starring: dong sicheng, kim daeyoung, kim jungwoo, lee donghyuck
warning: all stories are written with a female reader in mind | specific warnings stated below
a/n: a coworker of mine recently got me into a movie watching craze (my letterboxd is michelle4terry btw if anyone cares..), but i’ve been watching a lot (at least between school and everything) of romcoms lately because i’m lowkey a sucker for them.. this is such a valentines-esque theme so i’ll probably do a part two when february rolls around but for now, here we are. if i do another part in february, lmk which romcom & idol you’d like to see together! i’ll try to upload once a week but since midterms are coming up, i’ll see how that goes 😵💫 thank you for clicking on ‘shitty romcoms’ and please do enjoy :)
🔖 taglist: open, leave a comment or send in an ask/message!
10 things i hate about you
after yn’s younger sister, ning yizhuo, starts college at ncit, her ex immediately takes note of her. yn, being the older sister she is, won’t let what happened to her also happen to yizhuo. so what happens when said ex pays his friend to distract yn from keeping tabs on her younger sister?
starring: lee donghyuck & female!reader
featuring: ning yizhuo of aespa, zhong chenle of nct
college au, strangers to lovers
warnings: cursing, mentions of sex, smoking
to all the boys i’ve loved before [coming jan. 16]
yn writes a letter to each boy she has ever loved as a way to say goodbye to them, so what happens when all 3 letters, including one addressed to her brother’s boyfriend, gets sent out?
starring: kim daeyoung & female!reader
featuring: all of nct wish
high school au, ex-friends to lovers
warnings: cursing, yushi & sion dating solely to fit the plot, incorrect ages (yushi & sion’s are flipped to better suit the respective characters)
flipped [coming jan. 30]
all yn has ever wanted was for dong sicheng to like her back and all dong sicheng ever wanted was for yn to leave him alone, so what happens when their perspectives flip?
starring: dong sicheng & female!reader
featuring: nakamoto yuta of nct, etc.
high school au, neighbors/frenemies to lovers
warnings: cursing
she’s the man [coming feb. 13]
ncit has officially gotten rid of the women’s basketball team which leaves yn wanting to join the men’s. so when her school says no, she goes undercover as her twin at his school to play on their men's team.
[ extras ] word count 4,55 (in total) but varies 459-639 per member. more specific warnings written b4 works, in general: petnames, guns, alochol, swearing, hunting in kun's but no blood or violence. this is set in a cowboy/ranch/wild west setting and includes slang and words inspired by those vibes <3 some are established relationship, some are not! its truly a mix n match :3
ੈ✩‧₊˚ note ! as i told u. its here. istg i just started w 4 members but look at me go. literally wrote 3/4 of this in one sitting (took me 4 hours lmao) i hope u enjoy!!! let me know whatchu think of this kinda,, nct u moment format :D also i still have more ideas... so lmk if youd be willing to read a pt2 w other members >_<
@kstrucknet ˙ . ꒷ 🐎 . 𖦹˙— @neocity-net
┆彡 TENNESSEE WHISKEY — taeyong. includes petnames (darlin', honey, wife), alcohol consumption. word count 459.
"long day?" your voice, like the sweetest melody, brought taeyong back to reality. he was sitting slumped over the table, plans and papers scattered over the counter. the ice in his glass melted long ago, only watering down his whiskey. "you seem tuckered out."
"as hell" he replied, voice raspy. leaning on his elbows, his bloodshot eyes trailed over the schemes once again. "i sent the boys to town. 'grab food, look around' i said. and what? poor riku got his eye all swollen, chenle too. well, chenle deserved it. they caused trouble again, especially when we need to stay low" he grunted, running his fingers through his hair.
the yellow light from his lamp flickered, the only source of light in the room.
"i'm tired" he mumbled.
the soft echo of your steps sounded through the room. taeyong felt your presence behind his back.
"i know, honey" you hummed, hands resting on his shoulders. you began to massage them gently, trying to get rid of knots.
"after the train heist… i need a goddamn break. we will get enough money to survive for some time" taeyong murmured, head dropping low. he let out a slow groan, your fingers working miracles on his sore muscles. "i love those bastards but i wish we could have some time alone for more than a week."
you hummed in response, slightly increasing pressure on his neck. another satisfied groan escaped him.
"right here, darlin'" he slurred, his eyes closing.
"enough planning for today. you had a rough day, you need to rest" you leaned over and your lips were next to his ear. the faint scent of whiskey tickled your nostrils. "i can scratch your back to sleep if you want?"
"mhm…" he suppressed a yawn and shivers ran down his spine as your lips ghosted the shell of his ear. then, you gently pushed his shoulder.
"c'mon, boss. i promise you, we can spend some time alone. why don't you ask mark or johnny to take over for a month? and we'll be back. after a well deserved break" you helped him stand up, his body heavy from exhaustion and alcohol. you grabbed the plans and lead your husband to your shared bedroom.
"sounds nice…" he agreed and threw himself on the bed. you hid the plans where he always kept them — and only you knew the spot. his tired eyes watched you carefully, filled with love.
"i need my husband for myself too, y'know?" you teased before joining him in bed. you turned the light off, only the gentle light from starry sky slipping through your window.
"anything my wife wants… i will… fulfill…" the scary gang leader slurred, slumber taking over his body as your soft scratches lulled him.
┆彡 SMOKED WOOD — johnny. includes petnames (sugar, darlin', misses), suggestive. word count 614.
days on the ranch were hectic lately. the boys left a couple days ago, with their return date remaining unknown. only the youngest stayed, along with renjun, yangyang, jisung, kunhang, mark, and johnny. surprisingly, taeyong's left hand insisted on staying on the ranch. "in case any thugs come looking for trouble" he reasoned.
the memory of his words made your body react reflexively, eyes rolling and tongue clicking. as if you didn't know how to handle your guns.
johnny irritated you in general and you weren't sure why. perhaps because he was unlike others. he treated you like a lady. and among those savages, you weren't sure if that's a mocking or flattering manner. he always insisted you stayed put, out of danger. that meant doing the most boring chores.
speaking of which.
you finished your black coffee and grabbed your hat off the table. just from looking outside the window you could tell the weather was scorching hot and you didn't want to risk a sun burn. rolling your sleeves up, you left your crib.
"let's get it over with" you grunted to yourself. wood chopping was never your favorite, but you came to terms with it. you'd rather do it alone than let ryo or sakuya get hurt.
among other girls on the ranch you were the strongest. so naturally, the daunting task fell on you shoulders. on the other hand, you preferred to sweat for a little while and get your arms sore than milking cows or disposing literal shit.
if johnny had never joined, you could have been hunting with the others right now.
a rhythmic sound reached your ears. your brows furrowed, and thanks to your hat that protected your sight from the blinding sun rays, you were able to spot the source right away.
speak of the devil.
johnny was chopping wood. it made your blood boil… but it was tempered by the sight in front of you.
his bare arms. flexed and nicely toned from all the hard work he did. sweat was glistening on his honey colored skin, dripping down his forearms. in his white tank top, that was almost drenched, and allowed you to see a glimpse of his formed torso. his hair was glued to his damp forehead, which he wiped with his hand after tossing away the chopped wood.
"you look like you're about to devour me, misses"
you didn't even realize your mouth went dry and gaze turned hungry. maybe johnny wasn't so bad after all?
"i am. mind telling me why you're here? you're barkin' at a knot, suh." you approached closer, the smell of wood mixing with the smell of his sweat and cologne. his ebony eyes turned into crescents, cat-alike smirk dancing on his stupid… stupidly kissable lips…
"i'm just helpin' you out, sugar" he fiddled with the axe in his hand. you crossed your arms, cocking an eyebrow.
"no need. i can handle my wood" you barked, trying to yank the axe from him. but he was faster, sneakier. one hand swiftly grabbed both of your wrists in a tight gasp, the other ramming the axe into the tree stump. he pulled you closer, now his smell filling all your senses.
"oh i'm sure you can, darlin'" johnny hummed, eye contact so intense you thought sparks would fall. "don't strain yourself, will ya? i'd have to give you a massage"
he let go and winked before walking away. leaving you speechless, you weren't sure if the wood smelled like him or the other way around.
you decided to pour out your emotions - whether anger cracking like fire or adoration that slowly bloomed in your heart - on those wood pieces.
┆彡 SALOON FLIRT — yuta. includes petnames (darlin', doll), alcohol consumption, weapons. word count 518
tying your horse securely to a fence post, all you could think about was a cold glass of whiskey. you could almost taste the bitter, rye flavor at the tip of your tongue. you just wanted to relax after a long, tiring day of chasing cattle that this mush-head haechan let escape.
with your cowboy shoes still stained in mud and dirt, you walked into the loud and buzzing saloon. the cheerful melody that someone was playing on the piano was almost falling deaf on your ears due to the loud chatter of men inside. here and there you saw familiar faces, also resting at the end of the day.
hands in your pockets, you walked to the bar. without needing to say a word, the barman already started preparing your usual. you leaned against the counter, head hung low, hat almost falling. you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, the smell of tobacco, alcohol, and sweat filling your lungs. every muscle in your body was itching with pain and strain. oh, you sure will be sore tomorrow.
ice in the glass clanked, and you opened your eyes to see your drink. just when you were placing money on the counter, someone put their tin. you shifted your gaze and saw a handsome man with a smirk adorning his lips.
"this one's on me, darlin'" he hummed, voice deep and husky. you tipped your hat and took a sip. you could feel life flowing back into you, liquor muting the strain in your muscles. the stranger didn't peel his eyes off you for one bit. "are you new here? i haven't seen you before."
"not new, just not from around here" you replied. "could say the same about you, partner"
"pretty much the same." he shrugged, tracking the rim of his glass with his finger. a colt was sitting nicely in his holster — he must've noticed you're eyeing his weapon. "you got sand, don't ya? ogling my darlin' like that"
"i got my lover with me too" you bit back, flexing your own weapon and tossing it on the counter top. the man just scoffed, and you took another sip. "what's your name?"
"yuta" his tone was playful, his dark eyes shining with mischief. you put your gun back to your holster. with a roll of your eyes, you moved closer. "and yours, doll?"
"listen here, yuta. how 'bout that: you treat me to one or two drinks more and i show you that i ain't a doll in the slightest" you glared at him. if he wanted a fragile lady to spend a night with, he was oh so far away from that.
"bet. whatcha like? i'll pay for everything your heart desires" yuta called the barman over.
and once you were content, with whiskey running in your system, you showed yuta what you really meant.
by making him chase you on your horse, deep into the night under starry sky. townspeople thought you were a pair of looneys, yelling and laughing but no; it was just a beginning of a story of two wild hearts.
┆彡 DEER HUNTER — kun. includes petnames (doe), hunting (no explicit descriptions tho). word count 639
"are you sure about that?" kun asked, worried. you remained silent stubbornly, zipping your shoes. the cheerful yells of your companions came from outside, as if there was not a single worry in the world.
"yes, kun. i need to get some fresh air, and i need— i have to do something useful for once!" you grunted, grabbing his hat.
"but you do, you take care of the gang, and- and everyone loves your meals" he started but just let out a sigh when he saw the determined look in your eye.
"just once, kun. i know how to shoot" you grunted and your features softened upon looking into his ebony eyes. "i learned from the best, ya know?"
he just scoffed and took his hat from you, only to messily shove it onto your head. pulling it down on purpose, so it fell over your eyes.
"hey!" you yelped.
"your sugar coatin' ain't gonna do anything here. let's go. but remember, if you puke on me… i'm gonna leave you in the woods" he warned but you know well those were empty threats. he loved you too dearly.
thanks to his horse's stamina, you were on the hunting ground sooner than you expected. you observed as he traced the trail, fingers shoving away fallen leaves.
"see here? a deer was nearby." kun pointed at the fresh tracks and bite marks on some plants. "stay low and follow me"
you fixed you bow on your back and crouched down. the breeze was pleasant and hopefully helped mask your scent. kun would stay focused on hunting down the deer, but occasionally looked back through his shoulder to check up on you. finally, he froze. hiding behind a bush, he grabbed your hand and pointed at something.
"look" his voice was barely a whisper.
there it was.
a cute, pretty doe. white spots on her fur made it easier to spot it. she peacefully gnawed on grass, unaware of what's about to happen. you reached for your bow and as silently as you could, you drew it. the feather fletching gently tickled your cheek as you aimed. kun was watching you closely, syncing his breathing with yours.
your blood was rushing, primal instincts suddenly awaking. you released the arrow.
the air was cut with a swish! but… the arrow landed in the ground, mere centimeters from your prey. it hopped away, startled.
"damn it" you grunted through your teeth, lowering your bow. then, you landed a punch on kun. "why didn't ya tell me i will miss?"
''what's the point of learning if you don't discover the mistakes yourself?" he laughed.
"i'm gonna hunt you! hunt you and chop, and serve for dinner tonight!" you threatened him through giggles, shoving yourself onto him. kun played along, flipping you onto the ground in no time.
"yeah? i'd like to see you try!" he snickered, tossing your bow aside. the ground was cold, leaves rustling underneath your back and dirt covering your clothes but you didn't care. wrapping your legs around his hips, you pulled him closer, small branches cracking nearby.
"take this, hunter!" you teased and in one swift move, nibbled at his ear. kun let you play and squirm, trying to release from his grip. but just when you thought you can flip him over again, he leaned in and started pressing hot kisses along your jawline, down to your neck and your collarbone. this left you speechless.
"i think i win this one, my pretty doe" he hummed, looking at you through his hooded eyes. you were breathing heavily whereas he didn't seem to break a sweat. a playful smirk danced on his lips as he stood up and reached out his hand to help you. "now, let's try again. we ain't comin' back until you hunt somethin' for real."
┆彡 GUNS'N'ROSES — sicheng. includes guns, shooting. word count 463.
the soft click of a gun reloading made sicheng's skin crawl, instantly making him freeze even before hearing the order:
"don't move one inch, rascal"
his heart was thumping in his chest like a stallion galloping through fields. it was not supposed to look like that.
"turn around, will ya?"
he did, painfully slowly. hands in the air, teeth clattering. when he did and saw you, his eyes widened.
"don't act surprised, partner. you thought could trespass freely? well, maybe if you were a sheep, i'd let you go" you grunted, let letting go your shotgun, still aimed at him. "you ain't a sheep but you sure do look like a scared deer!"
his eyes were wide, truly scared and limbs trembling like an animal caught in a trap. he was speechless, just staring.
admiring your beauty.
ever since he saw you in that saloon, he fell head over heels. he was not used to women like you, though. living in a small town, nowhere near open fields and mean cowgirls like you.
snarly, wild, dangerous… currently pointing a gun at him.
and he swore he just fell more.
"i'm talking to you!" you grunted, after your question fell deaf on his ears. you aimed at the sky and fired a warning shot, sicheng letting out a scared yelp. his body jerked, chest moving up and down maniacally.
you're crazy. actually lunatic!
"i'll ask one last time and you better listen up close: what are you doing on my ranch?" you snarled, the sound of reloading your gun making shivers run down his spine.
"i– well, um, i figured i… i pay you a visit! i've got you somethin'" sicheng wasn't even sure if you understood him through his clattering teeth.
you seemingly did, as you pointed with your gun at his hand.
"r-right, this! i got you this!" he grinned, finally remembering the rose he brought you. it was one hell of a ride to get it, he had to pay–
"drop it on the ground and leave unless you want a hole in your head" you said calmly, the corner of your lips twitching subtly.
he did and swallowed, wide eyes still glued to you.
"shoo! you got a death wish or somethin'?" you yelled out and sicheng ran off with a yelp.
he heard you laughing. he turned around to take a peek – you were now holding the rose in your hand… and laughing.
he took it as a good sign. maybe next time–
a loud bang, and pieces of ground and small rocks splattered next to him. a warning shot that landed mere millimeters next to his feet.
"yeah, yeah, i'm goin' now!" he yelled out and decided not to tempt the devil anymore.
he'll be back next week.
┆彡 FRESH FLANNEL — mark. includes (girl, ma'am, pretty girl). word count 508.
the buckets in your hands clanked softly against each other as you tried your best not to spill the milk in them. stepping out of the cool barn, you were met with sticky and humid air. you had a couple minute walk to your home, where you would begin bottling the milk.
sweat dribbled down your temples, the buckets getting heavier with each step.
a loud, long whistle cut through the air like an arrow. you looked up and noticed a maple colored horse approaching. you already knew who it was.
"damn girl, where are you going?" a deep, husky voice called you. with just a scoff, you shook your head.
"home"
the horse approached you, matching your step. you looked up to glance at the rider. beige hat sat on his raven hair, pleaded shirt almost falling off his shoulders. lips curled into a boyish smirk, he caught your gaze.
"you're lucky i'm a cowboy because i know how to ride into your heart" he grinned and you just rolled your eyes. "are you lost though, ma'am?"
"no, i certainly am not!" you bit back, fixing the hold on the buckets. the horse's steps were chanting a soft melody along your footsteps.
"because heaven's a long way from here!"
"mark."
you two just laughed, the facade falling off — but that didn't stop him from coming up with more pick up lines.
"you must be a tumbleweed, 'cause you just rolled into my heart" he hummed, hips swaying rhythmically along with his horse's tempo.
"mark" you warned again.
"'wait, one last chance. i promise this one is good!" he exclaimed excitedly and you just breathed heavily. "are you a horseshoe? because i feel lucky every time I see you."
you stopped in your tracks, sighing heavily. you started to get sore from the buckets.
"lee minhyung. those are lame and we are married. keep trying. and for now, would you mind helping me out?" you asked. mark stopped, eyes widening. he must've just realized you're carrying the milk buckets.
"oh damn, my bad. let's switch, pretty girl" he hummed and hopped off his horse. when you put down the buckets, your husband handed you the reins, his hoarse hand brushing against yours. you stood there, looking into his eyes. "what?"
"you're a total looney, y'know that? still trying to pick me up with those cheesy lines" you scoffed and his features broke into a wide smile.
"what can i say? i'm mesmerized every day by your godly beauty" he hummed and leaned closer, lips brushing against yours. the smell of freshly washed clothes and his cologne tickles your nose. you quickly pecked his pink lips and wasted no time hopping on the horse.
you leaned over and stole the hat from his head with a giggle.
"hey, misses!" your husband yelled out, swinging his fist in fake annoyance.
“are you sure you are a real cowboy? or do you just look that good in flannel?” you teased and rode off with a laugh, leaving the stunned man behind.
┆彡 BEEF JERKY — jeno. mention of alcohol, word count 471
"are you sure you wanna do this, sugar?" you teased, your hand resting above your eyes to block the sun. jeno nodded almost maniacally, more ready than ever.
finishing chewing up on your beef jerky, you just shrugged.
"why are we doing it, again?" you asked, finally reaching for your lasso
"so you could train your skills on a living target" jeno replied. right.
as if you're not the best at handling the herd. but jeno is pretty new around here, having joined just two months ago. he hasn't seen you in action yet — and who are you to turn down an opportunity to tie down and embarrass a man?
a big, beefed man at that.
the salty aftertaste of dried meat in your mouth made you lick the cavern of your lips, tsking your tongue at the end.
"fine by me" you hummed, gripping your lasso. you stretched it loose and held the end in your non dominant hand. the ending with the loop rested in your other one.
"what on earth are you doing? do you want to kill the guy?" haechan's voice was amused.
"good, we have a crowd. now watch and learn, everybody." you grinned at winked at jeno.
he started to regret his idea. what did haechan mean by that, exactly?
"are you just gonna stand there, fool?" you yelled out, starting to whip your lasso. drawing bigger and bigger circles in the air, jeno's throat began to go dry.
"i advise you to run while you still can!" haechan laughed.
jeno's legs jerked involuntarily, carrying him as far away as they could.
whiiiiiiiiiiiiish!
harsh restraint suddenly gripped him, bringing his arms together. like a tied piece of meat, he couldn't budge. but he could still run, as his legs remained free.
"you think… you can… run?" you breathed out, digging your heel in the sand. he had strength. but no balance.
so with a sudden, forceful tug, he fell in a heap with a thud. the lasso bruising his bare arms, he felt himself getting dragged closer. you struggled a bit, he was a muscular man after all.
"holy shit, he fell faster than mark after a sip of bourbon!" haechan called, and jeno could swear the ringing in his ears might not be his imagination.
you walked up closer to him, leaning over and checking up on him.
and this fool was smiling.
"oi, you need help? did y/n cause you trouble?" you heard johnny's voice.
"don't save him!" you replied, grabbing him by his shirt. his eyes were focused on you, that stupid grin asking to be teared off his face. "he's exactly where he wants to be!"
with a snort, you stood up and left him. mid-bite on your beef jerky, you heard him yell:
"wait, can we do it again?"
┆彡 WILD RIDE — sion. includes petnames (kinda? good girl lol), horse riding - bare in mind im no specialist so if any horse enjoyers sense some bullshit. no u didnt. word count 567
sion had an awful, gut wrenching crush on you. it didn't help that he was shy as hell, trying to occupy his mind with something else. every time he saw you, his eyes looked away. for the past few days, you were trying to approach him. key word: tried. he always kept running away, like a scared deer.
today was hot, sun prickling at his skin. he ditched his flannel somewhere on the fence, only pulling his hat lower. the sound of his horse's scoffs were a sign of protest but he had to train her.
"i know, baby, i know. you've been causin' me trouble lately, that's why we are doin' it" he patted the animal's neck, his hips swaying rhythmically to the horse's walk rhythm.
"oh sion!"
he froze in the saddle, grip loosening on the reins. you had him caged, as he was in the training field. he looked up and saw you leaning over the fence, waving your hand at him. guess he had to face it.
slowly, trying to seem casual, he approached you. your eyes watched his horse with adoration.
"howdy, y/n." he greeted you, tipping his hat. from his horse he had a nice view. you looked so pretty, sun kissed, with a twig between your teeth. you chewed on it, eyes not leaving his horse.
"you seem to be avoiding me, oh. and i have a question" you said and finally looked up, tossing the twig somewhere in the ground. sion gulped, trying to remain calm on his horse.
"my bad. i've been busy." he offered you an apologetic smile.
"it don't matter no more. sion, can you teach me how to ride a horse? i'm ashamed to admit but… i ain't got a clue and it's embarrassing. we live on a goddamn ranch!" you grunted, pout forming on your lips. flattering your lashes, you looked him in the eye. "please?"
his horse grunted.
"fine…" sion swallowed hard. maybe it will bring the two of you closer and he will finally get to confess? hell, the bare fact of spending time alone with you was a price. "but let's start with something mild. mind opening the gate for me?"
you did so. sion left the training ground, his horse huffing again.
"stay put now." he patted her neck gently and then reached his hand out to you. "hop on. i've got you"
sion helped you get on and you were now sat in front of him. he figured you should be in a more comfortable position as he was used to it anyway.
"good girl" he grunted and blood came rushing to your cheeks. you weren't sure if he meant the horse or you, so you tried to stay calm. it was hard, though. his bare, toned arms were wrapped around you, your back glued to his chest; him basically towering over you.
sion rushed the horse and you squealed, not used to such movement.
"try to stay calm. horses can sense your feelings, fear included. try to observe how i operate and lead her. my girl's moody lately but maybe a short trip to the woods will cheer her up. hold on tight" sion said casually.
you passed by jaehee and riku, who just sent you thumbs up.
sure, their plan worked and you got what you wanted. you just weren't aware of the upcoming ride yet.
┆彡 HORSE KICK — sakuya. word count 581.
"i ain't gonna lie, i'm afeared!" sakuya trembled, looking at you with eyes wider than two plates. you fixed his hat and then moved his bangs so they wouldn't cover his eyes.
"you've got this, saku. i'll be here, i've got you covered" you hummed and patted his back, kneeling on the ground. shaping your hands into a small platform. "hop on, boy"
"are you sure…" he mumbled but obeyed, stepping on your hands. you rose them up forcefully, helping him get on the horse. it scoffed, throwing its head.
"easy boy" you grunted, patting the animal's neck. sakuya grabbed the reins and fiddled with them nervously, heart thumping against his ribcage like a prey in a trap. "all comfortable in there, partner?"
"i think so!" he replied. he wasn't used to sitting in a saddle but it wasn't halfway bad as he imagined.
"okay, now listen up real close. remain calm. horses can sense your fear and you're trembling like a wet dog" you grunted and began to walk next to them. "you're a tenderfoot now but i''ll teach you how to ride a horse like a real cowboy— woah!"
the horse started huffing and snorting, wiggling its head lively.
"hey, calm down!" you yelled.
"me or the horse?" sakuya asked, panic in his voice. all his muscles were tensed, panic written all over his face.
"ya both!" you said, trying to calm the horse down. you predicted sakuya would be nervous and for a first ride you specifically chose the calmest horse on the ranch. but he was acing up, starting to kick his back legs. "hold on tight, partner!"
"i'm trying!" sakuya screeched, his hat bouncing on his head, mere seconds from falling off. the horse began kicking harder, clearly wanting to throw the newbie off. the boy was bouncing in the saddle, grunting painfully as the jumps almost sent him flying.
quite frankly, you were shocked he was still holding on.
"y/n make it stop, please!" he whined, squeezing his eyes shut.
"well, you got your first rodeo now!" you tried to ease his nerves. you remained at a safe position, and tried to calm the horse down, talking softly to the animal: "hey, please, calm down. you're scarin' him. easy, easy boy"
it seemed to work, the horse listening and calming down gradually. once it was calm, you glanced at sakuya, his face as pale as a wall. tying the horse to the fence, you helped sakuya get off.
on his wobble legs, he immediately glued himself to you, hugging you close. patting his back gently, you realized his hat eventually did fall off.
"i'm sorry, saku, i don't know what got him so moody" you whispered, calming the boy down. you could practically feel his heart thumping against his ribcage, heavy breathing against your neck.
sakuya slowly began to relax, breath becoming more stable. he just squeezed you closer.
"it's fine, i'm in one piece" he mumbled, deep voice shaky. you caressed his dark locks in a soothing motion, glaring at the horse.
"maybe it was a bad idea. we don't have to do it no more if you're scared" you hummed. you felt him smiling against your skin.
"y'know what? i kinda liked it"
with a scoff you leaned away and scanned his face. brushing his bangs out of his eyes, which glued to his forehead with sweat. despite his body still slightly trembling, he flashed you a boyish smile.
an: happy belated birthday to my number one cutie, my wayv bias, winwin!! i miss u so bad, please come home!!!!!!!!!!! but also winwin actor for this one ;)
—
you were lounging on the couch, scrolling through your phone when your boyfriend burst through the door, clutching his new script like a trophy. winwin’s face lit up with that boyish excitement you adored and he waved it at you before dropping onto the cushions beside you.
“baby, the script for my new show just came in, it’s got this steamy sex scene,” he grinned, eyes gleaming with anticipation as he leaned closer, his voice dropping—
“picture this, the characters start off in a heated argument, all pent-up frustration and sharp words flying back and forth. she’s furious with him, accusing him of holding back and not giving her everything. he fires back, but there’s this undercurrent of raw desire building, like a storm about to break. then it explodes as he devours her right on the table, hands everywhere, clothes ripping off in the heat of it.”
he flipped the page, reading aloud, painting the scene vividly—
“she shoves him down onto the hard surface, her eyes blazing with command, ‘you can’t just ignore me like this. after all we’ve ben through?’ she demands, trapping him against the table. he grabs her hips, flipping her onto her back in one swift move, but she locks her legs around him, asserting control, ‘start with your mouth between my thighs’ she orders, voice husky and unyielding, ‘lick me until i’m dripping, until you taste how much i own you.’ his head dips low, tongue tracing her inner thighs before diving in, making her arch and gasp. he fingers her deep, curling to hit that spot, drawing out moans that build to screams, her nails raking his scalp as she cries his name.”
he looked up at you, waiting for your reaction.
heat pooled low in your belly as you imagined it but a flicker of envy twisted in your chest at the thought of him doing this with someone else. you leaned in, tracing his jawling, “sounds intense. want to run lines? i could play the part…help you get it right.”
winwin’s eyes sparked with mischief, his large hand sliding to your thigh, “rehearse? now? on the kitchen table, like in scene?”
“why not?” you murmured, pulling him up and leading him there. you swept the counters clear, the wooden surface gleaming under the light, “perfect spot,” you shrug, acting nonchalantly, grabbing the script from his hand and skimming through it.
you noted the buildup: heated words, her pinning him, then him flipping her over to bury his face in her pussy, tongue working her over while she clutches the edge.
“alright, action,” you said, channeling the fiery character and catching your boyfriend off guard. you pushed him back against the table, hands gripping his shirt, “you can’t just ignore me like this. after all we’ve been through?”
winwin chuckles in amusement before a wicked grin replaces his usual shy smile — and then he was playing along seamlessly, his arms wrapping around your waist to yank you close, “what do you want, then? say it.” his breath was hot against your ear, blending script with reality.
you hiked your leg over his hip, pressing into him as your lips crashed together in a fierce kiss. tongues slid and battled, your fingers tugging his shirt up and off, exposing his toned chest, “make me feel it,” you demanded, echoing the lines, grinding against the hardness straining his jeans, “show me how much you need this. need me.”
winwin’s hands roamed, bunching your his oversized t-shirt to your waist before he lifted you onto the table’s edge. your ass hit the cool wood, legs parting instinctively as he dropped to his knees between them.
“like this?,” he growled the words from the page but his gaze was pure hunger, fixed on you.
you nodded, trying to stay in character, reciting the next bit shakily, “yes…touch me, don’t hold back.” your voice wavered as he hooked his fingers in your panties, sliding them down your thighs and tossing them aside. cool air kissed your exposed pussy, already slick with arousal.
he leaned in, breath ghosting over your folds, making you shiver, “you’re so wet for me already," he murmured, not quite the script but close enough.
then his mouth was on you — lips sealing around your clit, sucking gently at first, tongue flicking in quick, teasing strokes, enough to make you forget what you were doing.
“oh—wait….the line is…,” you fumbled, gripping the table’s edge as pleasure jolted through you, the script by your side, “you–you drive me crazy, j-just like that,” but the words blurred as he flattened his tongue, lapping broad and slow from your entrance up to your clit, tasting every inch. his hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider, thumbs pressing into your inner thighs to hold you open.
you tried to push on, “don’t stop, give me everything,” but it came out as a moan, your hips bucking towards his face.
he hummed against you, clearly enjoying the fact that you can no longer focus. the vibration sends a spark up your spine and he delved deeper, tongue thrusting inside your pussy — wet sounds filled the kitchen, his mouth slurping at your juices, your breaths turning ragged.
by now, the script was forgotten, lines dissolving into gasps. all you could focus on was how fucking good he felt, tongue swirling relentlessly around your clit, sucking harder now, drawing it between his lips.
“winwin…fuck—yes,” you whimpered, one hand tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. your other braced behind you, back arching as waves of heat built in your core.
he didn’t let up, nose bumping your clit while his tongue plunged in and out, fucking you with it in shallow thrusts. his fingers joined, two sliding into your soaked heat, curling up to stroke your walls while his mouth latched back onto your swollen nub. the dual sensation had you trembling, thighs quaking around his head.
“feels so good—baby please—don’t stop,” you babbled, no trace of the character left — just raw need. pressure coiled tight, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he pumped them faster, tongue lasthing your clit in firm circles.
you shattered with a cry, orgasm crashing over you, juices flooding his mouth as you ground against his face, riding it out. winwin lapped you through it, slowing to gentle licks until you slumped back, boneless on the table.
he rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “you broke character so quickly,” he teased, a playful, breathless laugh tumbling from him as he reached for you, pulling you into his arms.
“shut up,” you muttered, voice still shaky as you tried to catch your breath, cheeks flushed.
his chest was warm against yours, the steady thump of his heart grounding you in the haze. you met his eyes, that quiet twinge from earlier resurfacing amidst the afterglow, “i can’t believe you have to do all this with your co-star,” you whispered, half-joking but unable to mask the hint of jealousy laced beneath.
he chuckled softly, the sound low and tender as he nuzzled the crook of your neck. his hands smoothed over your sides, tracing lazy circles into your skin until the tension began to melt.
“jealous, baby?” he murmured, pressing a kiss just below your ear, hands smoothing over your sides, tracing slow, lazy circles until your shiver gave you away, “you know it’s just acting.”
“still,” you muttered, trying for indifference and failing miserably.
he grinned against your neck, the vibration of his laugh sending warmth down your spine.
“don’t worry,” he said, kissing the spot just below your ear, his breath tickling, “i just have to make it look like I did all that.”
his lips trailed lower, finding your pulse, sucking lightly until you sighed. “with you,” he murmured between kisses, “it’s the real thing—every lick… every moan… every—”
“oh my god, stop,” you laughed, swatting at his shoulder, your face heating up.
he laughed too, pulling back with mock innocence. “what?!”
“you’re gross,” you countered through your giggles, though the way your fingers curled in his shirt said otherwise.
“gross, huh?” he teased, pinching your chin gently and tipping your face up to meet his, “funny, you didn’t think it was gross five minutes ago.”
“shut up,” you mumbled, trying to hide your grin as you buried your face in his chest.
he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his smile softening into something achingly sweet, then he tilted your chin up, placing a soft kiss on your lips — reminding you that he was all yours.
and just like that, the envy melted into warmth until all that was left was the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, his arm snug around your waist, and that stupid little smile he only ever wore when it was you in his arms.
明恋 everyone has an office rival—someone who gets on their nerves at work, who makes everything a competition, who pours salt in their coffee and calls them half-assed names like slob and moron… well, at the very least, you did. and you were content with spending the rest of your days hating dong sicheng, but it seemed like fate had other plans when disaster struck, and you were thrown into an inescapable road trip with the man you called your sworn enemy.
genre comedy, romance, angst, slowburn, office rivals to lovers (so not necessarily enemies, but… not friends), office au, shooting stars au, prmanager!sicheng, prmanager!reader
warnings swearing, so much goddamn swearing, alcohol consumption, smoking, a smidgeon of angst sprinkled throughout, markhyuck r annoying, reader and sicheng love to hate each other, perhaps an unhealthy relationship? a bit? but they’re both codependent so it’s fine. minor age gap but reader makes it a big ass deal, mentions of and allusions to sex, this whole thing is a little bit sexually motivated… sorry… a brief mention of porn and strip clubs but it’s presented humorously (porn kills guys) i also don’t know how offices or the entertainment industry work so if that’s a crime then lock me up (edit i forgot to add this A GRAPHIC PANIC ATTACK SCENE GUYS HOW DID I MISS THIS???)
word count 20.9k (me when i can’t stfu)
notes nobody mention that it’s four months too late for a halloween fic. this bitch has been nearly half a year in the making and boy did she TAKE IT OUT OF ME. anyways enjoy the first work i’ve posted since october, yet another winwin fic because i love my el wiwi 🐤 also happy new year! 2026 is about to be our year i can feel it
soundtrack moodboard
IT STARTED WITH A broken computer.
Or, more accurately, your broken computer.
“I don’t know how, but this is your fault.”
…And Sicheng’s.
Dong Sicheng, your self-proclaimed arch nemesis at 404 Entertainment, as well as your biggest competition in the workplace. He glanced at you with dark, furrowed brows and eyes hidden behind a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles, plump lips pursed as he crossed his arms over his chest.
To be completely honest, you can’t exactly remember when you’d gone from just being coworkers to the targets of each other’s ire, but all you know is that Sicheng started it; you just didn’t let him hate you by himself, and instead joined in on hating him, in return.
It had been a normal morning at the office, with you clocking in and hour before you needed to, and Sicheng waltzing in nearly half an hour late, appearance disheveled and wearing the same clothes from the day before. You’d scoffed, making a snide comment about how impossible it would be for any self-respecting woman at the office to sleep with him despite him very clearly having got some the night before, and he jeopardised his own dignity by smartly suggesting that maybe the women he slept with didn’t have self respect. You laughed, agreeing, and he stormed off, grumbling something about it being too early for your shit. Again, you agreed.
Things started going awry when you and Sicheng tried to log into your computers and got, on your joint third try to enter your passwords, locked out of the system. Your screens glitched, and cut to black. Queue identically displeased walks to your boss’ office, frowns contorting your faces as you told her of your problems.
Which led you to now, when Sicheng strolled over to your desk—which had been placed annoyingly close to his; just across from it, in fact—and rested a slender hip against it. He glared down at you like you’d personally placed a bug in his computer while the IT guy your boss had called in, a young, awkward man of about twenty-one whose glasses kept falling down the bridge of his nose, tried desperately to question you and fix your computer.
“Has your computer shown any previous signs of bugs or glitches?” he asked, attempting to switch on your computer with a tap of the power button.
“Not that I can think of, no,” you supplied, smiling gently at the young man. “And your computer probably crashed because you clicked on a shady porn link while working overtime.” This, with a daring look up in Sicheng’s direction.
He scoffed, though did nothing to prove or dispute the accusation; you supposed he’d be too embarrassed to do so either way. “I’m still convinced you put a bug in my computer. A virus, or something.”
“Yeah, right. And I’d bug my own computer, why?” you asked.
He shrugged. “Believability. Seems less like sabotage when you wreck both of our computers.”
“You’re crazy to think I’d waste that much of my precious time just to dissatisfy you,” you said, shaking your head.
“That cold pot of salted coffee you tried to serve me the other day says differently,” he shot back. “As do the arrangement of sticky notes you’ve plastered on the side of my desk to spell ‘Dickless Dong’.”
You snorted, still reeling from pride at the stunt you’d pulled earlier in the week.
The IT guy suggested a power drain, to which you immediately agreed due to complete and total lack of understanding of what the fuck a power drain was, and an overwhelming urge to just get your laptop up and running again.
“So, I’m going to unplug the cables, take out the battery, and drain the flea power,” he explained. “If, when I plug it back and try to turn it back on, it does, that would mean there was just excess static charge floating around in there and it interfered with the laptop’s normal functions.”
You nodded, clueless and cosplaying comprehension.
When the trick worked, the young man nodded proudly and turned to Sicheng. “Let’s try it with yours now.”
The last you saw of Sicheng before your weekly meeting was while twirling around in your desk chair, gleefully glancing at the older man and saying, “I’m gonna be so far ahead with contracts and PR emergencies when your shitbrick gets back online.” You were met with a momentary look of shock, a filthy glare, and the sight of Sicheng shooing the IT guy towards his desk as if trying to physically speed up the process of getting his laptop back.
Weekly meetings with the rest of the staff at 404 usually happened just before you’d break for lunch; the entire PR team would gather in one of the many meeting rooms located on the top floor, discuss weekly proceedings concerning projects, recruitments, and the odd sticky situation here and there before scattering and going back to their respective areas in the office or break room.
This morning, however, an emergency meeting had been conducted to discuss present affairs regarding one of the company’s biggest names.
Cho Garam, the most talented yet infamous actress under 404 Entertainment.
Since you hadn’t been the one to recruit her, you very rarely worked around the many controversies she’d been involved in. You’d written an apology letter or two pulled out of your ass on her behalf, had her read it and decide if it sounded blasé and vague enough to fit the way she usually spoke, but that was the relative extent of your interaction with her.
The room was cold, the near-freezing temperature shielded by the three glass walls surrounding you. You’d shrugged off your blazer when you clocked in, though you were starting to regret that decision; your tank top didn’t preserve heat nearly as well as you’d have liked for it to. Sicheng sat across from you, cool and collected, sipping easily on a steaming cup of coffee as he listened to the head of the PR team, one Kim Dahye, talk you through the details of Garam’s newest public velitation.
“Ms Cho’s been seen out with an actor from our rivalling company, Starstruck Entertainment,” she started, “in clubs, restaurants, and, more recently…” She pulled out a thin file, about only a page long, the folder flying open as she tossed it onto the table. Your colleagues all craned their necks to see the photographs stashed inside, while you stood up, bracing your hands on the table.
“…A strip club,” you enquired, though it sounded more like a deadpan proclamation, lilting just a bit at the end as an indication of reservation.
Dahye nodded gravely.
You plopped back down into your seat, crossing one arm over the other as you rested your elbows on the table, lips pulled into a thoughtful pout.
“Well, that’s embarrassing,” one of the other PR managers, Ten, piped up. “For us, I mean.”
“What do you propose we do?” Sicheng asked, crossing his arms over his chest, nodding with his chin to Dahye. “Damage control seems sort of useless at this point.”
Your senior hummed. “Misdirection is the best way to go,” she said.
You nodded in understanding. “We should put out new faces and projects to distract the public from Cho, excessively promote things that don’t feature her, and try to get her innocent image back into the public after a month or two, after everything’s blown over.”
The company’s lawyer, Yoonoh, tilted his head. “And while we do that, we could focus on the legal aspect of things behind the scenes, maybe find out who leaked those pictures and make a scene about her privacy being invaded, or something along those lines.” He glanced at you momentarily. “After it’s all blown over, of course.”
You nodded, smiling.
Sicheng glanced between the two of you, leaning back in his seat. “Wouldn’t making a scene now make more sense?” he suggested. “I know I said damage control is useless, but it’d be good to orchestrate some drama to take the attention off Garam, and direct it to whoever leaked her pictures.”
You scoffed softly. He always did this; whenever you voiced an opinion or spitballed, he’d retaliate with something in the opposite direction—usually something better than your original ideas.
What a prick.
Dahye smiled, nodding at Sicheng’s idea. For a split second, you could almost see her lips forming the words, ‘Good idea, Sicheng! Let’s go with your amazing plan, and also, fuck you’—the latter of which would be directed at you—but she said nothing besides, “While that’s a solid plan, I think we should go with our first instinct: distraction and misdirection. Nice work on that, by the way,” she added, nodding proudly to you.
You couldn’t help the self-satisfied smile you sent in Sicheng’s direction, eyes burning hotly with challenge and pride; he simply squinted, not betraying any underlying dissatisfaction or frustration towards you. Holding up a digit, you quietly pointed to yourself, then to Sicheng, letting your hand drop and mouthing, “Zero.”
He scoffed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “You are such a child,” he mouthed.
The two of you were so caught up in your wordless banter that you hadn’t paid proper attention to Dahye’s announcement and simply continued mouthing insults at each other, pulling faces and making obscene gestures.
You distraction snapped to one of your colleagues with a call of your name, and Sicheng with one of his. “Yes?” you chorused.
Dahye was looking at you from beneath her half-moon spectacles, smiling in a way you could only describe as conspiratorial. “I said you and Sicheng should work together to distract from Garam’s controversy: recruit as many new trainees for the company as you can, barge into the screenwriters’ room and get new shows up and running, contact talent managers and choreographers for our music trainees, our models—anyone and anything that could take attention away from this, pardon my French, shitshow, you should find.”
Your smile dropped.
Sicheng glanced between you and Dahye, half just to make sure he’d heard her right. “You want us to…”
“Work together,” your senior nodded.
You started, “But, sunbae, we work so much better on our own—”
“And we’d just get in each other’s way—” Sicheng added.
“We’re both very headstrong,” you chorused, only ever harmonious in disagreement.
Dahye nodded. “And that’s what would make you two such a great team. You’re the most passionate PR managers we have in the company, and you’d be able to successfully save our reputation with your casting and arguing skills.”
You tried again, much to the older woman’s dismay, “But, Ms Kim—”
“I’m glad you two agree,” she smiled, and the look in her eyes held no room for disagreement. “Meeting adjourned. You can go on your lunch breaks now, and I’ll see you two tomorrow morning.” She spared a stern glance at you and Sicheng, something in her expression exhausting any and all fight you might’ve had left in you to try and get Sicheng to work alone.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The cafeteria was Sicheng’s safe haven.
As a painfully introverted person, any activities that he could do by himself, he did. Considering the fact that he spent a majority of his day surrounded by other people, working with them, talking to them, he couldn’t be bothered to go out with his colleagues for lunch at some overpriced restaurant, in conversation and company he didn’t value.
The cafeteria was always near empty thanks to 404 Entertainments’ employees wanting nothing more than to get out of the building they worked in, leaving Sicheng to have a peaceful lunch break with only a few people around him—none of whom wished to make conversation with him on account of preferring to mind their own damn business.
He walked into the sleekly-decorated room after racing down the stairs the moment he was excused from the meeting, taking his usual seat in the middle of the cafeteria, far enough from the vendors to avoid eye contact with them, and far enough from the entrance to avoid that very same thing with anyone who came in.
The air was crisp this morning, and he felt grateful he’d decided to wear his blazer to the meeting. You were shivering like someone in the middle of the blizzard, he remembered, then shook his head because there was no way he was going to savour his food while thinking of you.
He got to enjoy his gimbap roll for about five minutes before he was disturbed.
You sat down in front of him, taking the seat opposite his, bringing your own lunch and an offensively large stack of papers with you. There was a smile on your face, and Sicheng only noticed because it was so rare to see something other than a scowl present on your face when you looked at him. It was nervous, almost, and a bit apprehensive, as if you were planning to approach a rabid dog—the rabid dog being him, he assumed.
He sighed audibly, gently placing down his lunch. “What is it?” he asked, and there was not a hint of patience in his tone. Why are you here? he seemed to have asked instead.
You explained yourself as if his tone had been far more welcoming than it really was, spreading the stack of papers out in front of you—Sicheng could see numbers, read a few unfamiliar names. A spreadsheet, perhaps, of contacts for possible talent.
“We’ve been tasked with finding talent and unearthing projects that were scrapped or forgotten to release something that would take the attention off of Cho Garam for a while,” you said, too busy filing through the sheets of paper to see the older male’s glower. “I’ve compiled a list of trainees we’ve rejected, and a list of shows and movies the screenwriters pitched that didn’t get financed, that we could take a quick look at.” Finally, you looked up from your work, nudging your glasses further up the bridge of your nose. “I was thinking that maybe we could refine the projects and such, then come with a pitch to old trainees, or try to offer a show or movie upfront for scouted talent to star in—you know, lure them in with a contract.”
It was a good plan, Sicheng had to admit. In the hour that had passed between the meeting and lunch, it was clear that you’d spent a good chunk of that time bothering the screenwriting staff with getting old projects printed, calling up talent scouts for the names of trainees who’d been stuck in the company’s basement for God knows how long.
Impressive, he’d even admit, if the mafia had held a gun to his head and forced him to.
However, he’d been in the middle of what would’ve been a satisfactory lunch when you’d barged in, sat down without asking, and started talking without warning, so the best you got out of him then was, “Good, or whatever, but couldn’t this have waited until after lunch?”
Your face fell into an unimpressed scowl. “No,” you said. “Dahye expects us to have a fully-formed plan by tomorrow morning. Your gimbap can wait. This, however—” you waved a loose sheet of paper in his face— “can’t.”
Sicheng sighed. “Fine. Why don’t we… try to work while we eat? Or I eat, and you talk my head off, however you want it.”
“That could be arranged,” you said, placing down the spreadsheet of trainee numbers, and slipping your chopsticks through your fingers.
You spent the rest of your lunch break discussing possible game plans in-between bites of gimbap and japchae, spitballing where to find new talent as you took sips of your iced coffees.
It was a tedious process, trying to agree on anything with Sicheng; he’d suggest picking up the plot of a slick, action-packed mafia series while you argued on the popularity of serial romantic dramas. He’d say it’d be best to look for talent in-city, where the sleek, businessman-type characters were, while you said romantic dramas preferred the Gyeongsang look—angular, burly, and traditionally masculine.
Anything you could disagree on, you did, but the moment you found a rhythm, wherein you caved and said the plot of Nonstop, a scrapped series focusing on a superpowered foreigner in debt took down the mafia, sounded worthwhile, and Sicheng admitted that perhaps you were right in the type of actors audiences liked to see the most, it felt as if time passed like sand in an hourglass.
Half an hour came and went, and soon it was time to return to your desks.
“I think we should work on times next,” you said, falling into step with Sicheng as you got out of the elevator. “We’ve got to have a deadline, and a set-in-stone period to work in.”
“Dahye’s going to bring that up tomorrow morning,” he pointed out, “so don’t worry about it too much right now. Focus more on where those old trainees are, and I’ll go to up to the fourth floor to go bother the screenwriters about projects. We’ll recon back here just before quitting time.”
He glanced at you, a stern look in his eyes, stopping by your desk as you plopped into your chair. His hip bumped against the edge, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for your answer.
You nodded. “Sounds good. I’ve already got an idea on who to call for that action serial.”
Sicheng didn’t give any indication that he heard you besides a tilt of his head. He glanced at you one last time, nodded as if in both assurance and farewell, and turned to head back to the elevator.
You watched as he punched in the digits that would take him up to the creative department, disappearing into the silver double doors without so much as a glance in your direction.
There had been more important things to tend to than the recon, it seemed, because you didn’t see Sicheng again until you strode into Dahye’s office the next morning, under the impression that you’d be the first one there. Surprisingly enough, though, your arch nemesis was right there, seated in front of her desk on your favourite chair, taking short sips of coffee from a paper cup.
Sicheng had glanced up, and you could see in his unusually patient gaze that he’d been expecting your boss to be on the other side of the glass double doors. His face fell when he noticed it was you, however, into an unimpressed scowl. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”
“It’s me,” you confirmed, plopping into the seat next to him. It felt wrong, as if your entire world had been ripped off its axis, sitting on this side, in this uncomfortable, worn-the-fuck-out office chair. You hated that Sicheng had arrived before you to claim the objectively better seat. “You look like shit today.”
Rolling his eyes as he fixed the cuffs of his light blue collared shirt, crossing one trouser-clad leg over the other, he glanced at you and said, “Likewise. You do know a button up and jeans aren’t business casual just because you throw a blazer over it, right?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Of course you’d know that, diva.”
He scoffed. “Slob.”
“Prima donna.”
“Brown-noser.”
“M-mm.”
You turned your heads in sync at the sound of someone clearing their throat, and immediately rose out of your seats to bow to Dahye. “Morning, sunbaenim,” you chorused, and the older woman waved you off, taking a seat behind her desk.
“Sorry I’m late, you two,” she apologised, placing her own cup of coffee onto the oaken surface; damn, you wanted coffee, now. “Mr Cho said he’d been meaning to have a word with me, and that word ended up taking longer than expected, as always. Though…” Hesitantly, she glanced at the pair of you. “…You seem to have entertained each other well enough in the time I was gone.”
Sicheng grinned ruefully. “I suppose you could say that, boss.”
From the space between your chairs, you aimed a kick at the side of Sicheng’s leg. Given his sharp intake of breath following the action, you must’ve hit right where you’d aimed.
Dahye laced her fingers one by one, glancing between the two of you, looking a bit like a supervillain about to discuss her evil plan with her henchmen—not too far off, you thought. “Alright. Today is game day; the first day of Plan Damage Control.”
Both you and Sicheng leaned forward, listening intently.
“We have a month to quiet all this down, before we can start putting out statements with regards to Garam’s recent…” your boss trailed off.
“…Predicament?” you guessed, and she nodded.
“Right,” she said. “We’ve a month—four weeks. No more, no less. This week and next week, I want you two to focus on gathering talent from wherever the Hell you can find it, be it here, Busan, Ulsan, or even Jeolla. Get a mixture of new talent and 404 talent that’s been inactive for a while,” she advised, “bring back some familiar faces and some completely new ones. This is going to be a big part of the next plan, so I want you to tell me now whether or not either of you can fully commit. That means working overtime, weekdays and weekends.”
Though it would’ve been fitting in any other romcom setting in which you didn’t hate each other for you to share a wide-eyed look, you didn’t, although your nods were nearly identical. “I haven’t got any plans for this weekend,” Sicheng shrugged. “I can commit.”
“I’ve plans, but they can be rescheduled,” you said.
Dahye raised a brow.
You sighed apprehensively. “…Okay, cancelled. I’m ready to give this project my all.”
She smiled slowly. “Right. Now, I know you don’t have a car—” she nodded empathetically towards you— “so that means you’ll be riding around the country in Sicheng’s car.” Here, she turned her glance to him. “You’ll be able to use the company card while on this trip, of course, for petrol, or accommodation, or food; whatever you’d need it for.”
Despite his obvious chagrin, Sicheng managed a tight smile and a dutiful nod, though not without rolling his eyes to the back of his head the moment Dahye’s gaze travelled to you.
“After that, you’ll have two weeks to get them into short training programs, or into newly-launched projects, if you feel they’ve the talent for that already. I’ve got other PR agents on the film and TV aspect of this mission,” she assured with a smile, noticing the tensing of your posture. “And that makes a month.”
You hummed. “And the, uh, talent searching. That’s not negotiable?”
Dahye frowned. “Meaning…?”
“Well, perhaps we can't split the month’s plan between us?” Sicheng interjected. “Maybe… I could be out looking for talent while she’s out getting the training programs and dormitories ready for new trainees.”
Your boss gave the pair of you an odd look, though smiled shrewdly. “If what you’re wondering is if you can work on your own, the answer is no.”
You sighed softly.
Again, Sicheng rolled his eyes.
“You’ll get the job done quicker if you do it together,” she continued, unperturbed by your annoyance, your apprehension. “Besides, some time spent together might do you good. Think of it as a one-on-one team building exercise. Other than that, I don’t have any other terms for this mission.”
A beat of silence passed in which you drummed your fingers against your thighs, your foot tapping to a silent rhythm. Sicheng shifted in his seat, though he said nothing to betray his obvious disappointment at his predicament; like you, he’d expected that you’d at least be able to keep some distance from one another through this mission, and Dahye’s ideal mission seemed to be the opposite of that case.
You tilted your head, and tried for a joke. “So… the means would be justified by the end?”
Dahye chuckled. “Sure, but don’t do anything rash. Goodness knows we need another scandal on our hands.”
“We’ll be on our best behaviour,” Sicheng smiled, looking very much like he wanted to die. “Promise.”
There was a twinkle in the older woman’s eyes when she glanced at you, then at Sicheng, and back at you. “I’m sure you will be.”
The specifics of the next two weeks were discussed over a phone call when your lunch break rolled around, and ended with Dahye nicely asking you to repeat everything she’d told you to Sicheng when you saw him later—because, apparently, you had lunch with him, now.
You found him at the same spot you had yesterday, in the middle of the cafeteria, the centre of attention yet the easiest to miss. He was halfway through a bite of his sandwich when you sat down, crossing your arms over the table to make yourself comfortable.
With a sigh, he set down his sandwich. “Is this going to become a regular occurrence, you bothering me in my hour of peace?”
“Yes,” you answered, and it was with great horror that Sicheng discovered you were only half joking. “Dahye gave me a call to talk about specifics earlier, and she wanted me to relay the message to you. I figured you wouldn’t want me to approach you while you were working, so interrupting your lunch break for the second time this week seemed to be my best bet.”
“I’d have greatly enjoyed it if you didn’t have to approach me at all,” Sicheng confessed with a bitter smile, “but I appreciate the minimal consideration.”
You smiled, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “We’re starting tomorrow. Dahye said we could clock out early today to pack, because she expects us to be making our rounds in the city before eight o’clock.”
He nodded, subconsciously taking note of the slight change in your tone; it was less pettish than when you were bickering, much more businesslike. It made you sound more your age. “And I’m assuming we can establish the best places to look for new talent, and divide our time between those places.”
You nodded. “We can figure that out on the road. See you tomorrow morning?”
“Just email me your address before then,” he said blandly.
“I am not going to email you my address,” you scoffed. “What are you, fifty? I have your number. I can just message you.”
“I’m not fifty,” Sicheng snapped. “I just happen to understand basic work etiquette. You know, the set of rules people follow in order to foster a professional relationship between themselves and their colleagues?”
You stared at him for a long moment then, and a palpable silence fell over you. The only sounds were those of people milling about the company cafeteria—the sounds of cutlery against plates, of conversations, of shoes shuffling against the polished floor, of the occasional, sporadic laugh.
You rolled your eyes to the back of your head, not unlike Sicheng had earlier in the day during your meeting with Dahye.
“You’re full of shit,” you decided.
You made the trip cross-country that weekend, as planned. Sicheng stopped by your house early on Saturday morning, honking until you eventually came down with your luggage in tow.
“Think you packed enough?” Sicheng asked, watching in annoyance as you hauled the last of your bags into his boot, arms crossed over his chest.
You slammed his boot shut hard enough to make him wince and pull a face of pain, as if you were being abusive towards his own child. “We’re going to be travelling cross-country for two weeks.”
“Have you never stayed in a bed and breakfast with a washing machine before, or what?” he remarked.
You gave him a look; he smirked. One point for Sicheng.
The trip started off rocky—as was expected for two self-proclaimed mortal enemies. Sicheng was an awfully active driver, blasting music one moment, singing the other, all while rapping his fingers and knuckles against his dashboard, his steering wheel, his thighs, your head. You, on the other hand, tried your very best to remain on track and make sure you didn’t get lost.
You’d start off in Seoul, and slowly make your way across the country following a semi-sensical route; from Seoul to Suwon, down to Cheongju, then Daejeon, into Jeollabuk-do to get to Jeonju, then into the Gyeongsang province to Daegu, Ulsan, Busan, and Changwon, back into the Jeolla province to Gwangju, then Jeonju, again, and back up to Seoul from there. All in two weeks.
Your phone calendar was open as your eyes roved over the dates of the month, over the little 3 settled at the top, illuminated by a red circle around it.
3 October, 2025. Today.
“I was thinking that we could do Suwon today, then Cheongju, Daejeon, and Jeonju tomorrow and the two days afterwards, since they’re not that far apart,” you said, indicating your head.
Sicheng stilled when you spoke, ears pricking attentively, nodding along to what you had to say.
“Then, we’ll do Daegu for two days, Gyeongsang province for four, spend around two days in Gwangju, and then we’ll be able to get back to Seoul by ten o’clock of the second day,” you finished.
“But that’s only twelve days,” Sicheng pointed out. “We’d be back on a Wednesday.”
You shrugged. “So? It’s not like we want to spend more time together than necessary. We can get everything done in, what, two less days than Dahye told us to.”
He deliberated for a moment before rolling his eyes, making a flowery, sweeping Whatever gesture with the hand that wasn’t on the steering wheel. “If you say so. I’m more concerned about how we’re going to take turns driving, because there’s no way in hell I am driving across the country and back all by myself.”
A small pause followed.
“I don’t have my Korean license yet,” you confessed.
Sicheng’s eyes widened. “Wh—? You’ve lived here for three years, and you haven’t got your license yet?!”
“I don’t own a car!”
“That doesn’t fucking matter! You still need a license!”
“It does fucking matter! Why waste my time on a license when I use public transport, anyway?”
“I— You— Just— You’re so—!” He cut himself off with a short exhale, focusing on the road as he turned onto the highway. “I’m fine. I’m calm. I’m chill. So chill.” He turned to you briefly, his face much more collected than the plethora of aggrieved and angered expressions from before. “You’re an idiot and a menace,” he said, with as much zen as a twenty eight year old office worker could muster.
“Uncalled for,” you muttered, slumping in your seat.
You fell into an uncomfortable silence after that; though it couldn’t exactly be described as silence when Justin Bieber was still singing about his self-inflicted romantic woes over the radio. The passing scenery became your first distraction, hills and roads and cars all blurring together and not doing much to keep your mind off what had transpired mere moments before.
Sicheng stayed mostly silent, save for the few times he uttered a Bieber lyric with the silent devotion of someone who’s been through their highest highs and lowest lows with him by their side. After a song or two that made you realise that Sicheng had, in fact, not put on a curated playlist and instead just a collection of shitty Justin Bieber songs off his discography, your coworker’s eyes flicked to yours from his peripheral.
“Have you planned anything with regards to accommodation?” he asked. His businesslike tone was unfamiliar to your ears; even at work, he didn’t keep it as professional as he’d have liked you to believe. There was always a hint of irritation in his voice when he spoke, and you’d gotten used to it. “Because if I have to sleep in my car for even one night, I’m crashing this second-hand piece of crap and putting us out of our impending miseries now.”
“Wow. Dark,” you conceded agreeably. “But, yes, I’ve booked B&Bs at every one of our stops where we’re sleeping over, don’t worry.”
He smiled shortly. “Thanks for taking care of it.”
“My pleasure,” you replied. “I had the feeling you were going to kill us both if we didn’t.”
Sicheng snorted softly, rolling his eyes.
You spent the rest of the drive to Suwon in uncharacteristically amiable silence, gazing out the window and observing the passing scenery. At some point during your hour-long journey, you started playing a game of your own invention to keep yourself busy, counting all the white cars you could see and comparing the number with all the black cars you saw. It was a meaningless game, of course, because you lost track of either colour before you even got to ten of each, but it was a nice exercise to keep your brain occupied when Sicheng wasn’t making any attempt at conversation.
He kept his eyes trained on the road for the most part, occasionally glancing at passing buildings or cars when he could feel his eyes get tired, having strained to focus on the same winding path for a few minutes too long.
Having lived in Seoul for the better part of your time in Korea, Suwon wasn’t really anything special. Or, to put it more nicely, it wasn’t really anything more special than Seoul itself. It looked like a normal, average, medium-to-high-income city, filled with normal, average people going about their—you guessed it—normal, average business.
It was about midday when you arrived, cruising into the city and past a sign that read, Welcome to Suwon!
Sicheng turned to you, a question on his tongue. “GPS?”
It was a simple, blunt request; he didn’t say it in a manner that was at all disagreeable or disrespectful, but you couldn’t help chuckling at his unequivocal delivery. “Wow.”
“What?” he asked, turning the steering wheel with the flat of his palm. “We need to get to the bed and breakfast to check in, and I have no idea where it is.”
You placed your phone in the centre console, opening up the GPS route to the inn. The location read Saeroun Nal Inn. New Day Inn. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
Sicheng frowned cluelessly. It hadn’t occurred to him in the least, it seemed, that his frankly caustic approach when it came to asking for things would be funny to you. He, for all intents and purposes, unironically did not find anything wrong with what he’d said or how he’d said it.
“No, seriously. What?”
Suwon was a fucking bust.
And so were Cheongju and Daejeon.
You and Sicheng had tried your absolute best to make your rounds in the cities, handing out as many flyers and sending as many friendly smiles as you could, but charisma could only do so much. At the end of the day, there was nearly none of what you really needed: talent. Sure, a few attractive twenty-somethings with potential crossed your way, but you weren’t looking for potential. You were looking for natural, immediate star quality. A cute butcher’s son or priest’s daughter simply wouldn’t do.
Despite the ultimate failure of your first three cities, the trip had been amicable up until that point. Sicheng behaved himself in a way not only tolerable, but almost, and you shuddered to think of it, nice. In the three days you were in Suwon, Cheongju, and Daejeon, he kept a polite tone, often reconned with you after you’d set out in opposite directions in search of future candidates to save your corrupt entertainment agency, and even made smalltalk in the moments where it got really quiet.
You’d checked out of your B&B in Daejeon that afternoon—a small, minimal unit that you’d booked in a pinch; for its general tiny size, lacking decor, and overall meh feel, it was alright—and set off into Jeolla province.
In the late hours of 6 October, 2025, Sicheng shook you awake.
You’d been dozing off while he drove to Jeollabuk-do, your forehead resting against his passenger seat window, before he flicked your cheek and you woke with a start, already frowning with murderous intent.
“What?” you hissed, rubbing at your tired eyes.
The car had stopped momentarily, caught at a red light. Sicheng turned to you. “Your greasy forehead is going to ruin my clean windows,” he snarked. “Don’t you have something to lay on?”
“No,” you grumbled. “All my jackets are in the boot.”
You turned away from him, but didn’t rest your head again. Instead, your propped your elbow onto the windowsill, resting your chin in the palm of your hand, gazing at the landscape outside your window, awash in red from the traffic lights.
Without another word, Sicheng took his hands off the steering wheel, reaching for the bottom of his jumper. He leaned forward, pulling it over his back before chucking it at you.
You sputtered, the pure cotton mass hitting you square in the mouth. “What the fuck is this for?”
“You can use it as a pillow,” Sicheng said, like you were an idiot. The light turned green. The car started to move again. “You need to get rest. I know you’re going to make me suffer otherwise.”
“And how exactly do you know this?” you asked.
He shrugged. “Call it a hunch. I know how childish you are when you don’t sleep enough, and I’d liked to be spared of my own version of Hell on Earth.”
You scoffed. “Yeah, right. Whatever, Dong. Sweet dreams.”
You rolled your eyes, but bundled the jumper into a ball and, certainly not per his request, laid it against the passenger side window and rested your head against it. It was soft, fluffy, smelled of detergent and his sharp, citrus cologne. You wrinkled your nose in distaste; citrus had never been your thing.
You closed your eyes and slowly fell into a dull, dreamless sleep while Sicheng continued on to Jeolla province. It took a while for you to fall asleep, given the passing highway lights and constant movement. Soft music drifted from the radio, though that couldn’t have bothered you if it tried. You weren’t sure when exactly you arrived in Jeolla, or how long Sicheng waited to tell you that you’d arrived, but when you woke up, rudely awoken by your nemesis shoving your shoulder so hard your forehead bumped against the passenger side window, you were ready to kick his ass.
You blearily took in your surroundings, and concluded that you must’ve been in the parking lot of the inn you’d be staying at. “How did you know where we were sleeping tonight?” you asked, turning to Sicheng.
“You sent me the location before we drove out of Daejeon,” he answered. He wasn’t looking at you, rather assessing the look of the inn you’d booked. It was a small place, bigger than the one in Suwon, but just as rustic. “I asked, remember?”
You frowned. “No.”
“Of course you don’t. Grandma.”
“I know someone who’s birth year starts with 19 did not just call me fucking Grandma.”
“Too bad. I did.” He smiled thinly, yanking his car door open. A gust of cold wind drifted into the car as he stepped out. “Grandma.”
You awoke the next morning to a loud knocking on your door, groggily lifting up your head from the wrong end of the bed where you’d passed out a few hours prior. Your eyes struggled to adjust to the light filtered through the milky windows and into the room, engulfing your entire living space in the pale blue light of the early morning.
Sicheng strode in on the fifth knock, smacking the door shut behind him as he leaned his back against it and crossed his arms over his chest. He was already dressed, which was not so unlike someone as irritatingly efficient as him. He didn’t greet you with a stiff, polite good morning as he usually did, instead saying, “Come on, Sleeping Beauty. We have ground to cover and we’re losing sunlight.”
You narrowed your eyes. “It’s not even past seven, and we’re in Jeolla for two days.”
“Irrelevant. Let’s get going!”
You groaned. “Fine. Let me get dressed, and we can leave.”
Jeonju was busy given the time of year. The roads were painted and paved with directions, small buildings lining the streets—restaurants, clothing shops, bars, all topped with arching tile giwa-jib roofs, similarly to the homes in the nearby hanok village. You passed couples, students, and children alike, all chattering excitedly, whilst you and your colleague drifted through the streets, keeping an eye out for possible talent.
The early hour of the morning made it so that you witnessed the opening of shops all around the city, owners and employees all filing in one by one to their places of work. You passed out a few business cards to the university students you passed, all of whom accepted them with a hushed thanks before scurrying off in the direction they’d come from.
You passed by a row of restaurants, all lined up next to one another, advertising a variety of different foods; a café with baked goods and a larger-than-life menu, a restaurant specialising in pork belly and noodle dishes, and a snack bar filled with brightly dressed patrons and employees alike.
As if on queue, you felt your stomach turning over in hunger. “We should get breakfast,” you said. “We’ve a long day ahead of us.”
Sicheng hummed, squinted eyes trained on the restaurants. “Do we flip a coin to see who gets to choose where we eat?”
“We can’t have noodles or tteokbokki for breakfast, Sicheng,” you scoffed. The last two restaurants were out of a question.
“Speak for yourself,” he muttered, before a thick, definitive silence beat of silence passed. He groaned dramatically, throwing his head back, before he finally come to his senses with a sigh. “Café it is, then.”
The café—Harmony Café, as it was called, a small, independent establishment with adorable food and even cuter staff—wasn’t too busy despite the ideal time of day. The two of you found a table right by the window, in an area of the café that wasn’t too busy. Only one or two other couples were seated there, gazing intently into each other’s eyes, clearly in worlds of their own. Soft music drifted from the speakers, pleasant enough that you didn’t feel overstimulated, though upbeat enough that you wouldn’t accidentally fall asleep.
Your waiter was a young man of about twenty two, all shiny brown eyes and flirty smiles that he seemed to know would get him tips. He jotted down your orders in a pink pastel notebook roughly the size of his palm—a cup of green tea and something called the sunrise breakfast for you; a coffee and nothing more for Sicheng. When he placed his, quite frankly, lacking order, you glanced at him from across the table, question clear in the furrow of your brows.
He caught onto your look, lips curling in annoyance. “What now?” he asked. The sunlight filtered through the windows, reflecting an irritatingly bright glow against the polished table, against the tanned surface of his skin.
You shrugged, eyes widening as if he’d overreacted. “Nothing. I just think you’re going to regret not eating.”
Sicheng narrowed his eyes imperceptibly. “I think I know my body better than you do, thank you very much.” He shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, trousers tightening over the supple plains of his thighs. “I’m just not hungry, is all.”
You hummed. “Right.”
“Don’t say ‘right’ like that,” he demanded.
“Like what?” you asked with a frown.
“Like you know better.”
“Chances are, I do.”
“Chances are, you don’t.”
…
“I think I know my brain better than you do, thank you very much.”
Breakfast—or, your breakfast, and Sicheng’s cup of coffee; seriously, how did he think that was enough?—was a quiet affair, during which you discussed nothing more than logistics and plans for the day. You’d make your way through Jeonju, handing out business cards and finding talent where you could, killing time until it was high time to return to the inn, get a good nights’ sleep, and set off for Daegu early the next morning.
The food was great, as you’d expected of a place that was as vibey as this one, and the prices were relatively manageable. About an hour after you’d arrived, nearing eight o’clock, you excused yourself on the pretense that you needed to use the restroom, at which point Sicheng dismissed you with a wave of his hand, attention fixed on something on his phone.
The bathroom was a little ways away from the front desk, a small wooden bench behind which the cashier and a few other waiters were gathered. You glanced behind you to make sure your coworker’s eyes hadn’t followed you, and stopped at the desk. “Hi,” you smiled, your waiter turning to you with an inquisitive expression, “could I get the bill? I’d like to pay it here, have everything settled so that there’s no worry with the old-timer.”
He smiled softly, amused by the jest, though he nodded. You took out your debit card once the amount had been added up, your breakfast and drinks with an added takeaway you’d ordered at the front desk, and settled the bill. You shoved the receipt in your back pocket, taking out a few thousand won notes for your server.
He gratefully accepted them, bowing in gratitude as you waved off his thanks. You’d been a waiter once upon a time; good customers were rare, and he’d been kind and helpful enough to deserve the gratuitous tip you’d given him.
As he was packing your order to go, you reached into your back pocket to slip out one of the many business cards you’d had printed before the trip. It was a small, laminated rectangle with your, Sicheng’s, and the company’s contact details, as well as the shiny emblem of the 404 logo. You reached out to accept the brown paper bag he handed you, and slipped the card into his grasp in exchange.
“I work for 404 Entertainment,” you told him as he read the card in stunned silence, “you know, the company that works with the country’s top broadcasting stations?”
“Of course I know what 404 is,” he said, handsome face breaking into a smile. “You guys make all those really cool action serials. I’ve gone for auditions before.”
You perked up in interest. “Really?”
He shrugged. “It was a while ago, but the guy handling the auditions told me that I wasn’t what they were looking for, so I cut my losses and came back here.”
“Well, we’re on the lookout for talent, these days,” you informed him. “If you take me up on my offer and decide to come up to Seoul for a potential job, make sure to have a good CV put together, and mention that I personally approached you as much as you can.”
His eyes widened. “Is this an offer? Like, an official offer for me to become a 404 actor?”
404 actor. The term, you were aware, held moderate significance among up and coming actors and actresses alike. While not the most popular company, 404 Ent was known for its diverse casting and artistic projects. Even if an actor didn’t stay signed under them, they were sure to find work more easily if they’d starred in one of their famed productions.
You lifted a shoulder, as if to say, Maybe. “Actor, model, idol—whichever you’d like. Though there is an action series I think you’d be perfect for.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
He shook his head, disbelieving. “Wah…” He trailed off, glancing at the card as if it were made of twenty four carat gold. He turned back to you after a moment or two of ogling at it, smiling in gratitude. “Thanks for this, ma’am. You’re like a guardian angel to me, right now.”
You grinned, amused. “You get tired of waiting tables?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he sighed.
“Well, now you’ve got a legitimate reason—or excuse, however you’d want to phrase it—to quit and move to the big city,” you promised. You gave the counter a last definitive tap, adding, “I look forward to seeing you in Seoul, kiddo.”
When you turned, strode back to yours and Sicheng’s table, he gave you a look of vague question, silently asking, What was that? Where’d you go? What took you so long? all at once. You shrugged, before gesturing towards the entrance, as if to signal that it was time to leave.
In what looked to be a completely wordless exchange, you and Sicheng fell into step with one another and made your way out of the café, back onto the busy streets of Jeonju. In the time you’d had breakfast, the city had woken up considerably, had become even more crowded since earlier that morning. New sounds accompanied the old, new faces blended in with those you’d seen before.
“You pay the bill?” he questioned, squinting at the risen sun, weakly shielding his eyes from the light.
“No, actually. We’re stealing right now.”
“Mm. And the bag?”
“Takeaways.”
He glanced down at you; there was not a considerable difference in your height, no more than ten, fifteen centimetres, though it was enough to make the gap noticeable. His eyes spoke of need for further explanation than just Takeaways.
“For in case you get hungry while we’re busy today,” you elaborated, articulating with your full hand. “You need to eat, eventually. I know you’re going to make me suffer otherwise.”
“And how exactly do you know this?” he asked.
You shrugged. “Call it a hunch.”
He rolled his eyes. He did that often when you were around. “Whatever.”
You didn’t start having car troubles until 10 October, 2025.
You’d been in the middle of the Gyeongsang leg of the trip when it happened, cruising down the highway when Sicheng’s car started to shudder. It started out as a few odd, yet isolated, incidents—he’d stop at a red light, and come just short; he’d turn a corner, and have to turn the wheel just a bit harder than he should’ve needed to.
Then, shit hit the fan.
You were halfway from Ulsan to Busan when his car completely broke down, having stopped dead on the side of the highway. It had begun to slow just as he was changing lanes, and you’d shouted at him to just park the thing so that you wouldn’t be stranded in the middle of the highway; he’d listened, although not without a few shouts of his own.
You sat in awed silence for a few minutes, breathing heavily from shock, before Sicheng abruptly swung open his car door, slamming it shut. You glanced out the window with a double take, before opening your own door and tumbling out of the car.
The older man was pacing back and forth in front of his car, his hand caught in his hair as he punched in someone’s number, possibly the nearest towing company’s, holding his phone to his ear. He muttered to himself as he went, curses and prayers and everything in between.
You didn’t say anything as you approached him, kept a considerable distance. You could practically feel the agitation radiating off his form, even with the space between you. He murmured erratically, on the edge of nonsensical; it was unlike him, or, the him you were familiar with.
You watched as he waited, and waited, and paced, and paced, his phone kept to his ear, his hand kept in his hair. Whatever he must’ve been trying to do, whichever number he must’ve been trying to call, something didn’t work out, and he groaned in frustration, fingers working deftly over the screen as he typed in what you assumed what the number of another towing company, and waited once again for them to pick up.
It was a good fifteen minutes before Sicheng finally gave up.
He’d called, and called, and waited, and cursed, and prayed to no avail. A quarter of an hour was the time it took him to finally admit defeat with a shaky sigh and a pointed look at the sky that practically screamed Fuck! without even needing words. He dropped to a crouch, the sort of frustrated squat only Asian dads did, his head in his hands as he muttered something to you.
It had been windy since you’d gone from your bed and breakfast that morning, the wind whistling in your ears even when you didn’t feel it through the thick material of your jumper. The weather, paired with the fact that you were on the side of the highway, cars and trucks whizzing past you at inhumane speeds, made hearing him a difficult task. You frowned, asked, “What?”
Sicheng yelled over the roar of activity, “I said, we’re fucked!”
“Oh. Well, I could’ve guessed that just from the pose you’re striking. You didn’t even need to tell me,” you quipped.
“I’m not sure if it’s because it’s a Friday, or because God just hates me, but practically none of the towing companies in the immediate area are available,” he told you. “We’re indefinitely stuck here.”
His words were accentuated by short, sharp breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
The easy smile that had twisted your lips now faltered, dissipated at the sight of him. He was still crouching, knees touching the ground, head rested in his shaky hands. You approached him, slowly, cautiously, stopping just a few steps short of where he was. “Sicheng?” you tried.
He didn’t say anything. Only his breaths, bursting through his plump lips, could be heard over the traffic.
“Shit.”
You—as gently as you could manage with your impending nerves—raced towards Sicheng, your hands grabbing onto his shoulders. You shifted so that you could pull him to stand up, to get him out of eye- and earshot of the commotion. He let you, head hanging low, eyes fixated on the concrete beneath his feet. You steered him behind his car, and though the racket did not cease completely, it grew softer with the vehicle to block most of the noise. You’d have liked to have done this inside his car, but you couldn’t know if that would simply have made his panic worse, being confined like that.
You didn’t say anything as you pulled him closer by the collar of his jacket, his chest colliding with yours. His breath shuddered, his face hidden in the crook of your neck. His hands were still shaking. Your skin and clothes grew wet with his tears. You reached up, resting your palm on the back of his head, fingers gently carding through his sleek, black locks. You pressed your lips to his forehead, murmuring sweet nothings, anything you could think of.
Perhaps, if you’d hated Dong Sicheng more, and perhaps, if you’d truly thought him to be an awful man, you wouldn’t be trying to calm him down, trying to talk him down from a panic attack. And perhaps, if you yourself weren’t so well-acquainted with the quick, mannerless visitors which were hyperventilating and persistent thoughts of imminent doom, you’d have made good on your promise that you’d never, ever be caught dead with someone like him in your arms.
And yet, you didn’t hate him enough.
“It’s okay,” you whispered, free hand coming up to stroke his back. You kept him close to you, your lips brushing the surface of his skin. Not everyone liked to be held like this through a panic attack; you’d gone out on a limb and hoped he wasn’t one of those people. It seemed, given his lack of resistance, given the manner in which his arms wound around your waist the moment the tremor in his hands lessened, you were right. “We’re going to be okay. We’ll make a plan. I’ll make a plan. I’ll get us to safety. Everything’ll work out. It always does, for us.”
You received nothing but another short, shuddered burst of breath in response. He was still shaking, though less so than before. You didn’t let up in your ministrations, one hand in his hair and the other on his back, keeping him close. He grabbed fistfuls of your clothes, as if to pull you impossibly closer to him. You wondered which part of him did that, wanted that, wanted you—the part of him which was begging for protection and safety, the part which stood shaking on the side of the road in your arms, or the part of him which would’ve scoffed if someone told him your trip would’ve turned out like this, the part which narrowed his eyes in annoyance, muttered expletives under his breath at the sight of you.
You wondered which part of you had sprung into action, pulled him into your chest and wasted no time in comforting him with sweet nothings—the part of you that had felt the same way before, brought to the edge, losing total control of your body and actions in a moment of stress, the part that saw yourself in his teary eyes, the way he looked younger, smaller, afraid, or the part of you that would’ve spit in his face mere days before, the part that wished illness upon illness on him, curse upon curse on his family and his future.
“You’re going to be fine, you hear me? This is just a small snag in a much larger project that’s been flowing smoothly until now. It’s not the end of the world. You’ll be okay. You have me. We have each other. I’ll be damned if it’s a panic attack that breaks you and not me.”
Through his dread, Sicheng managed a weak laugh. You smiled at the sound.
You stayed like that for a moment, simply keeping him safely in your arms. Your lips were pressed against his forehead, his against your neck. It was an intimate position, you could admit, though you couldn’t bring yourself to feel awkward or uncomfortable in the face of it. It was something done of necessity, in his hour of need. Who were you to deprive someone needing comfort of that very thing?
Almost as if to add to the new, calmer environment, the traffic had let up considerably. Only a few cars drove past, in lanes far enough that they were nothing more than sounds and wisps of wind passing by. He had stopped shaking, his tears had dried. Now, it seemed, he held onto you only because he’d been doing it for so long. Familiarity’s sake, you told yourself.
When he finally disentangled himself from your arms, he gave you a long, hard look. His eyes were still shiny with unshed tears, his plump, beakish lips still trembling with emotion. He seemed to be searching your face for something, expression softened as it was. For any sign of malice. Of disapproval. Of badly hidden, sneering conceit.
He found only tenderness.
Dong Sicheng kissed you for the first time on the side of the road after his car had broken down. He’d surged forward, capturing your lips with his without saying a word beforehand. They felt soft against yours, tasted salty with tears. You gave a surprised yelp that was swallowed by his mouth, though you tilted your head to deepen the kiss all the same. He sighed into your mouth, the sound a gasping submission.
Then, just as quickly as it had come, Sicheng pulled away from the kiss as if he’d been burnt. A beat of silence passed, wherein the two of you merely stared at one another, eyes wide with shock, lips numb and buzzing with blood rush. Your cheeks felt warm. His looked pink.
“That—” He cut himself off, pursing his lips. “That was— I didn’t… That was a—”
“Mistake,” you agreed immediately. You shrugged, as if you hadn’t been prepared to stick your tongue down his throat. “We didn’t mean it.”
“Right.”
“It was just a spur of the moment thing.”
“Exactly! Nothing more, nothing less.”
“I mean, I, for one, still hate you.”
“Oh, yeah, I mean— d-ditto on that one.”
“So it’s agreed. We still hate each other?”
“Of course.”
Things only went downhill after that.
You made your way back to Seoul in the days that followed, after settling your business in Busan. Sicheng had taken to answering you in swift, half-words while you drove, only ever speaking out of sheer necessity. Despite the trainwreck that had occurred in Ulsan, the trip had been majorly successful. You were able to locate trainees and find new talent while handling production matters with people in the creative department of the company.
You went into the office the morning after Sicheng had dropped home the previous evening, gracing you with a clumsy goodbye before speeding off into the night.
Thanks for helping me, you’d told him.
He’d glanced at you, looking over into the passenger seat. His tanned face was golden in the lamplight shining outside your apartment building; his eyes shifted unsurely behind the round frames encircling them. He looked at you—stared at you—so long you thought you’d said something wrong. No problem.
See you at work tomorrow? came your question; a statement, tainted with foggy uncertainty.
He paused, turned to faced you fully, smiled. It looked forced, taut on his handsome face. I guess so.
And then you got out, opened your door and retrieved your bags from the boot. You’d waved at him, bidding him a final farewell; the end of a road trip, the end of a chapter. The beginning of a new week in the middle of one, the beginning of a new relationship in the middle of yours.
Potentially. If he let you in again. If he was willing to go back to the way you were, all scathing remarks and disapproving pouts and salt in your coffee and fake post-it notes on the side of your desk. If he wanted to move on from that, become your grudging confidante because no matter your hatred for one another, you had to admit that you made a good team. If he got over this, whatever it was, admitted that you both made a mistake and moved past it.
You didn’t think he’d ever stop loathing you; you didn’t think you’d ever stop being repulsed by him. Maybe that’s just how you were meant to be. Not in love, not attracted, not intimate, but never distant. Never awkward, never strangers. Always teetering on the edge that defined love and hate, adoration and abhorrence, so devoted to hating one another that the lines sometimes blurred.
He hadn’t waved back.
He said something, words muffled by the thick glass separating you, and took off.
And that brought you to today.
You arrived at 404, early as always, shrugging on your jacket as you strode through the gates and up the first few stairs. The squeal of tires turned your attention behind you, where someone had pulled up mere seconds after you’d arrived, and was now messily tumbling out of their car like someone under more of an influence than coffee.
Sicheng straightened his posture once he regained his footing, glancing at you from behind his spectacles as if trying to gauge if you’d bore witness to his moment of weakness.
He wore a blazer, as usual, a mock neck peeking out from underneath the jacket, and trousers.
You watched him in polite amusement, taking a sip of the tea you’d grabbed on the way to work. “Morning,” you greeted lightly.
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, as he strode past you, back straight, faced forward, he replied, in passing, “Good morning.”
His tone was uncharacteristically businesslike, words short and clipped as if this were some sort of work-related interaction. You let him behave stiffly towards you for now; you knew how easily he got flustered, knew that it’d be best to give him his space. You followed behind him, though took the stairs where he took the elevator on the way to the PR department.
Since it was your first day back at work after the trip, a majority of your day would be spent discussing the progress you’d made with Dahye, and going to the creative department to pester them about the future projects you wanted greenlit. As a PR manager, you didn’t technically have the authority to request certain projects to be chosen over others, but your special, top-secret connections (you were friends with one of the screenwriters, Mark, and one of the creative directors, Yerim) gave you some advantage over the others in the company, though just because both of your friends had trouble saying no to you.
You took your respective seats at your respective desks, working as if you weren’t less than a ruler’s length from one another. He clicked away at his keyboard, while you paged through the documents Mark had given you when you clocked in. It was mainly a list of series the creative team had decided to pick up, and some they’d finally scrapped for good. All you really had to do was check the client database—trainees and loyal actors alike—and match them to the serial which best suited them.
Since it was a Wednesday, there was no meeting as was customary for the beginning of the week, nor were there any emergency meetings conducted to discuss sticky matters regarding the company’s talent. You were, however, called into Dahye’s office just before your lunch break.
You assumed Sicheng would’ve joined, given the fact that you’d made the trip together, but hadn’t seen him since he’d disappeared into the break room for a cup of coffee—something which had occurred over half an hour before Dahye called you in. You got up from your desk, your back cracking as you stretched your arms above your head. You sighed, grateful for the relief, before you made your way to her office.
She was alone in her office, something which spurred on your growing confusion, however slight it was, poring over documents and occasionally turning to type something into her computer. Her made up face was illuminated by the bright, eerie glow from the device, though she looked no less beautiful than she usually did. She glanced up when you entered, the door clicking open and shut behind you as you bowed in polite greeting, and gave you a smile.
“Good to see you again,” she said. “Please, please, sit. Tell me all about the trip.”
Your relationship with Dahye could very easily be mistaken for an unprofessional one, with the way you behaved around one another in one-on-one meetings, should anyone else have been there to bear witness. You saw her as something of a caring mother, you supposed. Or a wise aunt… an experienced senior, at the very least. You didn’t know. Trying to put a label on it just made it more confusing and even less professional— the point you were trying to make was that neither you nor Dahye were strangers to personal, off-record debriefs following big projects.
You sat down in your designated chair, the one Sicheng had claimed for himself when she called you in to discuss the trip with you. It seemed so far away, though it had barely been two weeks since you’d embarked on the trip. Where was Sicheng?
You paused after relaxing into your seat, lacing your fingers over your lap, deliberating. “The trip was a success, for the most part. We were able to locate old trainees and get them under active contracts with the company again, as well as find new talent. I’d say our most productive area would’ve been Daegu or Busan.”
She hummed. “The audience does love the rougher satoori.”
“There were, of course, a few… mishaps which occurred,” you said carefully, “but they were minor, and dealt with accordingly.”
“You sound so serious,” she tsked. “Come on, this is girl talk, not an official interrogation. Loosen up a bit!”
Again, it would’ve been weird for any other senior but Kim Dahye to speak like that to their subordinates. However, with her, you could make exceptions to the rule.
A beat of silence passed, thick and palpable, before you sighed, slumping in your seat as your head lolled heavenwards. “It was such a shitfest the first few days. For the first half of the trip, Sicheng and I fought like cat and dog. Then, his car broke down in Ulsan and he had a panic attack, so I had to calm him down, and then—” You cut yourself off, mouth clamping shut as if on its own.
“And then…?” Dahye probed.
“I want to tell you, sunbae, but I’m not sure how many professional laws me confessing this goes against,” you said.
“Well, did something… happen, between the two of you?”
“…Sort of?”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Was it ‘made the rest of the trip a bit awkward, but we were ultimately fine afterwards’ bad, or… ‘I should probably call HR’ bad?”
You narrowed your eyes, index fingers tapping against one another conspiratorially. “What would qualify as ‘I should probably call HR’ bad?”
Dahye paused. “If you don’t know, whatever happened probably qualifies.”
“Oh, okay. Well, okay, so something happened after his car broke down that may or may not have damaged my integrity as a woman, and then we continued on to Busan,” you added, “the most productive part of the trip. Except… Sicheng was being totally weird with me, and he remained weird until we got back to Seoul, which brings me to today, to right now.”
Dahye’s office was silent for a while, the two of you simply sitting, processing your words. You could tell she was thinking, putting the pieces together as to what happened between you and your coworker—or, rather, what he did to you and what you may or may not have eagerly reciprocated. The air was thick, though you could tell it wasn’t from tension, or her disappointment, or your discomfort. I mean, sure, you were uncomfortable as a teen having the sex talk with their mother, but you knew the thickness in the air wasn’t because of that.
A question lingered in the air, made the seat next to you feel cold. You thought to yourself again, for the second time. Where was Sicheng?
“Whatever happened between the two of you,” Dahye started, with the eyes of someone who knew exactly what had happened, “I advise that you talk to Sicheng personally about the matter.” She leaned forward in her seat—throne of a swivel chair, if you must—pensive. “I am speaking to you not only as your boss, who is very much concerned with the professional and moral implications of this… occurence, but as your friend, who knows you’re considerably weaker than you make yourself out to be. Especially when it comes to men,” she added.
You huffed, pettish, but agreeing. “You make me sound like some sort of hopeless case.”
She lifted a shoulder, as if to say, Maybe you are. “That’s alright if you are,” she assured, “in your romantic relationships. As your friend, I think it’s endearing.”
You paused. “…And, as my boss?”
“I think it’s dangerous, especially given the object of your affection. It could be something that makes the two of you work better together, if whatever you tell him works, or it could be something that divides the entire office, if it doesn’t.”
“Wow. Dramatic.”
She shrugged. “The two of you are more popular among your colleagues than you think. This could end up being like something straight out of a romantic drama.”
If Dahye had told you something like this two weeks ago—Hell, even three days ago—you’d have scoffed, shaking your head in vehement disagreement. The suggestion alone that yours and Sicheng’s relationship, your rivalry, was romantic in nature would’ve been enough to make you laugh in anyone’s face who dared to utter such an implication. Now, though… you found yourself hesitating, half-smile frozen and fading on your face, iciness thawing with begrudging realisation.
The silence gave you a moment to think, though, looking back, it was more as if it forced you to think, about what happened in Gyeongsang. You’d comforted a man you once would’ve sneered at in such a moment of weakness—or would you ever have? Done something so harsh, so inhumane, to someone you deemed the corporate Antichrist? You’d never have thought you’d be so delusional as to kiss him back—or would you have? No one, not even the most shallow people to grace the planet, kisses a man they claim to feel nothing for.
You glanced up from your lap at Dahye, smiling. It felt tight and wrong on your face. Cold and practiced. “Thanks for your advice, sunbae.” Your own voice felt faraway and tinny in your ears. Come to think of it, it had been aching for a while, now. “I’ll follow it keenly.”
She regarded you with something like concern, before nodding. “I trust that you’ll do the right thing. You always do.”
“I doubt it, but I appreciate the praise nonetheless.”
“You should be more accepting of it. Though, I do have a question.” She leaned back in her seat, frowning. “Where is Sicheng?”
You found him at his flat.
Or, more accurately, you nearly broke his door down and came face-to-face with his irritated expression, at his flat.
The rest of the day had been normal, as normal as could be for someone in your present situation; you did paperwork, chatted with a few of the people in your department as you made yourself coffee, went to and fro from the copier room. Kunhang, one of the more junior PR managers in a position not too dissimilar from yours, invited you and a few other staff out for drinks after work. You’d accepted, eager to distract yourself from the things clogging up your mind.
You spent a good chunk of the early evening in a bar in Hongdae, surrounded by friends, close and simply acquainted ones alike. Along with Kunhang, there were Mark and Yerim, close friends of yours, Donghyuck, one of your friends from your first days at 404, Dejun, someone you knew Sicheng was quite close with, as well as a few you only knew as far as their names and departments—Eri, an assistant to Yerim on set, Soonyoung, who worked on the company’s finances, and Yoonoh, the company’s lawyer.
You wondered how on Earth Kunhang had grown close to the latter. Yoonoh was a particularly difficult person to get in touch with, mostly because he worked only with the talent, and only ever came into the office when he was needed, unlike the rest of you who were at Dahye and the CEO’s every beck and call. Of course, your question could easily be answered by simply assessing Kunhang’s sociable nature. He made friends with everyone.
You sat across from Yoonoh, nestled between Mark and Kunhang, nursing a colourful, fruity cocktail. You couldn’t remember its name, only that it was sweet and came with a cherry on top. You leaned back in your seat, spine resting on the worn leather of the booth you’d found yourselves in, nodding to Yoonoh from across the table. “What brings you along, Mr Jeong? The boss need you at the office today, or something?”
He nodded, taking a sip of his soju. His cheeks had started to flush pink, even though it was only his second glass. “Ms Kim and I have been discussing Cho Garam’s case a lot these days. While you and Sicheng were travelling cross-country looking for talent, we made a plan that would redeem her in the public eye, while quietly beginning on legal proceedings to take care of the people who’d ruined her image in the first place.” He smiled softly, adding, “And please, call me Yoonoh.”
You found yourself smiling back, cheeks warming. The topic quickly shifted to something else, the focus taken off the lawyer and onto momentarily more important matters. Kunhang complained about the CEO wanting to set him up with his daughter, and Donghyuck lamented about the pressure he’d been feeling due to the controversy.
The drinks flowed as easily as the conversation, coming in a continuous stream that plucked at a string in the back of your mind, something about how on Earth you’d all be able to settle the bill, what with your meagre salaries. Though, while everyone else’s vision grew hazy with intoxication, you kept yourself manageably tipsy by drinking water and eating in-between; you figured someone needed to be sober enough to do the maths when the bill came.
At some point, Soonyoung turned to Kunhang in question. She was older than you, you assumed, and just about the best dressed person present. Wine red hair came down to her shoulders, while a pretty white blouse hugged her fit figure. “It’s a shame Sicheng couldn’t come tonight,” she said.
Kunhang hummed, narrowing his eyes in confusion. “Yeah, no, I’m not sure what happened there,” he said, sounding remarkably sober for the amount he’d already drank. “He’s been off all day, and he clocked out early.”
“He did?” you wondered. Not that you cared, really. “I saw him this morning, but he disappeared before lunchtime, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“I didn’t know you kept tabs on him,” Mark said, giving you a look from the corner of his eye. He knew just as well as anyone of your friends you much you disliked Sicheng; he was pulling your leg, trying to get a reaction out of you.
You wouldn’t give him one. “It’s kind of hard not to, considering the fact that he sits across from me.”
“He said something about having a meeting with the big man,” Dejun spoke up, sipping on his own drink. Something sweet and colourful, like yours. “I talked to him about it earlier, but he didn’t give me any details. It’s probably nothing serious, it’s just kept him a bit busy, I think.”
“Mm. Yeah. That’s likely,” you considered.
It seemed Yerim was in the mood to join in on Mark’s antics. “Mhm. Likely, huh?” While her intentions to annoy you were clear as day, she was too drunk to say anything really irritating. Her wit had been washed down with the soju she was throwing back.
As all conversations in bars did, the subject changed once more, and it seemed Sicheng was forgotten by your companions for the moment.
After a while, as the hour grew later and later, you stopped ordering a mix of cocktails and water, and stayed on the latter. You had work in the morning, and if you had a hangover, you wouldn’t be able to function past fifty percent for the next week. Instead of the alcohol making your vision blur, it was thoughts which disturbed your mind, continuous, festering like a flame being stoked, like acid turning over in your stomach.
Where was Sicheng? you thought. Where had he gone, and what made him think he could bail on work like that? You’d been just as tired as he was. You didn’t get half the day off. What was his problem?
By the time the bill came, and you paid your share (plus some of Mark’s, because the dumbass only kept cash on him when he went out and underestimated just how many drinks he’d ordered), your cheeks had warmed uncomfortably, and you felt, as you were walking to your car, as if you didn’t want to go home just yet.
You bade everyone goodbye and goodnight, promising to see them at work the next morning. Yoonoh had been the one to see you off, as the rest were still in the bar, bickering about who’d ordered and eaten seven servings of breadsticks. He stood on the curb, impossibly tall, bathed in lamplight, soft hair outlined like a halo. He smiled at you, wrinkling his nose at a snowflake that fell on his face.
“It’s snowing earlier this year,” he remarked, rolling on the balls of his feet. “Weird, huh?”
You stood next to him for a moment, observing the odd change in weather. Snow wasn’t uncommon in the early days of November, perhaps even as early as late October, but the month was barely halfway past. “Yeah,” you agreed. “I wonder…”
You shook your head, turning to smile up at the handsome man next to you. “Thanks for walking me out.”
“Only a pleasure.”
“See you at work tomorrow?”
“Mm. Dahye wants me to come in sometime in the morning.”
“See you then, Yoonoh.”
He nodded in farewell as you waved over your shoulder, making your way to your car. He smiled at you as you drove off, only walking back into the bar when you car was well out of his line of sight.
You weren’t sure what it was.
Perhaps it was emotion, overwhelming your sense and clouding your judgement; perhaps it was liquid courage, coming in the form of pink, orange, and red cocktails with cherries floating at the top; perhaps it was pure human folly, love and lust and hatred and adoration boiling over and making you turn left where your apartment complex was right, making you drive up into the estates where you lived downtown.
Sicheng lived in a considerably more affluent part of Seoul than you did. Which, of course, was not to say that you lived down in the dumps—you merely lived closer to where all the students did, the younger people, those below thirty, those like you, still between the ages of twenty and twenty six. Your colleague, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy living in an area occupied mostly by childfree married couples, older people who thought they were living it up, being around young people, and neurotic individuals like himself, who preferred to have more space than was really necessary.
The complex was nice, a building about the same size as yours, though you assumed with less units. The size of one flat here seemed to be the size of two or three where you lived. There was an older gentleman present in the foyer to greet you, despite the late hour, and there was an elevator that took you up to the seventh floor. You watched as the numbers rose, absently humming along to the instrumental tune playing over the speakers. Your complex didn’t even have an elevator, much less one that played music like in a shopping centre.
The doors slid open with a ding! and you were left to scurry out of the spacious box and into the hallway, which was lit only by a few warm lights fixed into the ceiling. Your shoes made no noise as you past the first few flats, mouthing the numbers as you went. One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… nine… ten… eleven…
Bingo.
You stopped abruptly in front of the twelfth flat, turning to face it fully. It looked like a completely ordinary front door, white wood with a darker lining, a small, tinted window in the middle of it, though what awaited you once you stepped through the threshold—if you were even allowed so far in—was what made your throat swell with anger, with indignation, with hatred.
You raised your fist to knock, and you felt, against all your better judgement, a twinge of fear. Of nerves. What if he wasn’t there? What if he didn’t want to see you? What if he turned you away?
Well, you wouldn’t know unless you knocked.
You did it once, twice, thrice, sharply rapping your knuckles against the hard surface of the door. When he didn’t answer the first four times, you took to hammering the flat of fist against it, yelling as if your mother had never taught you any manners, “Dong Sicheng! I know you’re in there! Let me in!”
A few moments of havoc passed before the door was swung open, revealing a very irritated, very scantily clad Dong Sicheng. His hair was mussed up, looked soft to the touch, as if he’d just finished drying it. A loose pyjama shirt hung off his frame, as well as a pair of basketball shorts you were sure he’d never actually used to play the sport. His eyes were wide, brows creased in apparent frustration, plump lips twisted as if holding in a shout.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded, whispering harshly. “And what is with you making such noise this time of night?!”
“What are you, seventy?” you taunted. “It’s half past ten. I’m willing to bet half of the people in this building are still awake.”
He rolled his eyes. “Even so, I don’t think they’d much like having their peaceful nights interrupted by some twenty five year old drunkard hammering on someone’s door for no apparent reason.”
“I’m not drunk,” you frowned, offended.
“You reek of whiskey,” he shot back.
“I didn’t—!” You cut yourself off, exhaling shortly. You were getting off topic. “Whatever. I came over to ask you where the fuck you were today, and why the fuck you think it’s okay to bail on work halfway through the day.”
He shifted uneasily. “What’s it to you? What I do with my time is none of your business,” he declared, though his voice faltered; his gaze drifted.
“It is my business!” you protested. “We work together, Sicheng. We’re supposed to be a team.”
He chuckled breathlessly, the sound worthless, faraway. “I have no idea where you got that from.”
You hesitated. “Well, we— we were. We were supposed to be a team in getting the company’s reputation restored to what it was before. We were supposed to work together—”
“Didn’t we?” he interrupted brazenly. “Didn’t we travel cross-country just for that? Haven’t you seen quite enough of me?”
“No!” you cried. “No, I haven’t, because we’re not done yet. You don’t get to decide when this mission is finished, nor do you get to decide when to leave!”
Another sceptical laugh escaped his lips. “It’s like you’ve got a narcotic in you, suddenly. Where did this come from?”
You spoke through a mixture of tipsiness and sheer betrayal, wiping harshly at your eyes. “I don’t know. All I know is that you do not get to leave. You don’t get to kiss me, and act weird around me, and deprive me of the reason I’ve stayed at that damn company for the past three years.”
“What, me?” Sicheng scoffed. “We hate each other. Such a shallow thing could get you up in the morning?”
“You’re conflating two separate statements,” you pointed out, “one of which I didn’t even make. I was talking about the kiss, and you changed the subject. Why?”
“I didn’t change the—”
“You just did it again.”
You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. The silence which followed your statement was thick, abuzz with electricity. A strike of lighting, illuminating his disquieted manner and bathing him in a considerably attractive light. You realised, with a lurch, you liked watching him squirm.
You leaned in, face centimetres from his. “What was it about that kiss, that accident, that changed something inside you, hm? What is it about it that you can’t stand being in the same room as me the moment you don’t need to be?
His eyes shifted from you to the floor, behind you and to your lips— eyes, maybe, you weren’t sure.
“Are you scared, Dong Sicheng? Uncomfortable? Do I scare you, Winwin?”
A beat.
“Fuck it.”
Dong Sicheng kissed you the second time outside of his flat. He pulled you close by the collar of your blazer, sighing impatiently. His lips pressed insistently against yours. “You’re such a pain,” he spoke into your mouth. He tasted of toothpaste and sweet green tea. “Like a thorn in my side.”
You wound your arms around his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer. You didn’t say anything, simply tilting your head to deepen the kiss. You sighed softly, smiling hungrily against his lips. You hadn’t thought so at the beginning of the day, nor five minutes before you knocked on his door, but this was exactly what you’d come for.
He pulled you into his apartment, index finger hooking into one of the belt loops of your jeans. You shut the door behind you with a kick that made him wince, brows pinching in a disapproving frown. His hands came to rest on your jaw, keeping your head tilted to the side. His tongue swept over your bottom lip, painting it with his spit, begging for an entrance you readily granted.
He broke the kiss only to remove your blazer, to pull your shirt over your head, face pressed into your neck, peppering kisses to the sensitive skin.
Not a moment passed before you tugged at his pants, fingers snapping against the waistband. He smiled, pulling away only to rest his forehead against yours.
He watched you, taunting, challenging, a low, breathless laugh leaving him. “You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.” He shook his head. “Remember when you said no self-respecting woman would ever sleep with me?”
“Either I’m the exception—” you pulled impatiently at the drawstring of his pants— “or I’m a total idiot.”
He chuckled breathlessly. He had a happy trail, dark, starting under his navel and travelling south from there. “You’re going to fuck me nonetheless.”
You hummed absently, grinning, “Mhm. And you’re going to enjoy it.”
It was a messy, passionate affair that had driven you into Sicheng’s bed, bare back pressed into the mattress until the early hours of the morning. After all, so many months, years of pent up emotion could only sustain you for so long. He tasted sweet and pliant, lips dripping with nectar. His skin felt soft under your fingertips, and he whined into your mouth whenever you pressed into him.
He kissed you, whispered to you how much he needed you, told you that he’d been driven to the point of insanity with want. You let him, returned his sentiments, stroking his hair and pressing kisses where you could as he went, pulling him close to you as he collapsed onto your chest.
You arrived at work the next morning with a giddy smile on your face, wearing the previous day’s clothes and smelling of citrus.
Mark gave you nothing more than a knowing look when he found you on the way to his department, shaking his head as if to say, Knew it. Hopefully, this news wouldn’t make its way elsewhere—to Yerim, who’d bet actual money that you’d eventually end up with Dong Sicheng, or Dahye, who’d demand that you take your matters straight to HR before you were even sure you were together in the first place.
You spent a large chunk of the morning at your desk, working through documents and making phone calls to news outlets and gossip columns to drop their articles on 404 talent. Sicheng sat less than a ruler’s length from you, occasionally stealing glances at you from behind his computer. He’d barely said a word to you following the previous night, but with the way he seemed to be hiding a smile whenever you caught him looking at you, there was no doubt that he felt as good about it as you did.
It wouldn’t be an overreaction to say you’d felt it—doubt. After all, it had been a brash, heat-of-the-moment decision orchestrated solely by your emotions, animalistic and illogical desires, feelings which usually made for regrettable situations. And yet, despite your hatred for Sicheng, despite the fact that you wouldn’t have imagined yourself acting kindly towards him, much less like that, the way you had last night, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.
Until Sicheng started to avoid you.
You hadn’t noticed it at first, chalked it down to exhaustion because of the trip, tiredness because of his long day at work. You’d come from Dahye’s office later in the afternoon, as the early evening sun had started to glimmer on the horizon, where she’d called you in for something concerning the office Halloween party; an event which was annually held on the night of the thirty first, an event she’d tasked you and your colleague to arrange.
Dahye had leaned back in hear seat easily, shrugging. She hadn’t brought up your previous conversation yet, and she wouldn’t, for this meeting. “I just figured since the trip was so successful, that the two of you would work well together and plan a good Halloween party.”
You’d smiled. Again, like most of the smiles you’d given anyone who wasn’t Sicheng, it felt wrong on your face. Tight, as if whoever were pulling the strings of your expressions seemed to be trying to convince themselves that nothing was the matter, nothing was amiss. Everything was fine. Where was Sicheng? “That sounds like a good plan, sunbae. I don’t have any plans for the next two weeks—” that much, you knew wouldn’t change— “so I can really throw myself into this new project.”
She chuckled, shaking her head goodnaturedly. “Always such a busy bee. So eager to please. Well, whatever you decide to do, I’m sure it will be wonderful. And remember,” she added, regarding you as if she wanted to say more than she would, “to tell Sicheng I want him to help you.”
You nodded. “Right. Thanks, Dahye. See you tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
That was fifteen minutes before you’d gone down to the lobby, and approached Sicheng to talk to him about the office party.
You found him in the parking lot, leaning against the driver’s side door of his car, his phone in his hands. The sun had started to set, though sat high in the sky still, washing the city in a golden glow that turned his skin bronze. You wouldn’t openly admit it, but being able to admire him, even if only from afar, without having to check and see if anyone else would notice you looking, laid your heart to rest. Made its beat easy, calm.
Sicheng smiled when he finally noticed you approaching, and it was then that you should’ve known something was off. “Hey,” he greeted, slipping his phone into his back pocket. “What’s up?”
What’s up? he asked, as if he hadn’t spent the night in your arms. What’s up? he asked, as if the two of you hadn’t reached a point of no return the previous evening, after you’d shown up to his flat and demanded his attention. Funny.
“Nothing much,” you said, with as much nonchalance as you could manage. Which, whether or not Sicheng was standing in front of you as your enemy or the love of your life, had never been much. “Dahye did ask me to give you a message, though.”
He nodded, brows creasing expectantly, wordlessly urging you to continue. His eyes were golden in the setting sun.
“She wants us to organise the Halloween party this year,” you told him. “I was thinking we could maybe start planning this weekend, so… a day or two from now, I think. It’s not much effort that has to be put into arranging it, but there’s a lot of people we’d need to call in preparation, and it’d be good if we have an open stream of communication with one another, you know?”
He nodded, beakish lips pressed into a thoughtful pout, shamelessly kissable. You wondered if he’d let you. “Sounds good. Is there, um, anything that needs to get done before the weekend, or not?”
You considered for a moment, before shaking your head. “Nope. We’ve got plenty of time to plan. I mean, today is the seventeenth. We’ve got two weeks.” You smiled shortly. “Again.”
What was a tense, fake smile melted into something smaller, more real. “Again,” he echoed softly.
The silence which followed was palpable, so thick you could cut through it with a knife. When you spoke again, it was messy, jumbled and mirroring those scenes in films, wherein the main couple suffered several awkward moments because they were out of synch, because they didn’t know how to act around one another anymore.
“I wanted to ask, are you—?”
“If that’s all, I should really take—”
You stopped.
“You go f—”
“No, you spoke first, you go—!”
You sighed. Tried for a smile. Sicheng didn’t do the same. “I was wondering if you wanted to have coffee, sometime this weekend? Maybe while we’re planning the party.”
You wouldn’t have noticed in the setting sun, but his cheeks grew pink. Warm with emotion. “Oh. I— uh, yeah. I’d like that. I’m a bit busy this next while, but I’m sure I could make time for you.”
You breathed an internal sigh of relief. “Great.” You made a move to leave, then, that weird little step back people do when they’re not sure if a conversation is over. “I’ll… I’ll see you this weekend, then?”
He didn’t correct you to say he’d be seeing you Friday, like he always did when you made a mistake. “Yeah. See you this weekend.”
The weekend came and went, and Sicheng was a no-show.
You hadn’t minded at first, had known that he was busy with the influx of trainees you’d gotten since the trip, had been just as preoccupied with paperwork and phone calls as he’d been. You let him go silent, didn’t question when you didn’t see him at the office that Friday, when he didn’t answer his phone when you called him Saturday, two hours after you’d texted him the location of a café near his flat, where you’d been sitting, waiting, under the guise that you’d been in the neighbourhood.
When he called you Sunday, apologising for his absence and telling you how busy he was with extra work, how hard he’d been trying to take a break but simply not being able to, you didn’t bat an eye. You nodded, voiced your concern and your understanding, kindly told him goodnight, that you’d see him at work the next morning.
When he didn’t show up to work that Monday, his seat and desk empty, leaving no trace that he’d ever worked there in the first place, you questioned it, but didn’t investigate. Maybe he was taking the week off; you’d felt like doing the same thing, actually, you simply hadn’t seen the necessity for it after a few days of rest at work. You quickly became preoccupied with work, the load of which seemed to have tripled over the weekend, and soon forgot of Dong Sicheng.
Though, to say you forgot would be an exaggeration. The thought of him still lingered, stayed at the back of your mind, still tugged at you when you went home and nearly drove to his place, but decided better of it. He’d come to you once he felt ready to. Even when you’d hated one another, it had been that way. Sicheng always came back to you eventually.
You spoke over the phone sometimes, discussed logistics and agreed to make calls to vendors for the party, speculated which decorations would be better, which of your coworkers had which food allergies or religious restrictions. He sniffled over the phone when you spoke to him. A cold, he’d told you. It’s fine, though. I’ll get over it before the party.
You worried. He told you not to. You asked him if you needed to come over, bring him food, whatever he needed. He said he didn’t want to be a bother to you. You thought to yourself that it was odd that he’d been sick for a week, that it may be something serious, whether or not he was actually ill. He eased your worries with sweet nothings, told you through a smile you could picture that he’d be fine and that he’d be back soon enough. You listened.
One day became three; one week started to become two, and too soon for your liking, the office Halloween party was upon you, and somehow, Dong Sicheng had avoided you for a full two weeks.
The entire first floor of 404 Entertainment was decorated by the time everyone began to arrive. You’d tasked two interns to help you, asked them to string up neon purple lights and put up the fake cobwebs while you moved several tables into place, near the end of the floor, by the large floor to ceiling windows. The office’s setup stayed relatively the same, no one’s desks were moved, nothing was out of its rightful or simply usual place. If someone needed to dig through their drawers for that forgotten aspirin or important files they forgot to hand over to the boss that morning, they’d be able to.
You’d texted Sicheng an hour before the party began that you’d almost finished decorating the office, and that it would’ve been appreciated if he made an appearance before everyone started to arrive. He’d been tasked with bringing extra refreshments; drinks, whatnot, yet, he hadn’t even read your message yet.
Like with any and all cheesy office Halloween parties, most of the people showed up in costume. Some took it to the next level, above, beyond, and in a league of their own, with special effects makeup, handmade clothes and accessories, in-character and everything, while some simply spattered some fake blood around their mouths and on their clothes and dubbed themselves zombie office workers because they hadn’t had time (or the power to care) to change during their free time after the workday had ended.
Unfortunately, your friends were comprised solely the former. Mark and Donghyuck had come together as Spider-Man and Ganke (“You know,” Donghyuck had said, “like from Into the Spiderverse? His guy in the chair?”), while Yerim had come as Alice from Resident Evil, and Kunhang, in genuine earnest, waltzed through the doors in a Rapunzel costume.
You watched in amusement as he pranced up to you, moving with nothing but joy and whimsy. Yerim had greeted you and excused herself to get a drink, while Mark and Donghyuck were caught in the doorway arguing about whether or not them matching was intentional. Mark suspected that he’d planned it, Donghyuck insisted that it was simply because they were so in tune.
“You look like you were made for that dress, Rapunzel,” you commented.
“That’s because I was,” he replied simply. “And you are…?”
“M—”
“No, no! Lemme guess. Kirigoe Mima from Perfect Blue?”
You nodded.
“Nice,” he commented. “You finally grow the balls to finish it?”
Again, you nodded. “I got bored waiting around for vendors’ responses over the weekend, so I watched it. There were a few times where I had to go to the kitchen and just heave into the sink.”
Kunhang pulled a face of agreement, the downward tilt of his lips telling you, I get that.
Yerim joined you soon enough, pushing a cup of punch into your hands, identical to the one she’d taken for herself. “Figured you’d need one after pulling this whole thing off by yourself,” she said.
You accepted it gratefully, and took a sip. It tasted sweet, with the bitter, stinging aftertaste of alcohol. You coughed, punch spattering unceremoniously from your lips. “Is this spiked?”
“Yeah,” Yerim chuckled. “Didn’t you know?”
“No, I didn’t.” You paused, remembering the way Joongki, the intern you’d asked to help you set up the drinks and snack tables, had looked at you after pouring the punch. “I think one of the interns mistook me getting dust in my eye for me winking, and assumed he was supposed to spike it.”
Yerim took a sip of her own before adding, coughing, “He was a bit heavy-handed with the rum, I think. Jesus. Do you want it?” She shook the cup lightly, extending her arm toward Kunhang. He glanced over it for a moment, before shrugging, and taking it from her.
You were joined by Mark and Donghyuck only a few moments later, the two still caught in a bickering match they’d simply decided to bring to you.
“I just don’t get why you have to be this way,” Mark said. “Areum and I were supposed to go as Spider-Man and Spider-Woman tonight.”
“Mark, I can’t help the fact that we’re soulmates,” Donghyuck sighed, as if he were tired of having to remind him of the fact. “Besides, you said Areum couldn’t make it tonight because something came up, so she won’t even have the chance to be embarrassed that I totally outshone her.”
“You threw on glasses, a blazer, and a beanie, Donghyuck.”
“Hey, I bought this blazer especially for the occasion, and it nearly cost me an arm and a leg, so, maybe show a little bit more gratitude, mkay?”
Mark rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He nodded to you, in greeting, in question. “Your man here yet?”
The correct answer would’ve been widened eyes, a shocked glance around, and an innocent, perhaps a bit sly, “Who?” After all, you didn’t have a man. You’d slept with one in the past month, sure, but he wasn’t yours. At least, not yet. Well, you didn’t think so. Where was Sicheng?
“I don’t think he’s coming tonight,” you said. “I texted him two hours ago, and he hasn’t responded yet. But, it’s whatever. He’s been feeling sick these past few weeks, anyway.”
Kunhang frowned. “Weird. I saw him on my way over here.”
Your eyes widened. “What?” Then, once you could feel Mark and Yerim’s eyes burn into the side of your face, much softer, “I— I mean… really? Did he say he was on his way?”
“Nah, but I assumed he was. He was in costume, and everything.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. He’s been iffy since you guys came back from the trip, but I’m pretty sure he’ll be fine soon enough. Besides, aren’t you supposed to hate the guy? Why would you have to worry if he even comes—”
“Here!”
You shouldn’t have turned as quickly as you did to the door, your eyes immediately searching for and settling on Sicheng. He stood by the entrance, smiling widely at Kunhang, or you, or Dejun, you weren’t too sure; as your friend had said, he was in costume. Though, what costume exactly he was in, that was a question you couldn’t answer. A large beige coat covered the crisp white button up underneath, brushing his ankles. With it he wore trousers and dress shoes, all seemingly spattered with blood. He’d curled his hair for the occasion. And he looked wonderful.
You watched numbly, stupidly as he approached you, shaking hands and exchanging greetings with your colleagues. Only when he turned to greet you did you even notice he’d come closer to you in the first place.
His palm felt warm as he slipped it into your hand. His smile was expectant, as if you had been the one ghosting him for the past month. His eyes searched for something in yours; whether he found it, or you felt it, you’d soon find out.
His breath felt warm against your face, smelled of black tea and sweet spices. “Hi. Sorry I’m late.”
Being the idiot you were, you smiled and told him, “It’s fine.”
The party went as well as any themed office party could, the atmosphere staying amicable and friendly. Your bosses, Dahye and the CEO of the company, Mr Cho, kept to a corner in the leftmost side of the office, discussing business, most likely, while most of the employees drifted around the place, mingling. You moved from place to place, though finally found somewhere to sit—and, for some, stand—for longer than a few minutes.
You weren’t sure what exactly qualified as Halloween music, not having celebrated it much in the past, but it seemed that Michael Jackson’s Thriller was more than fitting for Donghyuck who, the moment he heard the familiar howling in the intro, shoved his drink into Mark’s hands and announced, “This is my song!” before running off to the makeshift dance floor that had formed in the middle of the room.
Sicheng stayed by your side for most of the night, which, if you’d been paying attention to his behaviour patterns this past while, was uncharacteristically sensible. He didn’t say much, simply crossing his legs over one another from where he sat next to you at a desk that had been carried in earlier, while Dejun talked his ear off about drivel you could only class as director things no one wants to hear about. He smiled accommodatingly, taking periodic sips of the spiked punch Kunhang had pushed into his hands, and offered commentary where he could.
For a moment, he looked like the Sicheng you knew and loved. The one from Before.
Before you went on that road trip, before you slept together, before you admitted to him that you wanted him. Before things changed. Before everything changed. His expression remained stoic and steadfast, pensive at times. His plump lips would curl into the occasional wry smile, though shockingly, not to deliver barbs your way. It made you uncomfortable, almost, him being this nice to you. Sure, he wasn’t saying anything to you, and thus, by all relationship rules ever, ignoring you, but he wasn’t insulting you, either.
At some point, he glanced at you. His gaze was soft, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He said nothing, just smiled, lips tightening against his face in a way that finally seemed natural. It was odd. You liked it. You weren’t sure if you wanted it. Or if you’d be able to give him the same. Could you be softer with him, as well? Could you smile at him the way he did at you?
You tried. Based off his reaction, it worked.
And then, of course, because whichever divine deity was ruling from the sky or the nonexistent underworld, that’s when things went to shit.
It was nearing midnight when you noticed Sicheng’s behaviour start to shift. The party had been going on for hours at that point—too long, really, for anyone to still be enjoying themselves. Only a few people lingered, mostly your friends, while the rest went home, thanking you for arranging the party and making the night enjoyable for them. You simply smiled, nodded in thanks, and went on with your evening.
Somewhere in the middle of goodbyes to your coworkers, protecting Kunhang from a persistent Mr Cho, and making sure Donghyuck didn’t break his neck trying to moonwalk, you didn’t notice Sicheng quietly slip away, out of the conversation, out of the room.
You glanced around the emptying room, brows furrowed in question. “Where’s Sicheng?”
Kunhang shrugged from where he sat, munching on the bowl of chips he’d stolen from the snack table. “Dunno. Maybe he went out for a smoke?”
You hummed. It was likely, more so than not; Sicheng sometimes disappeared during work dinners and the like to sneak a cigarette, especially when the night was nearing an end.
Chances were, he’d probably gone up to the roof to have a moment of alone time, just him and a cheap menthol cigarette.
And that’s exactly how you found him.
He was standing with his back to you as you ventured up the steps that led to the roof, staring at the cityscape. Cars whizzed past nearly twenty storeys below, the usual buzz of the city only amplified in the late hour of the night. The inky sky glittered with stars, a rare sight in the middle of Seoul. Smoke floated around his form, the smell of nicotine drifting through the air like slow, bitter mist, personal pollution invading your senses.
You didn’t speak as you went to stand next to him. You didn’t need to, you knew. He wouldn’t question why you were there.
Even when he hated you, he didn’t.
“I’m glad I caught you before you left.” Your voice was soft, clear as you spoke into the silence.
Sicheng glanced at you confusedly. “Left?”
“You always leave after you smoke.”
He looked down at the cigarette in his hands, propped elegantly between his index and middle finger, a soft snicker escaping him. You’d always been attentive. “Right. I guess I was planning on leaving, but… I’d have said goodbye.”
“Would you?” you asked.
He hesitated. “Yeah.”
You paused like you knew he was lying.
Silence enveloped the two of you; it was tense, thick, like a layer of smog pressing down on you, suffocating you, turning the air sour. It felt stifling, made it difficult to breathe. It took the emotion you already felt and made it swell in your throat, made you want to swallow and forget about it.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said eventually. “Why?”
“I haven’t been—”
“Yes, you have, and you’re wasting both of our time by lying and pretending you’ve not,” you interrupted. “So tell me. Why?”
He sighed. The breath was punctuated by a stream of mist escaping his nose, grey in the cold October air. “I’ve been busy.”
You raised a brow. Explain.
“I’m… I’m transferring departments,” he confessed. “I asked Mr Cho to let me move to the third floor, where Dejun’s working. Dahye finished signing the necessary paperwork two weeks ago. I’ve just been needing to clear out my desk.”
Dahye had leaned back in hear seat easily, shrugging. She hadn’t brought up your previous conversation yet, and she wouldn’t, for this meeting.
You didn’t say anything for a long while. Couldn’t will yourself to. Sicheng wasn’t looking at you. Maybe it wasn’t because he couldn’t. Or maybe he didn’t want to. You didn’t know anymore—not when, somehow, he’d caught you completely off-guard again. Not when, somehow, he ruined your life for a second, third time and didn’t even seem to have enough balls to care.
Your throat felt dry. Your next words were short, nothing short of pathetic, yet they were all you could find in yourself to say.
“Oh.” You turned to him, frowning. “Why?”
He shrugged, smiling uncomfortably. He didn’t know. “Because… well, what would be the purpose of me staying in the PR department?”
You hated that you couldn’t give him an answer that didn’t involve your feelings for him. “I— because you… you’re good at what you do, there. What would be the purpose of you moving to directing? I never knew you had a passion for that.”
“I don’t,” he said shortly. “I just—”
“Have a passion for avoiding me?” you interrupted. Childish, childish, you knew. Where had that even come from? “Have a passion for screwing things up between us and disappearing without having to take accountability for it?”
“Hey, I was not the only one making moves,” he said, eyes widening as he set your story straight. At least he was talking about it, you thought bitterly. Unlike the previous weeks, where he’d simply avoided the topic altogether.
“But you were the one who started it,” you replied. “I wasn’t the one who kissed you first.”
“But you were the one who kissed me back!”
“Because I was surprised!”
He scoffed. “Oh, did I surprise you so much that you had to come to my place a week later and fuck me?”
“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”
“And don’t act like you didn’t hate my guts only two weeks ago. I mean, I don’t get why you’re so worked up about this when you were the one who started this whole thing.”
You rolled your eyes. “Sicheng, you just admitted that you kissed me—”
“Not that,” he shot back. “Before that. Way before that, when you started working here, and you decided one month in that you hated me for no reason.”
That made you pause, because that was not, in the least, the way you remembered it.
“Is that really what you think?” you asked. Your voice sounded small in your ears.
Sicheng sighed, as if you doubt irritated him. “You started this whole rivalry. You decided to hate me. You talked shit about me behind my back. You made it your mission to make my life difficult. That’s why I’m so confused you— you even cared enough to show up to my place and talk to me just to talk to me. That’s why I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about this, when you hated me first!”
You weren’t sure if your laugh was bitter or incredulous, but it was low, and cut through the air like a knife. Tears gathered in your eyes, hot and angry and hopeless and full of love. “Don’t bullshit me, Dong Sicheng. You told me on my first day that I was a nobody, and that I wouldn’t get anywhere in this industry if I was as much of a tryhard as you thought I was. I hated you back.”
He froze. “What?”
“Don’t you remember?” you asked.
Sicheng didn’t say anything—didn’t need to, because his face said it all. He didn’t remember.
And that was perhaps what hurt the most.
Your lips trembled. He didn’t remember.
Your hands balled into fists at your side, because he didn’t remember. He hated you all these years, made you feel like shit, called you names, created problems for you because you hated him, but he didn’t know why. He didn’t remember.
Didn’t remember that fateful day three years ago, when you approached him and he regarded you with little more than chagrined tolerance. When you tried to strike up conversation and he shot you down at every turn. When you complimented his work and he, in turn, told you that you wouldn’t get anywhere in the entertainment industry by being a bootlicker.
He didn’t remember the way you’d frozen, heart beating erratically in your chest. Didn’t remember you spitting in his face how much of an ass he was. Didn’t remember you turning and walking away, wondering why on Earth you’d made an idol out of a prick.
“You said I was a nobody,” you muttered bitterly. “I admired you since the day I stepped foot on campus at university, hearing story after story about the literature student turned PR manager at one of Korea’s most famous entertainment companies. The school’s most notable alumnus. I studied literature for three years thinking to myself, ‘I want to go where he went. I want to work with him,’ and the moment I got there, the moment I made it, I was treated like shit. You looked at me like I was something smeared on the bottom of your shoe. You… you belittled me, and the moment I pushed back, you somehow got it into your head that I was your rival.”
A beat.
“And— and still, no matter how much I disliked you, which was a lot, by the fucking way, I took everything you said to heart. When you said I needed to change the way I file shit to work more efficiently, I did, and I still do it the way you told me. When you said I needed to stop being such a brown-noser and be more sure of myself, I stopped, and I haven’t stopped for as long as I’ve known you.”
You shook your head, wiping harshly at your eyes. Your tears felt hot against your cheeks, cooled quickly in the cold autumn air. “And still, no matter how many times you avoid me, or ghost me, or straight up ignore me, I still somehow find it in myself to be as stupidly in love with you as I’ve been for the past year and a half.”
Because no matter how bad he was to you, you still admired his work. Still admired the way he spoke, still respected him, still cared what he had to say, because if nothing else, Dong Sicheng was fucking good at his job.
And yet, the man of the hour—of the past three years, in your stupid, guileless heart—was stood still in front of you, frozen like a deer in headlights. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, and for a moment, all you could think about was how beautiful he looked, because that, too, had never once changed in your time knowing him. His stupid beakish lips and his stupid brown eyes and his stupid accent that had charmed you since day one.
He stood like that for a solid five minutes, staring at you like you were the most beautiful and most terrifying woman he’d seen in his life. Until, eventually, when the cold started to bite at your cheeks and you wondered whether or not you should cut your losses and leave, he managed a weak, “I didn’t know.”
You scoffed, and he rushed, “Seriously, I didn’t. I didn’t because I was stupid— because I am stupid, and because I don’t know how to act around you, and I never did. At first it was because I saw you as a threat, because you were the rookie hire, fresh out of university and full of great fucking ideas. It made me nervous, because you came at a time where I’d been nothing but a liability for a while. Then, over the years, I guess the reason changed. You hating me and turning everything into a competition gave me a reason to go to work again, gave me a reason to prove why I was the best. And while my performance improved… I never felt like I could beat you.”
He sighed softly, shaking his head as if chiding himself for his own pigheadedness. “I don’t know when I started loving you, or when I realised I did, but it happened, and I’ve been sitting with it for almost two years.”
“You make it sound like loving me is some sort of curse,” you murmured.
“It kind of is,” he admitted. “You have… no idea how tiring it is, being in love with someone who actively tries to make your life a living hell.”
You snorted. “I think I know better than anyone.”
A smile broke out on his face; happy, sincere, stretching his lips to the point where it looked like it hurt. He laughed, the sound soft. You laughed with him, still unsure of what else to really do. In moments like these, what else was there to do but laugh at the absurdity of it all?
Sometimes you hate people, and sometimes you love them just as much, and sometimes that makes being around them the greatest hindrance and delight in your life. Sometimes they kiss you, and they don’t know what to do afterwards, and that leads to a series of wonderful mistakes that bring you to a rooftop on Halloween, confessing bitter truths and ardent sentiments.
Sometimes you fall in love with your asshole coworker, and it takes you three years to find out he felt the same way all along; he was just being an emotionally immature shit about it because he didn’t think you loved him back.
“Nothing of what I said is an excuse,” he began, “for my behaviour over the years. I was a real piece of shit to you, and you never deserved it.”
“Hey,” you protested. “Don’t undermine all the effort I put into being evil just because you want to apologise.”
He snickered. “Fine. Maybe you deserved some of it. I mean, calling me a desperate loser is one thing, but ruining my entire week by putting salt in my coffee is unforgivable. So is writing about me on your gossip column.”
Your eyes widened. “You know about that?”
“Yeah,” he said, like it was obvious. “It’s not like you were hiding it, or anything. Beetlejuice is an awful nickname, by the way.”
You shrugged. “It was that or evil Jim Halpert.”
He scoffed. “You’re so annoying. And that’s an even worse nickname.”
“Mhm.” You hummed. “But you love it, don’t you?”
He tsked. “Yeah,” he admitted. His breath felt warm on your face, coming closer as he took a step forward. His hands felt firm on your hips, fingertips brushing the hem of your dress. He pressed his lips to yours, not kissing you yet. Just teasing, like Sicheng always did. “I love you, unfortunately.”
You were the one to give in, diving in for a desperate kiss, angling your head just right, pulling him down in a way that very nearly made him moan. “I love you, too,” you murmured against his lips, the taste of his spit making you dizzy. Then, a smile, small and breathless. “Unfortunately.”
“So… am I forgiven?”
You pretended to consider the proposal.
“…Maybe.”
He grinned, leaning down to press his lips to yours, before—
“WOO!”
—you turned, shocked, eyes widened, to find all your friends gathered at the door of the roof, smiling like idiots; Kunhang and Yerim probably the widest. Donghyuck had been the one to cheer, pumping his fists in the air as Mark scoffed, jovial smile dropping.
“Dude, you blew our cover!”
“Sorry, I was just so psyched. I mean, I’ve been rooting for them for, like, forever!”
He deadpanned. “I told you about them twenty minutes ago.”
“Don’t yuck my yum, Lee. God, it’s like you hate romance, or something.”
can i req hard launching with wayv (just to see yangyang tbh but~) i love ur posts sm. - yangyang anon 🐑
wayv : hard launching them
⤷ warning: ten gets called a slut & whore (AS A JOKE!!)
annas note: yangyang anon🐑 have i ever told u how much i love u sm. THANKYOU for requesting wayv.. (this was an excuse for me to do my man kun too☺️ i get it!!) (im sorry this took me so long to post omfg IM SORRY TO KEEP YOU WAITING LIKE THIS)
Warnings: LUCAS is included and WE ARE OT7.. sooo if you don’t like it you can kindly leave💝
Kun
You step into Kun’s apartment, the soft sunlight filtering through sheer curtains, dust motes dancing in the air. The faint smell of lavender and clean laundry makes it feel like home immediately. Three cats—Louis, Leon, and Levi—are already scattered around the room, each with their own distinct personality.
Louis, sleek and confident, perches on the windowsill, tail flicking as he watches a bird outside. Leon is curled into a tight ball on the couch, eyes narrowed, clearly skeptical of any new visitors. Levi, the youngest and most energetic, weaves between your legs, brushing against your ankles.
Kun’s already on the floor, laying out treats and brushes with the precision of a professional. He looks up as you enter, eyes bright and focused. “Ten left a detailed schedule,” he says, pulling out a small notebook. “Feeding times, playtimes, brushing routines—he really trusts us with his kids.”
You smile, setting your bag down. “So, no pressure.”
He laughs softly, kneeling to offer Levi a treat. The little cat purrs immediately, jumping onto his lap. “Levi’s the easy one. Louis is curious but independent. Leon…” He pauses, looking under the table where the third cat is hiding. “Leon is a handful.”
You crouch down beside him and pull out the brush. “Let’s see if we can win him over.”
Louis jumps into your lap the moment you sit down, leaning into your hands as you stroke his fur. Levi settles happily on Kun’s chest, purring so loud you can feel it. Leon stays hidden a while longer but finally slinks out, eyes sharp and cautious. Kun approaches slowly, brushing Leon’s back in careful, gentle strokes.
“Not bad for a first try,” Kun says, grinning when Leon leans into the brush.
You chuckle, tossing a treat his way. Leon catches it with surprising speed and then rubs against Kun’s leg like he’s claiming him. “See? You’re doing great.”
After a while, the cats get comfortable enough to nap around you—Louis sprawled across your thighs, Levi curled on Kun’s chest, Leon nestled beside his knee. Kun stretches out, resting his head on your shoulder. The quiet of the apartment feels full and warm.
“You think Ten would let us keep one?” you ask, voice low.
Kun smiles against your hair. “If he does, we’re definitely doing this more often.”
You close your eyes and breathe in the peacefulness—the sound of soft purring, the weight of Kun’s body next to yours, the feeling of belonging.
Ten
“You said this would be fun.”
Ten doesn’t even look up from where he’s dangling a ribbon toy in the air like it’s an Olympic sport. “It is fun. Look at her—she’s thriving.”
Coco, Yangyang’s cat, is currently scaling the back of Ten’s couch like a little gremlin possessed. Her pupils are blown wide, tail twitching, claws out like she’s about to launch herself into orbit.
“She just tried to body slam me.”
“She’s expressing love.”
You dodge her for the third time that hour and slide down to the floor with a dramatic sigh. “She’s wild.”
“She’s energetic,” Ten corrects, finally sitting next to you and tossing the ribbon aside. Coco zips after it like she’s been summoned by dark magic. “She just needs stimulation.”
“She just needs an exorcism.”
He grins. “You’re being dramatic.”
But the chaos doesn’t bother him—in fact, he looks happy in it. He scratches Coco behind the ear when she finally flops, breathless, onto the rug. She purrs. Ten’s smile softens instantly, like this was exactly what he’d been waiting for.
“You’re good with her,” you say, quieter now.
He looks at you, his voice playful but a little more careful. “You sound surprised.”
“I’m not. Just… impressed.”
He nudges your leg with his knee. “You’re not so bad either. Once you stop dodging her like she’s a tiny assassin.”
“I value my life.”
He laughs—bright and unfiltered—then leans into your side, his temple pressing against yours. “Thanks for doing this with me. I know she’s a little… intense.”
You look over at Coco, who is currently trying to fit herself into an empty tissue box.
“She’s a menace.”
“She’s perfect,” Ten says at the exact same time.
You both start laughing again, and somewhere in the middle of it, he reaches for your hand and doesn’t let go.
Winwin
You were expecting energy—maybe chaos—but instead, Bella greets you with a quiet wag of her tail and a soft blink. She’s sitting at Xiaojun’s apartment door when you and Winwin arrive, like she’s been waiting politely this whole time.
“She’s so calm,” you whisper as you crouch to pet her.
Xiaojun had asked you both to stay with her for the weekend while he visits family, and so far it’s been nothing but soft walks and sleepy cuddles. Bella pads alongside you and Winwin as you explore the neighborhood that first afternoon, her tiny paws tapping lightly against the sidewalk. No tugging, no barking, just quiet observation.
“She matches your energy,” you tease, nudging Winwin gently.
He gives you a look, but he’s smiling. “Then she’s your opposite.”
Back at the apartment, Bella hops onto the couch after dinner and curls up between the two of you, her chin resting on Winwin’s thigh. His hand automatically moves to her head, stroking slow and gentle.
“She’s used to quiet,” he says softly. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”
You nod, letting the silence settle over everything. The kind of silence that doesn’t ask for anything. Winwin leans into you slightly, and Bella lets out the tiniest sigh in her sleep. You stroke her back while his fingers find yours, slotting together like they were always meant to.
Later, the three of you end up sprawled on the floor with an old movie playing in the background—barely watching, mostly just enjoying the calm. Winwin stretches out beside you, head on your stomach, Bella curled at your side.
“She trusts you,” he says after a while.
“I think she just wants snacks.”
He looks up at you with that soft, tired smile that never quite leaves his face. “No, she knows. You’re safe.”
Your hand finds his hair, gently running through it. “You are too.”
He closes his eyes. “Then let’s stay like this for a while.”
And you do.
Lucas
“Wait—where’d they go?”
You blink. “You just had them.”
“I know, but now they’re gone!”
Lucas is standing in the middle of Ten’s apartment with his hands on his hips, looking around like he’s in a cartoon mystery episode. He’d been confidently holding Louis under one arm and Levi under the other just five seconds ago.
“They’re tiny ninjas,” he mutters, checking under a pillow. “This is sabotage.”
You try to hold back your laugh, but it slips out anyway. “You said you had a ‘natural gift’ with cats.”
“I do!” he says quickly—just as Louis bolts out from under the couch and makes a daring leap onto the coffee table. “That was just… a test run.”
You find Levi curled up in a laundry basket, purring like nothing’s wrong.
Lucas scoops him up and holds him like he’s cradling a newborn. “He loves me.”
Levi immediately bites the string on his hoodie.
“Okay, he likes me.”
Still, despite the clumsy start, Lucas is shockingly gentle. He lets them walk all over him—literally—and talks to them like they’re old friends. You catch him cooing at Levi in the kitchen, crouched down with a treat in one hand and a baby voice you’ll never let him live down.
“They’re growing on me,” he whispers later, curled up on the floor with Louis asleep on his chest. “Or maybe I’m growing on them.”
You settle next to him, watching the two cats snooze like nothing ever happened.
Lucas turns his head toward you, eyes soft. “Thanks for doing this with me. I would’ve panicked if they escaped and I was alone.”
“You did panic.”
“Exactly.”
You smile, brushing a bit of fur off his sleeve. He grins, leans in, and kisses you slow and warm, careful not to move too much and disturb Louis.
He pulls back just enough to whisper, “Maybe we should get our own pets someday.”
From somewhere in the apartment, something crashes.
Lucas flinches. “Or… we can borrow Ten’s until we’re ready.”
Xiaojun
“She’s glaring at me again,” Xiaojun whispers.
Coco’s perched on top of the fridge like she owns the place — because she does — and she hasn’t blinked once since you walked in with Xiaojun. Her tail flicks slowly. Judgingly.
“She’s probably wondering why you’re touching all her things,” you say, carrying her food bowl over. She doesn’t move.
Xiaojun leans in. “Do you think she’d bite me?”
“Yes.”
“She’s so small though—”
“Yes.”
You were supposed to just check in on Coco for Yangyang while he was away, but somehow Xiaojun insisted on tagging along. (“You shouldn’t be alone with a known diva like her.”) What he didn’t count on was Coco attaching herself to you like Velcro—and hissing every time he gets too close.
“She’s got favorites,” you shrug.
“Why can’t I be one?”
Still, he tries. He lets Coco sniff his hand. He offers treats. He even Googles “how to win a cat’s heart” and reads the results out loud in a dramatic voice. Coco, unfazed, knocks a pen off the table and walks away.
You’re laughing way too hard.
“She’s mocking me,” Xiaojun mutters, defeated. “I’m trying to bond, and she’s giving me villain origin energy.”
Eventually, Coco slinks onto your lap, paws tucked neatly, eyes half-closed. Xiaojun stares at her like she’s just taken his seat at a royal banquet.
“You know what? Fine. I don’t need her affection.”
“Sure you don’t.”
“I have your affection,” he says, turning toward you suddenly. “That’s better anyway.”
It’s shameless. He leans in close, hand brushing yours, voice low. “Unless you’re team Coco now.”
“She did hiss at you,” you tease.
“She has no taste,” he whispers, before kissing you quickly—just once, but enough to make your face warm.
Coco chooses that exact moment to jump down and land directly on Xiaojun’s chest, like she heard everything.
He screams. You laugh so hard you cry.
“I don’t care what she says,” he groans from the floor. “You’re still mine.”
Hendery
“Okay,” Hendery says, holding Leon like a loaf of bread. “He bit me, but it felt affectionate.”
You raise a brow. “You’re bleeding.”
“Love hurts.”
You’re at Ten’s place for the afternoon because he asked you and Hendery to check in on Leon while he’s out. In theory, it should be simple. But Leon has other plans.
Ten minutes in, he’s knocked over a water glass, clawed his way up the curtains, and tried to wrestle a sock like it owed him money.
“Maybe he just needs stimulation,” Hendery suggests, pulling out one of Ten’s feather toys.
Leon stares at it. Then at Hendery. Then pounces on your foot instead.
“I think he hates me,” Hendery says with wide, betrayed eyes.
“No, he’s just—”
Leon launches onto the couch and bolts over both of you like a parkour demon.
“—a menace,” you finish.
Still, Hendery’s committed. He talks to Leon like he’s a toddler with boundary issues. “Buddy, I love you, but this is a lot for me emotionally.”
Leon responds by licking Hendery’s knee, then immediately biting his ankle.
You try not to laugh. You fail miserably.
Hours later, when the sun’s setting and the chaos has finally dimmed, Leon is miraculously curled up between you both on the couch. He’s purring like nothing ever happened. Hendery looks exhausted but smug.
“I told you he liked me,” he whispers.
You look down at Leon, then at the ten tiny claw marks on Hendery’s arm. “Sure. Deeply.”
Hendery turns to you, eyes soft, his voice quieter. “Thanks for not leaving me alone with him.”
You smile. “You begged me to come.”
“I would’ve died otherwise.”
You rest your head on his shoulder. “You’re dramatic.”
He kisses your temple, a slow press. “Only for you.”
Leon shifts, stretches, and promptly kicks Hendery in the stomach.
“…I think he’s jealous.”
Yangyang
“She’s judging me.”
Yangyang’s sitting cross-legged on the living room rug, holding a leash in one hand and a half-chewed plush banana in the other. Bella is two feet away, just… staring at him.
“She’s probably wondering why you’re barking back at her,” you say, leaning in the doorway.
“It was a bonding exercise.”
You’re watching Bella together for Xiaojun while he’s gone for a couple days. You expected a chill weekend, and honestly? It is. Kind of. There’s music playing low through the speakers, candles burning, snacks on the table—but also Bella has chosen violence multiple times. She steals socks, barks at the closet, and won’t let Yangyang wear his hoodie in peace.
“She tried to take it off me,” he says, halfway through a tug-of-war match with her and his sleeve. “Like full-on pulled at it with her teeth. This is a power struggle.”
You watch her tail wag furiously as she yanks again.
“I think you lost.”
Still, the chaos is never loud. Just ridiculous. Comfortable. You spend most of the day lounging around, taking turns walking her, laughing whenever she decides the sidewalk is lava and sprints back toward the apartment. Yangyang films her like she’s a celebrity. “Content queen,” he calls her, flipping the camera to wink at you too.
By the evening, Bella’s snuggled between you both on the couch, paws twitching in a dream. Yangyang’s hoodie is wrinkled, his hair a mess, and he’s got a sock tucked into his pocket for “protection.”
You turn to him. “So… how’d we do?”
He grins, stretching out a little more. “I think we crushed it.”
Bella kicks him in her sleep.
He winces. “Okay. She crushed me.”
You laugh and lean your head against his shoulder. He immediately tilts toward you too, voice softer now. “Thanks for doing this with me. I know it’s not exactly a relaxing weekend, but… it’s been nice.”
You look down at Bella’s sleeping face. “She’s a good girl.”
author's note: guess who's back from the dead! long story short i've been booked and busy, and since i started this blog purely to post if and when i have an idea and/or inspiration, i didn't want to push myself to put out just anything. i'll continue to write as motivation comes though, so please stick around 🫶
#kun
not really huge on pda. he prefers to keep intimacy for, well, intimate spaces, but still enjoys showing his affection for you to the level that says "this is my partner and i love them" without making any of the parties involved uncomfortable. that said, he prefers to do it with actions over touching, like opening the doors for you, walking on the side of the sidewalk that's closer to the street, or helping you out of your outerwear, but linking your arms or wrapping his hand around your waist is also very welcome. he's extremely observant too, so he'll move your necklace if the clasp has shifted to the front, fix your hair or head accessories, or take care of an eyelash that fell on your cheek. bonus: not exactly pda unless someone else is in the car, but he will put a hand over your thigh when he's driving.
#ten
honestly couldn't care less. not that he doesn't show pda, he does, a lot, but he never does it on purpose. he'd just casually put a hand around your shoulders when you're walking, on your thigh when you're sitting down, or place his chin on your shoulder when you're waiting in line out of habit. he'd touch your arm or shoulder when he's talking and lightly slap your arm while laughing because it feels natural to him. he's mindlessly reaching for your hand and intertwining your fingers when he's absorbed into telling a story, and give it a little squeeze when he's done and realizes it. most of those he would also do to his members or other close friends, but none of them would give him that familiar feeling in the stomach when reciprocating his affection like you do.
#winwin
not a fan, at all. not in front of strangers, not family, not the members. you'd have to take things slowly and look out for his reactions to get an idea of what he's okay with, or simply just sit him down and get it out of him. he will get shy and embarrassed, and that's the main reason for why he's not big on pda, but unless you plainly don't respect his boundaries he won't be uncomfortable to the point of getting annoyed either. he can handle a few teasing comments from his members and probably will gradually accommodate, but he still prefers when there's only one pair of eyes watching him. when it comes to holding hands, please link your pinky with his, for the sake of his heart (he also thinks it's cute).
#xiaojun
gets shy about pda but does it nevertheless. what can he say? he's whipped for you and he couldn't go an hour without a peck on your head, at the very least, and if someone happens to be in the same room at the time, then that's what the universe must have wanted. he's really just slightly less clingy in public than he is in private, and maybe will limit the amount of kisses according to who's there with you, but won't really complain about anything you initiate. will he blush all the way to the tips of his ears if anyone comments on his display of affection? yes. is he going to do it again in the span of the next thirty minutes? also yes. is he going to get over the shyness anytime soon? probably not.
#hendery
no amount of eyes can stop hendery from showering you with all the kisses and touches you deserve. he loves you and he's not afraid to show it - more than that, he might even get a slight ego boost from a stare or a teasing comment (to which he will respond with something along the lines of him being able to pull someone like you and make you embarrassed instead). he lives by the rule that if he can see you, he should be able to touch you and will sulk if you sit too far away for his liking. got past the stage where the members would tease him for pecking your lips by throwing shade back at them and now wouldn't even flinch if they walked into the room right into your make out session (which may or may not have happened).
#yangyang
he doesn't mind pda, but most of the time won't initiate it either. he's fine with more casual things like holding hands, hugging, or an occasional kiss on the cheek if that's something you're into, but he will get embarrassed and slightly uncomfortable if you do anything more without a warning, espacially in front of a bigger group of people. he has pretty strict boundaries in this matter but he's more than happy to communicate them to you and make sure he's aware of your own, as well as make sure that you don't feel pushed away. yangyang's also not a fan of showing affection in front of his members. he'll throw an arm around your shoulders when you're all watching a movie together if you've already been together for a while, but that's about it. you'll get all the cuddles and kisses in the world when you head to bed for the night though.
