, carefully, he said your name, the word rolling beautifully on his tongue.

You looked up, finally meeting his gaze. “Yes? Vernon?”

Something changed in his expression. Like you’d tapped something only he could feel. “That’s three times,” he said softly.

“What?”

“Three times you’ve called me by my name since we met.”

You blinked, surprised he’d even noticed. “You’re counting?”

He shrugged. “If you’re Secretary Chwe every minute of the day, you just can’t help but keep count.”

Neither of you moved. He didn’t step closer, diidn’t touch you, he just stayed there, giving you space and somehow still holding you in place.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, almost in a whisper.

“That would be breaking the rules,” you said, automatically. Not because you actually cared about the rules, but because  you were too nervous. Your heart was kicking hard against your ribs. Your breathing was getting unsteady. And your skin was pricking not from the cold, but from anticipation.

“I knew you’d say that,” he chuckled, already leaning in.

You met him halfway. In a kiss that was soft and careful, growing firmer with every breath. His hand found your waist, warm through the layers, steadying you as your lips pressed back with more certainty.

For a moment, you couldn’t hear or see anything. You could only feel. Feel his hand around you, his lips against yours, his warmth, your warmth, his heartbeat against your own. Snow fell. Laughter drifted faintly from inside. The world continued on, unaware. Or maybe they were aware. You didn’t care. Right now, nothing else mattered but this moment right here.

Even after you pulled away, you stayed close, foreheads touching, breaths fogging, cheeks flushed, and grinning. Vernon’s hands lingered at your waist, firm but gentle, the warmth through the layers of your coats seeping into you like it was meant to.

“God, it’s freezing out here,” he murmured, voice low.

“You don’t say,” you whispered back, and the words were a laugh and a shiver at the same time.

He tilted his head slightly, nudging yours so your noses brushed. “I—” He stopped, exhaling sharply.

You tilted your chin up, meeting his eyes. “I know,” you said softly.

He let out a small laugh, almost a sigh, pressing a little closer. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Neither do I,” you admitted, and it came out softer than you expected, a confession you hadn’t planned to give aloud.

There was a pause, long enough that you could feel your heart hammering against your ribs, long enough that the wind seemed to hush around you. Your hands found his neck, and he leaned into your touch, eyes closing for just a fraction of a second before reopening, searching yours.

“I can’t pretend anymore.”

“Then let’s not,” you replied softly, and before you knew it, Vernon was scooping you up again for another kiss.

You were used to being in control.

Boardrooms fell silent whenever you walked in. People listened when you spoke. Decisions were set the moment you made them. Even now, in Vernon’s bedroom with the door closed and the city humming somewhere across the sea, you expected that familiar balance to tilt in your favor.

But it didn’t.

“What are you doing?” you asked, eyes wide and brows furrowed at Vernon who just stopped kissing you out of nowhere.

He shrugged, infuriatingly nonchalant and relaxed. “We need to slow down.”

“What?” you demanded, thoroughly confused. “What do you mean? This was your idea.”

“It is, but I need to know we’re on the same page here,” he said, smiling casually, but the firm grip of his hands on your hips told you he was restraining himself hard.

“I thought we made that clear?”

“No. What we did was stare into each other’s eyes and use vague words,” he said, gesturing vaguely.

You rolled your eyes, frustration bubbling over. “Vernon Chwe, I swear to God if you don’t kiss me right no—”

He crashed his lips into yours, shutting you up completely. Your body reacted immediately, heat and need shooting up through your core. Vernon’s long fingers tangled into your hair, tugging firmly until a moan escaped from your lips. He took this chance to shove his tongue into your open mouth. You pulled him even closer, breasts pressing against his broad chest.

His kisses trailed to your jaw, one hand slipping under your shirt to touch the skin of your waist. You gasped when his mouth latched to your neck, sucking and nipping.

“Vernon,” you said, tapping his shoulders. “Take me to the bed.”

Vernon pulled away just enough to press his forehead against you, smirking. “Is that an order?” he rasped, his hand underneath your shirt now moving to slip past your bra.

“No?” you breathed, holding back a moan when he gave your nipple a gentle squeeze. “Is it?”

“It better not be,” he whispered into your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin. He took your wrists  “I’ll allow that at work, but don’t think for one second that I’m gonna let you tell me what to do in my room…”

He kissed your neck, making your skin shiver in the best way. “Or on my bed,” he added, licking your throat.

You moaned out his name, but he was quick to press a finger on your lips. “Shush, love. This may be a big house, but the walls here are thin.”

“Vernon…” you purred, and he cupped your cheek gently, then pressed a long, lingering kiss to your forehead.

“Be quiet, alright?” he said, smiling before disappearing from your line of sight.

You were confused for a fraction of a second. Then you felt your skirt being lifted, followed by something pressing on your clothed cunt without warning.

You gasped, realizing belatedly that it was Vernon’s nose. You felt him take a long sniff, hand wrapping around your thigh. You grabbed a fistful of his hair and he let out a growl the likes of which you’d never heard before.

A second later, he was devouring you, relentless and insatiable, leaving you trembling under his touch. Your grip on his hair tightened, your knees were threatening to give out with every lick. If it wasn’t for his tight hold around your legs, you would have collapsed on the floor already.

Vernon slipped a finger into you, without warning, making you gasp. He rose to his feet, finger still inside you, his other hand pushing loose hair behind your ear as he shushed you gently. 

“The entire house is gonna hear you, and they’re gonna know exactly what’s going on in here,” he said, as if it wasn’t his fingering that was making you make all these noises.

But you listened anyway, biting down your lower lip, tears pricking at your eyelids when he pushed a second finger in. You buried your face on his chest, fingers digging into his shoulders as he pushed you closer to the edge

Vernon pressed his lips on the side of your head, shushing you gently while still brutally ramming his fingers in and out of your sex.

Then you felt that familiar knot twisting low in your belly, threatening to come undone. Your breathing turned erratic, breasts falling and rising rapidly as you braced for an orgasm. Vernon saw that, kissed your cheek, and moved harder amd faster. 

His fingers were cramping, but the delightful look on your face was spurring him on. He couldn’t wait to see the beautiful face you’d make when it’s finally him drilling into your sweet cunt. Just thinking about it was making his cock throb—hard and hot, still trapped in his pants.

“Vernon, I’m—” you cut yourself off, gasping, body jerking, hands on his shoulders gripping tighter as a wave of orgasmm surged through you.

Then you fell limp against Vernon, who held you steadily. He kissed you again because… well because he just couldn’t stop himself from kissing you, could he? His head was clouded, and all he could think of was how much he wanted to fuck your brains out.

So he lifted your thighs, wrapped your legs around his legs and carried you over to the bed.

You fell on the mattress with a bounce, still out of breath from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Vernon crawled over you, smirk tugging at his lips.

“Still wanna tell me what to do?” he asked, mouth hovering just above yours.

You hesitated. That hesitation made him smile. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, kissing you again. 

His hand pinned your wrist above your head, the other tracing down your side like he was rewriting the rules you lived by. He gathered the hem of your sweater, yanking it up and over your head, before crashing his lips back to yours.

Your skirt and stockings followed immediately after, his hands settling on your thighs, spreading them wide enough for him to marvel at the sight of your wet pussy.

“Like what you’re seeing?” you asked, confidence spiking because Vernon was looking at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world.

He huffed an amused laugh, hand tracing your thigh. “Oh, I love it. You have no idea.”

When was the last time you felt this kind of intense desire and uninhibited pleasure? You couldn’t even remember. Not that it mattered. Vernon was here to rock your entire world tonight, with that rock-hard, standing tall, deliciously girthy manhood that had just sprang free from the confines of his boxers.

You held your breath when he positioned himself between your legs, licking a stripe on his hands and coating his cock with the slick. Your fingers curled into the sheets as he pressed into you slowly, the earlier orgasm making him slide smoothly, but the stretch made you whimper.

“Don’t make me cover that mouth myself,” he warned, grinning so sweetly, unaware of the surge of pleasure that just shot through you when he said those words.

He bottomed out with a groan, his body settling over yours as he collected himself. His hair brushed your face as he moaned against your chest, muttering curses under his breath.

Meanwhile, you were catching your breath, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Vernon, I need you to move. Please. Please. Please,” you’d basically pleaded.

Vernon exhaled sharply, lifting his head to meet your gaze and plant a quick kiss to your lips. “I’ll allow it because you asked nicely,” he quipped, pulling out for a second just before thrusting into you.

Your chest rose and fell against his, nerves dancing in sensations his every move was sending through your body. Your fingers tangled, your breaths mingled, heat lingered in every glance, and every brush of skin. You clung to him, losing track of everything except his touch and the way he held you close.

The world had narrowed to the feeling of him against you, the pull and the push—especially the push. Your lower lip stung from biting too hard to keep yourself quiet. Your heart was beating wildly in your chest, echoing in his.

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, lips grazing your temple, and the shiver that ran down your spine was delightful and hot. 

“You are most beautiful,” he whispered, eyes locked with yours, filled with sincerity and something tender… something that looked a lot like love.

Snow kept falling outside, and somewhere between the haze of lust and warmth, you were sure that whatever came next would leave both of you ruined in the best possible way. But at the same time, you realized you wouldn’t have wanted to stop even if you could.

You woke up to Vernon’s arms wrapped around you, his warmth seeping through the blankets, his scent lingering in your hair and on your clothes. He was awake, head propped on one hand, watching you with that half-smile that made your chest tighten.

“What are you doing?” you mumbled, embarrassed, burying your face against his shoulder.

“Keeping my eyes on you in case this turns out to be a dream and you disappear,” he said in one breath, brushing loose strands of hair behind your ear.

You grinned, snuggling closer. “That’s so corny.”

You stayed like that for a few more minutes, savoring the warmth and the way his hand traced idle patterns along your side. But the inevitability of the morning eventually caught up with you. It’s Christmas Day. By now, the rest of the family would be gathered downstairs, waiting to open gifts and celebrate some more.

“Come on. You should see what I got you,” he said, sitting up. “It’s in a red box with a shiny green ribbon on it.”

“You got me something?” you asked, genuinely surprised.

Vernon looked at you like the answer should have been obvious. “Of course, I got you something. It’s Christmas. You’re supposed to— wait…” he paused, narrowing his eyes at you. “You didn’t get me anything, did you?”

You smiled sheepishly, and Vernon’s jaw dropped. But then he shrugged, reached to cup your face, and grinned.

“It’s okay. I think I received my best Christmas gift yet,” he chimed, leaning in to kiss you.

You ended up cuddling in bed again. Vernon was relentless, kissing the back of your neck, tugging your hands, soft murmurs of promises that made your heart flutter and your cheeks burn. Getting up after that was slow. Clothes, brushing teeth, and somehow, through a haze of laughter, stolen kisses, and whispers, you managed to get ready.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, standing behind you in front of the mirror and wrapping his arms around.

“Thanks. I figured I should try harder if I’m gonna date someone so handsome,” you replied, turning to face him, arms finding their way around his neck.

Vernon grinned, clearly pleased with what he just heard. “You don’t need to. You’re already too beautiful for someone like me.”

You rolled your eyes, not buying it. “You clearly don’t understand just how beautiful you are, Vernon Chwe.”

He kissed you again, and you had to squirm out of his hold and walk out of the room first or you’d spend the whole morning locked in the bedroom with him.

The first thing you noticed when you reached the bottom of the stairs was the silence. The usual mayhem of children squealing and zooming around, adults chattering, holiday music in the background—it was all gone. Only the adults were there, standing rigidly, staring at the two of you.

Your stomach dropped. Something was wrong, you could feel it in your bones.

Vernon stepped closer, taking your hand in his. “What’s going on?”

No one answered. Then his mom stepped forward, her smile tight, eyes not quite meeting his. She shoved a piece of paper into his hands, and you immediately recognized your carefully constructed contract even before reading the words.

“What is the meaning of that?” his mom asked, her voice small and hesitant. “Vernon, tell us right now. Why is there a document like that in your bedroom?”

The words didn’t register at first. The paper in his hands felt heavy, like it had gravity all its own. You tried to breathe but your chest felt hollow.

Vernon opened his mouth, searching for the right words, and your heart hammered in sympathy and panic. “We… I can explain…”

Voices erupted around you, overlapping, frantic and sharp. Someone asked why he did this. Another said this was unnecessary and that he didn’t have to deceive everyone. One voice asked if he had any motive. Another asked if he thought of this family as a joke.

You barely made sense of it, caught between the tidal wave of accusations, most of them being directed at Vernon. He kept his hand around yours, holding you tight and shielding you with his body as his family demanded answers from him. The rest of the room seemed to tilt and spin. You barely heard him try to speak again; his words were drowned out by questions, accusations, demands—all of it directed at him.

Finally, you found your voice, loud and firm, “It’s my fault.”

All eyes turned toward you, stunned at your words. You took in their confused faces, then exhaled sharply. 

“I made him do this,” you added, tugging your hand away from Vernon’s grasp. “There was a… a situation,” you began to explain, choosing your words carefully. 

“A supposedly one-off situation that unexpectedly spiraled out of control. And I know, we could have avoided this by being honest from the get-go but…” Your gaze swept the room and settled on your grandma in the corner. You thought she’d look angry, but all you could see on her face was sympathy. “But we didn’t. We couldn’t.”

You flattened your lips into a smile, still directed at your grandmother. “Not when it was the first time in a long time that I saw someone smile as brightly as she did when she heard I had a fiancee.”

Your Grandma’s hand flew to her mouth, his brows furrowing, and she looked away. You turned to the rest of Vernon’s family. To his Nana, to his parents, his aunts and uncles—the very people who welcomed you warmly into their home.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I have my reasons, but they’re all just excuses. Selfish excuses. I shouldn’t have dragged your entire family into this. I wouldn’t have,” you paused, taking a deep breath and turning to Vernon. “I wouldn’t have if I had known just how much you loved Vernon.”

You turned to everyone again. Nana’s hand was on her chest, Vernon’s mom was covering her mouth in shock.

“So don’t blame him. It’s not his fault. He’s a really good man,” you added, smiling bitterly. “He just couldn’t say no to his Medusa of a boss who promised him a raise and regularization if he agreed to do this.” 

“Stop,” Vernon said, taking your hand. “I didn’t agree to this because of that—”

“It’s okay, Secretary Chwe,” you interrupted, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry for ruining your Christmas. I’ll leave,” you said, voice steady despite the tremor in your chest. You glanced at Nana, and the words escaped almost like a prayer: “You have a wonderful family. I’m sorry. I wish we didn’t have to meet like this.”

And with that, you walked out, leaving Vernon rooted in place, the paper still in his hand, the room swirling with stunned silence.

Before you knew it, you were sinking into your seat on the plane, the engines vibrating softly beneath you. Beside you, your grandma was perfectly composed, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she stared out the window at the receding tarmac.

Vernon’s family had tried to make you stay. Gentle pleas, promises to table the matter of your deceit and unpack it properly. But you knew they were only being polite. That was just the kind of family they were, too nice for their own good.

You stared at the screen in front of you, counting the buttons, the logos stamped into the leather, your thoughts spinning in circles. Finally, you broke the quiet.

“Grandma…” Your voice was small, tentative. “Why aren’t you mad?”

Her calm eyes met yours. “Why would I be mad?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “I knew everything from the beginning.”

Your chest tightened. “You did?”

She nodded serenely. “Of course. You thought you were so clever, but you forgot that I taught you how to use that intelligent brain of yours.”

You blinked. “Wait… what? How?”

Grandma leaned back, unbothered by your wide-eyed stare. “My dear, with whom do you think I set you up with on that last blind date I begged you to go to?”

Your stomach dropped. “That… that was… No way.” You chuckled, in denial. “It can’t have been Vernon.”

“Oh, but it was,” she said, as if it were the simplest, most obvious thing in the world. “I kept telling you I knew his family. But you wouldn’t even give a second to hear me out. Imagine my surprise when I saw you in that hotel lobby, calling Vernon Chwe your fiancee.”

At this point, your heart beat has turned erratic. “If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was trying to see how far you were willing to take this charade. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but Vernon asked me to play along, so I did,” she explained.

You turned sharply to face her, incredulous. “Vernon knew that you knew?”

“Yes. He was confident he could make you fall in love and turn this pseudorelationship into a real thing. Sunhee and I had so much fun watching you struggle to maintain a face all week.”

Your jaw dropped. “Who else knows?”

“No one else, as far as I know.” Her hand rested gently over yours. “My dear, you’re clearly overwhelmed right now. Let’s talk about this later.”

You slumped back in your seat, staring out the window at the clouds streaked with gold from the rising sun, your mind buzzing. She knew. Nana knew. Vernon knew they knew. And somehow, that knowledge made the entire avalanche of the past twenty-four hours feel both heavier and… a little lighter.

Vernon first met you when he was ten.

It was summer, hot and loud and bright in the way summers only feel when you’re a kid. His kite had gotten stuck in a tree at the park, and he’d decided that climbing it himself was a good idea. 

But he was wrong. He slipped on the way down, scraped his knee, and sat there sniffing quietly, holding back his tears, more embarrassed than hurt.

Then you appeared out of nowhere, crouched in front of him, asked if he could stand, and when he said no, you sighed like an adult who’d already dealt with worse problems than a bleeding knee. 

After covering his knee with a cartoon Band Aid from your purse, you climbed the tree yourself and brought the kite down like it was nothing.

You were taller than him back then. Probably smarter, and more mature. And when you handed the kite to him and smiled, all he could think was that you were pretty. Like an angel.

He never saw you again after that day. Life moved on, as it does. He went to school, made friends, and had growth spurts. The memory of you drifted to the back of his mind, filed away with other half-remembered moments from childhood.

Until college.

He didn’t recognize you at first. Years had a way of blurring faces, and he almost walked past you at the freshman welcome party until you laughed. Suddenly he was ten again, at the park with a scraped knee and a kite in his hands.

You’d grown prettier, smarter, and more graceful. He was much much taller than you now, but the difference in height only made Vernon think you were cute.

He hadn’t even wanted to attend this party. He’d only gone because his cousin promised to cover his chores for a month if he showed up. Vernon wasn’t naïve—he knew his cousin wanted him there as decoration. He’d grown into his looks by then, and he was ‘handsome’, something people never let him forget, even when he wished they would.

But that night, for the first time in his life, he thought maybe he could use his looks for something other than being stared at. Maybe he could use it to charm his way into your contacts.

He planned to talk to you. Just to say ‘hi’. Maybe ask if you remembered him from all those summers ago. Or maybe he didn’t need to bring up the past at all. He could just talk to you. Say something normal. Ask for your number.

He stood near the drinks table, psyching himself up. But when the moment came, his nerves got the better of him. So he took a shot of soju.

Liquid courage, he told himself.

Then another. Then a third, because his heart was still beating too fast and you were laughing again and seeing that was making it hard for him to breathe.

By the fourth, his cousin was asking if he was okay. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, eyes locked on you a few tables away. 

His cousin poured a shot for himself, and Vernon snatched it away, downing it straight just to see if it would make him less nervous.

Before he knew it, he was already wasted, slumped over a table, cheek pressed to cold plastic. Someone had drawn something obscene on his hand. The party was over, and you were gone. He lay there for a long moment, staring at a bottle, wondering how he’d managed to mess it up without ever actually trying.

After that, he saw you everywhere. The library, the quad, the cafeteria line. Sometimes alone, sometimes surrounded by people. You never noticed him, and he never pushed himself into your space.

Then one afternoon, he saw you holding hands with someone. Apparently, you’d started seeing this guy from the Liberal Arts department. That night, he went back to his dorm, shut the door, lay on his bed, and stared at the ceiling.

His cousin glanced over. “What’s up with you? You look like you just got dumped”

“I might as well have been,” Vernon said, voice flat. He turned his face into his pillow and let himself feel stupid for exactly five minutes.

Then he moved on because that was just life. He was happy that you were happy.

He dipped his own toes in the dating pool. Dated seriously, even. He laughed, fell in and out of love, learned what he liked and didn’t. You became a fond thought in the back of his head, not a fixation. And also something his friends teased him about every now and then.

Then senior year came. He heard you’d broken up, and realized he still liked you. So he thought about trying again.

He did the same thing without realizing: took shots for liquid courage. One too many shots, obviously. And passed out on a couch before he could say your name, obviously.

Senior year came and went. Graduation followed. He figured that was that. Some people were just meant to be memories.

And his life after college had already been mapped out for him. Vernon worked long hours in his family’s corporation. He learned how to sit through meetings without showing boredom, how to be sharp without being cruel. He dated when he had time, stopped when he didn’t. He built a reputation he hadn’t asked for but carried well enough.

Every once in a while, your name surfaced not from memory, but from screens. LinkedIn updates. A promotion. An article shared by someone else. Your company’s name appeared frequently in industry chatter. You weren’t loud online. You had Instagram but didn’t post much.

He nodded at those updates like they were news about someone he once knew well.

Years later, when he heard about a potential partnership with your company, he volunteered to handle it without hesitation. It wasn’t even his division, but he argued his case until he won. 

He told everyone else that it was professional curiosity. Strategic interest. Nothing else. In reality, he thought maybe this would finally put him in the same room as you again.

But it didn’t. Nana collapsed. That family emergency pulled him away the day of the meeting, and the opportunity slipped through his fingers. Life, once again, had other plans. He never made it to the meeting. Someone else took over. The partnership went through anyway, handled efficiently, just not by him.

You stayed untouchable and unseen. And of course, he moved on again.

Years passed. Nana recovered and became sharper than ever. She mentioned your name casually over tea.

“Her grandma’s worried,” she said. “She thinks that brilliant granddaughter of hers works too much. She called, asking if I knew someone suitable.”

“Someone suitable? A husband?” Vernon’s mom asked.

He froze in his seat, hand hovering as he reached for his teacup.

“Yes,” Nana continued, watching him carefully over the rim of her cup. “I told her I might know someone, but I don’t approve of arranged marriages.”

Vernon’s mom glanced at him too, the only man in the family who hasn’t married yet. “It would be nice. I heard she’s very intelligent and pretty. But I’m a fan of true love too, mama. These days they call it ‘organic encounter’.”

That night, Vernon stared at his ceiling for a long time and made a decision.

He left his job, much to his family’s dismay. They managed to reel him in with his contract, but as soon as that was over, Vernon was out. He moved cities. Applied to your company hoping he’d get closer to you through work. But te only position open was an internship. He took it anyway.

It was a humbling position. Educational. Occasionally ridiculous, and nowhere near you. Apparently interns didn’t meet CEOs on the reg.

So for months, you were just a name, a presence on another floor. Interns and other employees often talked about you—brilliant, dedicated, but formidable and terrifying. Medusa, they called you. 

Vernon would find himself standing up for you against men in his department who uttered inappropriate comments. Especially those who questioned your right to sit in the CEO’s office.

And then one Tuesday morning, Vernon was at the reception desk, sorting documents he wasn’t technically supposed to touch yet, when the elevators chimed.

He didn’t look up. He didn’t really need to. But then he heard a familiar voice calling him by name.

“Vernon Chwe?” the voice repeated, making him look up and freeze.

Your grandmother stood at the front desk, elegant as always. She looked exactly the way Vernon remembered her from childhood. She leaned on her cane more out of habit than necessity, eyes sharp as they swept his face. “Is that you, dear boy?”

Vernon straightened instinctively, unsure why his heart had started beating faster. He swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

A pleased smile spread across her face. “Well,” she said lightly, tapping her cane against the floor once. “I thought so. My, how much you’re grown.”

His mouth went dry. “You remember me?”

She laughed softly. “Of course I do. What are you doing here? Last I heard you were Executive Director at your family’s company.”

Vernon hesitated. Then he sighed, knowing full well how hard it was gonna be to lie to your grandma. “I think we’re gonna need to sit down if I’m to answer that question.”

Your Grandma seemed to understand something. “Come to tea this Sunday. Let’s unpack whatever that is.”

And Vernon did meet with your grandma that Sunday. And he confessed that he was there because of you. After hours of talking about you, your grandma decided to set him up on a blind date with you.

To say he was thrilled was an understatement. Vernon was over the moon. He couldn’t wait for the day to come. Though Grandma did warn him that she had a habit of not showing up to these dates. He was still looking forward to it, hoping your grandma stayed true to her words when she said she would try to convince you.

Then Becca came by the intern lounge, asking if anyone wanted to be your temporary secretary while she was on maternity leave.

“For Medusa?” someone murmured quietly.

Silence followed, and interns exchanged nervous glances. Vernon was the only one who raised his hand.

Becca stared at him. “I need to know if you’re serious about this.”

“Yes.”

“You’re gonna be paid a regular’s rate, but it’s not gonna be an easy task.”

“I know. I can handle it.”

She sighed. “Fine. No backing out at the last minute, alright?” she said, pointing her pen at him. “Follow me. Training starts now.”

Vernon trained for a week, learning schedules and systems, familiarizing himself with important names and contacts, copying the cadence of your emails. All this while stealing glances into your office, or staring a little too long whenever you passed by.  

He reminded himself to be normal. To not let the past—or the crush—color the present. Even though it had clearly already taken over his entire world.

And then came the day Vernon was finally getting introduced to you. Becca had given him the head’s up the day before, and he took an extra hour getting ready the next day.

He stood with Becca in your office, patiently waiting for you to walk into those heavy glass doors. When you did, Vernon straightened up. Luckily that time, he didn’t get drunk or pass out anymore. Everything after that was an experience Vernon would never forget.

And now, over a month later, there he was, standing just inside your office, asking you to take him back.

It was the 29th. Just two days before New Year’s Day and four days since the whole fiasco at the Chwe Estate. Grandma and Nana had invited you out on a brunch where you apologized—more than once. For the lies. For leaving. For ruining Christmas. 

Nana waved it all off with a soft laugh, insisting none of it mattered as much as you thought it did. “We’ve seen worse.”

She said the family wasn’t really angry, just shocked. Said that if you’d stayed, things wou;d’ve been resolved over breakfast and hot cocoa, the way they always did.

“What’s done is done,” your grandma had said simply, stirring her coffee. “At least you learned a lesson from this experience.”

You didn’t bring up Vernon. You couldn’t, not after how vague things were left between you. The grandmas seemed to understand that the subject was touchy and decided not to bring it up either.

After brunch, you told them you had something for Nana—and for everyone back home. It had arrived at the office that morning, and that was how the three of you ended up there instead of going straight home.You drove back to the office with the city humming around you, hands steady on the wheel despite everything sitting heavy in your chest.

They followed you into the building where employees greeted your grandma at every turn, surprised to see THE big boss parading the halls. You heard Nana quip about your grandma building an empire through inflicting fear upon her people, and laughed along when they did.

But that laughter died down the moment you stepped out of the elevator and found Vernon Chwe standing near reception, hands clasped loosely in front of him, jacket still on like he hadn’t been sure whether to stay or leave. He looked up the moment the elevator opened, like he’d been waiting for it.

For a second, no one moved. Your brows furrowed, relief and confusion washing over you. Relief because four days felt too long and you’d missed him the whole time. Confusion because what was he doing there? And why did he wait until now to come see you?

“What are you doing here?” you finally asked.

He picked up a clear bag from the floor and lifted it for you to see. “You didn’t get to see what I got you,” he said and your eyes locked on the red giftbox with a green ribbon inside the clear bag.

Your grandma squeezed your arm gently. “We’ll give you two a moment.”

Nana was already nodding, amused. “Yes. Let’s let the kids sort it out.”

You didn’t protest, letting them walk back into the elevator, muttering and giggling. The office fell quiet. You and Vernon were staring at each other while the rest of the people on that floor held their breath. You could feel their eyes, watching and waiting for whatever was about to go down.

You exhaled and started walking toward your office. Vernon followed silently behind. You didn’t say anything until you were inside your office, the door clicking shut behind you. It was quieter here, insulated from the rest of the floor.

You turned to face him. “My grandma told me something about you,” you said, not elaborating because he probably already knows what you mean. “Is it true?

“It is,” he answered quickly.

You let out a slow breath. “So you liked me even before I asked you to be my fake fiancee?”

A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Oh, I liked you longer than that.” 

Your heart stuttered, just before beating wildly in your chest.

“When we were kids, when we were in college… I liked you in different ways, at different stages of my life.” He met your eyes fully. “And now… Now I’m in love with you.”

You kept your voice steady, hands clenching at your sides as you tried your best not to just go ahead and jump in his arms. “Why didn’t you come see me sooner?”

“I tried, but I didn’t really get a chance. You were in a relationship with this dude in college—”

“No, I meant after we left the island on Christmas day,” you interrupted.

Vernon paused, realization dawning on him. “Oh. Oh, I wanted to,” he said. “But no one was allowed to leave the island until the holidays were over. That’s not negotiable in my family. And I needed to sort things out. With them. With myself. I didn’t want to come to you half-done.”

You laughed under your breath. “Do you always have to do things properly?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to do this one right.”

Silence fell between you. You crossed your arms, still unsure what to do, how to navigate this. “I’m sorry,” you said first, because you had to. He deserved it. “For leaving like that. For not letting you say anything.”

He shook his head. “I would’ve followed you anyway.”

“So?” you asked, heat creeping up your neck. “What now?”

Vernon took one tentative step closer. “Well, my new year’s resolution is to kiss you everyday for the rest of my life.”

You huffed a laugh, caught off guard. “That’s a… very specific commitment.”

“I’m very committed to it.”

You laughed despite yourself, and Vernon watched with a fond smile, just before silence came again. You were both standing at the edge of something you didn’t want to rush or ruin.

“Well?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Are you just gonna stand there all day or do I have to kiss you myself?”

Vernon’s mouth stretched into the biggest, happiest smile you’d ever seen on a man. He crossed the distance between you in one step, then wrapped his arms around you. You hugged him back just as tightly, instinctively, like it was something your body had been waiting for longer than your mind wanted to admit.

Then he kissed you. A kiss that answered everything, one that didn’t ask questions anymore. For a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of you. But only for a moment because three seconds later, the sound of clapping, cheers, and hooting erupted around the office.

Startled, you pulled back just enough to see past his shoulder and realized that the entire floor had been watching from outside the clear glass walls of your office.

“Oh my god,” you exclaimed, looking at Vernon and then laughing. “Do you think they heard you confess your love for me?” you teased.

Vernon glanced around, then back at you, utterly unbothered. “I don’t care,” he said, scooping you up and kissing you again.

The office erupted all over again, a whole floor of employees witnessing the day you and Vernon made a scene professing love like you were in cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie.

And honestly? You didn’t care either.

[fin]