JUNNIE DAY

@theartofmadeline

#extradirty

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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
AnasAbdin

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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
$LAYYYTER
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@thatemfruitt
JUNNIE DAY
960610 — HAPPY JUN DAY🎂
a jun for every season of going seventeen
I'm about to send this straight to PLEDIS with a 1000000000000000000 page essay on why they should put Junhui in any of these outfits and then threaten to harm myself if they don't do it
This is terrible for me, the person who talks about wanting Jun’s fingers in my mouth all the time
it’s early in the morning; the sky is still leaking vivid shades of orange and purple, and jun is still sleeping behind you.
you’re able to ignore the cold, when you step out onto the balcony. it’s only a slight breeze, caressing your bare shoulders and brushing through the distant trees.
“it’s pretty.”
jun’s voice doesn’t surprise you, even though you had been labouring under the delusion that he was still sleeping. instead, he comes up behind you, draping a blanket over your arms, and in doing that, settling himself against your back. arms around your middle, chin on your shoulder and lips pressed against your cheek in a quiet greeting.
“thanks,” you murmur, clutching onto the blanket.
he doesn’t respond to that, instead nosing into your neck — like a cat, you think fondly — and speaking with words that graze over your skin. “you’re up early.”
you lean back against him, echoing his previous words — “it’s pretty.”
you feel his chest rise with the anticipation of speaking, but before he can get there, you cut in: “if you say i’m prettier, i’m going back to bed. cheesy ass.”
that makes him giggle, nuzzling further into you. “i won’t say it,” he acquiesces, “but i’ll still think it.”
a comfortable silence settles then, stretching over who knows how long. time always seems to blur together when you’re with him. endless and fleeting all at once.
“i found it, you know,” you whisper, after that indefinite period of time. the sun’s brighter now, gorgeous hints of blue creeping across the sky.
jun doesn’t have to ask what it is. there’s only one it he can think of, and it lies inside a small, square box at the bottom of the laundry pile.
“fuck,” he groans defeatedly, pressing his face into the side of yours. “i’m so shit at hiding things, aren’t i?”
“kind of,” you agree, in a way that doesn’t quite reflect the bubbling happiness that stirs under your chest. “i didn’t look inside,” you add, threading a hand through his hair. “i thought i should give you at least one surprise.”
he turns you around then, gently by the shoulders, to kiss you. sweet and gentle, with his hands cupping your cheeks and head tilted to angle himself against your lips.
when you break away, you can’t help but succumb to the beam that threatens to break out over your face. you’re giddy with it — the promise of forever.
(the feeling doesn’t dissipate, even when jun does ask; one knee, in the kitchen at 3 in the morning, and you have to pretend to be surprised.)
an / me calling wen junhui bestie to conceal my very real romantic feelings for him
taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @glowunderthemoon @wondering-out-loud @graybaeismytae @hannyoontify @sahazzy @dokyeomin @icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars @immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya @doublasting @yepimthatonequirkyteenager @qaramu
what do i call you? 🕹️ k.mg [m]
synopsis: your best friend is a man of many facets - a creative architecture student, a skilled football player, a wonderful friend and a sought-after lover. not that he'd ever truly glance anyone's way, especially not when his heart has always been set on you. genre: college au, idiots friends to lovers au ; angst, fluff, suggestive ? slightly smutty? themes. pairing: football player!kim mingyu x fem!college journalist!reader word count: 15.3k rating: 18+. minors do not interact. warnings: swearing, mentions of smoking (weed), mentions of food and eating. mutual pining, vernon is a plot device (because i love him.) mentions of infidelity and situationships. vernon calls reader bunny. mingyu and y/n are fucking stupid. mentions of omegas (i had to do it.) kissing, petnames (baby, honey, pretty, etc.) brief dry humping, making out. what to listen to: what do i call you? - taeyeon ; run for the hills - tate mcrae ; number one girl - rosé ; rain - swv ; hooked on your love - en vogue ; cherish the day - sade ; call me baby - exo. author's note: happiest birthday to my dear @tomodachiii ♡ i hope you forgive me for having been so ominous in the chat, and know that i love you so dearly. also, i was going to write the smut but i chickened out, mingyu is just too sexy for my brain. please eat well and stay healthy. also, thank you to both @100vern & @wonuwoe for giving me their journalism insight, as i am unfortunately a woman in stem that knows nothing about it.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU'RE NOT WRITING THE COLUMN ABOUT ME?"
You roll your eyes, sighing as your fingers rub your temples. Your best friend is currently seated not even five feet away, his lower lip jutted out in a pout as the steam from his oxtail bone soup wafts in his face. You'd been attempting to soothe his woes about the stupid column piece for the last thirty minutes, even bribing him by saying you'd spend your last twenty dollars on dessert if he dropped the topic. While nothing can get in the way of Mingyu and his food, his best friend writing a column about a sport he plays, giving one player spotlight, and not choosing him was something he simply could not let go. "Y/N, that's not fair."
"Except it is, Gyu. All the features I've written this season have been about you. One more and people might think I'm in love with you." You huff, forcing your lips into a smile as the waitress slides your order of soft tofu stew in front of you. You thank her quietly, and she simply nods her head curtly before going about her way. Mingyu eyes your bowl, the pout on his lips only deepening as you sigh, sliding your bowl over for him to dip his spoon into.
"I just think you should care about me more." He sniffs, blowing softly on the spoonful of broth from your stew. You quirk a brow as he brings the spoon to his mouth, your own lips twitching slightly at the roll of his eyes from the perfect balance of flavors on his tongue. You loved watching him eat, it was one of your favorite past times.
Not that he needed to know that.
"Mingyu, I do care about you. The newspaper has given me six columns this season alone, and I've interviewed you every single time. Let someone else have a chance." You take your bowl back, but not before he spears the jiggly tofu with his spoon, making you snicker as he burns his tongue on it.
"Why would I do that when you're my best friend? Are you saying you want to give someone else that chance? Like who, Chan? You know he smells like macaroni, right? And he bites." Mingyu breathes around the hot piece of tofu in his mouth, and you only laugh as you slide his bowl of rice closer to you. You take a bit on your spoon, dipping it into your stew before shrugging your shoulders.
"Mingyu, everyone knows you're a star, okay? You've scored sixty-two out of sixty-seven touchdowns so far, and that's just this season. You're the only quarterback in Hawk history that hasn't blown out his shoulder, which is insane. You're one of the best players in terms of field time and academics. That thing you made for your Architectural Design course? Your Apartment of a Lonely Soul model? You got displayed at the Museum of Arts for that two fucking weeks ago, and I put you in the paper for that. The people love Kim Mingyu, I think it's only fair that I give someone else a smidge of the spotlight."
He rolls his eyes, but you see the faint blush creeping on his cheeks and ears as he takes a sip of his water.
Whether you care to admit it or not, you know that the people you speak of, also refer to you.
You know that the way you write about Mingyu in your columns is the way a proud friend does, someone who cares, someone who loves him – and you know it shows bias. You know that if anyone watched your relationship with Mingyu from afar, they could tell how much you care about him, how much he means to you, how much you love him.
And you're worried that one day, someone might look too close and realize that your love for him is nothing even remotely close to platonic.
It hasn't been for the last six years of your life-long friendship.
If someone asks you, you're honest. You tell them Mingyu has been your best friend for years. You tell them that you've soothed his broken heart time and time again, that he's held your hair while you've thrown up and he's scared off shitty guys constantly. You tell them that when he's drunk, he sends you ramblings on Snapchat and eventually makes his way to your apartment to crash on your couch. You tell them that you feed him before he crashes, and make him hydrate before he goes down.
You tell them that your mom loves Mingyu, and how helpful he is when he goes home with you every so often. You tell them that he makes the best short rib soup and you've never seen someone so willing to build a bookshelf with your father. You tell them that Mingyu gets along well with your siblings, even going as far as going home with you one summer to coach your little brother's flag football team with your dad.
And then, like always – they tell you that there's no man that does that for anyone he sees as just his friend.
You choose to ignore it.
You continue to write your pieces about him, long-winded and full of purple prose in order to talk him up. You're of the idea that everyone who is capable of loving, should love Mingyu. They do, everyone on campus adores the gentle giant that he is – everyone includes girl after girl after girl. Mingyu has had three girlfriends in the twenty years that you've been his friend. He's definitely the kind of guy that likes to commit – each one lasted anywhere from a year to three. His last one, Sowon, lasted a year and a half – before he found out that she was hooking up with a guy (read: your ex-boyfriend, Daewon) on the baseball team while he was at practice.
He didn't even need her to confirm it, because he walked in on it in the men's locker room. He'd been twenty minutes late to practice, opting to drive you to a game tech convention on the other side of town. You'd practically begged him to, saying that you wanted to write a report about it for your Digital Media course and he just couldn't say no. He doesn't remember exactly what he said to her, her eyes full of guilt and regret as she quickly dressed herself and pushed past him. However, he does remember the odd feeling in his chest, and the way he tried to figure it out as he skipped practice and drove all the way back to the other side of town to pick you up.
He remembers the look on your face when you came out of the convention with your phone in hand to get a rideshare, only to see him parked front and center waiting for you against the grill of his old pick-up truck. He didn't want to talk about it, but essentially told you things between them were over as he drove the two of you to the very same diner the two of you are sitting at now, ordering all of his favorites and scarfing them down while he asked you to tell him everything about the convention. It was the most dejected you'd ever seen him look, but you also knew Mingyu well.
There was a hint of relief behind the glaze of hurt.
That was a year ago. Now, the two of you are sitting on the impending doom of graduation. You're awaiting a call back from an internship you applied to last year, and Mingyu was awaiting a letter from a Masters' program. You were both single, your last situationship ending shortly after starting because the guy was convinced you and Mingyu had a thing – simply because he came over (uninvited, unannounced) on a night where Mingyu insisted you watch the entirety of Park Chanwook's Vengeance trilogy. You didn't care too much – not when the two of you were nervous wrecks, doing everything and anything to fill your racing minds and not think about your futures.
Much like sitting in this diner and sharing a meal, your foot resting on the side of his thigh as he sits on the opposite side of the booth.
"You're too far away." He pouts, before sliding his bowl across the table and standing up, slipping next to you in the cracked vinyl booth. You worm slightly closer to the window, pretending the sudden wave of his spicy cologne doesn't make your head spin. It settled so well with the powdery scent of his detergent, the softer smell that reminded you of laying on a blanket with him, stargazing out on the football field during spring midterms.
You can't hide the way your hands tremble slightly as you reach for your spoon, but Mingyu's hawk-like gaze misses nothing.
"You cold? You're shaking like a leaf." He eyes you with a raised brow, and doesn't allow you to respond before you feel him tug his hefty letterman jacket off. The black leather sleeves brush your sweater, and you find yourself being cocooned in the warmth that now filled the jacket, radiating off your best friend's body with ease. "You're a human furnace, Mingyu." You mutter to yourself, feeling him ruffle your hair as he moves his water closer to him, opting to rearrange all the side dishes as you carefully inched away from him. You could be caught staring and Mingyu wouldn't tease you about it, you knew that much – but to be caught tensing at the brushing of your thigh with his, your arm with his, your hand with his…would be much more embarrassing.
"So I've been told. Don't think you're gonna butter me up into forgetting about the fact that you hate me, Y/N." He gives you a pointed look as he stirs his soup, your jaw dropping slightly to gape up at him.
"Oh my God, Mingyu! I don't hate you, you're making this a bigger deal than it is!" You whine, but don't miss the way he smiles around his straw, his broad shoulders taking up way too much of your space as he shrugs.
"I mean, six pieces on me in one season, but you won't make your last piece about me? And it's to spotlight a player? You've been giving me the spotlight all season! You can't take it away from me, I'll get withdrawals." "Mingyu, there has gotta be something I can do to get you to get over this. I already offered to pay for dessert, and I'm letting you pick. What else do you want from me?" Your voice is exasperated, but you don't like the glint of mischief in Mingyu's eyes as he looks down at you. He traces your features, before a soft smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.
"What are you doing Friday night?" "Mingyu." "You're not doing me, sweetheart. I need you to focus." You gape inwardly, scoffing out a laugh and running your hand through your hair as you tilt slightly to face him. He's already looking at you, his tongue running over his lower lip as you meet his eyes.
"I mean…unless you want to." "You are so fucking irritating." You scoff, shoving his shoulder as he giggles. Mingyu rarely made comments like that, but when he did, it was like he was the master of timing. He loved to catch you off guard, even going as far as pinching your cheek or sidling up to you really close to emphasize his point. He'd give you that cheeky smile, he'd look at you like you put the stars in the sky and sometimes, just sometimes, those eyes would dart down to your lips before flickering away and ending the bit.
All in good fun, you always thought.
Of course you'd thought about it, about him. About what being a lover to him would be like, about what he was like as a boyfriend. You saw it, the way he treated his girlfriends – with the utmost care, the biggest gentleman you'd ever met. He held doors open, he carried them over puddles, he retired his jackets and hoodies to their shoulders if the air even had a hint of a chill in it.
But, he cooked for you. He cleaned for you, he helped you with your projects and asked for your opinion on his. He held you close, no matter who was in his life – and it became a point of contention in his relationships. So much so that any girl that he began talking to had to meet you first – and he'd observe quietly. He'd watch you try to befriend them, how your animated personality often dwindled in their presence. He'd notice the way your smile would softly fade, often replaced with a furrow in your brows before you glanced at him, as if to say, next.
You approved of Sowon, because she was sweet. She was nice to you, and she was nice to Mingyu, until she wasn't.
You approved of his longest girlfriend, Soyoung, because she tried her hardest to get along with you and even invited you to her own social gatherings – regardless of if Mingyu would be in attendance or not. The two ended when Soyoung decided she wasn't built for sharing Mingyu's attention, and he let her go without so much as a second thought.
You approved of his first girlfriend, Sohee, because you were all idiots in high school and you didn't think it would matter that much to Mingyu – and you'd told him so.
You also did it because it was year two of you dealing with your newfound romantic feelings for Mingyu, and you figured if he had a girlfriend – he wouldn't notice the way you drifted from him. If it meant keeping your friendship and dissolving your romantic feelings for the puppy-eyed man, you would take the leap of being distant. However, return to the abovementioned point: Mingyu's hawk-like gaze misses nothing. He broke things off with Sohee after a year, noticeably missing your presence and seeking you out so much your mother asked you if you were dating. You remember the look of pity in her eyes when you'd answered in the negative.
"What, Miss Y/N, are you doing on Friday night?" You try to ignore the smile on his lips as he leans slightly closer, closing your eyes as you sigh. "Nothing, Mingyu. I'm not doing anything." "Now you are." "I'm broke, Gyu."
"Pretty girls never pay, hm?" He gives you a pointed look, and you sink slightly into his jacket, sliding a bit down the booth as your cheeks burn. He only laughs, his warm fingers pinching the fat of your cheek before you swat him away. "God, you'd think I've never complimented you. We've been friends our entire lives, what's your deal?" "Nothing! You're just a twerp who doesn't mean it." You stick your tongue out at him, before feeling the tips of his fingers graze your jaw. He tilts your head up to face him, a quizzical look in his eyes.
"What makes you say that? You think I say things just to make you feel better?" You raise a brow as his fingers squish your cheeks together, your lips puckering slightly as you reply, "I mean…don't you?" "No, Y/N. I don't. I think you're pretty, why would I lie about that?" He scoffs, before tilting his head in the direction of your stew. "Eat." The rest of the meal was spent in comfortable silence, your cheeks remaining hot under his soft gaze and gentle gestures. He drove the two of you to get dessert across town, his card hitting the reader before you could even fish out your wallet to spend your last twenty dollars as promised. He wiped your face of stray cookie crumbs as you ate in his car with the heat blasting, your own hand swatting him away constantly.
He walked you up to your apartment, biting back his laugh as your roommate, Hansol, nearly fell on his ass trying to pry open the living room window to air out the smell of weed. He smiled hazily at Mingyu, before Mingyu's best friend appeared out of your bathroom, stoned out of his mind.
"Sol, you said you wouldn't hotbox the living room again." You groan, setting your purse down on the foyer table. He winces, before pointing at Wonwoo.
"His idea." "Your apartment, idiot." Wonwoo rolls his bloodshot eyes, and Mingyu only grimaces as he quietly offers to let you spend the night at his place. You decline it almost immediately, not wanting a repeat of the first (and last) time you ever spent the night at Mingyu's apartment. Yours had flooded, and Hansol had found solace in his girlfriend's arms (and apartment) while you were left to fend for yourself.
Not really. Not if Mingyu had any say in it – and he did.
That night was like a scene out of a movie, the way he literally slammed into you fresh out of the shower. You remember the perfect way the moonlight lit him up through the cracked window, the drops of water on his abdomen burned into your brain. You also remember sleeping on the very edge of his bed that night, so much so that he eventually moved to the floor to let you get a good night's rest. You left the next day to invade Hansol and his girlfriend, Saerom, for the next two days while your apartment was fixed.
Neither of you spoke about it since, and you thanked your lucky stars that it was never brought up.
You let Wonwoo and Hansol bicker on your ratty couch, rolling your eyes as you held the door for Mingyu. He leaned against the doorway slightly, smiling down at you through perfectly bitten pink lips.
"I'll see you around, Gyu." You offer softly, rolling your eyes and tilting your head towards the two stoners now fighting over the remote to watch movies on your Amazon Prime account. "Friday." He corrects, and you suddenly realize how easily he stares at you like he knows something about you. You clear your throat, your cheeks growing even hotter as he tilts your chin up to look at him. "Say it. Say you'll see me on Friday. I'll pick you up from the office." "I'll see you on Friday." You murmur, earning a wink from him.
"See you, pretty." He spins on his heel, tucking his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket as he barrels down the stairs of your apartment complex. You watch over the railing as he gets to his car, waving as he looks up. He waves back, opening his car door and almost instantly pulling out of the parking lot.
What you don't know is how he settles into the way your citrus perfume is now infused with his on the material of his jacket. His cheeks are warm at the idea of your flustered state in the diner earlier, and when you were sitting in his car eating your cookies. How your shy smile was only ever present around him, immediately disappearing if someone else joined your conversations or if you were around literally anyone else.
Like he made you nervous, something he'd noticed almost a decade ago. The way he could listen to you, talk to you, look at you all day – and you just brushed it off like it was nothing but you couldn't hide the twinge of fluster in your voice around him. The way you constantly talked about him if you thought he wasn't listening. How you wrote all your pieces about him, and how all his friends teased him about how in love you sounded. How enamored you sounded when you wrote about him, how passionate you were about sharing him and his success with the world to appreciate. He could date these pieces back to the first semester of your freshman year together, but he's liked you far longer than that.
Mingyu knew a lot of things, but he knew you best. You hadn't ever cared about someone the way you had him, and you made it very obvious. He crossed all his fingers, hoping the feeling in his chest when you brushed against him was something you felt, too. Hoping that you also settled in your bed and your only thoughts before closing your eyes were of him as his were of you.
Hoping that you liked him, in the same way. Hoping that you wondered what his lips would feel like against yours, what it would feel like to slot your fingers together in more than just a platonic way. He wondered if you'd let him kiss you breathless, he wondered if your eyes lingered on him that night because you liked what you saw.
Yeah, Mingyu likes you. He likes you a lot.
"NO CAN DO, Y/N. YOU ALREADY SAID YOU'D INTERVIEW LEE CHAN."
Hansol was sitting on the edge of his desk with a lollipop between his lips, looking over the rough drafts of your fellow journalists. How all of you at the Hawk Review ended up under Hansol Chwe was beyond you, but you weren't complaining. He was smart and calculated, creative, and he figured out a way to redirect some of the funding to better snacks and a Keurig for the Hawk Review Committee.
And you can't lie, either – he was a very just and fair editor. He didn't let just anyone onto the committee, often going through rigorous interviewing processes (for virtually no reason except vibes) and even going as far as making you his second in command – so long as you agreed that what happened at the HRC, stayed at the HRC. As your editor, he was more than willing to listen to you drone on and on about literally anything having to do with any of your columns or articles. As your roommate, Hansol did not want to talk about the committee at all – he preferred throwing popcorn at you while you bickered over who was dumber in How I Met Your Mother. You both agreed it was definitely Ted for the majority of the show.
"I'm gonna have to pull a veto on that, Chwe. I need to write about Mingyu." You sigh frustratedly, running a hand through your hair as you stuff your laptop into your tote. Hansol eyes you, before sliding the lollipop out of his mouth and pointing it at you.
"You are down atrociously for that guy, you know that? The dating rumors that I've had to deny for you are driving me towards the brink of insanity." You scoff in offense, your mouth attempting to form around words but only resulting in odd noises before you cover your face with your hands.
"Hansol!" "Y/N!" "I am not down anything for Mingyu, okay? I just know that if as a journalist, consistency is key, is it not? If I have put my best foot forward towards a project, in this case, interviewing Mingyu regularly for my columns…wouldn't it be just and fair, as a journalist with a semi-Mingyu-based following, to give him Spotlight of The Season? Wouldn't it be, oh wise one, something just and fair to have him be the topic of my last column as your second-in-command, Editor Chwe?"
Hansol only smiles, shaking his head before sighing. "You drive a hard bargain, Y/N." "So I've been told. Please, Sol. Mingyu will kill me if I don't do my last piece on him." You clasp your hands in front of you, jutting your lips out in a pout as you bat your lashes at him. He only snorts, tossing his unfinished lollipop into the trash can. He slides into the chair behind the heavy mahogany desk, a glint of mischief in his eyes that you can't quite place as he opens his laptop. He types away as you cross your arms across your chest, bearing your weight on one foot, tapping the other nervously.
"Well, let's see. You've written six columns on Mingyu this year alone, and one of them had nothing to do with football. Your column about his exhibit at the Museum of Arts last month was actually a great piece." He peers at you over the top of his laptop, and you tilt your head. "The Museum emailed our coordinator, you know. Said that your piece brought their ticket sales up by five percent." Your jaw drops slightly, "You're kidding." "I'm not." He shrugs, returning his line of vision to the laptop in front of him. You can see the way his cheeks move slightly, as if he's suppressing a smile, "You know, the coordinator who writes the recommendation letters for our internships. Mrs. Lee." "Hansol, if you're kidding, please shut up right now." Your voice is whiny as he smiles softly. You'd only ever seen him smile that way when he's going to deliver good news, as if to soften the blow, lessen the shock value. A smile that screams you deserve this, and everything good that comes your way.
"Mrs. Lee asked me what I thought of you, Y/N." He leaned back in his chair, pulling the drawer open and taking out yet another lollipop. He offers you one, and you take the green apple, unwrapping it as you lean on the desk. "She also asked me if I'd be willing to write your recommendation letter." Your eyes widen, "Hansol, please–" "Don't beg me. I hate it when you beg." He rolls his eyes, turning his laptop to face you. It's open to Y/N LETTER - DRAFT 2 OF 6. You can feel your nose burn as tears sting your eyes, and he closes the laptop before speaking.
"It will still go through Mrs. Lee for review, and for her to add her own notes. I think your dedication to the Hawk Review Committee has been absolutely insane. You've never failed to deliver, and everyone always loves your pieces, whether they're about Mingyu's abilities as a quarterback, Mingyu's talent for architecture and eye for what looks good. I think you're right, consistency as a journalist is key." He nods, giving you a knowing look.
"I'm sensing a but, here."
"But, I won't submit something that goes against what is true. I wrote in here that I think you're a brave individual who takes on any challenge life gives you. Submitting that when I know it's simply not true is a violation of ethics, giving false information and whatnot." He taps the metal of his laptop, and your brows furrow.
"What?" "I'm not submitting this until you tell Mingyu that you're in love with him. That gives you…" He checks his phone, "Three days. Three days to confess, so I can submit this to Mrs. Lee and she can get it in at your internship before the deadline closes and you're inevitably out of an opportunity at your own volition." Your jaw drops fully, "You're kidding." "I can assure you, Miss Y/N, I am not." He smiles lazily, shrugging his shoulders as he leans back. You scoff, but nothing tells you he's serious more than the way he opens his phone and sets a timer for seventy-two hours. "Three. Days. Hop to, bunny." "Hansol." "Oh, and I need your Spotlight of the Season column by then, too. Gotta skim through to make sure you don't say he's the love of your life in paragraph three again." "Oh, fuck you! That was one time!" You pout, "Don't do this to me, Vern. I literally helped you get that date with Saerom last year!" "And look at me now, Y/N!" He holds up his phone, a picture of him and Saerom filling the screen. "Just because you don't have balls, doesn't mean you can't have balls, you know?" "Wise words from Hansol Vernon Chwe." You hear Mingyu's voice fill the room, making you jump as Hansol smiles. He winks at you, before making a shooing motion with his hand.
"Get outta here, Y/N. And I want that damn column on the desk before Monday at six, you hear me?" He points the new lollipop at you, and you ignore the way your cheeks heat as Mingyu's arm drapes around your shoulders and he bids Hansol goodbye. You flip Hansol the bird as he makes kissing faces at you, Mingyu pulling you towards the door of the office.
"How was your day?" He asks as the door closes behind you, the chill of the November air piercing through your thin cardigan and making you regret the short skirt you chose earlier that day. You roll your eyes, opening your mouth to tell him to cut it out with the small talk – when his fingers pluck the lollipop out from between your lips and plant it straight onto his tongue.
"Mingyu! You're so gross!" You gape at him, swatting his side as he giggles around the hard candy, scooting away from you. His arm that was around your shoulder falls to his side, before you notice the way he shrugs his jacket off his shoulders, making you hold your hands out in protest. "No. Keep it, it's cold." "You're shivering." He says matter-of-factly, and you try to ignore the forming green tint on his lips from your lollipop, your eyes flickering up to his with a feigned look of confidence.
"I'm in the presence of a collegiate football superstar and future architect of the coolest buildings in our city, forgive me for being a little excited." You huff dramatically as you feel his warm jacket being draped over your shoulders. A defeated sigh escapes from your lips as his hands rest on your shoulders, guiding you out of the Literature building and towards his old pick-up.
You remember when he got it, the powder blue paint job with white detailing being a choice from his father before he passed it down to Mingyu. It was a 1992 GMC Sierra 1500, and he was definitely too big to fit in the cab but he loved that old thing more than anything in this world. He learned how to drive in it when he was sixteen, and his father finally gifted it to him on his eighteenth birthday – you remember being half-awake, toothbrush still in your mouth when you started getting shaken like maraca when he came to pick you up for school the next morning. Your mom did not trust Mingyu to drive you both to school, but with Mingyu's puppy eyes comes a certain brand of begging that no one can say no to.
Granted, he almost crashed from excitement but you both made it safe and sound.
"Where are you taking me?" You ask suddenly, remembering nothing had been discussed the night he brought it up. He shrugged, opening the passenger side door and helping you into the bench seat.
"Just relax, okay? It's, like, a twenty-minute drive."
You struggle not to roll your eyes, settling into the felt cushion and sliding your tote onto the dash. You pop open his glove box, his collection of cassettes messily thrown in. You pluck out a random one, hearing him pry open his door and settle in his seat, the rickety door definitely needing a good wipedown with WD-40.
"Only you would have a cassette collection." You hold up his November Rain cassingle by Guns N' Roses, and he snorts inwardly. It was a senseless dig, because cassettes were all his car radio could read. It was either the cassettes or the staticky sound of the FM radio…so, pass.
"You're judging me, but I went out and found that En Vogue Funky Divas cassette for you. Remember, bidding on eBay is not good for you, sweetheart." He reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out the still-wrapped cassette tape you'd fought some fifty-year-old woman for on eBay weeks prior. Your eyes widen, a huge grin spreading on your lips as you pluck it from his fingers, holding it to your chest.
"Oh, you love me, Kim Mingyu!" You squeal, and he rolls his eyes, reaching over you to buckle you in. You allow it, carefully peeling back the plastic wrap. Listen, you're a twenty-something in the twenty-first century, it's not that serious. (It is that serious, what did you fight that woman for if it wasn't to just keep it as a collector's item?)
"Hooked on Your Love should be side B." He says softly, shoving his key into the ignition as you crack open the plastic case. You nod, your smile still wide as you slip the cassette into the player, his hand moving to rest on your headrest as he backs out of his parking spot.
You ignore the flutter in your stomach, before the sound of It Ain't Over 'Til The Fat Lady Sings fills the cab. You nod your head along to it, before glancing over at Mingyu and seeing a small bandage across his cheekbone. Your hand instinctively floats up to it, your fingers stroking his skin gently as he pulls up to a red light.
"What happened here, Gyu?" He looks at it in the rearview, his lip jutted in a pout. "Kiss it better and I'll tell." You snort, "Yeah, right." "I'm serious! I'm injured, oh, I'm so hurt." He feigns distress, clutching his chest just as the light turns green. You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to face forward. The sun is setting, the light hitting Mingyu's skin just right as you will your eyes away.
"Seriously, Gyu. Did you get hurt?" "Nah. It was Media Day, the stylist wanted something rugged. I didn't personally get it and she didn't explain how a singular bandage would convey that, but it's also not my expertise. I just let her do what she wanted." He shrugs, and you hum in response as he peels it off.
The silence between you, again, is comfortable.
But the growing knot in your stomach at his proximity, the smell of his cologne on his jacket surrounding you, the way the sun is making him look borderline fucking angelic – it's suffocating. You sigh inwardly, leaning your arm on the door and resting your head against your palm. You nod along to the music, your eyes scanning all the streets to see if you can figure out where Mingyu is taking you. He wasn't a secretive guy, but you couldn't ignore the roaring butterflies in your stomach at the idea that maybe he…had something planned.
Mingyu loved to plan things for the two of you to do. However, with your dedication to journalism, his practice and games and his studies – everything was far more sporadic and spontaneous. You didn't mind, you loved spending time with him in any way – but you were both sentimental people in the way that planning things you both knew you'd like was far more enjoyable.
You feel your cheeks burn at the realization that people weren't exactly wrong in assuming the two of you were a couple. You hated to admit it to yourself, because it was like giving into false hope and delusion. Sure, you were never going to think that you weren't enough for Mingyu – you were. At the end of the day, he is just a man. A man who picks his nose, probably.
"What are you thinking so hard about?" Mingyu's voice tears you from your thoughts, ones so clouding that you didn't even realize the car had stopped moving, the ending notes of Hooked On Your Love playing through the cab. You pouted, before looking up at him and seeing the old arcade you used to frequent during freshman year. Your eyes widen, noticing that you're parked under the same old tree you always parked beneath.
"Gyu, we haven't been here since freshman year." "I know. I figured we could just have a good time because I'm not sure if I'll have time after the semifinals. Everyone's super pessimistic about the championships this year." He shrugs, killing the engine. You only nod along, clearing your throat as you realize how empty the parking lot is. For a Friday evening, that's unusual.
"Kind of empty, isn't it?" You mumble as he unlocks the door, not missing his smile in the side mirror as he slides out of his seat. You move to open your door, but he's already yanking it open, offering his hand to help you step down. Tugging your tote over your shoulder, you climb down and reluctantly pull your hand out of his as you shut the door.
"Did you know that museums pay you for displaying your work in their galleries?" He starts, draping his arm over your shoulder and pulling you close. You suck in a breath, a little too loud for your taste as you cough.
"Really? That's great, Gyu. I assume they shelled out a few hundred bucks, huh? I know I would for Apartment of a Lonely Soul. I'd display the shit out of that at my place." You scoff, wrapping your arm loosely around his waist. He hums, his fingers twirling in loose strands of your hair as you glance up at him. He has a mischievous smile playing on his lips as you both near the doors of the arcade. It's empty inside, making you dig your heels into the pavement.
"Gyu, maybe it's closed." You frown, but he raps his knuckles against the glass door in a pattern that reminds you of Hot for Teacher by Van Halen. You wait quietly, seeing your good friend Soonyoung turning the corner of the cashier's booth inside. He grins widely at you through the glass door, unlocking it quickly.
"Mingyu. Y/N." He greets, and you can't help but narrow your eyes as Mingyu pushes you forward through the threshold. He takes your bag off your shoulder and hands it to Soonyoung, who drapes it over his own shoulder before holding his hand out.
"You two…what did you do?" Your suspicion only makes Mingyu laugh, and you see him slide something, presumably money, into Soonyoung's hand before he turns his attention back to you. Soonyoung flips the sign to say CLOSED, the click of the lock making your eyes flit up to him. He only smiles, pocketing the money and strolling away, whistling the melody of Galaxy by Taeyeon.
"What do you wanna do first? Skeeball? Air hockey? Bowling?" Mingyu's hands on your shoulders are reassuring, the pads of his thumbs working soft circles into your trap muscles. You nibble on your lip, turning your head to look over your shoulder back at him.
"Did you rent this place out with the money the museum gave you?" You ask softly, trying to hide the subtle hint of disappointment in your voice. You had a horrible habit of insisting that Mingyu not spend money on you, something he brushed off time and time again. He peers down at you, a quirk in his brow as he smiles.
"Just pick a game, sweetheart."
You try not to show your increasing suspicion, your gut feeling telling you he's buttering you up for something as he guides you towards the bowling alley. The music playing in the arcade is louder than normal, and you try to focus on the sound of By Your Side by Sade playing through the speakers.
"Have they always played Sade? Last time we were here, I swear they were playing, like, Cascada and Keri Hilson." You look up at Mingyu, who just rolls his eyes as he makes you sit down on a bench in front of the bowling alley, kneeling in front of you and yanking your shoes off.
"You always focus this much on things that are so minuscule? We're at an arcade, alone. No lines, no screaming, no odd Dorito-Eating, Mountain-Dew drinking, Piña-Colada-Vaping gamers fighting us for our spot in the Galaga queue." He makes it all sound so magical, like the two of you didn't get a bunch of sixteen year olds kicked out several times the last few times you visited the arcade.
"Gyu–" "Just chill, okay? And if I have to guilt trip you, I will. I'm not above it." He says pointedly, slipping the bowling shoes over your socked feet as you huff. You cross your arms as he ties the laces, before his warm hands splay across your knees. He smiles as your legs jerk at the sudden contact, before giving them a gentle squeeze.
"Now, beat me in two frames and I'll get us tickets to that furry convention that I know you're going to want to write a piece about." He stands, tugging you up from the bench and towards one of the alleys.
And it's easy. It's so easy to forget everything when you're with Mingyu, watching the way his shoulders tense under the tight black t-shirt he's wearing as he swings his ball back perfectly. The way his thick thighs are hugged by the slim fitting jeans he was wearing, the black watch on his wrist distracting you from the way his fingers slid easily into the bowling ball…
You don't manage to beat him in two frames, or three. Or four.
You don't win a single game, your brain entirely too distracted by just how couple-y this all seemed. How boyfriend-like Mingyu was acting, as he took you all over the arcade. He didn't ever go easy on you, beating you in game after game – air hockey, three games of Street Fighter II. He even managed to scam you out of the few coins you managed to get out of the coin pusher, before pulling you over to the Skee-ball machines.
"If you lose, you're buying dinner." He says pointedly, gathering the wooden balls in his hand as you gape up at him.
"This is so fucking unfair, Mingyu! You literally play football!" You stomp your foot like a petulant child, only making him laugh softly. "But if I offer to go easy on you, you'll complain. So which is it? Do you want me to have a filling dinner or do you want to win the weasel way?" He tilts his head at you, brow cocked high on his face as you scoff, shrugging his jacket off your shoulders and shoving it into his chest, grabbing the balls from his hands. He slides the jacket on with a grin, watching the way you count the balls with your eyes. 7..8..9…Before looking up, your lip jutted out in a pout. "No way you just called me a weasel, Kim Mingyu." "Yes way. What're you gonna do about it, weasel?" He flicks the tip of your nose, making your brows furrow as you push past him to stand in front of the lane. He leans on Mrs. Pac-Man, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets as he watches you carefully. Your shoulders are too tense as you land a ball in the 40 zone, your elbows too stiff as another gracefully slips off the edge of 30 into the 10 when you turn around.
"Stop staring at me, I can feel the heat of your eyes on my back."
"Wasn't looking at your back, sweetheart." He chides, making you scoff and turn back around, rotating your wrist as you assume position. He steps forward slightly, sliding his arm around your waist and tilting you forward a bit. He feels your back stiffen as you suck in a breath, almost like he scared you.
"Mingyu!" Almost.
"You're too tense. This is a game of grace, Y/N. Just relax." He murmurs, his other hand wrapping loosely around your wrist. You can feel his hips pressed against you, but it's fully innocent – aside from where your mind goes. He swings your arm back before pushing it forward and you let the ball slip from your fingers. You're grimacing as you watch it, feeling your lips twitch as it falls perfectly into the 100 zone.
"You just got lucky." You mutter, feeling his chest move against your back as he laughs. "Yeah? Just luck, huh?" Your breath hitches as his hits the back of your neck, and you curse yourself internally as he drums his fingers on the expanse of your belly. Swatting his hand away, you push him back but he doesn't move away. In fact, his arm around you tightens, pulling you slightly closer as you twist your head to look up at him.
"Then those hundred points should count in my favor, shouldn't they?" You gape up at him, his smile all too warm and inviting as he winks at you, his finger coming to your chin and manually closing your mouth. "Focus, sweetheart."
He turns your face back to the lane, and you huff out a breath. "This feels like that meme of a broke guy holding onto his girlfriend while she pays for his shit." "I hold you all the time, it's never bothered you before." He shrugs behind you, and you feel him settle his chin on your shoulder as his other arm wraps around you, linking his fingers above your navel. You can't help but roll your eyes, the action the only thing keeping you grounded as you reluctantly swing the rest of the balls in. 50, 40, 40, 30, 10.
"Last one." He whispers, his fingers lightly squeezing the softness of your belly between them. You squirm, elbowing his ribs lightly. "Get away from me! I'm going to lose if you keep doing this." You whine, and he only giggles as he slides his arms away from around you. Huffing, you smooth your shirt and shake yourself off, assuming your position in front of the lane and swinging your arm back in the perfect slope for a 100…
…When you feel Mingyu's fingers poke at your sides, making you squeal and the ball goes barreling into the 30 zone.
"Mingyu!" You push his arm lightly as he laughs, grabbing your wrist to stop you from landing a smack to his shoulder. He pulls you into him, and you feel your stomach flip as you slap his chest. "You've been hanging out with Jeonghan, haven't you? And you have the nerve to call me a weasel?!" "You would've lost anyway, sweetheart. You've got 350 points on the roster, there's no way you're not buying dinner." He taunts you, his nose mere centimeters from yours as he smiles. You're silent, the proximity far too much to even let out a breath when you feel your lips twitch into a scowl.
"You're not playing fair, Gyu." "You're cute, honey. Now watch this." He lets you slip from his grasp, slipping another quarter into the game and receiving his share of the wooden balls. And you, like an idiot – watch him. You watch him land 100 after 100, only once landing in the 50 zone. 850 points, 950 if you count the ones he got for you. He looks over his shoulder, eyes peering down at you with a glint you can't place as you cross your arms.
"I think I'd like to try that new place on Sixth Street." He says proudly, making you scoff in disbelief as he throws his arm over your shoulders. You shove him away lamely, only feeling his fingers pinch your cheek as he cooed. "Don't be such a sore sport, Y/N. Skeeball is not your forte." "Neither are any of these other games, apparently." You grumble as he leads you through the arcade, his thumb lightly rubbing back and forth on your jaw. He hums, pulling you into him impossibly closer.
"You wanna win something?" He asks gently, and you shake your head. You can almost hear him smiling, because you're not looking up at him, no fucking way – when he tilts your jaw up to face him. "C'mon. What do you want to play? Pac-Man?" "No." "Space Invaders?"
"No." "Oooh, Sunset Riders?"
"Mingyu." You rolled your eyes as he leaned against one of the air hockey tables, keeping you close. Your lip was jutted in a pout, making him laugh softly as he enveloped you in a hug. Your hands pushed against his torso in an attempt to push him away. He sucks his teeth, looking down at you. Your eyes look guilty, and you can feel it sinking into your stomach as he analyzes you. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but you know the words that come out aren't what he's thinking.
"Tell you what, we can take pictures in the photobooth and I'll buy dinner." You hate how you instantly light up, your hands now fisting the fabric of his shirt as he rolls his eyes, not bothering to hide his smile. "See? How aren't you a weasel when you make me feel bad and now I'm the one paying for dinner?" "You said it yourself, pretty girls never pay." You reply smugly, your lips stretching into a smile as he scoffs. However, it seems like the world stills as he smooths your hair down, thumbing at your earrings – a pair he got you ages ago for your birthday – and mumbling.
"I did say that, didn't I?" He nods, before seemingly snapping out of whatever trance he was in and pushing off the air hockey table. You stumble back a bit, but your grip on his shirt is enough to keep you upright as his arm tightens around your waist. "Easy, pretty. Need you in one piece for these photos." "And dinner!" You manage to stutter out, making him shake his head as he pulls you near the booth. The two of you see Soonyoung and his coworkers lounging around the cashier's booth, casually chattering while passing around a baby blue dab pen. Neither you nor Mingyu say anything, but neither does Soonyoung as he catches your eye – and he makes kissing faces at you.
Enough that you stick your tongue out at him, the feeling of Mingyu's fingers sliding between yours is the only thing that brings you back to reality. The photobooth had been much bigger the last time you came here – or maybe Mingyu had been much smaller? He takes up over ¾ of the bench inside, and you scoff. "Where am I supposed to sit?" Mingyu glances up at you, shrugging as he pats his thigh. "Hop to." "Yeah right, Gyu. Make yourself smaller." "I'd make the booth bigger if I could, Y/N. Just not possible." He speaks as if he really cares that the two of you have outgrown the photobooth meant for children, shrugging his shoulders before patting his leg again. "C'mon, pretty." You sigh, making the mistake of looking over your shoulder at Soonyoung. He just smiles, wiggling his brows as he takes a rip from the pen before handing it to Minghao. Mingyu holds his hand out, and you take it to steady yourself before pulling the curtain closed (much to Soonyoung's dismay.) You barely perch on his leg, smoothing your skirt slightly when he snakes his arm around you and pulls you down on his thigh fully, scooting you up higher.
"Act like you know me, will you?" He teases, before his hand comes to sweep the hair out of your eyes. "Ready? Need lip gloss?" You grimace, crossing your arms as he tucks a stray curl behind your ear. "Did you just call me crusty?"
"No, but I did find your lipgloss in my car. It's in my pocket, the MyMelody one?" He shrugs, pushing your hair back over your shoulder and looking into the camera. You hesitate, before holding your hand out. "Give it here." "Is that how you ask?" "Can I please have my lipgloss that I bought with my six dollars at Daiso? Pretty please, Kim Mingyu, football superstar and future architect of my home because I'm your best friend and you love me?" Your monotone voice makes him bite back his laughter, his hand sliding into his jean pocket with ease before pulling out your lip gloss. You eagerly snatch it out of his hand, screwing the top open and pressing the applicator to your lips in the camera.
If you looked just an inch to the left, you would've seen Mingyu admiring you.
"Ready now, Miss Diva?" He squeezes your hip lightly, and you smack your lips together before shoving the lipgloss in his jacket pocket and nodding.
"Yep! What pose? Smile first?" You press the camera button quickly, and he nods. You lean back a bit, your head pressed to his slightly as you both smile. The camera counts down from eight, and takes the picture as you feel your cheeks start to hurt. "Remember that photo your mom has of us? Where you're winking and I'm holding up a peace sign over your eye?" He reminisces fondly as the camera begins counting down, and you snort before nodding, humming an alright.
The two of you pose for the camera again, your chest warming at his kissy-face on the screen. The camera flashes, and you look back at him, only to see him already holding up half a heart sign with his hand. You meet it, smiling in the camera again – only to see him smiling up at you.
"Mingyu, look at the camera." You say through gritted teeth, and he does so almost reluctantly, resting his temple on your shoulder as he smiles softly. The camera flashes for the last time, and you hear the strips print on the outside. You uncross your legs, pulling the curtain open to see Minghao sweeping in front of the cashier's booth as Soonyoung crunches numbers over the calculator, a pencil in his hand quickly scribbling on his yellow legal pad. You duck out, grabbing the strips as Mingyu follows suit. You hold one up to him as you analyze yours, your heart slightly sinking at how much of a couple you guys look like. Tonguing your cheek, you run your thumb over Mingyu's face, before glancing up and seeing him looking down at you.
"Don't like them, huh?" He says defeatedly, and you shake your head quickly. "No, no! I love them." You say softly, before shrugging your shoulders a bit. "I guess it's just odd that we look so much like a couple. No wonder people think we're dating." He nods inwardly, tucking his strip into his back pocket before stuffing his hands into his jacket pocket. "Is that bad? To look like a couple, I mean?" "Considering that we've been best friends since I shoved you on the playground twenty something years ago? I'd say so." You state, and he snorts. You miss the way he tongues his cheek as he leads you over to Soonyoung and Minghao, who both smile slightly at you. "So? How was it, to have the entire arcade to yourself?" Minghao leans against the cashier's booth, his eyes slightly red from the dab pen. You roll your eyes with a smile as Soonyoung lifts your tote bag over the counter. "Glad you guys got paid to stand here. Kind of nice and calm when someone rents out the entire place, huh?" You wiggle your brows, tugging your tote over your shoulder and slipping your photo strip into it.
Soonyoung nods, "It's nice to watch two idiots play a bunch of games that are rigged and somehow still win. I still have no idea how you understand those coin pushers." "Elementary, my dear boy!" You smile widely, and Mingyu taps the counter with a small smile. "Thanks, guys. I owe you one." He says softly, and both of the men behind the counter return the smile. Minghao follows closely behind as you both say your goodbyes, unlocking the door to a bunch of teenagers who are impatiently waiting with skateboards in their hands.
"Sorry, guys. We're closed." Minghao says as Mingyu instinctively grabs your hand, pulling you in front of him. You both worm out of the door as one of the teenagers scoffs.
"So dude and his girlfriend here can go in but we can't? Come on, we've been waiting for two hours!" The kid sneers, the group behind him making noises of agreement as you laugh inwardly. Minghao rolls his eyes, sighing as he calls over his shoulder for Soonyoung.
"You guys have a good night, okay?" He waves you off as Soonyoung pops up behind him, the two of you walking towards Mingyu's truck in the moonlight. Your shoes crunch a few leaves as you hear the gaggle of teenagers slip into the arcade, Soonyoung flicking the sign over to say OPEN as you make it to the car. "Thanks for tonight, Gyu. Even if I was a sore loser, I missed spending time with you like this." You admit softly as you both round the passenger side of the truck, his hand reaching for the handle with a shrug. "No big deal. I love hanging out with you, it's like number two on my hierarchy of needs. Second only to the absolute need to beat you at every game ever." He jerks the door open, offering his hand for support as you climb in. He smiles at you, "Still up for dinner? I really do want to try that new place, they have a drive-thru and we can stargaze or something." "Yeah, I'm down. I'll pay my share with the two coins you didn't scam me out of earlier." You roll your eyes as he only grins wider, shutting the door and rounding the car. You open the glove compartment again, fishing out Sade's Love Deluxe cassette as he jumps into his seat. He cranks the ignition without another word, buckling his seatbelt in as you trade the cassettes out. The ride is once more filled with comfortable silence aside from Sade's comforting voice seeping through the speakers. You find yourself sitting slightly closer to Mingyu than you had on the ride to the arcade, but it seems neither of you really care as he swiftly maneuvers the streets, pulling into the drive-thru for the new burger place everyone in your town had been raving about.
"What do they have?" You ask softly, unbuckling your seatbelt and leaning over Mingyu's lap. The attendant blinks at you, the warm smile on her face only deepening as Mingyu's hand hovers over your waist. "We have a really good swiss and mushroom burger if you'd like to try it? It comes with caramelized onions and the bun has garlic butter brushed on top! It can get super messy but it's borderline orgasmic." She nods her head, and you glance up at Mingyu, who is biting back his laughter at her animated persona. You roll your eyes, your hand resting on his knee as you shake your head.
"You still got those mints in the glove box?" You ask, making him snort as he looks over at the attendant. "Can we get two of those? Are your fries any good? Be honest." His hand splays across your hip, his thumb rubbing circles into the fabric of your skirt as you continue leaning into him. The attendant assures him that yes, our fries are great! "Care to add a milkshake? We often get couples like you guys asking for one to share, it's adorable." She beams, and you open your mouth to speak before Mingyu talks over you.
"Do you want one?" His fingers squeeze your hip, and you can't find any words so you just nod dumbly, the attendant rattling off flavors when Mingyu speaks again. "Vanilla is fine, she's one of those people that dips her fries in it." "You guys are so cute!" You can't bring yourself to say anything, and you feel your cheeks heat as Mingyu clears his throat and mumbles a thank you before fishing his wallet out to pay the girl. She bids the two of you a good night before sending you down the drive-thru, and you can't move from your spot damn near on top of Mingyu.
"I'm sorry if she made you uncomfortable by saying that." He murmurs, and you shake your head slightly, squeezing his knee. "Nah, don't worry about it. It was kinda cute, she seemed really excited about it." You force a laugh, before feeling Mingyu pat your hip.
"It's okay, Y/N. You don't have to pretend like you're okay with it. We're friends, yeah? That's all we'll ever be." You don't know why your chest tightens at the words that fall from his lips, but you only hum in response as you slink away from him. His hand on your hip brushes across your back as you make it to the window, another attendant smiling brightly as she hands your food out. "You guys are so cute! Date night?" "Ah, we're not together." Mingyu replies quickly, and you nod as the girl gives you a glance. A hint of something, maybe pity, in her eyes. It makes your stomach turn as you take the bag of hot food from Mingyu.
"You should be." She hands Mingyu the milkshake for you, and you take it from him as you give her a sad smile in return. She bids you both a good night, and Mingyu repeats it as you steal a fry from the bag and wave. He drives back into the street as you sneak another, before he glances at you.
"Yah! If you're going to sneak fries, at least do it with your seatbelt on!" He swats at you, crumpling the bag shut as you reach for the seatbelt and tug it on. You reach for the bag again as you click it in place, offering him one as he makes a left turn. He takes it between his teeth, the music playing softly as he speaks again. "There's a cliff that oversees the city. It's lowkey haunted but I like it a lot. Wonwoo found it sophomore year when he and Hansol got too high, he called me telling me he felt like he was going to fall off the Earth." You laugh, nodding along. "I remember, because you practically banged my door down trying to get Hansol inside when you've always had a key." "I couldn't find it! And it was three in the morning after the semi-finals, I was so tired I'm not even sure how I drove around for so long looking for them." He shakes his head, taking another turn before the road becomes carved dirt and gravel. He does a u-turn, parking on the cliff so the bed of the truck is facing the overview of the city. You snag one last fry before Mingyu rolls his eyes, turning the truck off with a sigh, before glancing over at you.
"C'mon, let's go sit." The two of you climb out of his side of the car, his hands carefully grasping your hips to help you down. He grabs the milkshake for you as you plop the bag of food into the bed of the truck, before climbing into it by nestling your foot on the tire and swinging your leg over the wheel arch panel. You stretch as he does the same, when you hear the thwip of him shaking off the blanket the two of you kept back here for nights like this. You fluff one of the odd cushions thrown in from random thrift store stops, waiting as Mingyu spreads the blanket across the metal of the bed before throwing the cushion down.
"Sit." He says, popping his old cooler and fishing out a bottle of water. "In case you choke." "You wish I would, don't you? You'd get all my belongings." You roll your eyes, taking the lid off the milkshake and resting it on the wheel arch panel. The two of you dig through the bag in silence, and you unwrap the wax paper from the thickest, greasiest burger you'd ever seen. You inhale deeply, your head lightly hitting the rear window as you sink your teeth into it.
"Holy shit." You groan, your eyes fluttering shut as you chew around thick mushroom bits, the sweetness of the onions coating your tongue as you look over at Mingyu – who is just shaking his head with a grin as he unwraps his own.
"Good?" "Fucking amazing, Gyu."
He seemingly agrees, a noise similar to a moan erupting from his throat as he sinks his teeth into the burger. You smile to yourself, fishing a fry out of the bag as he crosses his ankles. Neither of you say anything as you eat, and you wind up moving the milkshake between the two of you when he gestures one of his fries towards it, the last bite of his burger stuffed into his cheek. "I have a question." He speaks and you grimace.
"Swallow that first."
He rolls his eyes, doing as you say before turning back to face you. You reach out to his face with a napkin in your hand, wiping at the corner of his lip before shoveling the last of your burger into your mouth. "Why not me?" He asks, resting his head on the rearview window, and you stop chewing almost abruptly. You cough around your food, forcing yourself to swallow and take a sip of the water bottle he gave you. "What?" "I mean, it would work, wouldn't it? We've been friends since we were kids. I've seen you in almost every stage of life. We hang out constantly, we're like chopsticks. I'm never seen without you, and vice versa. So, why not me?" He shrugs, and you gape slightly.
"Mingyu, I don't think you're thinking very straight right now. I mean, again, we've been friends our entire lives. Why would we risk ruining that?" You mumble, not looking at him as he sighs.
"Is it ruining it? Are you saying you've never thought about it? The comments don't get to you?"
You look up to see him already staring at you, a quizzical look on his features as he scans you. He seems…tired. Mingyu never looks tired.
"I…Mingyu, I don't know. I guess? I mean…it's weird, isn't it? You've literally held my hair when I've thrown up. You've seen me so drunk I've done cartwheels down the street barefoot." You run a hand through your hair, a humorless laugh slipping through his lips before he sighs.
"I've also seen you graduate high school with me. I've seen you grow up, every single birthday I've been right there. I've stuck by your side my entire life, and that's never been out of anything but love for you. Whether or not it remains platonic is up to you." He looks away, looking up at the moon before clicking his tongue. "I've been in love with you for six years now."
You swear the entire world stops spinning at that moment. No cicadas chirping, no birds flying, hell, even you've stopped breathing. He keeps talking.
"It sounds like bullshit, especially when I've dated other girls. I guess a part of me thought that if I diverted from the feelings, if I ignored them and tried to redirect them, they'd go away. It was definitely a stupid thing to do, because I've hurt people along the way. I should've been honest from the beginning, maybe your direct rejection would've made getting over you easier and things would be different now." He shrugs, and you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. He glances at you, "You should take that." You pull it out, seeing Hansol's contact flashing across the screen. Groaning, you answer it and put it on speaker.
"What, Sol?" "Damn, my bad. I heard from a little bird that you went on a date with Mingyu."
Your eyes widen, and Mingyu runs his tongue over his teeth as he shakes his head. He scoffs, and you open your mouth to speak when your roommate pipes up again.
"Have you told him you're in love with him yet?" His head snaps up, and you groan, squeezing your eyes shut when Hansol speaks again. "Hello? Did you tell him yet or not, Y/N?"
"You just did, Sol. Fuck, I'll see you later." You don't wait for him to respond before you hang up, carelessly tossing the phone across the bed of the truck as you rub your face with your hands. You bring your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them and leaning your head back against the window. He hums. "How long?"
You sigh, nibbling on your lip as you peer at him through your lashes. He doesn't smile, doesn't offer you any comfort in his face as you rake your eyes over his features. Strong brows, soft eyes that have never held anything but support and love for you. Pink lips that spread over that perfect set of teeth every time he saw you, pink lips that mocked you and taunted you.
"Unless it's not true." He shrugs, tossing the trash from dinner into the bag it came in. You don't say anything as he moves it from between the two of you, opting to turn to face you. He crossed his legs, resting his hands in his lap. "I think a part of me always knew." You mumble, and he nods. His eyes are patient, thumbs twiddling in his lap as you sigh. "Yeah. I always knew, I just didn't want to come to terms with it. That's why Daewon and I broke up, you know." "Fuck that guy, he sucked anyway. And he's a ball hog, he can't fucking pass to save his life." Mingyu scoffs, making you smile inwardly. "Yeah, he does suck. But he was there, and he was a good distraction. We're both guilty in that sense, you and I. Something about hurting people along the way." You pull at a loose thread in the blanket, and Mingyu hums.
"We don't have to do anything about it if you don't want to." You peer at him through your lashes, tapping your foot lightly. "You don't?" He sighs, shrugging his jacket off to stretch his arms over his head. You follow the movement, your eyes glued to the muscle of his arms being pulled taut under his t-shirt. He leans his head back on the rear window, and you will yourself to scoot closer. He glances down at you, eyes full of defeat.
"Why didn't you tell me?" "Why didn't you?" "Touché." He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a mint. He holds it out to you, and you take it gently as he takes another out for himself. He doesn't say anything as he unwraps it, but you attempt to make a joke anyway.
"Telling me my breath stinks, aren't you?" He snorts as you pop the mint into your mouth, and lean your head on his shoulder.
"So does mine, so I guess we're even. Plus, you asked if I still had mints." You chuckle as he reaches for your water bottle, taking a sip before he sighs again.
"So, what now? We just live with it?"
You put your chin on his shoulder silently, looking at him as he turns to face you. You don't miss how his eyes flicker to your lips, before he speaks again. "What if it doesn't work? What if–" "I don't plan for the negative parts of life." You interrupt, switching the mint from side to side. "And I don't know why you're even allowing it to seep in, that's not like you." He scoffs as his cheeks turn pink, your hand reaching for his jacket. You pull it off his lap, wrapping it around your shoulders as you swing your leg over his thighs. His hands dart to your waist to steady you, and you sit comfortably on his lap. Resting your head on his chest, you hum.
"Why tonight?" His hands wrap around you, pulling you slightly higher on his lap as he sighs. You look up at him, the blush on his cheeks only deepening as he looks away. "You have to promise me you won't laugh."
You snort, making him huff as you let the jacket slide down your shoulders, bunching around your hips. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you coo at the pout on his lips before nodding. "I promise."
"I was jealous." He mutters, and your fingers card through the hair at the nape of his neck. "I was jealous and it was impulsive but I don't regret it. I would blow any amount of money if it meant I get to spend time with you like this. I'd sell my soul if I had to." "Jealous? Of what?" He huffs, not meeting your eyes until you slide your hand onto his jaw, your thumb stroking his cheek gently. "C'mon, Kim. Tell me." "Don't call me that." He grumbles, and you can't bite back your smile as his eyes continue to avoid yours.
"What do I call you? Mingyu? Gyu? Baby?" You're taunting him, your hands holding his face in place as you brush your nose to his. "Mine?" His eyes flicker up to yours, the pout deeper still. "Yeah. That one." "Mine?" "Yours." "Maybe. Spill your beans, first." You pinch his cheek, making him roll his eyes.
"You said you were going to write the Spotlight of the Season for Chan." He murmurs into his chest, and you bite back the beginning of a laugh that starts to bubble up when he pouts. "I want you to spend time with me. You have to interview for hours for those pieces and that means he can make you laugh and smile and have your attention. I don't like it." The laughter you once felt in your belly dissipates, Mingyu's arms tight around your waist as you cup his face in your hands. He looks up at you, eyes wide and slightly watery as you swipe your thumbs under them.
"Mingyu, I spend all of my free time with you." "It's not enough. I need to live in your skin." "That's terrifying?" You snorted, letting out a short laugh as Mingyu buried his face in your neck.
"You said you wouldn't laugh." He whines, his lips brushing against your skin. You try not to jolt in his lap, his arms only tightening around your waist. "Stop laughing!" "I'm not, I'm not laughing! I promise." You pat his shoulder, before pulling his head back by his hair. "That's actually really cute. A little scary, the bit about living in my skin, but I understand."
His eyes scan your face, trying to find a hit of deceit. You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. "Breath check." "Y/N–" "Nope, we've been doing this since we were teenagers. Does my breath stink?" He rolls his eyes, "No, Y/N. It doesn't."
You nod, before brushing your lips against his. His eyes widen, and he's pulling your hips flush to his as you smile. "No, no, no. Please kiss me, please." "So cute." You mumble, pressing your lips to his. He whimpers softly, the grip on your hips bruising as he kisses you back, his lips perfect and soft and addicting against yours. Your fingers tangle in his hair as you nip at his lower lip, a low groan from his chest as you slip your tongue into his mouth. You melded together perfectly, his every breath matched yours, the taste of the mint coating your tongue mixed with something just so Mingyu.
His warmth, his attention to detail. The way he teases you so lovingly, the way his hands make you feel like you're on fire even with the most innocent of touches. His soft sounds pouring into your mouth like honey, the way you can feel how hard he's trying to hold himself back from melting into you until he's had his fill.
And you hope he never does get his fill.
"Wait, wait."
Mingyu fights himself to pull away from your lips, and you can feel his heart thundering in his chest as he pushes you away. He looks a bit dazed, his thumb reaching to wipe the corner of your mouth from leftover lipgloss. You feel a bit of worry settle in your stomach, your hands moving to rest on his stomach as you nibble on your lip.
"Sorry, was that too much? I'm–" "No, no. You're…you're perfect. I'm just…" He trips over his words, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against your chest. "I don't want to ruin this before it's even started." You actually laugh this time, running your fingers through his hair and pulling him away from you. "Bro, you could never ruin this. I'll always want you, Gyu." "First of all, don't call me bro ever again. I will cry." He furrows his brows, pushing your shoulder lightly. You stick your tongue out at him, before pressing a kiss to his forehead. He pouts, bringing your face closer to his before kissing your lips gently, feeling you smile into it as you nip at his lip.
"Second of all?" You murmur, and he blinks, pushing you back slightly.
Mingyu huffs, his fingers dancing across your bare thighs before he yanks your skirt down slightly. "It's late. Hansol is probably wondering where you are." "He's not my father, you know." "He's your roommate, it's courtesy."
"So…you're not going to take me back to your apartment tonight?" Your voice is soft, and Mingyu's eyes widen as you tug at the collar of his shirt. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out as your fingers move to tug the hem of his shirt out from under his jeans. His cheeks flush in the moonlight as he allows you to untuck his shirt, your fingers slipping under the soft fabric and tugging at his belt.
"Y/N." "Just wanna see. Wanna feel you."
He rolls his eyes, his cheeks beet red as he lets you slip your hands up his shirt. You don't miss the way he shudders lightly as your fingers ghost over his skin. Pushing the fabric up, your eyes take in the expanse of his softly chiseled stomach, the dip between his pecs. You lean forward slightly, pressing your lips to the warm skin above his heart, earning a soft groan from Mingyu's throat.
"You're quite the temptress, you know." He murmurs, his hand moving to swipe your hair out of your face. You lean into his touch as he holds your face softly, his thumb toying with your bottom lip. You kiss it chastely, before he leans forward, capturing your lips with his.
His arm wraps around your waist as his hand tangles in your hair, holding you in place as he kisses you how he likes – slow, passionate, sloppy as he pushes your chest against his. Your arms wrap around his shoulders again, absently rolling your hips against his. Mingyu whines right into your mouth, only fueling the fire in the pit of your belly.
"Y/N." He sighs against your lips, but it comes out more breathy than it usually would. You don't respond, kissing him as his fingers push the hem of your skirt up further and further up your thighs. You can feel your underwear start sticking to you uncomfortably as his hands circle your thighs, pushing you harder against his growing bulge before he suddenly pulls back from your lips. "We're in public. We could get caught." "Star football player caught fornicating with his girlfriend on Lovers' Peak. More at eleven." Mingyu scoffs, pinching your thigh playfully. "Girlfriend, huh?" "I don't kiss my friends, Mingyu." You say pointedly, before gesturing at his hands high on your thighs. "I also don't let my friends take my clothes off." He sighs, "You could at least let me ask you. You're half naked on my lap and we're not even in the privacy of my bedroom." "Then take me home, Mingyu." You roll your eyes, tugging on his shirt. "Take me home and we can figure this all out there." He eyes you, making your own give him an expectant look.
"Will you spend the night?" "Yes." "Will I have to kick Wonwoo out?" "Yes."
You huff, tapping the watch on your wrist. You move to get up, but his hands on your thighs move to hold your hips, pulling you closer to him. Your hands grab his shoulders for balance, and he looks up at you with a shy smile on his lips. "Will you be my girlfriend? Please?" You grin, "Star Football player becomes an Omega on Lo-" "Nevermind." "No! Wait, please. I'll be your girlfriend, I will."
You kiss Mingyu before he can refute it, feeling his pout against your lips.
"Kiss me back, you twerp." "You called me an omega." "Would it be better if I said you're my omega?" You wiggle your eyebrows, and he scoffs, lightly smacking the outside of your thigh. From the blush on his cheeks, you can tell all is forgiven – but it doesn't stop you from kissing his cheek softly. "Take me home, baby."
"Y/N, I SAID I WAS SORRY. CAN'T YOU TELL HOW SORRY I AM?"
"You outed me to the love of my life." You mutter as you stuff your laptop back into your tote.
The weekend had passed, and you and Mingyu didn't have to worry about kicking Wonwoo out of the apartment – he'd actually gone on a date that night and spent the weekend at her apartment. Hansol obviously didn't question when you got home the next afternoon, but had been surprised at the deep frown on your face and how you avoided him through Monday afternoon.
"You're telling me Mingyu didn't feel the same?" Hansol's jaw dropped as you tongued your cheek, even bringing forth some tears. "No, Hansol." You grumbled, shoving your Spotlight of the Season paperwork into his hands. Hansol has a guilty look in his eyes as he groans.
“I’m sorry, Y/N.”
Hansol is pouting as you finish packing up your bag, trying your hardest to bite back your laughter. You glance over your shoulder to see him unwrapping a lollipop and shoving it in his mouth before opening his laptop. Smirking to yourself, you make your best attempt as a discontented sigh, shoving your bag over your shoulder.
“You’ll get my rec letter in, right?” “Yes.” “And you’ll proofread my column by tonight?”
“That means taking this home, you know how I feel about that.” He mutters, tapping his fingers on the blank cover page of your paperwork. You give him a pointed look as you cross your arms over your chest.
“You take it home and do it, or I’m telling the landlord that it’s not actually our neighbor smoking all that weed.” You scoff, and he sighs.
“Bunny, I said I was sorry! How was I supposed to know he’d react that way? I mean, the guy is practically all over you anyway!” Hansol huffs, and you’re opening your mouth to speak when you hear someone clear their throat in the doorway of the office.
Hansol winces, and you glance over your shoulder to see Mingyu leaning against the doorframe. He’s wearing a tight, white shirt and your favorite black jeans on him, with a watch you gave him a few years ago as a high school graduation gift. His letterman is flung over his shoulder and he’s spinning a football in his other hand.
He raises his brow at the silent scene, watching as you skirt around the desk and yank open the drawer, stealing two lollipops. Hansol doesn’t even argue, just sighs as he cowers behind his laptop.
“Should I be concerned?” Mingyu asks you as you near him, and you shake your head as you hold a lollipop out to him. Hansol is peering over the top of his laptop as a confused Mingyu presses a kiss to your hairline — but it’s not enough to make him suspicious about the weekend itinerary.
“I want my column reviewed by the time I get home, Hansol.” “Y/N, this is agony. At this rate, you’ll be home before I am!” “Now you know how I felt! Get to it!”
Mingyu snorts, shaking his head as you skirt out of the office. He bids a gentle goodbye to the younger man, who only sighs in response.
“You’re awful to that kid, you know.”
You smile as you wrap your hand around his bicep, unwrapping your lollipop as you shrug. “He taunted me with my recommendation letter! He said if I didn't confess to you in seventy-two hours, he wasn’t going to send my letter and I’d miss my opportunity at a great internship, Gyu.”
“So you should be thanking him, because technically you haven’t confessed shit.”
“I’m your girlfriend, I think that's enough of a confession.”
“Mmh.” He nods, biting back his smile as he slides his hand into yours, squeezing softly. “What do you wanna do? Practice was canceled, I have no upcoming projects. Wonwoo’s asleep on the couch at home, though, so my place is off the table.”
You glance up at him, huffing out a laugh as you shake your head.
“What makes you think I’m free?”
“It’s a Monday afternoon. You usually con me into buying you dinner, we eat in your bedroom. We watch movies before you kick me out because you say I snore.”
“Actually it’s because you sleep shirtless, and I was a wimp back then.”
Mingyu laughs heartily, letting go of your hand to ruffle your hair. You swat at his hand, scoffing as he wraps it around your shoulders and pulls you closer to him. You rest your head on the side of his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist as you look up at him.
“My place is free.”
“Mmh, maybe you can read me the Spotlight of The Season column you wrote about that guy.”
“Oh, that guy? You mean Kim Mingyu? God, that guy is so cool. Did you know he has omega eyes?” You feign excitement as you taunt him, making him roll his eyes and pinch your cheek.
“Tell me you didn’t put that in the column.”
“Are you crazy? Why would I expose my hot, sexy, cool boyfriend for being a down-bad simp? That’s just not fair to me, they already want you.”
“Yeah, well.” He sighs, his thumb gently stroking your cheek as the parking lot comes into view, his old truck shining in the setting sun. “I only want you.”
You don’t respond, feeling your cheeks warm as you make your way to the parking lot. He opens your door as he usually does, but lingers as you climb up and put on your seatbelt. He gingerly takes the lollipop from your lips, making you roll your eyes as he silently asks for a kiss. You give in, you’re sure you always will give in to those puppy eyes and pouty lips — when he pulls away and steals your lollipop.
“Easy.” He smiles as he shuts your door, leaving you to sulk into your seat as he rounds the car. He hops into the driver’s seat, your green apple lollipop lodged between his lips as he cranks the ignition.
“Read the column, I want to know what you chose to put in.” He speaks again as he pulls out of his spot, and you snicker to yourself as you pull your phone out.
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
You begin to read it calmly, ignoring the incessant buzzing of Hansol’s flooding messages.
NEW! Msg From: Sol ☀️👽 [4:32PM] dude [4:32PM] ur such a liar [4:33PM] i would say i hate u but im happy for u bro [4:34PM] i’m omw home tho
Msg To: Sol ☀️👽 [4:35PM] find somewhere else to go 🫶🏼
NEW! Msg From: Sol ☀️👽 [4:36PM] bro
SPOTLIGHT OF THE SEASON — NO. 97, KIM MINGYU. BY Y/N Y/L/N. FRIDAY, OCTOBER 10. 8-MINUTE READ | UPDATED: 5:39PM.
Author’s Note: Typically, I reserve the interview questions and responses for myself. However, I’ve decided to share this snippet in order to settle some rumors and ruffle a few feathers. I have also made this column a bit more personal, with the permission of my editor.
No. 97 on the field but No.1 in my heart — I love you, Kim Mingyu.
——————————————————————————————————
— INTERVIEW #53 —
Y: This is Y/N, starting Interview No.53 for Kim Mingyu, Spotlight column. Testing, one, two. KMG: Letting you know right now, I have to pee.
— INTERIM BREAK —
— INTERVIEW #54 —
Y: This is Y/N, starting Interview No.54 for Kim Mingyu, Spotlight column. Testing, one, two. KMG: [laughter] Y: Hello, Kim Mingyu. Welcome back to the Hawk Review Committee. KMG: Has the interview part always been this awkward? Y: Suddenly I’m your girlfriend and you forget how to talk to me? KMG: Babe, don’t put that in. We have to hard-launch before it gets published on Friday. Y: Honey. I love you. KMG: Okay, just a little snippet. Y: [laughter] Okay. Can I at least make those cheesy puns football girlfriends make? KMG: [laughter] Your world, baby. I’m just living in it. I love you.
KIM MINGYU has long been the subject of my articles. Long-winded columns full of my affections, hidden behind words far too long to be understood by the average mind. A lot of readers would call it hyperbole, would call it ‘purple prose’, but I consider my pieces about Mingyu to be the most authentic works I’ve ever written. There is something about enjoying the information I am spreading — to talk about somebody I care about, to air his successes and see other people enjoy who he is. To walk around campus and understand that though Mingyu may be my best friend, he is also a friend to others. He is a helping hand, he is smart and thoughtful.
In his college career, Kim Mingyu has made incredible Hawk history. He is the only quarterback to not be injured during a single game, and he and the Seoul Hawks are taking home the championship trophy come Saturday night. Be sure to buy your tickets from Jimin and Jungkook!
Kim Mingyu has been an inspiration to many, including myself. Take Apartment of A Lonely Soul: being displayed at the Museum of Arts, his piece has contributed to ending the stigma of allowing self-doubt to wallow in the mind and finding comfort in being alone and making decisions that may not seem feasible. I remember when I nervously asked him if he had submitted it to be displayed in the gallery — without a second thought, he replied: Why wouldn't I?
Kim Mingyu's unshakeable confidence has always brought comfort to others. He has time and time again shown that he is reliable, a pillar in our community. He has shown up for me countless of times — whether it is to soothe my damaged ego or celebrate my milestones, he is always there for those he cares about.
His mistakes are also something he takes in stride. He can admit when he is wrong and when he needs help — he’s come to my apartment for study nights that have left his head spinning. He called me when his car battery died on him last spring, and I walked six miles with our friends and jumper cables to wave down some random on the road. I remember how he made our friends sit in the bed of the truck, but sat me right next to him in the cab.
In tune with confidence, he wears his intelligence and care with pride. A true team player, a student that sets the standard and wonderful friend: there will never be another Kim Mingyu.
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◈ adorable and insufferable // joshua hong
joshua x gn!reader, 1.5k+ words
tags: sick fic, fluff, crack, established relationship, joshua makes small snuffly bunny noises when he's sick
warnings: food mention at the end
notes: for his birthday present, i give him a cold. as you can see, i love him very much.
Your boyfriend is sick.
He is, also, an absolutely terrible liar.
That leads you to the situation right now, where you’ve cornered Joshua in the kitchen, hands on your hips, a bunny spa headband pushing your hair back, and it’s not the most intimidating sight but Joshua gulps all the same, eyes darting around the kitchen nervously.
He’s looking for an escape route. You can see it in his eyes, clear as day, so you step even closer, voice dangerously calm as you speak.
“No, keep your eyes on me,” you say, face set into an angry frown. “Shua.”
Joshua looks at you, and tries not to breathe too weirdly. “Um. Y/N?”
You look him up and down, and then slowly fold your arms. “Shua,” you say again. “Are you sick?”
He blinks rapidly, and then has to stop, because it makes his head feel all woozy. “No?” he tries, and then coughs a little. He’ll claim it was out of nervousness, because you look kind of terrifying right now, but your eyes immediately widen at the sound, and he knows he’s busted.
“You are!” Instantly, you lunge for him as he tries to dive past you and escape this interrogation. “Joshua, come back! You’re sick!”
“I’m not! I’m not, I swear I’m not,” he insists, trying to pull away from the iron grip you’ve clasped around his wrist. Resistance is futile, though. You’re not letting him go, now that him and his wellbeing are involved. “Y/N, baby, please, I’m totally fine.”
“No you’re not,” you say firmly, and then begin dragging your whining boyfriend out the kitchen and towards the stairs.
“I—” He sneezes, then, a loud and wet sneeze that scrapes at his throat and makes his eyes water, and he pauses, shocked. He sniffles, rubbing his nose. “Okay. Maybe I am.”
You shake your head, partly exasperated, partly fond, and continue pulling Joshua up the stairs.
He’s been shuffling around the house looking mildly ill all day, and you’ve been waiting for the right moment to pounce on him and get him up to bed. Because Joshua, when he gets sick, utterly refuses to give in and accept that he’s coming down with something, always waiting until the last moment to finally admit defeat to whatever illness has plagued him this time.
By the time you’re opening the bedroom door and ushering Joshua inside, he’s looking considerably worse than before, face all flushed and eyes watering from the sudden coughing fit he had while coming up the stairs.
“Come on, baby,” you coax, tucking him into bed. You press a hand to his forehead, a little alarmed and a little amused by how quickly he managed to look severely ill during the short walk upstairs. “Sleep.”
“I can still function, you know,” he insists as you pull the covers over him. “I can—I can do things.”
“I’d rather you not,” you say, smoothing down his hair and tucking away a few stray strands. You shake your head in faux disappointment. “I knew you’d get sick from all those days where you went out wearing all those thin layers in winter. What were you thinking?”
Joshua huffs petulantly. “It’s called fashion.”
“It’s called making yourself sick,” you return, and then chuckle at his pout. Leaning down, you press a quick kiss to his forehead, brushing a finger over his cheek fondly. “Now sleep. You’re going to feel way worse tomorrow if you don’t.”
He grumbles, but there’s a small smile on his face as he bids you goodbye and asks you to shut the door properly on the way out.
───────────── 💗
Your boyfriend is very, very self-sufficient. He tries not to bother other people with his struggles and his concerns, but he’s also very terrible at hiding it away when someone asks him directly if everything’s okay.
He’s also really weak in the face of attention.
Which means that while he’s very self-sufficient, the moment you notice he’s unwell and call him out on it, he melts instantly and gets taken over by his sickness so quickly that it surprises you every time.
Slowly, you creak open the bedroom door, peering inside to see Joshua staring blankly up at the ceiling. His head snaps towards you as you walk across the room, but his eyes are all glassy.
“Y/N?” he murmurs, and all he’s said is your name but it’s like he’s speaking through a ball of cotton.
“Yes, it’s me,” you say, smiling a little, because his eyes positively shine when you confirm it. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you place a damp towel over his forehead, feeling his cheek with the back of your hand, and wince a little at how warm he is. “Goodness me, Shua, you’re burning up.”
“No, I’m not,” he murmurs. “You’re burning up.”
You smile a little, pinching his cheek lightly. “If you were this sick, then why didn’t you say anything, hm? You should’ve told me earlier.”
“I’m not that sick. I can still do stuff,” he says, eyes falling shut just slightly as you begin stroking his hair, a relaxing movement. “Hey, hey, Y/N, watch this.”
“Hm?” You stop stroking his hair, sitting back and waiting patiently.
There’s a long silence, and then Joshua cracks an eye open to look at you. He looks expectant—well, as expectant as a person with an extremely high fever can look—but when you don’t say anything, a small frown creases his brow.
“Didn’t you see it?”
“See what, baby?”
“The cartwheels. I did cartwheels.”
The statement is so absurd that you think he’s joking, but his face is set into such a serious pout that you can’t help but laugh a little, because there's something about fever-drowsed Joshua that is so adorable.
“You didn’t do any cartwheels, baby,” you say gently, and go back to stroking his hair. “You didn’t even get up.”
Joshua frowns, the pout deepening. “Oh.” His eyes close, and then open again. “I did them in my head, though. I’m sure I did.”
Cute, you think helplessly, unable to stop the smile spreading across the face. “Okay.” You kiss his nose. “I believe you. But I’m gonna go get you something to drink and eat, and then you’re gonna take some meds, okay?”
He makes a small noise of discontent when you get up, and then coughs, giving a pathetic sniffle like a sad little bunny, and you almost want to just stay next to him and never leave his side.
“You’re gonna need to take the meds to get better faster,” you say at the door. “I’ll be back soon, promise. Wait here.”
Joshua makes that sad noise again, but he watches you go. “Okay,” he says, all mumbly. “I promise not to cartwheel away.”
You laugh a little, because good lord, he’s so adorable. “Okay. I’m trusting you, alright?”
“Mhm.”
You close the door and walk down the stairs, shaking your head fondly.
───────────── 💗
It’s only several days later that his fever finally lets up, and he’s well enough to walk around the house once more. You wake up to Joshua in the kitchen, a blanket around his frame, making pancakes.
“Baby?” you ask, rubbing your eyes and yawning. “What are you doing?”
Joshua turns to you, and then grins, eyes crinkling fondly. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says, and deposits the last pancake onto a plate. “I’m making you breakfast, of course. Here. Eat up. Want some french toast too?”
“Wh—huh?” you say, incredibly intelligently, slowly sliding into the seat that, like the gentleman he is, Joshua had pulled out for you. “Why?”
“It’s a thank-you present, obviously,” Joshua says, as he busies himself making french toast. As if the pancakes and spread of fresh fruit and waffles (he cooked waffles too?) aren’t enough. “I’ve been insufferable over the past few days.”
You chuckle a little, thinking of Joshua insisting he can do cartwheels while you try to spoon feed him soup. “Yeah, you have. But I didn’t mind. You’re my boyfriend. Of course I’m gonna put up with you.”
Joshua laughs. “Thank you, Y/N. What would I do without you?”
“You’d be dead without me,” you say, incredibly seriously, and it makes Joshua laugh again. His eyes are still a little puffed up, but he beams at you, all full of life, and it makes you grin too.
“You’re totally right,” he says, and leans over to peck you on the cheek. “I love you.”
You smile, taking hold of his chin and bringing him down to press a longer kiss to his lips. “I love you more.”
Joshua quirks a grin at that, kissing your forehead for good measure before going back to the bread. “Let’s not start that argument again. Eat your pancakes, sweetheart, before they get cold.”
You look over at him as he busies himself making yet more food, and it makes you a little dizzy, really, just how much Joshua loves you. And how much you love him in return. Even when he’s doing cartwheels in his head and insisting he’s doing them in real life.
“Hey, now you’re all better, you can do those cartwheels you kept wanting to do.”
“Really? Should I?”
“Yeah! I bet I can do them better though.”
“Oh, you’re on.”
fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @sakufilms @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @raevyng @isabellah29
THROUGH THE CHERRY SEASONS | h.js
A TALE OF FIVE DESTINED ENCOUNTERS of fated lovers who meet through different seasons of spring and the amazing love story that came from it.
PAIRING: idol!joshua x fem!reader GENRE: Soulmate AU, Strangers to Childhood Friends to Strangers to Lovers, Tooth Rotting Fluff AU: Spring AU/ Idol AU/ Soulmate AU TOTAL WC: 11.9K FIC WARNINGS: mentions of getting lost, parents leaving the child behind on accident (not descriptive), mentions of getting married, talks about the future, one tiny mention of a stalker (reader thinks that joshua is a stalker but he isn't), a mention of dying/death (reader thought joshua was dangerous but he isn't, he is a lover boy) PLAYLIST: under the cherry blossoms
LIV'S NOTES... hello! sorry that i disappeared for so long! i am slowly (but surely) making my return very very soon! but this is a fic for @dorereef Spring Collaboration! thank you to our lovely admins for hosting this collab and if you haven't already, please be sure to check out all the other works under this collaboration! (which i will be doing and reblogging as well when my school is out this week!)
special thank you to @jakedustry for beta-reading this like the champ she is. for my loves @orbitondgtl @cherrymayz @dollhoonki @jaylaxies @filmsbyun @gyuzies @saccharinezennie for sprinting with me and spurring me on to complete this fic! this fic would not have been possible without the many of you <3
without further ado! let's get onto lover boy joshua!! (ps: this fic is completely separate from written in the stars! i just love soulmate aus x idolverse aus lol!)
Check out the other Spring Fics -> The Reef In Bloom
MAIN MASTERLIST | NAVI
THE CHILDHOOD PROMISE
Joshua would say that a part of him always felt like something was missing.
At the age of eight, he remembers traveling to Seoul for the first time with his mother. It was a spontaneous trip, something that his mother had decided just a week before. However, Joshua was young and going anywhere felt like a new journey.
As he held onto his mother's hand, he remembers his eyes widening at the sight of all the cherry blossoms in the park and pointing them out to his mother.
"Mum! Look!" He said, glancing upwards towards his mother. "There's so many of them!"
His mother laughed as Joshua tugged her towards the trees, eager to get a closer look. A breeze swept through the park, making the cherry blossoms sway as a couple of loose ones fell around the two of them.
Joshua pulled his hand away from his mothers as he began jumping up and down, trying to catch a few, intrigued by how pretty the blossoms looked. His mother watched, her smile widening more if possible as she felt her heart swell at how cute her son looked at this moment. His tiny bunny hops increasing by the minute as he kept reaching for a singular cherry blossom to land in his hand.
Her hand covered her mouth as she tried her best not to giggle at Joshua's little disappointed grunts, each time the cherry blossom floating past his hand. She wondered how long it will take for him to give up on his quest and pick one up from the ground instead. However, she knew her son well enough to know that Joshua was never one to let adversity get him down, that he was stubborn enough to continue until he got his way.
A trait that he no doubt picked up from her.
Joshua, oblivious to his mother's stares, stopped his jumps, trying to figure out how to complete his mission. He gazed at the falling blossoms before his eyes locked onto two that were coming right towards him. He narrowed his eyes and bent his knees before he jumped as high as he could, his hands reaching out as high as he could, feeling as if they were going to rip out of their sockets before clenching his fists so hard, he knew his hands were going to turn red.
Joshua's mother watched as her son missed his footing and landed on his bum with a hard thump, making her eyes widen as she raced over to him.
"Joshua?!" His mother exclaimed as she reached his side and crouched down beside him. Her eyes darted from his face to his bum and legs as she assessed him for any injuries. "Are you alright?!"
Joshua, however, didn't hear any of his mother's questions and just peered at his hand. His heart pulsed hard in anticipation as he slowly opens both his hands, feeling something in both of them.
His eyes widen, lighting up as he feels the silky smooth petals in both his palm as his endorphins skyrocket.
He whipped his head up to meet his mother's eyes, giving her a slight shock at the big grin on his face.
He eagerly shoved his hands in-front of her eyes, making his mother's head tilt backwards as she peered at the light pink petal in one of his hands and two white ones in the other.
"I got them!" Joshua said giddily, his hands animatedly swaying a little from the excitement that was rushing through his veins. "I actually got them!"
His mother's face changed to one of relief and amusement, feeling the worry seep away from her veins from her little boy's bright grin as he showcased the flowers in his hands. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding as she helped Joshua stand up, dusting off his pants as he did.
"Be more careful next time." Joshua heard his mother mutter as she gave him one last look. "You almost gave me a heart attack."
Joshua furrowed his eyebrows at her words, a frown on his lips as he felt a little bit of guilt seep into his veins. "I'm sorry." He softly said, his doe eyes shimmering which makes his mother sigh as she shook her head.
"It's alright, sweetheart." She said, brushing his hair softly.
"I just wanted to catch one to give to you because it was pretty." Joshua muttered, his eyes flitting down to his shoes for a split second as he lifted the hand with the pink petal in it, stretching it towards his mother.
Her heart warmed at the sight as she watched Joshua gnaw on his bottom lip nervously. She reached out and took the cherry blossom in between her fingers, a small smile appearing on her face as she did so.
"You're such a sweet boy, Joshua." She softly stated, her eyes pricking a little with tears as she watched Joshua peer upwards at her.
"Really?" He asked softly, his doe eyes melting his mother more which made her nod, her smile getting bigger by the second.
"Really." She placed her hands on her knees as she stood up, stretching a little as she does. She spotted an ice cream cart not too far from them, giving her an idea. "And since you're so sweet," She peered downwards to her son. "I think you deserve a sweet treat. Don't you agree?"
Joshua's eyes widened at her words, spotting what his mother was talking about as he nodded excitedly. Joshua's mother lets out a laugh at how excited he was.
"How about you sit down underneath the cherry blossom tree and wait for me?" His mother suggested sweetly as she gestured towards the tree that was not too far away from where they were standing. "I'll be back in ten minutes."
Joshua nodded frivolously at his mother's words before he sprinted towards the tree and plopped himself onto the ground, eager to please his mother as he excitedly waited for his sweet treat.
He brings up his right hand that held the two white petals that he caught before, pride blooming in his chest as he felt the texture in between his fingers. He smiled, feeling the smoothness of the petals as he peered up to take in what the world had to offer.
The birds were chirping, the petals were gracefully falling and he felt as though he was on top of the world. Nothing was going to break the serene, peaceful environment that he was in.
"MUMMY? DADDY?"
Except for that.
Joshua jumped, hearing the yells as he whipped his head around to the source with his eyebrows furrowed.
Who was doing all that god-awful yelling?
That was when he noticed you.
You looked around his age, maybe a year or two younger than he was, in a fluffy polka-dotted skirt with a pink unicorn top as well as… bunny ears?
Joshua frowned at the weird get-up, not knowing why you were doing all this yelling before he noticed that you were crying. The realization made him frown even more as he analyzed you. Why were you crying?
He watched you clutch the bunny that you had in your hands, tighter to your chest as you sniffled and looked around anxiously.
Joshua's eyebrows furrowed even more as his emotions wrestled internally at the sight. Should be go up and talk to you?
His answer came to him as he heard you let out another watery yell, this one more distressed than the last which pushed away all thought of going back to pretending as if he didn't see you. Because that's not how his mother had raised him to be.
He stood up, dusted off his pants just like his mother did a few minutes ago before he walked over to you, concern etched onto his face with a frown to tie it all together.
You, on the other hand, were trapped in your own world. You didn't know how you had gotten here. One moment, you were holding hands with your mother and your father, admiring all the cherry blossom trees, the next, you were all alone. You did get slightly distracted by something that looked an awful lot like a bunny and left them but you were smart! You retraced your steps as your parents had taught you but when you had reached the cherry blossom tree that they were at, they weren't there.
Panic had started coursing through your veins at the thought of being left behind, making tears prick your eyes as you called out for them. You were tired, hungry, and just wanted to go home at this point. You rubbed away a few stray tears, ready to give up when a voice broke all your thoughts.
"Are you alright?"
You jumped at the sudden voice, whipping around to see a boy with the prettiest doe eyes that you've ever seen, dressed in a comfortable woolly jacket that was a little too big for him, denim jeans as well as some really cute sneakers. You looked at his face and how concerned he looked before shaking your head in response.
"No." You sniffled out. "I can't find my parents."
Joshua's eyes widened in response as he started to whip his head in every direction, trying to see if there were any distressed parents who were looking for you, as you had just been looking for them.
"Where did you last see them?" He asked softly.
"Under this tree." You admitted, hugging your bunny impossibly tighter to your chest as you tried to soothe your nerves. "I was bad... I saw this bunny and ran off when they weren't looking so it's all my fault."
Joshua frowned more at the admittance as he stepped closer to you before bringing you into a hug, just like his mother had taught him to do whenever he saw someone that was upset. He felt you soak his woolly sweater a little with your tears but he didn't care at that point. All he saw was this sad and scared little girl who needed a hug.
He pulled away, making you peer up at him with your boba shaped eyes.
"I am sure they are looking for you!" Joshua reassured before gesturing over to the tree. "Do you want to wait with me? My mom will be back soon with ice cream!"
Your eyes widened at that, "Ice cream?" You asked, hope in your tone which made the boy nod eagerly before taking your free hand into his and flashed you a gigantic, handsome grin.
"Let's go!"
He tugged you back to his spot under the tree as he plopped back down onto the ground before he pat the empty space next to him, a gesture that he wanted you to take a seat as well. You sit, placing your stuffed bunny on your lap, fidgeting slightly with the ears when Joshua spoke up again.
"My name is Joshua and I am eight years old this year!" He introduced, the smile on his face never fading as he held up eight fingers for you to see, just to solidify his point. You repeated his name making Joshua's smile grow even wider as he nodded at your pronunciation. "What's yours?"
You chewed on your bottom lip before softly telling him your name and that you're six years old this year. He repeated it, just like you had done before with his.
"That's a really cool name!" He admitted making your cheeks flush a little at tho boy in-front of you, who seemed so excited at just any words that leave your mouth.
"Thank you." You responded shyly, your hands still fidgeting with the bunny ears. Joshua buzzed a little with excitement at the fact that he had made a new friend, his mother would be so proud of him!
"We're friends now!" He said, nodding with a big smile on his face as your heart soars at the thought of making a new friends, your nerves slowly melting away.
Joshua gave you a once over before pointing to your bunny. "Does your bunny have a name?"
You glanced downwards to the stuffed toy in your hands before looking back up at him and nodding. "Her name is Penny." Joshua smiled at you as you outstretched your arms out to him with Penny in them, letting him have a better look at your support toy. "My mummy got him for me when she went to America last week!"
Joshua's eyes widened, "Wait really?!" He asked, excitedly scooting closer to you. You nod, a little confused by his outburst.
"I'm from America! My mummy and I are here on holiday!" He watches as your eyes widen at his words, your jaw dropping open.
"That's so cool!" You managed to get out, making the boy nod along with your words. He watched you fidget with the bunny ears once more before pointing upwards at the trees.
"Do you like the pretty trees?" Joshua asked as he peered upwards to see more cherry blossoms failing over the top of your heads as another gust of wind blew past.
You eyes lit up a little at the question as you nodded. "My mummy said that they're called cherry blossoms." You stated, peering upwards as well to look at the pretty blossoms that were cascading downwards. "She also said that there are over two hundred different ones!"
Joshua's eyes widened at your fun fact as his jaw dropped open slightly. "Two hundred??" It was a lot for his little eight-year old brain to comprehend. "That's more than the numbers that we learn in class!"
You let out a giggle, caught off-guard at the exclamation which made Joshua's heart soar more. He made you laugh! He was pleased with himself, he was doing everything that his mother had taught him about being a good gentleman.
Joshua continues on his tangent, distracting you as you shared more fun facts about the spring season with him. You giggling every once in a while which spurred Joshua on more. Your nerves and panic slowly seeped away from your veins as you continued to talk to Joshua, getting more and more interested about the boy in-front of you.
"Do you live here in Seoul?" Joshua asked, making you nod.
"I live pretty close to the park." You softly admitted, looking up to scan at the different buildings before pointing in a direction. "Over that way!"
Joshua's eyes widened at your admittance before his hand flew to yours to tug it back down. "You can't tell people where you live!"
Your eyebrows furrowed. "I'm not telling people… I'm telling you."
Joshua shook his head at your words. "But what if I'm a total stranger! You shouldn't be going around telling people that."
"But aren't we friends?" You asked softly, tilting your head to the side and making Joshua's heart jump a little. He internally frowned at that motion, unsure of why his heart was acting this way but he pushed it away in-order to correct you.
"We are!" He corrected, raising his hands in surrender, scared that you were about to cry once again. "But you shouldn't tell people that."
Your eyebrows furrowed even more, opening your mouth as you were about to retort when a woman's voice interrupts you.
"Shua, here's your ice— oh!" The two of you turned towards the sound of the voice, seeing Joshua's mother stood there with two cups of ice-cream in her hand. "Who is this?"
Joshua smiled before gesturing towards you proudly. "My new friend!" He admitted making you nod shyly as he tells his mother your name.
His mother looked between the two of you before giving you a smile. "Nice to meet you!" She said softly as she passed Joshua his ice-cream. "Where are your parents, sweetheart?"
Joshua watched as your smile dropped before going back to fidgeting with the bunny ears before he turned to his mother. "She lost her parents a little while ago." He admitted softly, glancing at you as he said it, hoping that it wouldn't set you off crying again.
His mother's expression changed to one of understanding. "Ah… I see." She turned to you, crouching down to your height, her eyes filled with empathy as she analyzed you. "Do you know their phone number by any chance, sweetheart? Anything that we could use to call them?"
You thought for a moment before nodding your head. "I know my daddy's number." You softly admitted which made Joshua's mother's eyes light up.
"Wow! You're such a smart girl." She cooed, patting your head as she took a quick glance at Joshua. "I've been trying to get Shua to remember my number for over a year now and he still forgets."
"Mom!" Joshua whined, making you giggle as his mother shoot you a wink and handed you her phone for you to put your father's number into before she turned to her son.
"But it's the truth!"
Joshua pouted at his mother's words but it cracked slightly as he watched you giggle, feeling his heart warm at the sight of your toothy smile.
He glanced down towards the cup of chocolate ice-cream in his hands before outstretching it out to you. "Would you like to share?"
He watched you blink in surprise. "You want to share with me?"
Joshua nodded eagerly at your question. "Of course! We're friends now." He said, scooting a little closer to you. "Being friends means that we share everything! Including ice-cream." He glanced up at his mother. "Isn't that right, mum?"
His mother felt pride bloom in her chest at her son's words and actions before she nodded. "That's right, sweetheart."
Joshua smiled at his mother's answer before placing the cup of ice-cream between the two of you and offered you the first bite. You shyly take the spoon from him before you scooped up a small bit of the ice-cream and placed it into your mouth.
Your eyes widen at the burst of sweet flavours coating your tongue as Joshua let out a giggle as he watched you take more of the ice-cream before playfully telling you that you needed to share.
His mother's heart warmed at the sight of the two of you sharing that singular cup of chocolate ice-cream. She felt her lips tick upwards, a small smile gracing her face before she dialed the number on her phone.
Not more than twenty minutes later, your parents arrived, their faces etched with relief at the sight of you happily playing with a boy who looked slightly older than you were.
"Bunny!" The childhood nickname and voice made you perk up as you turned to see your parents race towards you. You jumped up, your heart beating fast as you met them halfway and jumped into your mother's warm embrace.
Your mother cried a little as she patted your head, smoothing out your hair as your father went up to Joshua's mother, shaking her hand and rapidly thanking her for taking such good care of their daughter.
Joshua felt himself internally wrestle with the feelings in his chest. He was happy that your parents were here to get you and you looked so relived that they did, but he wasn't sure if he was ever going to see you again. Him and his mother were leaving back to LA in a few days and they had a lot of plans.
A slight tug at his sweater brought him out of his thoughts as he noticed you were standing right in-front of him, your head tilted to the side as you gave him a quizzical look.
"Are you okay?" You asked, your voice soft and sweet which brought a smile to Joshua's face as he nodded, obscuring his sad emotions and thoughts from you.
"Of course!" He hummed out, glancing behind you to see your parents and his mother talking. "I'm glad your parents are here."
You nodded, a small smile on your face as silence enveloped the two of you.
"Will I ever see you again?" You asked him softly, your eyes locked with his as they shimmered with a pretty sparkle sheen. Joshua felt his heart sink at the question, knowing that he had just wondered that a few minutes ago before you brought him out from his thoughts.
"I'm not sure…" Joshua answered honestly, making you nod, a little sadly, a small pout forming on your lips. Joshua gave you a once over as your eyes stayed locked on your shoes, obviously a little sad that you had to go and you might never see the doe-eyed boy again when he got an idea.
He fished around his sweater pockets and pulled out the two white cherry blossoms that he had caught earlier in the day.
"Here." He said softly, outstretching one of the petals towards you. Your eyes widened as you glanced upwards at the taller boy. "Something to remember me by." You shakily take the petal from Joshua, running your fingers across the petals gently as Joshua held up his own.
"See, now we're matching." Joshua told you, a small on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. You continue to stare at the petal, stoning a little which made Joshua a little nervous. "Don't tell me you're going to miss me already?" Joshua joked, trying to lighten the mood as his nerves spiked from how you weren't looking at him.
He wanted to add on another light jab to lighten the mood when you surprised him by wrapping your arms around him, nearly tackling him to the ground. He let out a grunt as you hit his chest with a hard thud, almost knocking the air out his chest as he stabilized the two of you.
Joshua slowly wrapped his arms around you, feeling the sad emotions that he tried to push away, overwhelm him a little more as he felt your warmth envelope him.
"I'm going to miss you." He heard you mutter out, slightly muffled as you bury your head deeper into his woolly sweater. He sighed, burying his face into your hair.
"I'll miss you too, Bunny." He whispered out, using the nickname that he heard your mother call you by. It was really apt for you, with how soft spoken you were, how you quietly observed everything around you. Joshua couldn't help but feel that the nickname was just meant for you. That the word was designed just for you.
"Tell you what." Joshua started softly, pulling away from you a little to see your face. "For as long as you keep that petal." He gestured to the white cherry blossom in your hand. "I will always find you."
Your eyes widened at his words before you pulled away completely, lifting your hand up to the boy, with your pinky being the only finger out, waiting for the boy to give you a pinky promise.
"Swear on it!" Joshua couldn't help but laugh at the sight of you and how serious you were taking this, but, he lifted his own hand and joined his pinky with yours.
The childhood promise sealed between a six year old girl with the nickname Bunny and an eight year old boy who had eyes like Bambi.
"Can I call you Bambi?" You wondered aloud which made Joshua blink at you before he let out a soft laugh as he nodded. "Sure, Bunny."
The two of you let out a fit of giggles before your mother called for you, gesturing that you needed to go. You looked between her and your father before looking at the boy in-front of you, not wanting to leave so soon.
Joshua, however, sensed the hesitation in your figure. He didn't want you to leave yet either but it was getting late and he knew that your parents wanted to get you home and safe and make it up to you so he gave you a reassuring smile.
"You should go." He said softly, giving your head a small pat. "I'm sure your parents are taking you out to eat something really nice."
He watched you chew on your bottom lip before you nod and squeezed Joshua in one last hug before you step away from the boy.
"See you soon, Bambi."
Joshua's heart warmed at the nickname. "See you soon, Bunny."
You gave him one last glance over before you ran over to where your parents stood, taking your mother's hand into yours as Joshua's mother walked back over to his side.
You and your parents started to walk away, towards the pathway where the small stream and bridge were. Joshua felt his mother grab his hand and laced their fingers together but his focus remained on you and where you were.
He watched you take one last pause as you turned to look at him as you gave him one last wave which he returned, the smile on his face turning into a sadder one. With that, he watched you turn back around and exit the park with your parents, going the way that you had pointed out earlier when he had asked where you lived.
His heart felt heavy and he didn't know why. The two of you had just met. However, something told the eight year old boy that he would see you soon. He didn't know when or how but he had hope that he would. He had to.
"Ready to go?" His mother asked, the question gently coaxing the boy out of his thoughts. Joshua nodded, giving his mother a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Yeah." He softly admitted, letting himself take one last glance towards where you had been just moments ago. "Let's go."
Joshua felt around in his pocket as he gently caressed the white blossom in it as he and his mother exit the park. His wrist felt warm for some reason, but decided to attribute it to the sweater and moved on to wonder about something happier, like what he and his mother were going to have for dinner.
Unbeknownst to him, a few months later, he would find a small mark on his wrist that looked oddly like the white cherry blossom that he had given the little girl to make sure that she would always remember him.
What a twist of fate.
THE THING ABOUT SECOND CHANCES
The next time Joshua arrived in Seoul, he was eighteen years old.
Fresh out of high school and having just been scouted by Pledis Entertainment. He anxiously rubbed the white cherry blossom mark on his wrist, a habit that he picked up after it had appeared.
He didn't remember when it had appeared or why it did but after having so many talks with his mother and the doctor or specialist that his mother had taken him to. He had a soulmate, someone with a similar mark on their wrist.
Joshua had grown up hearing about soulmates from his mother. It wasn't uncommon to have a soulmate but only about fifty percent of the world had one. Joshua didn't know if it was luck or not to be one of the few to have one because he didn't even know who it was. He had a feeling he knew but he didn't know if he would ever see you again.
You plague his thoughts every once in a while. He isn't even sure if you remember him but he remembers you. The soft spoken girl from under the cherry blossom trees that he had given the white cherry blossom to. It had to be you and he had asked his mother to try and reach out to your father, the number having been dialed in her phone before but it seemed that when she did, your father had changed his number.
So he had lost all hope of ever getting into contact with you again. Until the Pledis global auditions came and now, he was actually in Korea.
He had been here for a few months, training tirelessly with the rest of his members and learning more Korean at the same time. It definitely wasn't as good compared to when he was younger but he felt himself getting better by the day with the help of Vernon and the other members who volunteered to teach him sometimes, in exchange for learning some english.
Safe to say, he might be doing better at learning Korean than the rest of his members who wanted to learn English. He chuckled a little at the memory as he prepared to go out for the day.
It was one of the rare few days off that the company had given them, having passed all the auditions to get into Seventeen and actually make the line-up. The company decided to give the day off before they needed to return to prepare even more tirelessly for their debut.
He fidgeted with the bracelet that his mother had given him, made out of white cherry blossom that he had caught that faithful day almost ten years ago.
"What are your plans for today?" Joshua turned, seeing Seungcheol leaning against the doorframe to his shared room with Seokmin and Seungkwan.
Joshua took a quick glance towards his wrist before his eyes flitted back up to meet Seungcheol's. "Thought about going to see the cherry blossoms today." Joshua answered coolly, a small smile on his face.
Seungcheol's eyes flit downwards to Joshua's wrist for a split second before he nodded towards it. "Hoping to see her again?"
Seungcheol and Jeonghan were the only two to know about Joshua's mysterious mark. Joshua hadn't meant for any of the members to find out, but he had been careless, and the makeup that he had put on the wrist had gotten wet by accident. He shouldn't have chosen to not use a waterproof concealer that day. It resulted in not only the general leader seeing the mark that stained his skin, but Joshua's evil twin as well.
Seungcheol and Jeonghan had pulled Joshua right after that to reapply the makeup, careful to not let the staff see them or the cherry blossom. Seungcheol shot the two of them a look which stated that they would talk about this later. Hence, Joshua instead told the both of them everything right after practice, in the safe space of Seungcheol and Jeonghan's dorm room that they shared with Mingyu and Jihoon.
The two of them had been understanding (to Joshua's delight) and also a little annoying about it (to Joshua's dismay). Jeonghan had taken the opportunity to do a small little jab every time one of the other members brought up even the idea of having a soulmate to the others.
Seungcheol would shoot a warning look towards Jeonghan the first few times it happened, but after many unsuccessful tries of getting Jeonghan to quit it, he decided to join him instead.
If you can't beat them, join them.
Joshua spared another glance towards his wrist. "Yeah." He answered truthfully. "It's been ten years but… I'm still holding out hope that I will."
Seungcheol was quiet at that, an unreadable expression on his face before he sighed. "Just… be careful." He sounds out, the double meaning of the sentence not lost on the younger man.
"I will." Joshua assured which makes Seungcheol look over him once more before nodding and leaving the room.
"Remember to bring an umbrella." Seungcheol called out from the hallway. "The forecast said that it's going to rain."
Joshua's eyebrows furrowed at his words, turning his head to look out at the bright clear sky that showed no signs of rain at all. Joshua let out a sigh as he shook his head. Seungcheol has definitely been spending too much time around Jeonghan. Hell, Jeonghan probably put him up to this to see if Joshua would actually bring an umbrella out because he knew better than to trust Jeonghan after the raincoat incident.
Joshua glanced at the umbrella at his desk before shaking his head at it and shouldering the sling bag that he had packed his camera into and wearing the bracelet that his mother made for him.
He stepped out of the dormitories, the sun greeting him with it's warm glow making him take a deep inhale of the spring air, feeling himself get more refreshed by the second. He smiled to himself as he started heading towards the park.
On a beautiful day like this… what could go wrong?
The answer was everything.
Absolutely everything.
The minute Joshua had arrived at the faithful park, the sky had dimmed and the beautiful morning that he had seen was immediately replaced with the darkest clouds the world has ever seen.
As soon as he stepped off the bus, it had started to drizzle and then it started to pour making Joshua realize that Seungcheol had been right. It was forecasted to rain today.
And when it rains, it certainly pours.
Which is how Joshua ended up here, underneath the faithful tree that had brought the two of you together that day and under the pouring rain. Spring rain was definitely a sight to see. It was his first time experiencing spring after he had moved to Korea but it was his second time overall. The first being ten years ago which was where he had discovered that he loved rain in the first place.
Joshua let out a sigh as he inhaled the smell of the rain, instantly feeling more relaxed than he did a few moments before. He really loved the rain. It was refreshing and walking in the rain was definitely an experience that makes him feel at peace.
His members called him crazy for that but there was just something about the rain that brought out the tranquility of his soul. It reminded him a lot of home and spring rain was definitely the best kind of rain that anyone can experience because April Showers had definitely become a favourite of his.
He felt the urge to go back out into the rain and just let it cascade down his body and hair when he was interrupted by the sounds of squeaky sneakers coming from behind him. He peered around the tree and noticed a girl, slightly younger than he was, dressed in a pink raincoat that had cherry blossom sketches around it and… bunny ears?
His eyebrows furrowed at the unique combination as he heard the girl huff out a breath.
"Stupid spring rain…" He heard the girl mutter as she ruffled her raincoat, trying to get the excess water off. "I normally really love you but I didn't want it to rain today…"
Joshua didn't know whether to be scared of the girl who was talking to herself but she looked like she was having a bad day. "Are you alright?"
The girl jumped at his sudden question, shocking her and himself as she places a hand over her heart.
"Geez, dude!" The girl yelled out. "Where did you come from?!"
Joshua blinked at the girl. "Erm." He looked around the two of them. "I was actually here first."
The girl blinked at him before giving him a deadpanned look. "Whatever, dude." She muttered out as she crouched down to play with the grass. "Stupid rain."
Joshua stared at the girl for a few more seconds. "Do you hate the rain or something?"
The girl scoffed at his words before shaking her head. "Not that it's any of your business." She began, poking around the grass still. "I actually really love the rain."
"Then why—"
"Because it's the start of the blossoms today." She softly admitted, picking up one of the semi-muddy cherry blossoms that had dropped off the tree because of the rain. "My mother really loves them and I wanted to take a few pictures of them to frame as a surprise for her birthday next week and today is the only free day that I have open."
Joshua took a few moments to digest the words coming out of the girl's mouth and let out a sound of understanding. "That's sweet." He said, making the girl let out a hum.
"Well, but the plan is ruined now…" She muttered out, losing more and more interest in the grass as the seconds whizz by. "I guess I won't be getting her a present this year."
Joshua frowned at the girls words, feeling slightly empathetic for the girl before his mother's teachings kicked into his being. He peered upwards at the sky, seeing it begin to clear slightly before turning back to the girl in distress.
"Does your mother like the spring rain too?" He found himself asking making the girl whip around, a frown etched onto her face as she tilted her head to the side in confusion.
"Yes." She frowned even more. "But I don't see how that would—"
"Give me your camera." Joshua finds himself saying, making the girl stare at him, slightly stunned.
"I'm sorry?" She asked, wondering if she had heard the boy wrong.
Joshua pointed at the camera in the girl's backpack. "What if we use your camera to frame you, the cherry blossoms and the ending of the spring rain in one picture?" He gestured to the clouds above as the rain starts to slow down. "The spring shower is ending soon and I think it will create the perfect opportunity for me to help you snap a photo because of the effect that the April shower will create."
He watched as the girl digested his words and the cogs turned in her brain before her eyes widened.
"You're a genius stranger!"
Joshua couldn't help but laugh at the nickname the girl gave him as they scrambled to get the shot set up.
By the time that the rain had almost totally slowed down, they were ready, with the girl's camera in Joshua's hands and the girl standing a little uncomfortably in the shot.
"Are you sure, she would want me to be in the photo?" The girl found herself asking the stranger in-front of her. "She might just want the April shower and cherry blossoms you know?"
Joshua shook his head stubbornly and surely. "I can assure you, this is the best present for her."
The girl shot him a skeptical look before begrudgingly accepting her fate and posed in-front of the cherry blossom tree with her pink bunny raincoat.
Joshua snapped a few shots here and there, giving her a bit of direction every now and then as he felt his synapses in his brain fire around it. The more that he looked at this girl, the more she looked kind of familiar to him.
He tried brushing that thought aside, thinking that he was crazy as he took one last final photo for the girl as the sky began to clear and the rain drizzled to the a stop.
"And…" Joshua trailed off, looking at the last photo that he took, a satisfied smile on his face. "We're done!"
The girl rushed over to Joshua's side, eager to see the photos that the boy had just taken. As she clicked through them, her eyes widened as they flitted between the camera screen and the boy standing next to her.
"Woah." She softly stated as she continued to flip through the photos. "These are really good." She turned to Joshua, a toothy grin on her face. "Thank you so much."
Joshua gave her a grin back as he shook his head. "Small thing." He said as he gestured to the photos. "You did all the hard work by modeling for it!"
The girl lets out a laugh as the sun peeked through the clouds that were still in the sky. She peered downwards at the watch that was on her wrist before letting out a heavy sigh.
"Well, I need to get going." She said, shutting her camera down and putting it into her backpack. "Thank you so much for helping me with this."
Joshua waved her off. "It was my pleasure."
"Is there anything that I can do to repay you?"
Joshua pondered for a moment before his mind went back to you which made him glance at the cherry blossom tree.
"Know any fun facts about cherry blossom trees?"
The girls eyebrows raised in response. "That's a weird question." She stated, giving him a weird side-eye. Joshua shrugged in response.
"I just like fun facts."
The girl stared at him for a few seconds before she opened her mouth and said, "Did you know that the the biggest cherry blossom capital in the world is actually in Macon, Georgia, which holds over three hundred thousand cherry trees?"
Joshua's eyes widened at her response. "Wait that's so interesting."
The girl gave him a satisfied smile, "My mother is a big cherry blossom nerd." She said, picking up her backpack. "She shares a lot of different fun-facts with me and also made me this."
She pulled out a pendant from inside her clothing that was tied to a necklace. Joshua gazed closer at the pendant as his eyes widened bigger.
"Is that a white cherry blossom infused into the resin and made into a pendant?"
The girl nodded proudly. "Yep!"
"That's insane." Joshua commended, taking a step away from the girl. "I really commend your mother."
"Yeah." The girl let out a satisfied hum. "She is pretty cool." The girl smiled at the fond memory of her mother giving her the necklace. "She made this necklace for me because some boy gave me this cherry blossom many years ago when they thought that I went missing or something."
Joshua felt his whole being freeze when she said that and blinked at the girl in-front of him who was fidgeting with the pendant around her neck.
"What?" He heard himself whisper aloud making the girl nod.
"Yeah, he was really sweet and nice and he apparently shared an ice cream with me." The girl took another glance at her watch before her eyes widened, becoming as big as saucers.
"Holy shit!" She yelled out as she slung her backpack across her shoulders. "I'm late!"
Joshua found himself panicking slightly. "Wait—" He said, trying to get your attention.
You, however, gave him one last smile before waving goodbye to him. "Thank you again for your help!"
Joshua felt the words on the tip of hid tongue, die in his throat as he watched you run away from him like your life dependent on it, making him sigh.
He huffed, running a hand through his semi-wet locks before his phone rang.
"Hello?" He answered, sighing as he heard Seungcheol's voice over the phone. "Yeah." He said, his gaze still fixed on the spot where you once were. "I'm on my way back. I'll see you and the rest in thirty."
Seungcheol let out a hum of understanding before he hung up the phone, leaving Joshua to his own thoughts as he went on auto-pilot and picked up his sling bag as he felt frustration course through his veins.
So much for second chances.
THIRD TIMES THE CHARM
On the spring of Joshua's twenty second birthday, he finds himself back underneath the faithful cherry blossom tree. The only difference is that it is eleven at night. He had just finished a team dinner with the rest of the group, celebrating a big win that they just had with the release of one of their newest albums. All that hard work and tireless preparations had paid off and they were now celebrating the fruits of their labour.
Seungcheol and Jeonghan were by Joshua's side when they had exited the restaurant but for some reason, Joshua felt a little bit restless, like something was tugging on his soul that he shouldn't go home just yet.
With that, Joshua bid the two older men goodbye and headed off to his safe space, a space that the members had coined as the soulmate spot after Joshua finally gained the courage to tell his members about his soulmate and the cherry blossom story that came with it.
Joshua leans against the tree that is still flourishing even though it was coming to the end of spring. The petals still had that sheen that told the story of the start of spring till nearly the end as they were going into fall, the week after next.
He sighs, feeling the restlessness start to seep away from his bones. Just being in this spot was comforting for him because he felt connected to you. After you had taken off that day four years ago, Joshua hadn't seen you since.
Not for the lack of trying as well.
Joshua had just gotten so wrapped up in the life of being an idol that he was traveling more often, spent a lot less time in Korea and he felt that each practice was more intense than the last.
He still tried to stick to his outstanding bi-weekly date that he had with the cherry blossom tree but with all the new promotions and practices that seemed to be popping up from left, right and center, he had definitely missed a few during the last four springs.
However, looking at how serene the park looked at night with the crackling streetlamps as well as the fairy lights that are no doubt a new addition, Joshua feels at peace at the fact that nothing else has changed about his favourite safe spot.
He had quite a few of them… one being a corner of the practice room where he always sat during the breaks with his earbuds in. Another being a corner in Jihoon's office that he uses whenever the world got too overwhelming (and that Jihoon let's him use by just pretending that he isn't there) and the last but definitely not the least, was the cherry blossom tree.
He closes his eyes, just taking in the ambience of the park and listening to the crickets chirping, the static flickering of the streetlamps and fairy lights and allowed himself to breathe.
He wasn't Joshua Hong, one of the two American members of Seventeen.
He was just, Joshua.
"Is this spot taken?" He hears someone softly ask from in-front of him. Joshua opens both his eyes to see a girl about his age, a hood obscuring most of her face as she leaned down slightly, no doubt to ask him the question.
Joshua panicked for a moment, wondering if the girl had noticed who he was but then remembered that he was wearing a baseball cap as well as a mask, concealing about sixty percent of his face.
He internally let out a breath of relief before shaking his head no as he gestures to the spot next to him. "You can sit if you like." Joshua states, not really sure of the words flowing out of his mouth at the moment.
On any other day, Joshua would've probably not offered the space next to him to a total stranger that he has never seen or met before. However, today had been a long day and his walls were all the way down after a long day of practice than the award show and then the team dinner.
If he wasn't feeling restless, he would've probably called it quits and been back at the dorm, in his comfy bed.
The stranger mutters out a small 'thank you' before plopping down next to him. The sound of the rustling plastic bag catches Joshua's attention, having not noticed the convenience store bag that the girl had in her right hand.
Joshua's eyes flit downwards to where his phone lied on his lap and did a quick click of the side button to see that it was 11:30pm. His eyebrows furrow as he looks back at the girl who takes out an aluminum wrapped roll of kimbap.
"Is that your dinner?" Joshua found himself asking, shocking himself and the stranger who gives Joshua a sideways glance before nodding her head. "Why are you eating so late?"
"You always ask this many questions to a stranger you don't know?" The girl replies after swallowing her first slice of the kimbap.
Joshua, a little taken aback by her question, lets out a low and tired chuckle as he shakes his head. "No." He answers honestly, "I was just wondering why a girl is wandering around at 11:30pm and eating a roll of kimbap underneath a cherry blossom tree with a stranger."
"Because this is my safe space." The girl admits nonchalantly, without a second thought as she eats another slice of her kimbap.
Joshua blinks a few times at the girl's answer. "Weird." He states. "This is my safe space too." He finds himself admitting, unsure why he is telling a random stranger. But it had been a long day and Joshua's guard is down.
At his words, the girl stops eating and turns her head towards him for a few seconds, analyzing him. "You always this trusting to strangers?"
Joshua scoffs, "You admitted that in a heartbeat as well, mind you."
The girl just shrugs and continues to munch on her kimbap as the wind breezes past them, making a few of the loose cherry blossom petals fall.
Joshua watches them slowly drift down, smiling a little to himself as it brings back memories of his first spring in Seoul.
"Did you know that there are over two hundred varieties of cherry blossom trees?" Joshua hears the girl mutter out making his eyebrows furrow, his brain synapses firing.
Has he heard this before?
"I did know that actually." Joshua admits, making his company let out a hum of acknowledgement. "Did you know that the cherry blossoms and their tea leaves are actually edible?"
He watches the girl nod, pulling down more of the aluminum foil to unwrap the last three slices of her kimbap. "They're used in like Japanese sweets, teas as well as desserts right?"
Joshua nods, closing his eyes. "My favourite is the sakura mochi."
There was silence for a few moments before the girl replied with a, "No way, that's mine as well."
Joshua hums. "You have good taste."
Joshua hears the girl beside him let out a laugh at his quip making his chest warm a little. The girls laugh reminded him of you in a way, the soft laugh that you had let slip past your lips four springs ago still etched in his mind.
"Did you also know that the the biggest cherry blossom capital in the world is actually in Macon, Georgia, which holds over three hundred thousand cherry trees?"
Joshua feels himself freeze at that statement. Now he had definitely heard that one before.
His eyes widen as he gets transported back to that faithful day under the rain where his soulmate had slipped through his fingers for the second time in his life.
You continue to yap on about fun facts that your mother had shared with you about cherry blossoms, unsure of why you were telling a random stranger this information, but it was a long day and this stranger felt… safe to you?
You couldn't explain why.
"Did you know that some varieties have more than five petals for their blossoms? Like the Kanzan can have up to twenty-eight petals per flower? That makes it look so much fuller with a pom-pom like appear—"
"Bunny?"
You pause your tangent upon hearing the childhood nickname that your mother still uses every now and then, feeling your blood run a little cold at the stranger saying it.
You whip your head towards the stranger who is now sitting fully up-right and facing you as your eyebrows furrow. "Why did you—"
The stranger doubles down and whispers out your name, making you freeze as you scoot back a little, fearful for your life now. The one time you choose to trust a stranger and it turns out that he might be a stalker?
How low is your social awareness that you didn't seem to realize that the man beside you might've been stalking you all this time? Were you about to die? How were you going to get out of this? What was the best exit—
Your spiral gets interrupted when the stranger removes his cap and mask, allowing you to see the bambi doe-eyes that you have been dreaming about for the last few springs. The warmth and comfort in them, still as persistent as you remember.
"Bambi?" You breathe out, the nickname that you gave him when you were six, rolling off your tongue easier than you thought it would. "Joshua, is that you?"
Joshua nods eagerly, seemingly frozen in place as he watches you take him in before you jump into him. He catches you easily, seemingly a little more prepared than the last time when he was eight years old as he buries his face into your hair, just like he did that day, fourteen years ago.
"I can't believe I found you again." He mutters out into your hair as he feels you let out a watery laugh into his sweater that he was wearing. He pulls away a little, noticing that your hair is a little ruffled from the hoodie being launched off after you had jumped into him. He feels you shiver a little and goes to pull the hoodie back up for you to protect your ears when he notices the bunny ears sewed onto the hood.
A wide grin appears on his lips as he internally shakes his head at the fact that he didn't notice them before, deeming it to the long day that he just had.
"I've only seen you on television." Is the first words to come out of your mouth after the whole affair, which makes Joshua giggle as he pulls away fully to look you in the eyes. "That's the first thing you say to me, your soulmate, after years of not seeing each other?"
You couldn't help but laugh at his dramatic outburst as you pull him back in for another hug, the necklace that you are wearing, the pendant hitting him in the chest, which makes a smile adorn his face at the memory of what the pendant is made out of.
The two of you stay like that for a few moments more before you pull away to get a good look at Joshua's face. You were telling the truth, you had only seen Joshua through YouTube videos and whenever the various Music Award Shows were on, always silently cheering him on.
You had recognized him after they had their first debut show on TV, the doe-eyes immediately speaking to you as he came onto stage. You had know that you were his soulmate, right after the mark had appeared on your arm ages ago.
Your parents also had a long talk with you about it but after your father's phone had gotten smashed during a really bad day of work, there was no way to contact him or his mother. So, you went the next ten years not knowing if Joshua had remembered you, the weirdly dressed girl with bunny ears and soft toy.
Until that april shower when you were sixteen, you didn't realize you were talking to him until you were twenty blocks away from the park, eager to get to your next tutoring teacher's class.
You had cursed yourself for being a little too oblivious but as you stared at the white mark on your wrist, you realized that the timing probably wasn't right just yet for the two of you and you just needed to wait for fate to push you both together once again.
That faithful day is today.
"No." You answer truthfully, shaking your head at Joshua's question. "I think our first order of business should be to get each other's numbers so that we don't have to wait for fate to bring us dumbasses back together for the fourth time."
Joshua lets out a laugh at your answer, nodding with a cheeky grin on his face. "They do say third time's the charm."
You roll your eyes at his cliche answer but deep down you silently agreed with it.
Maybe it truly is, third time's the charm.
THE GOING SEVENTEEN TWIST
"Ugh." You mutter out, messing with the bunny patterned mask on your face, getting a little frustrated with how hot it is underneath the mask. "I don't get why we need to keep wearing a mask if your company has booked out the entire park for your Going Seventeen episode."
Joshua lets out a chuckle at your frustrations as he rubs your forearm soothingly, a tactic that he picked up a few years ago when he realized that it was the fastest way to calm you down (other than food of course).
"Well," Joshua starts, adjusting his own mask and cap in the process. "We rented out the park but that doesn't mean the general public still won't recognize us because the area isn't covered."
You let out a huff, knowing that he is right.
"It also doesn't help that Hoshi yells like a maniac and gathers the attention of said general public." You mutter, making Joshua laugh at your whines.
He looks around before lowering his mask to give you a small kiss to the top of your head before pulling it back up, just as one of the managers calls for him.
He spares the manager a quick glance before his attention is back on you, to make sure that you are okay with him leaving.
"Go." You assure him, nudging him slightly in the direction where the manager is waiting for him. "I've been around these shoots long enough to know the procedure by now."
Joshua's eye lines crinkle, a sign that he is smiling as he nods.
You weren't wrong, you had been coming to the Going Seventeen shoots for almost the entirety of your relationship with Joshua. The two of you weren't really public but you two weren't private either.
Your relationship wasn't a secret and Joshua had brought you up a few times before, mentioning you here and there in some interviews that he has done with Vogue or Cosmopolitan.
You had also become a small little mention in the Going Seventeen videos where sometimes Joshua would let something small about you slip past his lips. It was a routine at this point and the fans had been using this to their advantage, creating many different videos such as; "A compilation of all the times Joshua has mentioned Bunny" or "Joshua being the biggest simp for his girlfriend/soulmate for 4 minutes and 48 seconds."
But, it was good.
The fans had accepted that the two of you are together and Joshua was more open with his soulmate mark and talking about you now to the point where he doesn't conceal the white cherry blossom mark on his wrist anymore.
Now he wears it with pride, just like the bracelet that ties the both of you together.
You fidget with your pendant, recalling all those memories with a smile. Thanking the universe for bringing the two of you together that day eight years ago.
"Right!" One of the directors call out, knocking you out of your thoughts as you move from yours and Joshua's cherry blossom tree, realizing that they are about to begin their filming.
Joshua appears beside you, moments later looking more dolled up and refreshed compared to half an hour ago making you grin as you notice his hair sticking up slightly.
Without a word, you step forward to him, his arms wrapping around your waist habitually as you fix your eyes on the cow-lick in his hair. You brush it down, not noticing the way that Joshua is watching you as you fixate on his hair, brushing it till it looks perfect for the shoot that they are doing today.
"What's the shoot for today?" You ask him, softly, fixing a few strands of stray hairs that the stylist didn't manage to get. Joshua let out a hum, his hands warm on your waist.
"We're filming something special." Joshua admits shyly. "That's why I asked you to get a little more dolled up than usual today."
He had told you that the night before. It was unusual for Joshua to be this quiet about the shoots that he and the rest of the members were meant to film. Joshua would at least tell you beforehand what the shoot was about and the premise of it but for this particular shoot, he had been quiet.
All the information you had was that you might have to appear once or twice as emotional support for your boyfriend. The rest of the members had also brought along their significant others or girlfriends as well and when you had asked them about what the shoot would be, they had side-eyed each other and shook their heads, seemingly not knowing what it was as well.
"You've been acting weird lately." You mutter out to your boyfriend, messing with one last stubborn strand of hair that was sticking upwards. You side-eyed your boyfriend, "You aren't doing a secret horror episode today are you? You can't do that in our safe space."
Joshua lets out a laugh at your imagination before shaking his head, a big toothy grin on his face. "I love your imagination sometimes, Bunny."
You raise an eyebrow at his words. "Yet," you start. "You did not deny it."
Joshua gives you a mischievous grin, that you have seen one too many times making you roll your eyes at how mysterious your boyfriend was being.
"I guess you just have to wait and see."
"Fine." You relent, finally get that strand of hair to get down. "Keep your secrets."
Joshua leans in closer to you, surprising you a little as you watch his eyes scan your face, from the top of your forehead, to the slope of your nose to your chewed lips that you had been gnawing on since you had arrived because you weren't sure what to expect today.
You feel your cheeks heat up from how intense his gaze is before he surprises you once more by leaning in and giving you a peck on the lips, a lovesick grin on his lips right after he does.
You blink at your boyfriend, unsure of how to react to the quick peck. The two of you had set boundaries beforehand about PDA and everything else that was related to the public.
Kissing or pecks were a gray zone in a sense where you could do it but only if the members, cameras as well as the rest of the world was not around.
However, Joshua broke that rule today by kissing you in the middle of the set where everyone can see.
"Did you just…" You trail off making Joshua nod, seemingly more relaxed than you are.
"Yeah."
"But—"
"I just wanted to." He nonchalantly admits, shrugging his shoulders as he does so. "You looked so cute focusing on me that I wanted to kiss you as soon as you were almost done fixing my hair."
"Your hair is done by the way." You admit, the words coming out of your mouth faster than you could have processed them, making Joshua bark out another laugh at how slow your brain was comprehending information.
"I love you." Joshua admits softly, after he was done laughing. Your heart warms at his words as you give a once over to the set before leaning in to give Joshua a peck.
"I love you more."
The producer of the episode immediately signals that it is time to start filming making you step away from your boyfriend's embrace as you give him a confident smile that tells him that he's got this.
Joshua gives you a smile before nodding and making his way over to the rest of his members.
You, on the other hand, walk towards the rest of the girlfriends who were engaging in some other small talk. They made room for you and were talking about the newest thrills that their boyfriend seem to have been into when a producer calls your name.
You perk up, slightly confused as to why you were being called out for until you realize that Joshua is standing in-front of your cherry blossom tree, with his hands behind his back.
"Before we begin today's filming." The producer starts, looking between you and Joshua. "Joshua would like to say a few words before we kick-off this weeks filming." He turns to Joshua with a big smile on his face before passing him the microphone.
Joshua clears his throat before speaking into the microphone.
"Bunny." He softly calls out making you peer out of the area you were sitting in. "Could you please come forward to where I am?"
You skeptically look at the love of your life but proceed to join Joshua at the front. As soon as you had moved there, you immediately ask a slew of rapid questions to your boyfriend to which he only replied with his shinning smile.
"Bunny." Joshua breathes out, turning to face you completely as he blocks out the rest of the world. "When I first saw you at the age of eight, I thought you were the biggest crybaby on the planet."
You feel your cheeks heat up as he says that, about to retort when he beats you to it.
"However, you were so unique and different that I was intrigued by you." Joshua softly admits, "I spent majority of my life searching for you ever since I had gotten this mark that ties us together and every time I tried, the universe always had something to say about it until that day where you had stumbled under the cherry blossom tree to eat kimbap at 11:30pm." That got a few giggles from the Going Seventeen team as Joshua continues. "I always knew that something in my life was missing. I've known that since I was eight years old and after I met you, I realize that you are the missing piece that I've been waiting for."
Your eyes widen as you realize why he is saying all these things.
He pulls out a velvet box from behind him and looks at you with the doe-eyes that you had grown to love more and more, everyday of your relationship.
"You complete me and my life, Bunny." Joshua softly admits, rolling the velvet box in his hand as he locks eyes with you, making you pulse quicken as you realize that he is about to do it. "So," Joshua starts, handing the microphone to you before he gets down on one knee, making you let out a gasp you didn't know you were holding. "Will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?"
"Yes." You breath out into the microphone. "A thousand times yes."
A toothy grin appears on Joshua's face before he launches himself forward slightly and captures your lips with his, making your heart soar at the thought of calling Joshua your fiance.
The two of you pull away, hearing all the loud cheers and whistles from the Seventeen members, their significant others as well as the staff members on set which makes you giggle a little.
"So the whole shoot is a lie?" You softly ask making Joshua nod his head. "We just needed to get you down to this location so we disguised it as a shoot because if we had told you anything else, you would've figured out the surprise."
His words make you warm as you shake your head, a soft smile on your face.
"You're such a nerd."
"I am your nerd for the rest of your life." Joshua goofily admits making you roll your eyes, a small giggle escaping your lips as you tighten your grip around him, "Hello, fiance." You softly say, looking up at Joshua who peers downwards at you, the grin on his face never fading. "Hello to you too, fiancee."
You peer downwards at the box that Joshua is holding, making you clear your throat as you fixated him with a mischievous grin.
"So are you going to put the ring on me or what?"
THE FUTURE UNDER THE CHERRY BLOSSOMS
"And that is the story of how your mummy and daddy met and got married before we had you guys." Joshua finishes as his daughter bounces slightly on his lap. "The End!"
"Do you think I will ever get a soulmate, daddy?" His daughter asks, her bambi, doe eyes shining and making Joshua's heart melt.
"Of course, sweetheart." Joshua admits, giving his daughter a little once over as the wind blows past them, making the cherry blossoms fall of the tree. "If you are anything like your mother, you will definitely get one, baby."
"What lies are you feeding our daughter this time?"
Joshua looks up, spotting you waddle over to the picnic blanket and his heart soars even more. "No lies." He admits, the mischievous grin on his face never fading. "Just telling her how you were absolutely in-love with me when we first met."
You roll your eyes at your husbands words as he gestures for you to take a seat next to him. "That's such a lie." You breath out, looking straight at your husband. "We both know it was you who was in love with me the first time we both met."
Joshua barks out a laugh as your daughter stands up from his lap, in awe of the pretty cherry blossoms that are cascading down.
"Mummy! Daddy!" She exclaims. "Look!"
The two of you share a quick glance at each other and smile. "Aren't they pretty, baby?" You ask her making her nod, her doe eyes still shimmering as she tries to catch one of the blossoms.
"Did you know that there are two hundred different variants of cherry blossoms trees, baby?" Joshua asks your daughter making the little girl stop her jumping as her eyes grew as big as saucers.
"That's bigger than the numbers we're learning in class right now!"
You couldn't help but laugh at her answer, shaking your head as the fond memories begin to flood your mind.
"Is that where you got my name from, mummy?" You tilt your head to the side as you take a quick glance at Joshua.
"What do you mean, sweetheart?"
"Well, my name is Cherry. Did you name me after the pretty trees?" Joshua grins at his daughters question and nods fondly.
"Yes." He admits. "We did because you're so precious to us and we can't wait to see you blossom and grow."
"Would I become as pretty as the pretty flowers?" Cherry asks making Joshua scoff as he grabs her and pulls her back into his lap.
"Cherry." Joshua coos, patting her head. "You're going to be prettier than any other flower that will ever grow, you know why?"
Cherry shook her head before Joshua locked eyes with you. "Because the reason of how your name came to be and the story behind it, is the best and prettiest thing that we could've ever asked for."
@livmarauder2026 Thank you guys so much for reading my spring collab fic! Be sure to check out all the other amazing works that this collab has to offer! New fics should be hitting tumblr very very soon... Like my work? Join my Permanent Taglist! All my fics are 18+, which means blogs without age or age indicator will not be tagged! If you like this, please consider reblogging or liking! It really makes my day! <3 Thank you for showing loverboy joshua so much love!
⋆⭒˚.⋆ TAGLIST: @mellowgyu @izzyy-recs @cherrymayz @luvrung @nerdycheol @choco-scoups @hopecutie @gentleisa @chogiwaw @caratchronicles @huiimoon @gyuhao365 @unemployedcarat @bramos91 @dollhoonki @orbitonrcrd @jaylaxies
item acquired: sleepy gf
🎮 vernon x f!reader 🎮 1k 🎮 pure fluff :D 🎮 gaming streamer vernon, established relationship, reader had a bad day but there’s no details. really this is just cuddles. also cheolwoo being slight menaces. 🎮 requested by anon!! i don’t know almost anything about gaming, honestly, but i hope this is good enough lol. thank you my dear @bubbliegubs for beta'ing and telling me how gaming streams work <3 🎮 and requests are open, so feel free to send me things :D
Vernon's streaming when you walk in, but that isn't going to stop him from giving you the cuddles you need.
🎮
“Not the jellyfish again,” Vernon groans into his mic, thumb flicking the little bug knight back the way he came. “I am so sick of those guys. Nah, we’re not dealing with them today.”
The chat fills with laughter. A few hate comments rip into him for avoiding the tricky parts, but he really couldn’t care less. He just hops his way back out of the cavern, fingers light on the controller.
“I wanna go back and visit the humming guy,” he decides, pulling up the game map. He glances at the webcam for a moment, then the comments. “Yeah, I know I don’t need a map. I just like talking to him, okay? He’s cool. I’ll go fight something after, I promise.”
He starts navigating his way back to the humming map guy, avoiding most of the little bugs that get in his way because it just lets him move faster. A few people in the chat start cheering when he passes the little scraps of paper and the faint sounds of an old bug humming begin to trickle in.
“Cornifer, man, there you are!” Vernon cheers when he finally comes into view. The chat cheers with him, flashing by too fast for him to read. He runs back and forth in front of the older bug, clicking through the familiar dialogue. “How ya doing, buddy? Good to see you again –”
The door creaks open, and he glances over in surprise to find your wide, tired eyes peeking into the room. You start to pull back, but he shakes his head, scrambling to pause the game and pull up his ‘brb’ screen. “Sorry, give me a few minutes, guys,” he says, cutting his mic, and then with a final glance over his setup, he sets his controller down and pushes his chair back.
“Babe.”
The door slowly opens again. You’re standing there, shoulders hunched, jacket still on, a guilty, sheepish expression on your beautiful face.
Vernon holds out his arms. “Come here.”
“You’re streaming,” you whisper, lips slipping into a little pout.
“You’re exhausted. Clearly.”
“But…”
You waver. Vernon beckons with the tips of his fingers.
“Please?” he adds, and maybe he pouts a little bit, too.
You crumble, rushing across the room and into his arms so fast that his chair rolls back as he catches you. You whisper something into his neck that sounds like an apology, but he just wraps his arms around your waist, gently guiding you onto his lap.
“You’re alright, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss into your hair. “You wanna tell me about it?”
But you shake your head. “Later.” Your voice is quiet, muffled, almost watery, and he frowns but doesn’t comment on it. He just brushes his fingers through your hair.
“You wanna take the jacket off?” Vernon asks, but you shake your head, burrowing further into the crook of his neck. He nods. That’s alright. He doesn’t mind seeing you in his jacket for a little longer. He does slip his hands underneath it, though, to rub up and down your back. He can feel the way you melt into him, and he loves it.
“Comfy?” he murmurs eventually, and you nod for a moment. Then you pause and start to squirm instead, so he loosens his grip as you tug your arms out from against his chest. The loss almost makes him frown, but then your hands curl around his waist, and suddenly he doesn’t mind so much. “Better?” he asks, and you nod. “Alright. I’m gonna keep playing, babes. Let me know if you need anything.” Another nod. He dips his head, almost too far, to drop a kiss against your neck, humming for a moment against the warmth of your skin.
Then, a little reluctantly, he drags himself back to his desk, one hand at the small of your back to make sure you don’t bump into the edge. “Unmuting now,” he murmurs, waiting until he can feel you nod before he flicks his mic on again. “Sorry about that, chat,” he says softly. He cuts the webcam access, but pulls the game back up, glancing briefly at the comments flying past. “We’re gonna do the rest of tonight ASMR-style, yeah. Sorry.”
You huff a quiet laugh against Vernon’s shoulder, and he smiles, nudging your head gently with his chin as a silent response. Your arms tighten around his waist.
A familiar name pops into the chat, and Vernon glances up.
cherrycoup: asmr, huh? sounds like ur trying not to wake someone up.........
Vernon rolls his eyes, but just starts playing, the controller resting against the small of your back. “I’m gonna go mess around in that weird cavern I found earlier, I think.”
wonugamer: You’re avoiding the bosses. You only do that when she’s around so you don’t look like a loser.
cherrycoup: LOL WONU cherrycoup: nah u right tho, shes totally on his lap rn
Vernon snorts. “Guys, shut up. At least I have a girlfriend.”
You laugh out loud for a moment before shoving your face into Vernon’s shoulder, and he chuckles, feeling the warmth that floods into your cheeks. The chat explodes for a moment – wait is that his gf??? – aw dangit he really isn’t single.. – gasp thats so cute – and he just grins.
wonugamer: Wow. Low blow. cherrycoup: I WILL HAVE U KNOW THAT I AM TALKING TO SOMEONE THANK U VERY MUCH wonugamer: You mean you’re in a situationship. cherrycoup: SHUT UP, JEON WONWO cherrycoup: WONWOO
“Losers,” Vernon mutters with a grin. He drops a very loud smack of a kiss on your cheek, dismissing how he has to contort himself to do so because the tiny peck you leave on his collarbone is more than worth it. He clears his throat to whisper softly: “Yeah, my girlfriend is falling asleep on my lap. Yeah, I don’t wanna wake her up. So shut up and watch me play her favorite game, yeah?”
A chorus of awwwwwwwwws swarms the chat as Vernon swaps the audio output, and the soft music of Hollow Knight fills the room. Your lips curl into a smile against the crook of Vernon’s neck, and he has to bite his lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.
He plays the easy stuff tonight, and a handful of people leave the stream now that he’s definitely not fighting any bosses, but with your quiet weight on him and your soft breaths evening out against his skin, he really couldn’t care less.
𑣲 orbiter [masterlist]
Two years living in a cozy hut in the middle of the forest, caring for your herbs and plants, felt peaceful to you. Here, your past would not catch up with you; no one would force you to be something you aren't. However, this peace lasts only until the exiled and severely wounded Prince of Noxtus appears right outside your hut and you are drawn into a game filled with intrigue, vengeance and (to your horror) love.
Pairing: alpha! choi seungcheol x omega! reader
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut
WC: ?
Warnings: mentions of war, wounds, cussing, violence, murder, mentions of knives and weapons, reader is being overcautious and somewhat paranoid about being discovered, fighting, mention of parental death, grieving, nightmares, mentions of herbs supressing the needs of readers omega, a/b/o dynamics, reference to abusive parental figure, lying, [will be continued as the series goes on]
Teaser
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
banner from /thecutestgrotto
dusk
starting again | joshua hong | MDNI 18+
🌱 pairing: non!idol joshua x fem!reader 🌱 genre: fluff, minor angst 🌱 content warning: suggestive details of an intimate moment, mentions of cheating 🌱 summary: you're wallowing in self-pity at your friends' wedding after being cheated on. you think you're unworthy of love until you meet someone who changes your mind. 🌱 a/n: AHHHHHHH so excited to finally get this out!! I have been having unhealthy dreams and thoughts about joshua. i need that man biblically. also there will be NO part 2 so pls do not request one :) i will cry if you do tbh (begging u pls don't request a part 2) 🌱 minors do not interact!! 🌱 thanks to @/cafekitsune for the super cute dividers!!
This wedding is making you feel like a loser.
You’re sitting alone in your beautiful dress, trying to ignore the empty seat next to you.
When your friend Aera told you that her boyfriend, Minghao, proposed, you were ecstatic. Their love was so unique and profound, and you wanted nothing more than to experience that kind of love in your own relationship with Seungmin. But then Seungmin cheated, and here you are, 5 months later, still picking up the pieces of your broken heart.
You’re grateful that Aera blocked Seungmin from attending with his new girlfriend, aka the girl he cheated on you with. However, you’re stuck at a table full of strangers wishing you had someone to talk to.
This is all just too suffocating. The wedding and its symbolism remind you that you are nowhere near your own happy ending. In fact, you have to start from scratch and build a relationship with a whole new person.
You haven’t been on any dates since the breakup because you’re so tired. But deep down, you know it’s because you’re afraid. When Seungmin revealed he had found someone else, he had not only broken your heart but your sense of trust. You felt so unconfident, skittish, awkward, and afraid. You didn’t want someone to be responsible with your whole heart.
You can't be inside any longer.
The garden behind the hotel brings you peace. Standing amongst the flowers, you lett the darkness consume you. You just wanted someone to love you so much that cheating wasn’t even a thought.
Were you that unlovable?
Were you so unworthy of Seungmin’s heart that he had to go and find someone else? Did he think that lowly of you?
You had felt like a fool 5 months ago, and you still feel like a fool now. Embarrassed and ashamed that you had let someone into your life, and they had played you like a game.
You stopped shedding tears about all of this. Now you’re just numb.
Your life consists of the same routine. Wake up, go to work, go home, repeat. You stopped meeting up with friends. You stopped going out. You stopped all your hobbies. Seungmin had ruined your life. And you kept letting him.
All of a sudden, someone places a jacket around your shoulders. You freeze and quickly turn around, coming face to face with the best man.
Joshua Hong.
You didn’t know who Joshua was until tonight. He caught your eye at the ceremony because well.
Look at him.
He was tall with dark, long hair up to his neck, simple, small silver hoops in each ear, a helix piercing in his left ear, and the most handsome face ever. To make everything better, he was all suited up, looking extra sharp in a black tuxedo. Apparently, he and Minghao had been friends since high school with a bond that has lasted for almost a decade.
At the reception, he gave his speech with glowing eyes and a beautiful smile. He said everyone could learn from a love like Minghao and Aera’s- a love that was pure and honest. When he made his toast, he looked around the room, and you had made eye contact. You remember the way he paused at your face, feeling yourself slightly blush before looking down.
Not wanting to get your hopes up, you didn’t look at him again for the rest of the reception, so seeing him in front of you, voluntarily, has you quite surprised.
“I’m Joshua, a friend of Minghao’s,” he introduces himself, holding out a hand.
You take it and also introduce yourself.
Up close, Joshua is even more beautiful. He's a lot more buff than you realized- you're able to make out his thick arm muscles from his button-down shirt.
He takes a seat next to you, and you sit in comfortable silence before he speaks again.
“I’ve uh been trying to think of how to approach you since I saw you during my toast.”
You look at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Gosh, I promise I’m a lot more confident than this, but you’re a lot prettier up close,” he laughs lightly as your eyes widen.
“You think I’m pretty?”
“Have you seen yourself? You’re the most stunning person in the room,” Joshua exclaims, and you feel like you can’t breathe. Seungmin never said anything like that to you while you were together, and now you’re hearing it from a man you just met.
“I wanted to ask if I could get you a drink. And perhaps dance with you?” Joshua asks with a stunning smile.
"I'd love that," you say breathlessly.
“What were you doing out here?” Joshua asks as he stands up and offers you his hand.
“Just lots going up in here,” you sigh, taking his hand and standing.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“Weddings like this are kind of hard for me. I was with someone for a while and then he cheated, and it’s been a lot more difficult than I thought to kind of move past it,” you tell him dejectedly, not phased if you end up scaring him off.
“I’m sorry, y/n. Hopefully, I can make you forget about all of that tonight,” he says with a cheeky wink and a kind smile.
Joshua clasps your hand in both of his, and you look up at him, surprised at his sincerity. You’re about to head back inside, but you quickly hand Joshua back his jacket, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to yourself.
As Joshua puts his jacket back on, he eyes you from head to toe when you’re not looking. This dress was made for you. The royal blue dress hugs your body, defining your curves, and flows out to your feet. Your hair is in a simple updo with pieces framing your face, and Joshua can’t help but think you look so naturally beautiful.
His heart beats faster.
But he recalls the conversation he just had with Hao.
"Hey, who's that in the blue gown?"
Minghao cranes his neck and sees you, and feels a lightbulb go off in his head.
He knew you had not been doing well in the months after your breakup with Seungmin. It had been heartbreaking watching you fall apart, but he and Aera respected your recovery process, promising to be there however you needed them.
Joshua asking about you makes Minghao think. Joshua is a great guy. A gentleman, if you will. He was, unfortunately, a workaholic, that is, until a major health scare made him tone it down. With so much newfound time on his hands, Joshua had been going on more dates, but no one seemed to interest him more than his job. The two of you seem like a perfect pair. He's not sure why, actually, but he knows Joshua is patient and kind.
"That's y/n, Aera's close friend from college. Why?"
"She's stunning. I swear I've never seen anyone like her. I was giving my speech and made eye contact with her, and my heart quite actually stopped beating," Joshua laughs.
Minghao smiles, knowing that his hunch was right.
"Is she single?"
"She is. But be careful with her. Her heart is very fragile."
Joshua frowns at Minghao's words. He sees you walking out the door and finds that talking to you alone may be his best bet, so he thanks Minghao before running to follow you.
Little does he know how much his life is going to change because of this decision.
Joshua shakes his head before offering you his arm.
"Shall we?"
Joshua's charming.
He's telling you a story while you slow dance on the dance floor, but you stopped listening a few minutes ago.
Instead, you just stare at his face.
There's just something about him that makes your heart beat a little bit faster. His smile makes you believe that there are good people in this life who won't hurt you. His laugh gives you hope that you are capable of being loved by someone.
How can this guy you've just met alter your thinking? There's this feeling at the very bottom of your heart that Joshua is the one.
It sounds lunatic, you know. You barely know Joshua.
While you've always been one to protect yourself and your heart, especially after Seungmin, you can't help but embrace the irrationality of this sudden realization.
Joshua's in the middle of talking when you suddenly hug him.
You feel his strong arms wrap around you immediately.
The two of you stand in each other's embrace for what feels like hours. His hand is softly petting your hair, and your head is against his chest.
When you pull back, Joshua doesn't let go.
"What was that for?" he whispers with a laugh.
"I haven't felt this happy in months," you say quietly, feeling slight tears pooling in your eyes.
Joshua looks down at you with a pout, bringing a hand to your face to thumb away your tears.
"Ditto."
Big hands clutch your waist firmly, pressing you into the wall of the quiet hallway.
Your arms clutch strong, firm biceps.
Lips against lips. Chest against chest.
You’re floating or you’re deep underwater. You don’t know or care. Not when Joshua Hong is kissing you like this. Like you’re the only person in the universe, the only star in his orbit.
Joshua wants to be closer to you, so he moves his arm around your shoulders, which pulls you away from the wall and into his body. Your hands flatten against his chest. God, his chest. Your heart pounded in your chest as visions of what Joshua shirtless looked like flashed in your mind.
When you let out a small whimper, Joshua groans, grabbing your neck and pressing his tongue into your mouth.
How did this even start? One minute you were on the dance floor, next you were being pulled out of the venue, hand in hand with a dazzling man. You didn’t notice, but Joshua’s eyes were full of lust. The longer he talked to you, the more you opened yourself up to him, the harder he fell.
He doesn’t want this to be a spur-of-the-moment thing. A rash decision on a fun night. He’s positive that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.
If the way you’re clutching his shirt says anything, he hopes it means you feel the same way.
Joshua has never believed in soulmates. He believes in God, in religion. That our futures are predestined by the creator, but love and partnership were ones you had to nourish and grow yourself. Something you had to work hard for.
But as he’s kissing you senseless, he knows. God has created a person for him.
Eventually, the two of you manage to pry yourselves apart and go upstairs to Joshua’s hotel room.
The Joshua staring at your reflection in the mirror is not the Joshua you met downstairs. The Joshua from before had a sweet smile, kind eyes, and good intentions. The Joshua now has your lipstick all over his mouth, eyes pitch black, a smirk on his face, hands that roam the shape of your body. You know where this is going, what happens next.
His hands reach up to your hair, carefully removing the bobby pins from your updo. Your hands clutch the sink countertop until your knuckles turn white. Once your hair falls around your shoulders, Joshua presses his chest against your back, leaning down to kiss you again. This time, the kiss is short and sweet. Without warning, he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, laughing as you squeal in surprise.
You’re tossed carelessly on the bed, and before you can even recover, you’re being pulled to the edge of the bed so Joshua can stand in between your legs.
Towering over you, Joshua looks so powerful, so confident, so sexy. He runs his tongue over his lips, staring you down as he runs his hand through his hair.
He looks like he’s ready to devour you.
First, his jacket comes off, all but tossed across the room.
Next, his tie, which he drops next to your body.
Then, his cufflinks.
And finally, he unbuttons his shirt. One by one, slowly, almost as if he’s teasing you. And when the shirt falls from his shoulders, you’re face to face with the most insanely cut body you’ve ever seen in your whole life.
You were right. His arms were big and strong. His chest was huge- buff and chiseled. There’s a tattoo on his upper torso and another one of a cross on his left bicep. You’re rendered speechless just looking up at him. He gently grabs your right hand and places it square on the center of his chest.
Joshua is looking down at you with fondness in his eyes. He wipes away all your self-doubts and fears about sharing this moment with him. You want it, you want him, you want his heart. You want all of him.
You didn’t think you’d be ready or willing to move on any time soon much less with a man who you just met. Yet, here you are.
It is possible to start over, you think to yourself as you smile into the kiss Joshua is giving you.
Taglist (please remember your age must be in your profile for me to tag you on mature works!!!) @sunnysidesins @mooney-mari @ateez-atiny380 @wooingmandy @jikseonz @tezarasblog @thepoopdokyeomtouched @syluslittlecrows @sheepishlymon @mrsjohnnysuh
Junhui’s fingers in my mouth would probably fix all my problems
Until Death (x.mh)
PAIRING: Minghao x f. reader SUMMARY: As the second daughter to one of the most powerful businesses under the Choi Syndicate, you’ve always lived your life free of responsibility - until your sister dies and you become the heir. So when your family announces one of your new responsibilities as heir is an engagement to the son of a powerful shipping conglomerate, it comes should come as no shock. Minghao, however, is full of surprises, each one of them more deadly than the last. WC: 33,779 AU: Mafiaverse, Cyberpunk, Arranged Marriage GENRE: Smut, Angst RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. WARNINGS: Graphic violence and assassination attempts, descriptions of blood and on screen murder (two with a knife, one with a garrote), mentions of off page deaths of a sibling and a parent (one via suicide), references to organized crime/syndicates with political marriages, power plays, and illegal activities, references to physical abuse from a family member but honestly very vague and ambiguous, hemes of grief, trauma, deception, and identity secrets, some power imbalances throughout, lots of showcasing of disparity of wealth throughout, some angst and a lot of lying, reader is kidnapped, explicit language, explicit sexual content featuring oral (f. receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, multiple orgasms/positions, uhhhhh I think that's it. It's a Syndicates fic y'all, as always read with caution. Smut is warned in-text when it starts and stops. A/N: I have been working on this chapter since November 2025 and it is finally here. I'm going to apologize in advanced if the plot seems a bit twisty turny or if the motives are a bit weak - taking that long between the first 15k I wrote for this fic and the second 15k I wrote for this resulted in me writing a completely different story than what I started with. Also - reader was supposed to be a lot more mystical but it's just sort of vague in this. She is not literally magical in a fantasy sense, but rather the same way that there are mysteries of the universe and energies etc. i really hope this makes sense - thank you for being patient with me as I put this chapter out. I think I like this one... maybe. Also, we are introduced to three new characters who are relevant in the rest of the series - especially Kero :) This fic takes place during the events of Baby for your timeline purposes. A/N 2: It is recommend you read the other works of the Syndicates collection before you read this fic - specifically Baby. You don't have to read the others to understand the fic as I try to sum up the world and plot well, but I'm not perfect so ready this totally separate of the other stories might not be as easy as I crack it up to be! A/N 3: This is un-beta'd we die like men.
COLLECTION | ASK | NOW PLAYING: UNTIL DEATH | SYNDICATES WORLD GUIDE
THE EVENING OF YOUR SISTER'S DEATH, YOU HAD DRAWN THE WORLD, REVERSED FROM YOUR TAROT DECK. You remember staring at it, unsettled, tracing the details as if the lines themselves could tell you what was coming.
It was one of those rare, hand-crafted decks, a fragment of the old world, tangible and delicate. In a world with so little physical art and so little understanding of the universe, you'd cherished the deck, a small luxury in a world where most people wouldn't have understood.
You remember knowing the card was a warning. The only trouble was you didn't know what for. You left the card face up on the desk and blew out your candles, your mother's voice calling through the estate's intercom again, impatient and angry because you were late.
Again.
To her, being late was a condition, not a habit. To you on that rainy November evening, it had been a kind of salvation, though perhaps salvation wasn't the right word. You didn't believe in gods or higher beings, but you did believe in the strange, quiet ways of the universe.
Strange, like how lingering over a single tarot reading could keep you from stepping into the restaurant when the gas explosion tore through the back of the block - when your sister, waiting at your usual table, became the first member of your family to die.
Gone in a moment, the entire direction of your life rearranged.
The world, reversed.
-
The rain over the Upper District is thin and metallic. It sheets off the glass buildings in vertical lines, turning each tower into a waterfall of neon and water. You watch the rain from the back of the car, forehead pressed to the cold window. The city slides past, a smudge of light.
Nexus Capital rises ahead of you, a monolith of glass punch through the low cloud ceiling. You stare at the building that's a feat of architecture with a list of awards and features in architectural magazines. You don't understand why a banking building needs to be an architectural work of art.
You don't find it to be very artistic anyway. Nexus Capital is one hundred and twelve floors of smoked glass and carbon fiber, no logos and no name, but a solid black tower threaded with light that everyone knows when they see it glow against the horizon.
Most nights, it turns invisible, like a trick of the light. If it weren't for the purple LEDs pulsing through the building's framework now, lighting it up to make air travel safe, you wouldn't even see it, though you know exactly where to look.
The car turns into the private ramp beneath the plaza, the security gates opening slowly. The car pauses as the driver cracks the window to state your business and clearance information. You wait, staring dully out the window as the scanners read the car for weapons and trace the plates. When it clears, the driver pulls through, continuing down the spiraling ramp toward the sub-level reserved for people who don't use the public lobby.
People like you.
You step out into a cold, concrete garage. Security guards are waiting on either side of the elevator for you, their charcoal suites pristine. They nod politely as you approach, heels clicking. One presses his palm to the panel, the lift doors opening with a soft hiss.
Your ride is eighty-nine floors, no stops. You breathe slowly, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Four counts in, hold for four, exhale eight. Even numbers. Good numbers. Your pulse steadies.
The reflection in the glass wall of the elevator is jarring: black dress, black blazer, hair tamed, heels, minimal jewelry. The girl who used to sneak out of charity galas to stare up at the moon and fill jars of water to collect its energy is nowhere in sight.
A chime indicates your arrival and you stiffen. The lift opens directly into an executive corridor of basalt floors and recessed lightly. It smells faintly of cedar in the hall, no doubt pumped in by an unseen air filtration system, meant to give the offices an old, serious feel.
The eighty-ninth floor is nothing but meeting rooms and executive spaces. You walk along the network of empty rooms now, knowing the way by heart - you'd practiced the route a million times. Normally, even after hours, the meeting rooms would be full of people. This evening's meeting is high profile though, so the entire floor has been reserved and dismissed.
Double doors greet you as you turn a corner. A security guard is outside, tipping his head to greet you before opening the door to let you in. Inside is a massive board room full of people.
One entire wall is made up of glass, Hyperion glittering on the other side: neon arteries, ribbons of traffic, the distant strobe of a casino in the Pearl District. The table in the center of the room is a massive rectangle of smoked quartz, lit from beneath so it looks frozen.
You go straight to your side of the table where your father and board members sit. There's a single, high-back chair for you next to your father - it used to be your mother's, but after she'd killed herself a few months ago, she bequeathed the chair to you.
Her ghost clings to you every time you sit in the chair, a coolness sticking to your skin. You grit your teeth. This room needs sage and perhaps some selenite. It has neither, so you ignore the way a shiver slides up your spine, phantom fingers reminding you of the heaviness of her absence. Ghosts don't like to be ignored, but no one else in this room can feel the way spirit lingers, the way memories have a way of clinging to a place.
Today is not a day for fear and superstition. Today is the kind of day where you have to ignore all of your instincts in favor of being practical and analytical - the kind of girl your sister would have been, instead of you, the strange one who believed in the energies of the universe and its strange higher powers.
Lifting your eyes, you peer across the table as your father clears his throat to settle the room. Xu Minghao is seated directly across from you, the polished surface of the crystal table stretching like eons between you. He's narrower than the file photos, dressed in a suit so dark that it seems to eat the light around him. His hair is longer too, styled neatly around his ears to rest against his collar bones. It suits him, you think.
He's prettier than you realized, too. His face is exquisitely balanced between sharp and soft, his eyes fierce and burning as he stares at you, his mouth soft and supple. His equally sharp jawline is offset by a gentle nose, a blend of contrasts that make him breathtaking to look at.
And extremely intimidating.
"Shall we begin?" Your father asks. He's using his calm voice, the one he likes to use to show he isn't intimidated.
The Xu side inclines heads in near-perfect synchrony. Minghao's father, Xu Jian, sits at the center opposite your father, his hair dark and long like his son, threading with silver at the temples. Odd, you think. In a world where showing age is so rare, you find it fascinating that the Xu family's patriarch has deliberately decided to show his age. A powerplay, perhaps, that he does not fear how fast the world around him is moving, nor is he influenced by the trends of appearing young.
Xu Luli is the opposite. Minghao's mother is a radiance of youth, dressed in immaculate dove silk with a single jade pendant the size of a small egg pinned to her blazer. Her face has no obvious lines, full and flushed with color like she's still in her twenties. It's unsettling, and when your eyes flick to Minghao, you realize how much he looks like her with his full lips and sharp eyes. He's nearly her mirror, save for his eyes are dark and near-black where hers are uncanny stormy grey.
Across the table, Minghao sits perfectly upright, his hands folded loosely on the table. No rings, no watch, no jewelry at all. There's just a faint scare across the first knuckle of his right hand, pale against otherwise flawless skin.
Your father gestures to the lead counsel on your side to begin. She taps the table and a holo screen blooms above the quartz, rotating for all to see. It's a splitting of proposed assets, tallied net and financial worth, assets both tangible and liquid, and everything else about you both true and not splayed for everyone to see.
"Xu Worldwide Logistics currently moves forty-three percent of all container freight through Hyperion's docks in the Civ District," the lead counsel begins. "Post-marraige, joint control of the merged entity will be split sixty-forty in favor of Xu Worldwide Logistics, with veto rights retained by Nexus Capital."
Xu Jian smiles. "Forty-three percent is a conservative assessment of our business. Perhaps seventy-thirty would be more appropriate."
"Sixty-five," your father answers, smiling. "Thirty-five. That feels more appropriate. Our assumptions of your capital are conservative, as you say."
Jian bows his head and agrees.
You watch in silence as your assets are debated for you - assets you didn't have until a year ago, when your sister had been blown apart in a freak accident. Your hands sweat looking at the figures and numbers that shouldn't belong to you, the endless amount of credits, properties, offshore accounts and liquid assets you don't even understand.
Swallowing past a dry patch in your throat, you glance at Minghao. He doesn't look at the rotating holograms of your entire net worth reflected for a room full of suits - he looks directly at you. He's not staring, exactly, but you fight the urge to shiver anyway. His gaze is intense and cataloging, like he's reading every tiny expression on your face.
In fact, he probably is. Minghao's family isn't from Hyperion, but they've clawed their way to the top with the money and empire they've built in Hyperion, which means they know how to play the game. After all, if they didn't know how to play, they wouldn't be sitting at this table negotiating a political marriage to gain access to the one of the city's most powerful Syndicates.
"Along with the marriage comes guarantees," your father says, catching your attention. "Of additional security for shipments."
No one says Choi Syndicate. No one has to. This entire marriage is for the Choi Syndicate, who are seeking an advantage in the Yong Syndicate-owned shipping yards in the Civ District. While the Xu family has remained neutral thus far, the fact that you're all sitting in a room discussing your legal marriage to the heir of their business is an aggressive move for the Xu family.
"Additionally," your father adds, as though sensing the unsaid danger in the room, "Nexus Capital is partnered with Aegis Security Corp. They're a long-standing client of ours, and are happy to provide additional support, both personal and professional to the Xu family and clients."
You can't help the way you start to roll your eyes. Aegis Security Corporation is a legitimate business portfolio pledged to Nexus Capital, but that certainly isn't the security your father is promising. He's promising the Xu family Choi Syndicate protection, a silent acknowledgement that by being here in this room, they are agreeing to the risk of being targeted by other Syndicates but will be offered the protections of guns, money and blood that the Choi Syndicate can offer.
The smile the Xu patriarch gives assures you that he is right where he wants to be, though his son remains expressionless, eyes unreadable.
Minghao's mother leans forward, her jade pendant catching the light. "And the personal union? We understand the principal heirs will co-own the new holding company directly. We would like the details of residence, public representation, and succession details clarified."
This time, you do cringe. You can't help it. The word succession details crawls inside of your ribcage and threatens to start corroding. She means where will you live, who gets to be the press's shining star, and who inherits if someone dies inconveniently.
Or conveniently, depending on if you die and all your assets default to the man across the table. Which is a real threat that you've talked about with your father, knowing that he could be signing you over for someone to assassinate you and claim rights to all that you own. It is exactly why the proposal keeps the shipping assets in favor of the Xu family and the banking assets in favor of your family, a shared split but a majority of both residing with the original shareholder.
Your father looks to you to answer Minghao's mother. The message is clear: you’re the woman of the family. Speak to your counterpart.
"Residence will be the penthouse at the Observatory," you answer. "It's at the edge of the Upper District near the Estate District."
"The Observatory?"
"A starter home for us to settle. When we decide to have a family, there is a private residence left to me in the Estate District as dictated by my mother's will." She leans back, pleased. Your eyes drift to Minghao. "I assume Mr. Xu has no objection to living above the clouds to start."
"Height has never bothered me," he answers. His voice is soft, but the way he says it makes the hair on your arms raise. "It's a generous gift."
You learn forward, resting your forearms on the cold table top. The sleeves of your dress ride up just enough to show the faint bruise on your left wrist, fingermarks from last week when your father decided punctuality required emphasis. You adjust the sleeve, but when you look up, you see Minghao's eyes latched to the spot.
"Public representation," you continue quickly, trying to keep him engaged, "will be joint. Galas, council meetings, the usual. We smile, we shake hands, we let the photographers snap pictures. Public image is a joint effort and a joint success."
Both of his parents nod, pleased. Minghao is still staring at your covered wrist. "As far as succession, if one of us dies, the surviving spouse inherits full voting control of the merged entity for a minimum of five years. After that, it reverts to the strongest board proxy. Standard widow's clause."
"What is your security like?"
Minghao's question catches you offguard. You're unsure if he means the traditional security you use as the heir to one of the city's richest families, or the Choi Syndicate security you use to ward people away from you. You're sure he doesn't mean the spell jars hidden in the drawers of your room or the spell oils you tinker with.
"Standard," you offer. It seems like a safe answer.
"Standard." He frowns. "I find that the standard rarely does the job."
His father starts to speak, but Minghao lifts a finger, barely a centimeter. You watch in shock as it silences his father. It's so subtle you're unsure if anyone else notices it. Strange, for a son to dictate what a father does. You file that bit of information away for later.
"Do you have a recommendation, then?" You ask. "Feel free to propose something less standard."
His mouth twitches, a ghost of amusement. "Security protocols should be put in place. Travel routes, choices of driver, general schedules, should all have a shared veto. If one of us believes a risk is unacceptable, the other yields. No appeal."
Your father makes an angry sound. "You're asking for the right to countermand my daughter's security detail? That's entirely too controlling and rather convenient if you wanted her assets."
The accusation ruffles the feathers on the other side of the table, but Minghao remains nonplussed, eyes flicking to your father. His expression has barely shifted, but there's something subtle there, something sharp.
"I'm asking," he corrects, voice soft, "That neither of us dies stupidly because the other was too proud to listen. I find that joint decisions on matters of travel and security are often best, especially considering that this marriage will be highly publicized."
"Fine," you answer before your father can object. "Shard veto, with the amendment that our security teams are jointly chosen. You may not employ any member of security who has not been vetted and agreed upon by me personally."
Minghao inclines his head. "Agreed."
Above the table, a redline version of the agreement drafts as you trade amendments. Your eyes drop down to the scar on his knuckle again. It's thin and precise, the kind of mark left by a wire garotte or a very sharp knife. Not the sort of scar you get from yachting around the world like you've been told he does frequently.
Strange. In just a short manner of time, the list of strange things about Minghao grows longer. Something about him tugs at your tuition, a feeling of premonition you can't place.
When you look back up, Minghao is watching you. His mouth twitches and your skin burns like you've been caught. You try to work out the expression on his face, but as his mother brings up the section regarding children, it's like dunking your head into ice cold water.
"Two," she says smoothly, fixing you with a pointed stare. "Minimum. More is fine. Bloodline continuity is non-negotiable. Two is safe, should the other-"
She cuts herself off, face going white. No one speaks. Your father is stiff next to you - you don't even think he's even breathing. Luli looks like she doesn't know what to do, caught between needing to apologize and the terrible of making such a bad social faux pas.
It's a reminder that the Xu family isn't from here. Arkos isn't a city that far away, but it's foreign enough in social structure, political makeup and culture that you're reminded how hard the Xu family must have worked to adapt to Hyperion's complex pecking order and social norms, and Luli has just made a terrible mistake. Were she in a room of Hyperion socialites or Syndicate women, she'd probably never recover.
"Should the other die," you finish for her. "Yes, we're quite familiar with the concept. Two minimum makes sense. Do you have a preference on gender?"
The silence in the room is so complete you can hear the faint echo of the city outside. You wait, staring across the table, trying to do anything but think about how intimately familiar you are with parents needing an heir and a spare, especially in a city like Hyperion. Luli's lips part, then close, surprised at how quickly you've addressed her concern and moved on.
"So do you?" You ask again, eyes flicking between Minghao and his mother who glance at one another. "I'm only asking because some families still care about sons carrying the name. Saves awkward paperwork later."
"Gender is irrelevant," Minghao answers. "Healthy heirs are all that matters."
"Yes," his mother agrees. "Healthy. And timing?"
You lean back in a dead woman's chair. Not for the first time, you wonder if this is what your sister had to sit through. Though you were only a few years apart, your sister is alien to you. Unfamiliar. Did she have to sit through board rooms and negotiate terms and rights to her womb? She did have to pledge herself to a total stranger and promise to pop out heirs?"
Of course she did. You wonder if she was any good at it. You never asked her. You'd been too busy hiding away from your family in the gardens, watching butterflies land on the water lilies while the house keeper told you about craft and how certain herbs had metaphysical properties. You’d been fascinated by her and her practice, an ancient, earthy belief that most people thought was nonsense.
"Five years," you tell her. "Minimum. Our data shows that the city's current climate is not ideal for infants." You pause as the lead counsel shows the data in question. "After that, we can revisit timelines. Medical oversight may be split eighty-twenty, with my priorities and preferences emphasized."
"I would prefer-"
"Accepted," Minghao says softly, cutting off his mother. She leans back, pursing her lips. You don't know much about Xu Luli, but she looks like someone who would prefer far more control over the birth of her grandchildren. Minghao's eyes slide back to you. "A final item, if you will."
Your father gestures for him to continue. Minghao reaches inside of his pocket and produces a matte-black rectangle no larger than one of your tarot cards. There's no logo or text, so dark that it drinks the light in like his suit does. He sets it on the table and flicks it with a finger, sliding it across the table like oil slick.
You blink in surprise when you realize it's a comm device, thin enough to slice paper with the faintest holo-sheen on it. You've never seen its make before, and you look back up at him, questioning.
"A private channel," Minghao says, addressing you. "Encrypted. Off-grid. Not monitored by family, counsel, or security. For discussions that do not belong in the meeting minutes."
Next to you, your father's scoff is immediate and sharp. "She doesn't need-"
"Voluntary, of course," Minghao assures. "Either party may choose never to use it. It exists, though. Personal devices will be the main point of contact."
Xu Jian's smile is thin. "A gesture of good faith and a family tradition. The Xu family places emphasis on having direct contact with our partners in times of turmoil."
"And what turmoil do you predict to befall this city?"
Minghao's father spreads his hands. "The world is ever-changing. It is not a reactionary practice, but perhaps a proactive one."
Your father's fingers drum on the table. The rhythm is familiar - you've heard it in the back of cars, against the arm of the couch, on the top of a desk. It's the telltale sign of his increasing irritation, the need to do something with his fingers before he strikes.
After a long beat, your father nods. "Voluntary."
Minghao dips his head. "We have no other amendments."
The lead counsel taps the table. The contract above ripples, red lines bleeding into final black. A soft chime confirms transmission, and you look down to see the new draft appearing in the table's interface in front of you. Your name is already glowing in the signature line, waiting for your official sign off.
Swallowing hurts. Your throat is desert-dry as you pick up the stylus, hating the way it shakes in your hand. You grip it tighter, fighting off the tremor as you glance up instinctively.
Minghao is no longer watching you. His head is bowed, stylus moving in a single, fluid stroke that ends in a flourish. He sets the stylus down with deliberate care, aligning it parallel to the edge of the table before he looks up at you again, expectant.
You look down and sign, a nervous trickle of fear cutting through you. Once executed, the documents appear across the interface in rotation, allowing for the room to sign as witnesses. You keep your gaze fixed to the document rather than him, but you can feel the eight of his stare settle on you like a blade pressed to the hollow of your throat.
"Ajourned," your father says as soon as the final signature is to document.
Chairs roll back in a sudden rush of sound. Quiet chatter rises, the polite and rehearsed gratitude backtracking the soft shaking of hands. A side door you hadn't noticed opens and two white-gloved staff glide in with trays of chilled plum-infused water, coffee, and tiny plates of yuzu macarons dusted with gold leaf.
You cringe. The refreshments are small but you know they cost more per bite than most people in the Lower District make in a week, the display of wealth so suddenly unfamiliar to you that you feel your stomach flip.
People begin to mingle. Your father is already shaking Xu Jian's hand, voice pitched politely again. Luli is laughing at something one of the lead counsel members is saying bright and lilting.
You stand, knees shaking. The air feels a little too thick for you, your pulse a frantic bird trapped inside your ribcade. You don't bother excusing yourself verbally - no one in the room notices you. They never do. So no one stops you when you slip through the door into the corridor.
Outside the boardroom the air is cooler. You breathe in the cedar-scent, walking away from the room. Your heels are too loud and you soften your steps, making it feel like you're sneaking off. And you kind of are, honestly. You need a break, a breather from the formality and the cage of formality.
You find a smaller meeting room, windowless and lit only by a single strip of amber light along the ceiling. There's a narrow table with four chairs and nothing else. You lean back against the door for a moment, letting out the breath you'd been holding the entire meeting.
Reaching into the pocket of your blazer, you produce a silk-wrapped bundle. The cards are warm from your body heat, the silk falling away as you unwrap the tarot set. You walk toward the table, shuffling the cards. You feel your anxiety ease with the familiar weight of them in your hand, the soft schk as they shift in your fingers.
You don't even ask the deck a question. You just need the feel of them, need something familiar in this strange building with these strange people. The cards speak anyway, three cards slipping from the deck to clatter on the table, face-up.
The Tower, upright. The Moon, reversed. Death, upright.
It feels cold in the room. You stare at them, teeth working your bottom lip as you process, your eyes dragging over each guard. Lightning splitting stone. Lies and illusion dissolvering. And ending that's a beginning. It's the usual trio that's been haunting you since you drew the World, reversed a year ago.
You don't hear the door open as you look over them. It isn't until you see a shadow fall over them that you flinch, whirling around with your hand flying to your chest.
Minghao stands just inside the threshold, one hand still on the handle, the other loose at his side. He closes the door without a sound, tilting his head to peer around you at the table of cards. You step to block his line of sight, vision pounding.
"Oh, it's you-" You break off, unsure what to say. He probably has no concept of tarot cards anyway. "It's a… hobby of mine."
Minghao says nothing. He approaches with deliberate, lithe steps until he's standing next to you but with a respectable distance between you. You catch the faint scent of pine and cold air clinging to his jacket, refreshing.
"What do they mean?" He asks, voice soft. "When they fall like this? What do you see?"
"You know what they are?"
"I know it's strange that you have them. You don't strike me as a wicked woman." You frown at the term wicked woman. It's slang for the women who work backdoor craft and ritual practices - you're curious how someone of his status knows the word at all. He points to the cards on the table. "Tell me, please."
You step forward, fingers tightening around the deck. "The Tower means sudden change. The collapse of something that was supposed to be stable. Violence, sometimes."
"The Tower like the rulers of the Syndicates?"
"Yes."
He hums. "Keep going."
"The Moon reversed is lies coming undone. Secrets dragging into the light whether one wants them to or not."
"I see. And Death?"
"Death isn't always literal." You don't know why you feel the need to clarify, but you do. "It's transformation. The end of one thing so another can begin. You can fight it or you can walk through it, but you never stay the same."
Minghao is quiet for a long moment. The light bathes him half in shadow, half in light, like a dark angel. He's so beautiful it's hard to think straight for a moment, hard to realize this is the man you're going to marry.
"You're practiced at reading these, then?"
"Very. I trust very few things, but these have never lied to me."
"You're too honest," Minghao's gaze lingers on the Death card before he turns to leave, not sparing you a glance. "It will hurt you one day."
—
The night of your engagement part, the party planning committee led by Xu Luli outdoes itself. The Sky Venue at The Elysian is an architectural wonder - one hundred and thirty-three floors up, the entire top level has been gutted and rebuilt into a single floating garden suspended beneath a retractable dome of smart glass.
Tonight, the dome is open to the stars. The air is warm despite the cooling season, the climate controlled by tiny micro-drones flying around the open dome, naked to the eye. The air tastes faintly of night-blooming jasmine, and guests wander through the garden with glasses of champagne.
Waterfalls pour from above into man-made koi ponds, night lilies floating on the rippling surfaces. Servers in white silk glide past, careful to avoid the ponds as they serve golf leaf canapes and cocktails served in what you think might be diamonds. In the corner, a string quartet plays on a platform of transparent glass suspended thirty meters above the ground, music cascading down and over the crowd.
Spared no expense, someone mutters as you walk by. Of course you didn't. This is the night that your family alongside the Xu's are selling you to the city and showing off their wealth.
A statement night, really.
You stand near one of the koi pongs in a gown of liquid obsidian. There are thousands of microscopic diamonds hand-stitched into the dress, making it look like you bend the light the same way as your fiancée's suit. Your neckline plunges just enough to be daring, and the back is open to the base of your spine.
A single strand of black tourmaline beads is loped around your wrist. To anyone not paying attention, it looks like diamonds. To you, it's grounding, steadying you against the thousand eyes currently cataloguing you.
Minghao finds you before you find him. He appears at your left shoulder without a sound, a flute of champagne in his hand. You flinch when you see him - over the last two months, you've been entirely unable to adjust to the way he materializes out of thin air.
"You look like a dark priestess," he murmurs. "Very on-brand, wicked woman."
You turn to him, trying to control your pointed smile. "Call me that again and I'll make your mornings quite unpleasant. I will hide hex bags where you will never find them."
His mouth twitches. He doesn't look at you, his eyes scanning the crowd, sharp as ever. He hands you the glass and you take it, knowing better than to dismiss him in public.
"Threats already," he observes. "We're not even married yet."
"I'm not a wicked woman," you say. "It's rude to call me one. I'm a practitioner. Kind of. I wanted to be. I don't sell phony fixalls from behind a Rose Room in the Lower District."
"And what is it you practice?"
"None of your business."
He hums. "You smell of incense and herbs, wicked woman. It's nice."
"If you're trying to upset me-"
"I'm trying to distract you." He glances at you, dark eyes glittering. "You have an angry resting face. It makes people think you're unhappy to be here."
"I am unhappy."
He lets out a small sound. You realize it's amusement and you feel an odd twitch behind your ribs. "I told you already, you are too honest."
In the last two months since your engagement, your interactions with Minghao have been minimal. He is doggedly polite, formal, and stiff, saying all the right things and smiling at all the right times, but none of it is real. He's so practiced and rehearsed that at first, you thought it might be real. But the more you watch him, the more you realize that Minghao is the perfect imitator.
Except now. His poking and prodding seems in jest, though you know there's certainly something more to it, something important that you're missing. This light banter is new to you, and you dislike that he asks questions about your practice. The elite don't often take kindly to those who believe in powers beyond money and Syndicates, but Minghao seems more amused than disturbed.
You glance beyond Minghao, eyes settling on the Tower of the Choi Syndicate. You feel your mouth go dry at the sight of Choi Moojin. He stands a distance away with his wife, dressed in a bespoke midnight suit, the mountain emblem embroidered in a threat of silver at his cuff.
The Tower of the Syndicate is the single most powerful person in the room, if not the city. Though there are two other Syndicates in the city, the Choi Syndicate has been strong the last few years, gaining a slight power foothold both politically and economically.
Not territorially, though. Their loss of the Port of Hyperion being located in the Choi-dominated Warehouse District to the Yong family had been a blow, and was the entire reason that your wedding to Minghao was happening at all.
As long standing patrons dedicated to the Choi family, your union to Minghao guarantees better assurances for Choi-owned shipping freight and better sway and management with the shipping authority.
A smart match. A political one. All dictated because the Tower of the Choi Syndicate needed it. Strange, that your entire life has shifted at the command of a man you've never personally met because he needs something from you that he'll never pay you back for.
A little ways away from the Tower and his wife, their children argue. At least, that's what it looks like they're doing. Seungcheol leans against a pillar nearby, murmuring something to his sister, expression heated. She ignores him, staring out into the crowd as though she can't hear him at all.
The Choi heiress is the kind of beauty that commands the attention of the entire room, even now as her brother mutters urgently to her. Recently engaged herself, you're surprised you don't see her fiancée lurking about. You're sure that Kim Yijun was on the guest list. Instead, she ignores Seungcheol, a haunted look on her face, a beautiful dove with a broken wing. She'd looked like that the last time you'd seen her too, an empty shell of the girl you'd gone to etiquette school with.
"Strange," Minghao murmurs, drawing your attention back to him. "To see them in person."
"Why?"
"They seem normal."
"They are."
Minghao hums but doesn't answer. Perhaps he has a point - they do seem normal. But why shouldn't they? They're two of the most privileged people in the room, growing up under a banner of Syndicate peace and prosperity. Had he expected obvious criminality? Knives and guns, threats of violence?
The way he observes them with his mouth slightly downturned tells you he might have expected exactly that. He's unfamiliar with the Syndicates, and you think belatedly of the scar on his knuckles, the one you often wonder after.
You drain your champagne in one swallow. "They're here to make sure this is a union they support, not cause violence."
"The union was their idea." You cut a glance at Minghao. It's a truth that no one says outloud, least of all here. He returns your stare, his eyes inky and unreadable. "They wouldn't suggest it if they didn't support it."
"You told me being too honest would get me hurt one day. Maybe you should consider that as well."
"Should a husband not be honest with his wife?"
A passing server offers caviar on mother-of-pearl spoons. You ignore him, your eyes on the Choi heiress who turns to her brother and says something that shuts him up. Minghao gives the server a single look and sends him scurrying away, your fiancée sliding a step closer to you.
"You strike me as someone who uses truths to hide other truths," you note, looking him up and down. "You'll tell me one honest thing to make me confident while you hide six others."
Something flickers behind Minghao's eyes. It's that same flare of something like that first day you met him. Maybe surprise or recognition. You're not entirely sure, but it does something to you that you can't name, a little tug right behind your ribcage.
"Observant."
"I have to be."
"What have your cards told you about tonight?" You give Minghao a sharp look. He doesn't look at you but he sighs. "It wasn't a barb. I'm not sparring with you- not anymore, anyway. I’m trying to get to know you."
He laces his hands behind his back, waiting. Minghao is good at waiting, you've noticed. He doesn't ask for things twice, and he never clarifies himself - save for you. There is power in silence and waiting others out, and Minghao maneuvers that silence like a carefully sharpened blade that he's intimately familiar with.
"The same three cards," you tell him eventually. "The Tower. The Moon, reversed. Death."
Minghao hums. "Violent change. Illusions stripped away. Transformation."
"You don't have to pretend to believe in it for my sake."
"I don't know what I believe in. Perhaps there is some truth to your tarot and the spell jars you keep hidden in your pockets. Who is to say?"
Before you can answer, a ripple moves through the crowd. You watch as heads turn and you find the source. The Tower is moving, slow and inevitable toward you. Your heart lurches and you glance around, looking for your father, who should be here to receive this conversation, but he's nowhere to be found.
Minghao's hand settles at the small of your back, making you swallow thickly. The heat of his palm against your skin is an inferno, but it grounds you as the Tower approaches with his wife, children and Wisdom in tow.
You glance at Yoon Minji, the Wisdom of the Choi Syndicate. You hadn't noticed her at first, the woman a near imperceptible shadow lurking behind the Tower's wife. She's dressed in a blue so dark that it's almost black, hair pulled back and slick as oil. Her son is at her side, a twin shadow that you have heard is her image in more than just physical likeness.
Choi Moojin stops an arm's length away. Up close, he's larger than you remember, the kind of presence that fills up a room and makes you feel small. His eyes are fathomless, but surprisingly warm, a weird offset to the danger you know he poses.
"You look beautiful," he says, voice soft. "Congratulations on your engagement. Your families must be proud, you're an exquisite couple with good taste."
You dip at the knees and lower your head, bowing as deep as decorum for the moment demands. "Thank you, Tower. Your blessing is appreciated."
Seungcheol steps around his father, offering his hand to Minghao while his sister lingers behind him, a strange look on her face as she watches you, almost like panic. Her brother shakes Minghao's hand firmly before he takes yours and kisses the top politely. "Congratulations."
Minghao's fingers flex against your spine, the tiniest pressure before you drop Seungcheol's hand and the Choi's drift away. You feel yourself exhale as they do, relief flooding your system at their obvious approval. The Mountain will stand behind your marriage, which is as good as signing the paper and saying your vows.
The Wisdom goes with the Choi's, dipping her head toward you with a small smile that unsettles you, but her son lingers, drifting closer with a lazy grin.
Jeonghan offers a hand to Minghao. "A union of banking and shipping. Tell me, does love come standard with the merger, or is that an optional upgrade?
It's crass. From what you know of Yoon Jeonghan, it isn't surprising that he likes to see you squirm. Though he's next in line to be the Wisdom of the Choi Syndicate when his mother steps down from the title, you're unsure if he's suited for it if he can't help but make inappropriate barbs at an engagement party.
You have half the mind to tell him so, but it's Minghao who answers, a sharp smile on his face as he shakes Jeonghan's hand. "We prefer equity over love."
Jeonghan laughs, delighted. "Enjoy the party. Congratulations on your union."
With a final wink, Jeonghan drifts away, chasing after Seungcheol who is arguing with his sister again. The Tower ignores his children, clapping someone on the back from Nexus Capital's board of directors.
Minghao's hand slides from your back to your wrist, thumb brushing the tourmaline bracelet once before he drops his hand entirely. You don't dare look at him. The touch is intimate and softer than you expect. It unsettles you that it’s the softest bit of warmth anyone has shown you in years.
Your fiancée waves to a group of people familiar to him but not to you. You expect him to lead you over and introduce you, but he doesn't, drifting away from you with a final look that you can't read. You watch him go, the place where his hand rested burning like a brand.
-
Your new penthouse is too large for two people. You knew that before you moved in, but with someone as quiet and absent as Minghao, it feels like you're on your own most days.
The penthouse occupies the entire crown of the residences at The Observatory in the northeast corner of the Upper District. Your new home is four thousand square feet of smoked glass, matte black steel, and pale ash wood that leaves the home cold.
The main living space is a single open expanse, the kitchen bleeding into the dining room and lounger. Floor to ceiling windows frame the open space on three sides, letting in the spill of city flights on a clear night. Tonight, it's cloudy, the fog on the glass pressing close and obscuring the world. It makes you feel like you're in your own dimension far away from Hyperion.
Your bedroom is in the east wing of the apartment, Minghao's is in the west. Two totally opposite ends of the space you're supposed to share together. Live in together. Be married in together. He'd requested your rooms remain separate, and though it hadn't bothered you at first, it does now.
It doesn't matter what bothers you, though. There's no one around to complain to. Your days have settled into a brittle sort of rhythm: you get up at seven to go to the gym to find him already gone. You never see him leave but when you make your mugwort and lemon tea, the kettle is always warm. He returns sometime between nine and noon, hair damp, expression icy. He gives you a polite nod, then vanishes to his wing of the apartment.
No words. Nothing.
You spend the hours alone learning the layout of your home. It's different from the rolling estate of your family. Smaller and bigger all at once, lacking the intricacies and oddities of a home that has been in a family for generations.
The windows never open - you suppose that makes sense, this high up. The air is triple-filtered and scent-neutralised, making the rooms feel dead and clinical. You decide to combat this every Wednesday after the cleaners have gone.
As soon as they're gone, you begin your work. The routine is simple, nothing extravagant. You take a small bundle of palo santo from the tin you keep with your tea and light one end, letting the sweet smoke rise. With the woody smoke drifting from the lit end, you walk the apartment slowly, clockwise while thinking on your intentions.
You trail the smoke along the windows, under the sofa, around the legs of the stools at the island. You grow hesitant when you near Minghao's room, but you let the smoke drift toward his door anyway. You don't open it, but your hands trace the doorframe, a small peace offering.
As you work, your mind empties save for your little intentions: peace, protection, harmony. You're kneeling in the middle of the living room, passing the palo santo beneath the low coffee table one last time when the front door opens without warning. You sit rod straight, turning to see Minghao come into the apartment. Your eyes flick to the clock and you frown. He's early today.
He's dressed in black workout clothes, hair damp, a bottle of water dangling in one hand. He stops the moment he sees you.
Smoke curls between you. He says nothing and neither do you. You half expect a question, a raised brow, anything. He looks at the palo santo in your hand, the thin ribbon of smoke, and then back to you. Something shifts in his expression that you can't place, but he doesn't say anything.
Instead, he steps carefully to the kitchen, giving you a wide berth despite the physical distance already between you, and opens the fridge. He takes out a second bottle of water, and sets it on the island counter top toward you.
"You look dehydrated," is all he says before he tips his head and walks back to his wing.
You remain on your knees, staring at him, lips parted a little. His bedroom door shuts with a distant click, leaving you in the silence and the curling smoke.
Eventually, you get up, knees cracking as you do. You feel a little dizzy and realize you are thirsty. You have no idea how he was able to clock that you're dehydrated by simply looking at you, but you file it away as one of Minghao's oddities, a neverending list that points to him not being the arrogant rich kid you expected.
Heading to the counter, you grab the water, the condensation on the bottle cold and exactly what you needed. As you drink it, Minghao surprises you by coming back out, a bag over his shoulder. You frown, eyes dropping to the bag.
"I'll be gone for three days," he tells you. "I'll see you on the morning of the third day."
"Where are you going?"
"Business." You don't like the ambiguity, but he's already halfway out the door. He hesitates and turns to you, mouth opening and closing as he chooses his next words carefully. "This is your home. Practice how you'd like."
"Pardon?"
"Your… practice. You don't need to hide it from me, Wicked."
You scowl. "I told you not to call me a wicked woman."
His mouth tilts. "I'm not. Simply wicked, is all. Not quite a wicked woman, not quite a practitioner, hmm?"
You glare through his logic and he shrugs, heading for the door and slipping through like smoke.
-
"Here," you say softly, shoving a bundle into Minghao's hand. He raises his brows, eyes skirting the crowd around you. "This is for you."
It's not the best time to give him the gift, but Minghao is never at the penthouse and keeps hours strange enough that you almost never see him despite living with him. The charity auction for the Archaeology Restoration Fund swells around you under the floating sky of the Lumina Tower, but as a moment of quiet opens up while you're standing next to the orchid walls, you take your change.
His dark eyes flick to your face, then back to the offering. He unwraps the silk with careful fingers, revealing the bracelet nestled inside. It is a deep blood-red cord, braided deliberately by your own hands over several quiet nights in the penthouse. Woven into the threads are three fine strands of your own hair, unmistakeable. At the center hangs a small, polished azabache charm, a piece of jet stone you sourced a few days ago. The stone is smooth and cool, carved with subtle protective sigils only visible under the right light.
He stares at it for a long moment, thumb brushing over the braided cord and the jet stone. Something unreadable flickers across his features before he quickly schools it away.
“You made this?” His voice is low, almost cautious.
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"The red is for strength and safety. The azabache is for warding off the evil eye. The hair binds my intention."
"It's not a curse?" You scowl and his mouth twitches. "You threatened to hex me, forgive my hesitation."
Minghao turns the bracelet slowly in his fingers, the azabache catching the soft light. He runs his thumb over the braided strands of your hair, expression softening by the smallest degree. "You continue to surprise me."
"Yeah, well. You don't have to wear it if you don't want to."
Minghao is quiet for another long beat. Then, without a word, he slips the red bracelet onto his right wrist. The contrast of the vivid red cord against his black suit and pale skin is striking. He flexes his hand once, as if testing how it feels, then looks back at you.
"Thank you." There's no mockery or deflection as he lowers his hand. "I'll wear it."
"Don't read too much into it."
"Hm. Too late. Thank you, Wicked."
For a moment, the nickname sounds fond instead of teasing, and the noise of the gala fades. The glowing orchids, the drifting lanterns, the murmur of high society - all of it recedes and leaves the two of you standing in this small pocket of quiet among the spectacle.
-
When you were a little girl, you always imagined that your wedding might be somewhere in a forest, somewhere where forests still legitimately existed. You'd be barefoot, feet planted firmly on a mossy ground, and your hands would be bound in red ribbon to your lover, covered binding oil distilled from flowers and herbs over your wrists until the ribbons were saturated and heavy with the smell of herbs.
This wedding is not that.
The air in the bridal suite is scented heavily with orchids and warm vanilla, the florals spilling over their vases and decorating every surface even here when no one can see them. You stand motionless before the towering mirror, the weight of your gown weighing you down as attendants move around you, adjusting the train of your dress and the butterfly-delicate gossamer of your veil.
Thankfully, the gown is a little like what you imagined. Forgoing the traditional white, it's made of layers of midnight silk, covered in thousands of hand-stitched obsidian beats and microscopic diamonds that fracture in the recessed lighting, turning it into layers of constellations. It spills dramatically into a trail of inky fabric.
You'd commissioned the dress six weeks ago, requesting the design to echo the deep, light-devouring suits Minghao favored. It was a deliberate statement of unity, power, and ultimately, ownership. You'd done it on purpose, and your father had approved when he'd seen it for the first time this morning.
A small win.
Your fingers drift beneath the long sleeve on your left wrist, tracing the black tourmaline and jasper cord hidden against your skin. The cord feels warm, a quiet tether to something older and more certain than the spectacle awaiting you. You breathe deliberately - four counts in, four out. It calms the frantic bird trapped behind your ribs, but only barely.
The reflection in the mirror is alien to you. You've never seen yourself look more elegant and composed, but inside you still feel like the little girl who collected moon water in jars and whispered secrets into manifestation journals.
Beyond the heavy double doors, the ceremony garden waits. The Garden of Eden is one of the city's finest venues, a floral dream suspended three hundred floors above Hyperion's rain-slicked streets. Real, living soil fills massive engineered beds through the space with towering tropical ferns planted, their glossy fronds glinting with dew. Multiple water falls cascade from tiered rock formations into koi ponds, the splash audible even from behind closed doors.
You'd chosen the venue because it was the closest thing you could get to the living earth in Hyperion. Minghao's mother had chosen it because it was the most luxurious venue she'd ever had access to up until now, a haven reserved for the elite. The commonfolk of Hyperion didn't have access to house plants, much less the night-blooming jasmine climbing up trellises and arches or the deep blood-red roses and exotic orchids dotting the aisles.
Hundreds of guests are already seated under the domed ceiling with an engineered twilight sky. Hidden audio systems weave strings and the resonant hum of crystal bowls through the space, frequencies chosen to evoke harmony and solemnity. You can hear the din of the crowd over the sounds, the Upper District elites shimmering in jewels and silks worth more than entire city blocks.
A soft knock interrupts your thoughts. Mina, your lead attendant, slips inside. She's only a few years older than you, but she's sharp-eyed and had years of service with your family, previously working with your sister. You don't mind her - she's not a friend, but she's also not unfriendly, which you'll take.
“It’s time, miss," she informs you. "The Tower and his family are seated and the Xu family is positioned. The garden is ready."
You nod once, throat tight and dry. There is no escape. The contracts were signed in that cold boardroom months ago. You'd known since the moment your sister died that this is what your life was now - the Tower upright, sudden change. The moon reversed, lies coming undone. Death, upright, great transformation. You'd been pulling the same cards for months, each the same thing.
It was the universe's way of telling you that this was your fate, as inescapable as any hard law or scientific rule.
Fragrant air greets you in the corridor. The staircase is full of flowers and dripping in vines, the steps covered in moss and trailing ivy that release sweet smells with every step. Swallowing, you walk down the stairs carefully, attendants behind you and ensuring you don't trip until you're at the bottom of the staircase behind a private screen, preparing to turn the corner and walk down the aisle.
Taking a breath, you turn the corner. Your heart pounds in rhythm with the distant music as the aisle comes into full view. The aisle stretches in front of you, a pathway edge with living white orchids. The ceremony cuts right through the heart of a lush garden, mist curling around the guests feet as they rise, hundreds of them moving in a wave of silk and murmurs.
Eyes track you from every angle - envy, calculation, hunger, approval, curiosity - but you keep your gaze fixed forward, suddenly latching to the man waiting beneath the grand arch of vines and cascading blooms.
Minghao is a shadow given form. He's dressed in black on black, the fabric so absolutely it seems to absorb the light and color from the greenery. His hair is styled longer, framing the exquisite balance of his face. His eyes find yours instantly, intense and unreadable, a stillness that calls to you.
Your pulse thunders as you start the walk. The train trails behind, gently managed by two young attendants as mist from the nearest waterfall kisses your skin, cooling the heat rising in your cheeks. Anxiety coils tight in your stomach, a living serpent, but you move with the trained grace of someone who has practiced this exact path in rehearsals. Future matriarch. Bride. Pawn in a larger game of shipping lanes, banking power, and Syndicate alliances. You wonder if your sister felt this same suffocating weight on her own path or if it was cut too short to ever consider it.
When you reach the altar platform, Minghao extends his hand. You offer him yours, hating the way your hands shake. He grips your hand firmly, and the contact sends a subtle spark up your arm, grounding amid the overwhelming sensory storm of the garden. For a single heartbeat, the hundreds of eyes, the cameras, and everything else recedes, leaving only you and Minghao.
His eyes are fathomless, easy to lose yourself in. His hand tightens a fraction around yours, his eyes only for you. "Temperance upright," he murmurs, only to you. "Patience. Balance. You embody those qualities. I appreciate them."
You blink in surprise when you realize he's talking about the tarot cards. You don't know what to say, the compliment stunning you, but Minghao doesn't wait for you to respond. His eyes flick to the officiant, a respected and neutral legal arbiter provided by Hyperion's council for this special occasion. She's dressed formally, her face perfect and impassive, making it impossible to tell how old she is.
Her voice is solemn but commanding as she urges the guests to sit, the ceremony beginning. Your hand remains in Minghao's, dropped between your waists as you stare ahead with unseeing eyes. You hear the officiant's voice, but you barely hear the words, your pulse loud in your ears as your heart hammers, each word spoken another piece of your sealed fate.
Ahead, the officiant speaks of alliance between houses and the merging of love and families. When you exchange rings, your hands are shaking again, stilled only by Minghao's gentle fingers as he clasps your hand to steady you, helping you slide the plain obsidian band onto his fingers, his sleeve pulling up just slightly to reveal his red bracelet.
Your ring is just as dark, inlaid with gold leaf and precious black stones that make it glimmer and flash dangerously. It feels heavy. Permanent. You watch as his nimble fingers slide it onto your hand, the single scar on his finger catching the light.
"Say the vows," the officiant instructs softly.
"I take you as my husband," you start, nearly whispering. You glance up at him and he nods a fraction, urging you to continue. You continue, voice clearer. "I vow to stand beside you in shadow and in light, in power and in duty, in prosperity and in peril, until this union is dissolved by law or by death."
Minghao doesn't miss a beat. "I take you as my wife. I vow to stand beside you in shadow and in light, in power and in duty, in prosperity and in peril, until death."
"It's-"
He cuts off the officiant's correction. "I know the words."
Your heart flutters, Minghao's choice to skip until this union is dissolved by law or by death a deliberate choice. Somehow it feels more powerful the way he's said it, like he's promising only death can tear you away from him. You think perhaps it's just the last bits of you clinging to the idea of romance, the idea of love that makes you feel that way.
The officiant pronounces you husband and wife and thunderous applause erupts, mixing with the hush of the waterfalls. Minghao lifts your face toward his with careful fingers, his touch lingering at your jaw, fingers gentle as they tilt your face upward. His eyes flicker with something so quickly you don't catch the emotion, and then he's leaning forward, pressing a brief, chaste kiss to your lips. He tastes faintly of wine, the touch lingering as he pulls away quickly.
Husband and wife. The words sink deep, heavy as the rings now on your fingers.
-
The reception is an ode to extravagance that most people cannot fathom. Spanning across three floors, each level opens into cascading terraces of real gardens with multi-tiered waterfalls feeding into glowing pools where rare bioluminescent koi swirl and swim. Walls of ferns, flowering vines, and fruit-bearing trees create alcoves with glass benches and trickling fountains. Each table is overflowing with food that won't be eaten, servers passing by with platters of rare chocolates dusted in edible gold and endless flutes of vintage wines and champagnes.
You navigate the crowd at Minghao’s side, his hand a near-constant presence at the small of your back. The contact is grounding for you but probably possessive in the eyes of your onlookers - and there are many. But only a single onlooker matters tonight, and as Choi Moojin approaches with his wife, you feel your spine go rigid until he offers his formal congratulations and blessing. As always, his daughter lingers nearby with that familiar haunted expression, her brother behind her like a shadowed gargoyle.
You smile until your cheeks ache. You exchange pleasantries with board members, accept compliments on the dress, the venue, the fabricated love story fed to the press. The floral scents grow heavier, the constant murmur of voices and music pressing against your temples. The bird in your chest flutters more desperately with every passing minute, and after nearly an hour and a half of relentless performance, you need a break.
"I need a moment," you murmur to him. "I'm just going to go to the upper powder room terrace. I'll be brief."
He studies your face carefully, then nods. “Take Mina and let security know where you're going."
You slip away with your attendant after telling security where you're going and getting their nod of affirmation before they mutter instructions into an earpiece. Mist from a nearby waterfall cools you off as you walk up the stairs, Mina helping with the heavy train. When you're finally alone on a private terrace, security just outside, you let yourself relax against a stone fountain, drawing in deep breaths of the mineral-rich air.
For the first time since the ceremony began, your practiced smile slips. Your feet hurt, your neck and shoulders ache, and you're starving, wishing you could stop the pleasantries for a moment to just eat.
A small, wet gasp cuts through the peaceful trickle of the fountain and you spin around, startled. Time fractures as you try to put the pieces together of the image in front of you. A man dressed as a server with the lower half of his face obscured by a mask stands directly behind Mina, a gloved hand clamped over her mouth while she screams into his palm. He draws a sharp blade across the softness of her throat, scarlet spraying.
Mina's eyes widen in terror, locking onto yours for a single, agonizing heartbeat before they glaze over, her body convulsing once before she goes limp. Blood pours down the attacker's arm and down the front of her uniform, spilling red onto the terrace floor.
A scream rips from your throat, raw and primal, echoing off the stone walls. "Security!"
No footsteps thunder toward you. No shouts of alarm. The doors remain closed. The posted guards don't answer your call, and the music and laughter from the reception floors below continue uninterrupted, as if the universe itself has muted you.
Terror floods your system like ice water. Your heart slams against your ribs so violently you feel it in your throat. Adrenaline surges, sharpening every sense while simultaneously making your limbs feel distant and heavy.
Your right hand dives into the hidden slit of your gown, fingers closing around the small, discreet knife you've kept on your person since your sister's death. You yank it free, gripping the handle with enough force that your knuckles hurt as you pivot from the fountain, putting it at your back for a sliver of protection.
The attacker releases Mina’s collapsing body and he crumples to the ground in a heap of blood-soaked fabric, her eyes open and staring. The masked figure turns toward you with predatory calm.
"Security!" You scream again, the sound of your voice bouncing off the terrace walls.
No one answers, and a single, horrifying realization crashes over you - either the guards have been compromised or they're dead, and this attack was timed with terrifying precision.
There's no time to think as the attacker lunges.
You twist desperately to the side, the blade whistling past your ribs by inches. The movement throws you off balance on the wet stone, but you slash out wildly with your own knife, catching the attacker’s sleeve and drawing a thin line of blood. He grunts angrily and pivots, his knife slashing at you again. You duck and stumble backward, the fountain’s stone foundation scraping painfully against your hip as you use it to keep distance.
Fear is a living thing inside you now, clawing at your lungs, making every breath sharp and ragged. I’m going to die here. On my wedding night. In front of a fucking fountain while people drink and celebrate without knowing. The thought fuels a desperate surge of fury and you lunge at him this time, catching him off guard as you stab upward.
You manage to nick him, but you don't know how to fight and his retaliation of your anger is brutal as his knife flashes against and slices across your forearm, cutting through silk and skin in a burning line of pure agony. Blood pours instantly, hot and slick down your wrist and hand, making your grip on your own knife slippery and you scream out in pain.
A second strike follows before you can recover, a deep gash opening up across your upper left arm as you turn away from him. The pain is white-hot and blinding, and you let out another choked, animal sound as your vision narrows, blood roaring in your ear.
Every heartbeat sends fresh agony through the gashes, but terror keeps you moving. You kick out hard, your heel connecting with the attacker’s knee and he staggers but recovers easily, closing the distance to kill.
And then Minghao is there, exploding onto the terrace like a force of nature. One moment he's at the door, the next he's a blur of controlled violence as the killer turns to face the more immediate threat. Minghao is fast, stepping inside the man's guard, hand shooting out to grip his wrist and twist with bone-cracking force. A sickening crunch echoes and the man screams, the blade clattering to the ground.
The man swings with his free hand, but Minghao ducks under the wild punch with fluid precision, driving his elbow upward into the man’s throat in a devastating strike. The sound is wet and choked, the cartilage shattering under Minghao's elbow.
You stumble backward against the fountain’s stone foundation, left arm hanging useless and burning, blood streaming down your fingers in hot rivulets. Your own small knife trembles in your right hand, slick with blood. Fear still claws at your throat, tight and awful as Minghao - your husband for less than two hours - moves like something trained for this exact kind of violence. The polished, soft-spoken heir from the boardroom is gone. In his place is something sharper, darker, and far more dangerous.
The attacker tries to recover, lashing out with a desperate kick, but Minghao catches the leg, yanks it forward, and slams his knee into the man’s inner thigh with brutal force, dropping him to one knee. Then Minghao is behind him, a single arm snaking around the attacker's neck. For a second, your eyes meet Minghao's, his gaze ice and fire all at once. Then, he snaps the man's neck hard, the crack loud and final.
The attacker’s body goes limp instantly, collapsing in a heap beside Mina’s body. Blood pools beneath both bodies, mixing with the water from the fountain and staining the delicate white orchids that edge the stone paving.
Minghao is heaving, catching his breath as he stares at you across the violent terrace. He takes a single step toward you before chaos erupts in the doorway, heavy footsteps thundering across the stone as members of the Choi Syndicate flood the space. Seungcheol is in the room first, face like thunder and gun in hand. Jeonghan is behind him, the lazy smirk gone and replaced with deadly focus, armed and gun raised over Seungcheol's shoulder.
Seeing Soonyoung surprises you - you hadn't realized the Sword of the Choi family was here. You'd heard he'd been unpredictable and unhinged as of late, but from what little you knew of him, he was Seungcheol's first line of defense and probably went everywhere the Tower's son did.
Behind him, you vaguely recognize another Sword of the Choi family speaking into a comm at his wrist. You've met Joshua several times at galas and parties, his family high up enough in the Choi Syndicate to run in the elite circles - you even remember them being disappointed he'd become a Sword instead of a socialite or something less violent.
More personnel pour in behind them, your father’s security, Nexus Capital executives, event staff in panicked disarray. The peaceful mist of the terrace turns thick with the metallic stench of blood and the overlapping shouts of orders while you lean against the fountain, light-headed and bleeding.
Your father’s voice cuts through the noise like a whip. “Shut it down! Shut the entire fucking wedding down! Seal the floors now!" He pushes through the growing crowd, face flushed with fury. “I want this building locked. Find out how the hell this happened under our security! Someone’s head will roll for this!”
The chaos swells. Guests from the lower levels begin to murmur and push upward as rumors spread like wildfire. Security teams from both families clash in their attempts to take control, voices rising in overlapping commands. Someone is already photographing the bodies. Another is calling for medical extraction.
Through it all, Minghao moves straight to you.
“Everyone back!” he barks, voice sharp as Nexus Capital security moves toward you. "I will handle my wife. Get away from her."
Minghao sits you on the edge of the fountain, the water spraying your back and soaking through your dress. He drops to his knees in front of you, shrugging off his jacket in one fluid motion and pressing the expensive fabric hard against the deep gashes on your left arm. The pressure sends fresh waves of white-hot pain radiating through your shoulder and chest, but you bite back a cry.
“Breathe," he instructs, voice soft. "In for four, out for four."
You look at him sharply. "How do you know that?"
"You did it the entire time we were at the altar, Wicked. Where are you hurt?"
"Cuts on my arms."
"Deep? Tell me ba-"
Your father pushes closer, still shouting as he interupts whatever Minghao was about to say. “Minghao, let my people handle this. We need to get her to a secure-"
“No,” Minghao snaps, rising to his full height while pulling you to his side, hands pressed against your wounds to staunch the bleeding. “No one touches her except me right now. This is my wife. My responsibility.”
The possessiveness in his tone sends a strange shiver through you, mixing with the adrenaline and pain. He begins guiding you slowly away from the fountain, toward the far side of the terrace where the chaos is slightly less suffocating, his hands never leaving the wounds, applying constant, firm pressure.
Joshua separates himself from the Syndicate group and approaches carefully, hands raised in a clear non-threatening gesture. Minghao pulls you away but you squeeze his arm and whisper, "Syndicate. High up. Don't offend him."
"I don't care-"
"I can help," Joshua cuts in, earnest and gentle. "My fiancée is here tonight. She’s an ER nurse and is always prepared because I'm a bit of a disaster. She has supplies in her bag. Let her patch your wife quickly and privately. We can move to the adjacent private lounge. It’s secure.”
Minghao’s jaw tightens and his eyes flick to you, assessing the amount of blood still soaking through his jacket and the way your legs are beginning to tremble. For a long second, he seems ready to refuse. Then he gives a single, curt nod. “Briefly. Privately. No one else comes near her.”
Joshua signals quickly. A moment later, a woman in an elegant deep emerald gown slips through the crowd, escorted by a man you don't know. Her expression is focused and professional, despite the surrounding chaos. She doesn't waste time with introductions, marching toward the small, adjoining private lounge just off the terrace.
Inside, the space is quiet, dimly lit with warm amber lighting, furnished with low couches and lush potted plants. She works with swift efficiency, focused on helping instead of introducing herself. She orders Minghao to keep pressure on your wounds while she cuts away parts of your dress to clean the gashes with antiseptic. The sting makes you hiss through your teeth, fresh tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Minghao’s free hand finds yours, squeezing gently, surprising you.
"Cuts are deep but clean," she says, voice clinical. "No major vessels hit. You’ll need proper stitches and antibiotics soon, but this will hold for now."
She applies quick-acting clotting powder, then wraps your forearm and upper arm in tight bandages. The pressure is firm, immediate relief against the constant bleeding. Throughout it all, Minghao stays close, one hand on your back, the other assisting where needed.
Your mind spins. Mina’s lifeless eyes flash behind your eyelids every time you blink. The wet sound of her gasp. The way the attacker moved, professional, silent, deadly. This wasn’t random. This was targeted. On your wedding night. In the middle of the most public spectacle Hyperion has seen in years with some of the heaviest security you've ever been around.
You glance up at Minghao. His face is a mask of controlled fury, but his touch on you remains careful, almost tender as the woman finishes securing the last bandage.
"That'll hold until you get her to her own private care."
“Thank you,” you manage, voice hoarse and shaky. The pain is still there, a deep, throbbing burn, but it is no longer actively bleeding you out.
Minghao helps you to your feet, keeping his arm securely around your waist. He nods once at Joshua and his fiancée. "We're leaving."
Joshua nods and opens the door, letting you back into the chaos.
Outside, your father is still shouting orders to shut everything down, demanding answers, threatening careers. Syndicate members move through the growing crowd like shadows, securing perimeters. Soonyoung and Seungcheol stand guard near the doors, expressions grim while Jeonghan leans against a wall, watching everything with those sharp, unreadable eyes.
Minghao keeps you tucked firmly against his side as he guides you out of the private lounge and through the swelling chaos of the upper terrace. His arm around your waist is unyielding, taking most of your weight while his other hand maintains relentless pressure on your bandaged left arm.
Every step sends fresh throbs of pain radiating through the deep gashes, but the clotting powder and tight wraps are holding. Still, warm blood seeps slowly through the bandages, staining the sleeve of your ruined obsidian gown. The once-beautiful dress now hangs heavy and ruined, torn silk clinging wetly to your skin.
“Clear a path,” Minghao growls, cutting through the crowd.
Syndicate members fall in around you without question, creating a protective bubble as he steers you toward a discreet service corridor hidden behind a wall of flowering vines. The lush greenery brushes against your shoulders, leaving faint pollen and the sweet scent of jasmine on your skin. Mist from the waterfalls still clings to the air, now carrying the unmistakable metallic tang of blood.
Your head spins. The adrenaline that kept you upright during the fight is crashing hard, leaving your legs unsteady and your vision edged with black spots. You lean heavier into Minghao’s side, inhaling the faint pine and rain scent that always seems to cling to him. He doesn’t falter. His grip only tightens, steady and sure.
The private exit corridor is dimly lit with recessed amber lighting, two armed guards stationed at the end snapping to attention when they see Minghao, stepping aside instantly. A reinforced service elevator waits. Inside, the space feels claustrophobic, the mirrored walls reflecting your bloodied, disheveled appearance back to you.
Minghao says nothing. He simply helps you out when the elevator doors open directly into an underground private garage reserved for the highest tier of guests. . An armored black car idles, its engine humming. The driver steps out briefly to open the rear door and Minghao helps you inside first, easing you onto the leather seat with surprising care before sliding in beside you. The door seals with a heavy, reassuring thunk, and the car pulls away smoothly.
Minghao leans forward toward the driver and speaks in a fluid, melodic language you have never heard before, making you frown. It doesn’t sound like any of the common trade tongues used in Hyperion or Arkos, but the syllables roll off his tongue with effortless familiarity, carrying the weight of something old. One of the dead languages, you think. The driver responds in the same tongue, short and affirmative, before accelerating.
You stare at Minghao, startled. He settles back against the seat. His suit is ruined with your blood, the dark black of his shirt somehow darker. His hair is slightly disheveled for the first time since you met him, a few strands falling across his forehead. His eyes are sharp and unblinking, fixed entirely on you. He hasn’t relaxed. Not even slightly. His posture remains coiled, ready, one hand resting on his knee while the other occasionally flexes as if wanting to reach for a weapon.
You swallow hard, meeting his gaze head-on. “Was that your people? Did your family arrange this? To test me? To test the alliance?”
Minghao doesn’t look away. His expression remains unreadable, but something flickers behind his dark eyes. “I’m not sure."
The honesty lands like a stone in still water. No deflection. No smooth corporate reassurance. Just the stark truth that unsettles you more than any lie could have. In a world built on calculated performances and half-truths, his directness feels dangerous and alien.
You let out a shaky breath, leaning your head back against the cool leather. The city lights streak across his face in shifting patterns of neon violet and electric blue.
“Thank you,” you whisper after a long moment. “For saving me."
Minghao’s jaw tightens. "You’re no use to my family dead.”
The words aren't kind or romantic. They carry no warmth, no reassurance. Still, they're true. In this transactional marriage of power, your survival is an asset. The bluntness stings a little, and it unsettles you. He's repeatedly told you that honesty would get you killed, and hear he is being honest himself.
Well. Honest to hide other truths, you're sure, as is his way.
You study him in the shifting light. The scar on his right knuckle stands out pale against the dried blood on his hands and you're reminded of the way he dismantled the attacker. It wasn't a survival reflex like your clumsy attempt had been - it was the training of someone who practiced and who fought efficiently, someone professional.
"Who are you?" You ask, narrowing your eyes. The car glides through a tunnel, plunging you both into momentary shadow before neon lights wash over you again. “You’re not who my family was led to believe. That wasn’t the fighting style of a logistics prince. You killed him like you’ve done it before.”
Minghao’s gaze hardens. He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, watching you with that intense, cataloguing stare that makes your skin prickle. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”
The warning hangs between you and you can feel the weight of his hidden truths again. None of it makes sense - the scar, the ancient-sounding language, the way his father deferred to him with a single finger twitch in that boardroom. Something isn't right with Xu Minghao, but you don't know what.
"I think I deserve to know who I just married," you say evenly. You ignore the warning, the throbbing in your arm. "My family thought they were allying with a neutral shipping empire from Arkos but you fight like someone who was trained to kill. You played into being an idiot party boy. You are not."
Minghao exhales slowly through his nose. For the first time, you see a flicker of something almost like weariness cross his features. He leans back again, eyes never leaving yours.
“This marriage is transactional,” he says evenly. “You don’t need to know everything about me. You only need to know that you're my wife and I would go through great pains to keep you alive. It has to be enough.”
The finality in his tone closes the subject like a door slamming shut. You want to argue, to demand more, but the pain in your arm is sharpening as adrenaline fully ebbs, and exhaustion is pulling at the fraying edges of your patience.
Minghao continues watching you, tense and alert, as if expecting another threat to emerge from the shadows at any moment. His hands, still stained red, rest on his thighs as the armored car glides through the upper levels of Hyperion’s streets, the neon sprawl of the city reduced to blurred streaks of violet, crimson, and electric blue beyond the tinted windows.
The car eventually slows and turns into a private underground entrance beneath a sleek, unmarked residential spire in the Upper District. Not the Observatory penthouse you selected as your starter home, but something else. A contingency location, you realize. One of the secure safehouses that must have been part of the joint security protocols you both negotiated and approved during those long, tense meetings.
When the vehicle comes to a stop, Minghao exits first, then reaches in to help you out with careful hands. His arm slides around your waist again, supporting your weight as your legs threaten to buckle on the polished concrete. Two figures step forward immediately from the shadows of the garage, security personnel you recognize from the joint vetting process you and Minghao conducted weeks ago.
A woman named Elara with sharp eyes and a calm demeanor, and a man named Kai, broad-shouldered and quiet. They were among the handful both of you had personally approved after rigorous background checks and interviews. Neutral. Capable. Unaligned with either family’s deeper entanglements.
“Status?” Minghao asks them.
“All clear, sir,” Elara replies. “The building is locked down. Three additional teams on the perimeter. No unauthorized movement.”
Minghao nods once, satisfied, and guides you toward the private elevator. The ride upward is silent except for the soft hum of machinery. When the doors open, you step into a spacious, fortified apartment that is elegant but deliberately understated compared to the Observatory penthouse.
Minghao leads you straight to a wide, low couch in the main living area, easing you down with surprising gentleness. Elara and Kai take up positions near the entrance, professional and unobtrusive. A medical attendant has already been prepared in an adjoining room, but Minghao waves off immediate further treatment for now.
He kneels in front of you, his bloodstained hands resting lightly on your knees as he studies your face. For a long moment, the only sound is the soft hum of the building’s air filtration system and the distant murmur of the city far below.
“I need one of your little wicked jars,” he says quietly. “The one you’re still hiding on yourself.”
You blink, startled despite the fog of pain and exhaustion. "Why? And how do you even know I have one?”
Minghao’s mouth twitches, the faintest bit of amusement. “I’m observant.” He glances meaningfully at the torn sleeve of your gown where the bandages peek through, then back to your eyes. “And considering you’re still alive after what just happened, they must work. I would like to keep one with me for what I’m about to go do.”
"What are you about to go do?"
"Something very violent."
The request hangs between you and you hesitate before you lift your trembling fingers to reach into the hidden inner pocket sewn deep into the bodice of your dress. The small glass jar is still there, warm from your body heat. Black salt, rosemary, hematite, sealed with wax and a drop of your blood. You press it into his waiting palm. The glass looks small against his bloodstained fingers.
Minghao closes his hand around it carefully before tucking it into the inner pocket of his ruined suit jacket. "Thank you."
He rises to his feet, but doesn’t step away immediately. Instead, he looks down at you with that intense, unreadable gaze. “Do not leave this safehouse until I return. Elara and Kai have their orders and they answer to us both. Doctor Tzintzun is here - I understand she is your family doctor."
You nod. "Be careful. Please."
Minghao lingers one final second. His thumb brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead in a gesture so unexpectedly gentle it contrasts sharply with the violence you witnessed barely an hour ago. It makes your heart skip, the breath getting stuck in your lungs for a moment. Then the mask slips back into place, the familiar cool and controlled calm you know.
He lifts his wrist, flashing the bracelet you gave him. "You’re protecting me, right? I'll be fine. I’ll return before dawn. Rest. Let the doctor fix your arm, Wicked."
He turns and walks toward the entrance without another word. Elara and Kai acknowledge him with respectful nods as he passes, and the door seals behind him with a solid, final sound.
The silence that follows feels immense. You lean back against the couch, staring out the windows where the city’s distant lights glitter like cold stars. Your left arm pulses with deep, aching fire, but the bandages hold. Mina’s face flashes behind your eyes again, her wet gasp and spray of blood, the way her body crumbled. You swallow hard against the rising nausea.
Doctor Tzintzun sticks her head out of the adjoining room. "Ma'am? Whenever you're ready."
You nod and allow her to come out and help you to your feet. She guides you toward the adjoining room to clean, stitch and re-bandage you again. As she does, your mind drifts back to the car ride and specifically, your new husband.
None of it makes sense. The ancient language. The brutal efficiency with which Minghao ended the attacker. His unflinching honesty when you asked if it was his people. The blunt truth about your value to his family. And now, the small spell jar resting against his chest as he walks into whatever shadows he’s about to confront.
You close your eyes as fresh antiseptic stings the wounds, tourmaline cord still warm around your wrist. The universe had warned you with its cards. The Tower falling. Illusions stripped bare. Death and transformation. Tonight, it delivered all three in blood and violence, but a steady sense of foreboding had been building all night, like the cards aren't done with you yet.
You wonder, as the pain dulls under medication and exhaustion finally pulls you under, what exactly Minghao is doing out there and what background taught him to be this way. As you fall asleep, you hope the small jar of salt, herb and intention will be enough to bring him back so you can find out.
-
Minghao moves through the rain-slicked unverbelly of the Civ District like a shadow. The neon glow from distant shipping cranes reflects off puddles stained with oil and blood, turning the narrow alley into a fractured mirror of Hyperion’s endless hunger. He's swapped the ruined wedding suit out for something more form fitting and breathable - and more importantly, free of your blood.
He'd scrubbed his hands free of your blood a few hours ago, but now someone else taints his knuckles as he presses his hand to his chest, ensuring the small spell jar that is tucked there is undamaged. It's a strange talisman, this jar that you've given him. He doesn't think they work, exactly, but it's a fascinating little practice, this stuff of yours. He's since looked into practitioners and the culture of women who practice craft, but he still can't understand how or why you came to it.
Still, he likes to wear the bracelet you gave him, often looking at it before going into a room to add another body to his list or before he has to do something he needs strength for. He's never thought much about luck, fate, or the universe, but now he carries the jar and bracelet on him like personal tokens of faith and protection.
Of all the things that Minghao finds most surprising, how often he thinks of you now is number one on the list. This marriage between you is purely transactional, a bridge between Nexus Capital's banking power and the Xu family's growing logistics empire. A calculated move to secure favor with the Choi Syndicate as instructed by the Virate to expand foothold in Hyperion.
But, strangely enough, he is fascinated by you. He's not fascinated by much, but when he'd seen you in that board room hiding bruises beneath your sleeves and drawing your peculiar tarot cards in secret, he felt a slight crack in his plan to use you and push you to the side. You were not the sheltered, obedient heiress they described. You were something sharper. Something that watched the universe with quiet, stubborn belief.
And tonight, someone tried to kill you.
He'd been shocked to find you with a knife in your hand despite the terror in your face. He'd heard you scream - he still doesn't know how, considering how far he had to run to get to you. The universe, perhaps. It impressed him to see that you'd fought back despite how bad you were at it, and the steadiness in your voice when you asked him point-blank in the car, whether his people had tried to kill you had nearly cowed him.
Most heirs in this city would have crumbled. You fought. You pushed. You handed him the spell jar without fully understanding why he wanted it, just that he did. He doesn't know what he wanted either, but it's warm against his chest and it's nice to have. Perhaps if a little jar of rocks and dirt and blood can save you from an assassination attempt, it can save him from whatever plot is unraveling in the shadows.
Minghao’s jaw tightens as he reaches the service door of the nondescript warehouse. The man inside - Strakos - is a mid-level fixer who'd coordinated the attacker's movement tonight. He'd been sloppy, though, and Minghao was incredibly good at finding out information in a city that didn't understand the nuances of the Virate.
He slips inside without sound. The interior is dimly lit by hanging work lamps, the air thick with the smell of rust, seawater, and cheap synth-cigarettes. Strakos sits at table, back to the door, reviewing holo-feeds of some shitty porno that makes Minghao's blood boil. This man had helped plan your death, and he's sitting in the middle of a warehouse, fully clothed watching someone get fucked over a couch.
Minghao strikes before Strakos has time to react.
One hand clamps over Strakos's mouth, yanking his head back while the other loops a thin wire garrote around his throat. Strakos thrashes, hands scrabbling at the wire as Minghao gathers it in his hand and pulls, his mouth brushing against Strakos's ears.
"You ruined my wedding," he murmurs.
The wire cuts through flesh and blood wells instantly, hot and dark. Strakos bucks wildly, knocking over the table as he gurgles, hands clawing at his throat. Minghao holds firm, knees braced against the chair as he pulls, gritting his teeth. Strakos's struggle is ugly and desperate, his feet kicking as the chair legs scrape against concrete, wet chokes escaping despite the crushing pressure.
Minghao’s mind remains clear, detached. This is not rage. This is correction. The Virate taught him long ago that hesitation kills empires.
He thinks of your face in the car, exhausted but determined, eyes wide with pain as you demanded the truth anyway. He thinks of the way you pressed the spell jar into his palm without hesitation. Of the faint scent of incense and herbs that always clings to you, the quiet rebellion of your tarot cards and hidden rituals. You are not soft. You are not simple.
You are as unexpected to him as he is to you, he thinks. And he's been very sloppy around you, unguarded and far too honest in the way that he keeps thinking will get you killed.
The wire sinks deeper. Strakos's struggles weaken, then cease entirely. Minghao holds the tension a few seconds longer, ensuring Strakos is dead before he finally releases, the body slumping forward onto the table with a dull thud. Blood drips onto the concrete floor, and Minghao smashes the phone to stop the crude holo from playing.
Minghao wipes the garrote clean on the dead man’s sleeve and tucks it away. He scans the room quickly, deleting the holo-feeds and pocketing a small data chip that might contain further connections. Only then does he pull out his encrypted comm device - the same matte-black rectangle he gave you all those months ago - and dials his father.
Xu Jian answers on the second ring. "Son."
“It’s done,” Minghao says quietly. He stares at the corpse, expression impassive. "Now to trace the loose threads of the web to the spider."
A long exhale on the other end. “Be careful. Your little display at the reception has the Choi’ curious.”
Minghao’s mouth curves into something that isn’t quite a smile. “Let them wonder. The message is clear: she is under my protection now."
"They don't know we're Virate. You could have exposed us."
"I made a calculated decision and you'll say nothing more of it. The Choi Syndicate has other things to worry about than wondering if we're Virate. I want you to look into who hired these scum. If it was Virate, we have a problem."
"It will be done."
In Arkos, under the old laws of the Virate - a loose but iron-bound confederation of family lineages bound by blood oaths far older than the Syndicates - Minghao isn't the quiet heir he is in Hyperion. He's the patriarch, the lead of his family, raised from childhood within the Virate's hidden ranks and trained in their shadows, a hidden member loyal to the Triptych.
Jian might appear to be the head of the family in Hyperion, but Minghao's elevation through blood and merit in the Virate is where the Xu family truly gets their power. While his father played the public face of Xu Worldwide Logistics here in Hyperion, planting seeds and building legitimate fronts, Minghao had been the blade ensuring those seeds took root. The true power behind the throne.
Of course what he did tonight was a risk. He knows that. Honestly, if he was doing what the Virate asked of him, he would have let them kill you. You weren't actually a necessary piece to the puzzle, but he knows that with you alive, he has a better narrative with the Choi Syndicate and it's annoyingly perceptive Wisdom and her son.
Minghao grimaces at the thought of Jeonghan and his eyes that see far too much. He knows that tonight will be a grave error and that the Wisdom's son will dig his teeth into Minghao and ask questions and prod, but it can't be helped now. What's done is done and Minghao had taken a calculated risk that he could keep the Choi's away from the Virate ties in favor of saving your life.
His father sighs on the other end like he can hear Minghao's thoughts. "This marriage is already more complicated than we anticipated."
"She is not what we expected,” Minghao admits. "She fought tonight, though she doesn't know how. Most heirs would have just screamed and died."
"You sound fond."
Minghao exhales slowly. Fond. The word feels too small, which unsettles him. From the first boardroom meeting, something had shifted. What was meant to be a strategic union already matters more than it should, and just meeting you has complicated Minghao's world when Minghao has never had complications before.
He killed for you tonight without hesitation. Not just because you are a valuable asset, but because the sight of your blood on the terrace floor had ignited something cold and possessive in his chest. He's unused to the feeling.
"I protect what belongs to me," Minghao says eventually. "She is Virate now, though she doesn't know it. I'm committed to her safety as I would be for you or mother."
His father chuckles softly. “You always did prefer the old ways. Be careful, son. You cannot lean on the Virate. We're in the shadows.”
"I know the rules. I was forged by them.”
Minghao ends the call and slips the comm back into his pocket. For a long moment he stands over the body, rain drumming steadily against the warehouse roof. His thoughts return to you again and again, like a current he cannot escape.
You, sitting across from him in the car, shaken and unflinching as you asked whether his people had tried to kill you. The quiet strength in your voice when you thanked him even after his blunt reply. The way you fought with that small knife, desperate and untrained.
This marriage was never supposed to matter beyond its utility. Yet tonight, watching your blood spill, something fundamental had shifted. You're no longer simply the Nexus heiress - you're his wife, and in the old customs of the Virate, that bond carries weight far heavier than any corporate contract.
Minghao straightens his jacket and leaves the warehouse the same way he entered. The rain washes away the last traces of blood from his hands as he walks toward the car, ready to shower and sleep.
He'll return before dawn, as promised. And later, he'll find the remaining threads of tonight's violence and cut them clean. And perhaps, in the quiet of whatever time he finds, he'll decide how exactly he's going to be a husband to a woman who believes in tarot cards and moon water in a city that only worships power, violence and credit.
For now, the head of the Xu family has done his honor bound duty to his wife, and somewhere across the glowing city, you're probably sleeping. Bandaged but alive, carrying the barest hints and pieces of Minghao's secrets and your strange, annoying charm with you.
Minghao touches the small jar in his pocket once more, feeling its faint warmth against his chest, and allows himself the smallest ghost of a smile in the darkness.
-
Minghao steps out of the armored car into the private underground garage of the safehouse, the rain from the Civ District still clinging to him like second skin. The neon glow of the city filters down in muted streaks, casting long, fractured shadows across the concrete.
He moves on autopilot, muscles aching from the night's violence. His mind is still razor sharp though, cycling through every detail of the kill, every loose thread he'd severed tonight.
Elara and Kai materialize from their posts near the elevator, postures alert. They relax when they see Minghao and bow respectfully, straightening as he approaches. They're among the few personnel both you and Minghao jointly vetted, neutral enough to serve the new union without picking sides.
“Report,” he asks, walking into the kitchen.
“All secure, sir,” Elara replies immediately. "Doctor Tzintzun treated her and gave her something for the pain and to sleep. She’s resting in the east wing suite. She did ask about you."
Minghao’s chest tightens at the words. She asked about you. Of course you did. Even bleeding and exhausted, you pushed for answers, for truth. He nods once.
"No one comes in or out. Not even her father or anyone from Nexus Capital."
Kai inclines his head. “Understood. The Choi Syndicate has sent discreet inquiries. Mr. Kwon personally. They’re offering additional support.”
“Let them offer,” Minghao replies. “We accept the appearance of cooperation, nothing more."
Minghao dismisses them with a wave and heads toward the east wing, leaving them back at their posts. He finds you in the master suite, tucked beneath dark sheets. Your face is relaxed in sleep, but tension still lingers in between your brows and your jaw as you frown. The black tourmaline cord peeks from beneath the edge of the bandages on your wrist. Minghao stands in the doorway for a long time, simply watching the steady rise and fall of your chest.
Something unfamiliar and dangerous twists behind his ribs. He had not anticipated this complication. The scales feel tipped out of balance, like something new has taken root, and he doesn't know what to do about it.
Minghao finally turns away and moves to the bedroom across the hall to strip off his tactical gear with mechanical, practiced movements in the bathroom. He's careful with your little spell jar, setting it down gingerly on the counter where the low bathroom light catches the glass.
He lets the scalding water melt everything but his thoughts away. He stands under the spray, watching the water swirl around his fink and fade from pink to clear. The heat feels good, unwinding his muscles and burning him to the point that the only thing left are thoughts of you and this new predicament he's in.
When he can't take the heat anymore, he steps out and changes into something soft and comfortable before settling in the middle of his bed with his computer in front of him. With the tap of a key, the screen projects holograms around him in a circle, broken only by his arm as he inserts the data chip from Strakos' warehouse into the computer.
He finds limited information on it - remnants of someone referencing the union of Nexus Capital and Xu Worldwide Logistics. He taps his fingers on his knees. The enemies in Hyperion are endless, but few of them have killing power. Most of the people in the city who hate his family are business competitors, minor patrons of various Syndicates in Hyperion. None of them have the power to send a Syndicate-sanctioned attack on his wife, which means this hit is higher up than simple city corporations.
It could be Syndicate, he supposes. He's still learning about the nuances of the three powerhouses that sit at the top of the food chain in Hyperion, but he's not convinced the Kim or Yong family would be moved enough by the marriage to do something so public about it - especially not with Choi Moojin's daughter engaged to Kim Yijun as a sign of union.
A sour feeling settles in Minghao's stomach. The easiest conclusion to make is that the threat is from the Virate. A finger of dread traces his spine at the thought. In a way, families of the Virate were similar to families of the Syndicate - they vied for power, it was always at war, and the most powerful family was always the one that was ten steps ahead. Unlike the Syndicates of Hyperion though, the families of the Virate collectively answered to the three heads of the Virate, the Triptych.
Except members of the Virate didn't know the Xu families were members. Outside of the Triptych, the Virate didn't even know Minghao existed. To them, Xu Jian was a retired member who had moved to Hyperion when he was seventeen after being honorably discharged and given the blessing of the Virate. Even with their blessing, Jian had given up all ties, powers, assets and favors from the Virate for life. That was the way it worked. His wife Luli, who had tried to leave the Virate once before, had joined him.
They'd left a key part of them there, though. Their son. The Triptych was in need of a family with old ties to be removed and relocated elsewhere, someone they could trust and that could believably sever ties with the Virate. The Xu family had been just that, and they'd given their only son to the Triptych to raise in the shadows, nameless and unclaimed as a Shade, forged in the Triptych's perfect image of an assassin before sending him to do the single thing he'd been created for: win over a Syndicate in Hyperion.
He sighs. He's tired - he's always tired these days, even more so than when he was a teenager learning how to become a shadowed killer. The lying and scheming is often harder than the killing, and trying to uncover his enemy hiding in the dark without access to real Virate influence and pull is a challenge.
An email to his personal catches his attention. It's one of the Trustees of Nexus Capital with more of Minghao's access to his new assets - your assets that are now his. It's overwhelming. Nexus Capital’s vast banking networks, offshore accounts, silent partnerships, voting proxies. Pages of sensitive data scroll past full of liquidity reports, hidden holdings in Syndicate-adjacent ventures, influence maps.
Minghao swallows. It's exactly what he wanted. With this level of access, the family can begin weaving influence deeper into Hyperion's financial arteries, and through the Choi alliance, they can steer shipping lanes and capital flows without the Syndicates ever realizing a new, quieter power is embedding itself beneath their foundations. The Choi's believe this is nothing more than a political marriage for port advantages. They have no idea what the Virate is capable of.
Minghao should feel satisfied. This is entirely the reason he was given to the Triptych and raised as a Shade, a nameless member in the shadows, someone without influence and without a name, but one of the most valuable members of their society. Everything is proceeding according to plan, and yet for the first time in his life, he feels sharp, unwelcome conflict like the edge of an enemy's blade.
His gaze drifts again toward the door where you sleep just across the hall. You were never part of the equation. You were meant to be kept at a distance, polite and useful, a spoiled brat who would go to parties and be the socialite Minghao was told you were. Instead, you have lodged yourself under his skin and you haven't even done anything - you'd simply looked at him after he'd killed the attacker tonight not in fear, but wary recognition that Minghao was also not what he seemed.
Protecting you tonight had felt instinctive. Necessary. The thought of you lying dead beside Mina had ignited a cold fury he rarely permits himself. And that realization terrifies him.
Loyalty to the family and to the old ways has defined Minghao's entire life - every choice he has ever made. It gave him purpose when his father focused on building the legitimate Hyperion front, it forged him into steel when he was being wiped and cut and tested. Attachments were always meant to be managed, never indulged, and yet here he is sitting in a safehouse, conflicted over a wife he doesn't really know.
If future objectives ever require sacrificing your safety, or keeping truths from you that could destroy the fragile trust beginning to form - what then? A few months ago, Minghao would have said he'd cut you away no problem. Now, he thinks he might need to cut you out like cancer, nearly killing himself in the process to sever the tie.
How unsettling. He isn't sure how he's gotten here, but as always, it's up to him to figure it out. Right now is not the time, though, so he rolls his shoulders and continues working through the remaining hours of darkness, mapping pressure points within Nexus Capital, noting which Choi figures might be influenced over time. Every new door opened by the marriage is another step into Hyperion's core, his entire purpose.
The first hints of dawn begin to lighten the sky beyond the glass of the bedroom. He glances up and realizes his current work has no business being done in the light of day, so he powers down the computer, the cyan numbers and screens vanishing. He stands and shuffles across the hall to check on you, opening the door as quietly as he can.
You're still asleep, breathing steadily in the same position he left you in. Sighing, he sits down in one of the chairs, leaning so his elbows are on his knees and his chin rests in his elbows, staring at you as you sleep.
For the first time in his life, the sharp edge of his purpose feels negotiable. Not abandoned or broken, but rather complicated by the strange, stubborn woman sleeping in front of him.
Perhaps you are wicked, but rather for the things you do to him instead of your actual deeds.
-
The last place you want to be tonight is the Eternal Bloom Gala at the Celestial Atrium in the Pearl District. The atrium is a floating marvel suspended between three interconnected spirals, gardens far more exquisite than even your wedding dominating every space. Though it looks nothing like your wedding, it's close enough to make your stomach turn, your fingers brushing across the closed wounds, still healing since the attack three weeks prior.
Massive domed ceilings of smart glass reveal the night sky above Hyperion, projected stars mingling with the real ones when the clouds part. Tiered terraces overflow with tropical foliage and cascading waterfuls that tumble into artificially glowing pools full of night-blooming lilies the size of dinner plates.
Crystal lanterns drift lazily overhead like captive moons, casting warm golden light that softens every sharp edge of wealth on display as women glide through the gardens in gowns of liquid silk and embroidered starlight. Servants in white move like ghosts, offering flutes of shimmering vintage and tiny edible sculptures dusted with real gold leaf.
Tonight, you're playing the part of socialite perfectly despite the bone-deep exhaustion that clings to you even now. Your gown is a deep forest green this evening, chosen to complement the venue’s living opulence and because it has sleeves that high the healing scars on your arm. Minghao stands a few paces away, devastating in a green so dark that it's almost black, his presence a dark anchor amid the glittering crowd.
Your husband is a startlingly good date. He's attentive in public, close enough for appearances, but never quite warm. He speaks to you more than he used to, small observations about the room, quiet comments on people passing by, but the deeper questions you ask still meet that same polite, impenetrable wall.
Despite asking multiple times, he still won't tell you who trained him to kill with such clinical efficiency. Won't explain the ancient language he used with the drive that night. It doesn't matter how much he dances around your questions - you still probe, willing to chip away at his armor with every conversation if you have to.
You turn your attention back to the circle of high society ladies surrounding you. As much as you hate it, they're the gatekeepers of Hyperion's upper echelons, wives and daughters of banking dynasties, shipping magnates, and Syndicate families. Their gowns shimmer in jewel tones, their smiles sharp as broken glass.
Though exhausted, you have spent the last hour slowly weaving Minghao into their world, dropping careful mentions of his insights on logistics and neutral trade routes, painting him as a valuable new addition to the delicate balance of power.
Lin stands at the center, as she usually does. She's always been a ring-leader, now married to a mid-level Sword whose name you forget. She carries herself with the confidence of someone whose family has hovered near the inner circle for generations. You've known her since you were teens, your circles overlapping heavily enough that she feels almost like an old yet complicated acquaintance.
Tonight, she's in deep crimson silk that catches the lantern lights like fresh blood, her smile sweet on the surface but sharp underneath You don't miss the way her eyes linger on Yoon Jeonghan as he glides by, bowing politely to the women and giving them all his dashing smile. You don't think it's dashing at all, feeling your spine stiffen as the Wisdom's son winks at you and Minghao before vanishing into the crowd.
Suianne is next to her, and you're surprised to see her. She'd married into the Yong family and though the Syndicate's were currently at peace, the Yong family and the Choi family had been fighting at the docks which was the entire reason you got married to Minghao. Neither of you speak of business tonight, instead focusing on her pretty, navy gown that flowers like water.
Eva stands to Lin’s other side, beautiful and brittle in shimmering silver, still nursing the very public sting of being discarded by Kwon Soonyoung after she let him into her bed. From what you'd heard, he's not spoken to her since and as you watch her eyes flick around the gala, you can see the humiliation that still clings to her.
The three of them form a petty but influential ring, always watching and always trading secrets. They're not your favorite women to spend time with, but you don't have friends. Not really. Your sister had always been the one to establish the relationships, and you'd only started after she'd died, making for awkward conversations and learning social queues clumsily.
Lin leans in slightly, lowering her voice as a drift of jasmine-scented mist curls toward you. "You have to tell us - honestly. How are you really finding married life with your mysterious Xu heir? The whole city is still rumbling about your wedding. I'm so glad you're alright."
You offer a measured, slightly tired smile, letting them see the exhaustion beneath the polish to make the performance more authentic. "Minghao is quieter than most men, but there's a steadiness to him I enjoy. He remembers small details."
"He certainly watches you closely," Suianne notes, tilting her head. "A man in love, I suppose."
You glance across the garden where Minghao stands speaking with a small cluster of neutral businessmen. His dark eyes find yours almost instantly, holding for a heartbeat too long. He tilts his head as if to ask are you okay and you nod back. He seems appeased, eyes flicking back to the men he's speaking to.
The two of you have moved back into the Observatory penthouse full time. The space no longer feels quite so vast and empty now that he joins you for breakfast some mornings. He even is willing to sit in the living room while you light palo santo, watching you warily. He still deflects every real question about his past, but the silence between you has grown less brittle.
"He's attentative," you agree, turning back to them. "Last week he remembered I prefer lemon-mugwort tea in the mornings without me saying anything. We’ve settled back into the penthouse, just the two of us above the clouds. It’s peaceful. We're still learning."
Eva lets out a soft, bitter laugh, swirling the liquid in her glass. “At least he comes home to you. Kwon Soonyoung fucked me senseless for three weeks straight and now pretends I don’t exist when we’re in the same room. The man is a ghost after he gets what he wants.”
Lina's smile turns knowing. "That's what you get for fucking the mad dog and thinking you could mend him after she left him."
Eva looks put out by Lin's comment, but Suianne drops her voice to a whisper. "Speaking of her - no one has seen her in weeks. Not since her engagement party. You used to be close with her, weren't you Lin?"
"We're still close," Lin sniffs. "She's simply busy with her fiancée. Kim Yijun is a demanding man." She waves a hand and turns to you. "Enough about Baby. Tell us more about your husband. Is he as intense in the bedroom as he looks in public?"
Eva shouts Lin's name as the question lands like spark on dry tinder. Heat floods your face instantly and your mouth opens and closes. For a moment, all your carefully practiced poise deserts you and you're left staring at Lin who looks rather smug, like she's caught you in a lie.
"Um," you manage. The women burst into delighted laughter, clearly pleased to have cracked your composure. “He is considerate. But that's not something I'm going to discuss in detail."
A smooth voice interrupts from just behind you. “Oh, Lin, you terrible thing. Must you scandalize the poor girl in public?”
You turn, grateful for the interruption, as a woman you don’t recognize steps into the circle with effortless confidence. She's utterly striking, tall and elegant in midnight blue silk that pools around her like shadows, her dark hair swept up with silver pins.
“Minael,” Lin says warmly, reaching out to clasp the woman’s hand. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight. And with your husband, no less.”
Minael’s husband steps forward beside her, a tall, well-built man in impeccably cut black. His features are sharp, with cool grey eyes that seem to take in everything at once.
"Sato Ken," he introduces himself, offering his hand with a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
You extend your hand to shake his, and the moment your palms meet, your gaze drops down involuntarily to his hand. There, across the first knuckle, is a thin, precise scar, nearly identical to the one on Minghao’s hand. Pale, deliberate, the kind left by wire or a very sharp blade. Not the sort of mark one expects on a society husband.
A chill slides down your spine. Ken's grip is firm, lingering just a fraction too long, and when you meet his eyes again, he's studying you with an intensity that feels uncomfortably familiar, As if he is cataloguing you the same way Minghao does.
Something in your gut turns rotten. A chill settles over you as you stare at Ken. Beyond him, something catches your eye. Near the top of the trees, a black bird lands, shuffling its wings. It's so black it's almost blue, oil-slick feathers shining in the light as it shuffles, craning its head until it blinks two beady eyes at you. You stare at it for a moment - you don't think you've ever seen a crow in the city before.
And then it flutters its wings and flies away through the open roof, vanishing into the inky sky like it was never there at all.
“Pleasure to finally meet you,” Ken says smoothly, bringing your attention back to him. “We’ve heard much about the new Xu-Nexus union.”
Minael laughs lightly, linking her arm with Lin’s. “Darling, you must tell me everything later. I’ve been dying to hear how the mysterious Arkos heir is settling into our little ecosystem.”
The conversation shifts around you, but you remain hyper-aware of Ken. He stands slightly behind his wife, eyes occasionally drifting back to you with that same probing focus. Something isn't right about Sato Ken. His wife seems perfectly well and good at socializing and you can tell Lira and the others are doting on her, but her husband is bad at this, his presence a palpable edge to the softness of his wife.
A tingle prods at the back of your neck, and instinct tells you to be wary of him. You engage with him little, ensuring that his wife is positioned between the two of you at all times. Your finger brushes against your bracelet, warm from your skin and grounding.
Thankfully, Minael and Ken don't linger long. After a few minutes of polite exchange, they drift away toward another group, the eerie man casting one final, lingering glance over his shoulder at you before disappearing into the foliage.
Moments later, Minghao appears at your side, moving with that silent grace you have come to expect. His hand settles lightly at the small of your back, warm through the silk. You suck in a breath, glancing at him, a little startled by his nearness.
“Are you ready to go home?” he asks quietly, voice pitched so the others can hear. “We were supposed to stay another hour, but you look exhausted.”
“Yes,” you murmur. “Please.”
He nods once and excuses you both from the group with polished grace, and guides you through the gardens toward a private exit. As you walk, you glance back one final time to see Ken watching you from across the atrium, half hidden behind a curtain of jasmine vines. An odd, unsettled feeling twists in your stomach and you turn away, leaning slightly into Minghao.
The armored car waits in the secure bay below. Once inside, the doors close behind you and the vehicle glides smoothly onto the road. You don't hesitate, getting onto your knees and reaching into your dress for the wrapped tarot deck you'd hidden in your pocket.
Minghao watches you from across the seat, eyebrow slightly raised. “Now?”
"Hush."
You shuffle the cards, the soft shck of the cards familiar. You don’t ask a specific question out loud. You rarely need to anymore. The deck knows, and three cards slip from the deck and fall face up onto the seat as you shuffle.
The Devil, upright. Ace of Swords, reversed. Nine of Wands, upright.
You stare at them, heart sinking. Chains and bondage. Blocked clarity. A wounded warrior still standing guard, exhausted but defiant. The message feels heavy, layered with warning. Something binding. Something obscured. Something that requires continued vigilance despite deep fatigue.
Minghao leans forward slightly, studying the cards with open curiosity. “What do they mean?”
You don’t answer immediately, tracing the edges of The Devil with one fingertip. The image of chained figures stares back at you. Your mind drifts to Ken's scar, to the way he studied you.
"Well?" Minghao asks again.
You glance at him. "Do you know Sato Ken?"
"Who?"
You frown. "The man I just met at the party. He had a scar like yours, and grey eyes."
Minghao goes unnaturally still. "What scar?"
"You have a scar on your finger." You reach out and grab his hands. He lets you, frowning as you lift his hand to the light and point to the faint scar on his knuckle, thin as can be. His hands are warm in yours, the fingers rough against your skin. "This one."
Minghao stares at where your hands are linked. "That scar specifically?"
"Yes."
A vein in his temple twitches before he shrugs a shoulder. "I don't know a Sato Ken."
Not for the first time, it sounds like Minghao is telling the truth. But you think about the way he uses truth to hide other things, and as you drop his hands and look back to the cards, you wonder which card is Minghao. The man in chains or the wounded warrior still standing guard. Maybe both.
-
Being in the Lower District alone is a bad idea. You have no choice, though. Hours in the library in the Legal District have led you here, an impossible lead buried in nonsense files. It hadn't been easy to find - Sato Ken hadn't brought up any solid leads, nor had his wife. But your search had revealed a Sato Rhia who had died in a car crash a decade ago with her husband and adopted son, a young boy who was named Zhi Yuan, not Sato Ken, but who had the same uncanny grey eyes and the beginnings of a face like the man you remember from the gala.
Pulling your coat hood up against the drizzle, you begin walking toward the nearest transit hub that will take you down to the Lower District where your research indicated the shelter was. If Zhi Yuan passed through the system, someone might remember him. Someone might know how a boy with grey eyes and a future scar ended up.
You get lost twice trying to find the train to take you to the Lower District. You've never been there without security personnel, and when you finally board the train, you feel a sense of apprehension as the car rocks back and forth, neon smearing by on the windows before it shoots underground.
Sitting near the head of the car, you settle with your hand tucked inside your coat, finger brushing the hilt of your small knife. The other rests against the tiny vial of protective oil in your inner pocket, its glass warm and grounding.
Through the scratched windows, the city becomes visible briefly as the train dives in and out of subterranean tracks. People huddle under leaking overhangs, begging for credits or hovering near fires for warmth. When the train stops, you step out and cringe, the smell of too many bodies living close together hitting you all at once.
Climbing the stairs is dangerous, the grime and rain making the ascent slippery. You hesitate to touch the rail when you see the rusted filth, and instead ask the universe to keep you from busting your ass.
The streets here are narrow and chaotic, slick with oily rain that reflects stuttering neon signs in iridescent puddles. Real rain falls harder at this level, drumming against rusted metal awnings and corroded pipes. Gang tags in glowing spray-paint pulse on every wall, though above them are the looming symbols of the Syndicates.
Street vendors hawk bootleg data pads, hacked implants, and vials of questionable stims from flickering stalls. The air grows thicker, heavier, carrying the unmistakable smells of unfiltered rain, and fried street meat. You feel painfully exposed, your coat too clean and posture too refined for this district.
Eyes follow you - some curious, some calculating. You keep your head down but your sens sharp, hand never far from your knife as you navigate the rain-slicked streets.
The shelter squats at the end of a dimly lit side street, a squat brutalist building reinforced with bolted steel plates and outdated security cams that flicker with static. Faded holographic signage above the entrance flickers with the building name, though it's broken and half on so none of the letters seem to make sense.
Rain drips steadily from the overhang as you push open the reinforced door. Inside, the air is warm and stale. You curl your nose, immediately missing the freshness of recycled air. You hadn't realized what a privilege it was until now.
Rows of cramped cots line the main hall. A few residents glancing at you curiously. A man mopping the floor with water that doesn't look any cleaner than the sticky tile nods politely at you. You approach the front desk where a middle-aged woman in a worn uniform flicks through data on a tablet under the weak glow of a buzzing fluorescent bar.
“Excuse me,” you say, keeping your voice low. “I’m looking for information about someone who might have stayed here as a child. His name was Zhi Yuan. This would have been around twenty to twenty-five years ago. I think he was adopted by Sato Rhia and her husband Amar.”
The woman studies your face, noting how obviously out of place you are before she ignores you and goes back to reading whatever is on her tablet. You grit your teeth and pull out your phone, tapping the small tile on the desk to transfer credits.
"Try again," you say through your teeth.
She glances at the credits and stiffens, rolling her shoulders as she begins typing. "Zhi Yuan?" She repeats, voice raspy. "Might not have the records that far back."
"That far? It was only twenty something years ago."
She huffs. "Listen lady, we don't got fancy storage here. We delete shit."
"Are you going to do the search or not?"
She grumbles and hits a few keys. "All I've got is some random kid from Arkos here for a few weeks. That's it."
"That's it?"
"You can transfer me more credits, but it won't do shit."
You think about leaving a handful of rusty nails, but you force a sharp smile. "Thank you so much for your help."
As you reach the door, the older man in stained janitorial coveralls pauses his mopping. He's weathered with deep lines around his eyes and hands scarred from years of hard labor. He glances at you, then at the woman behind the desk.
"You shouldn't be chasing ghosts down, miss," he whispers. "Not that one."
You pause, turning back. “What do you mean?”
"The boy. Let him stay dead. Virate operates that way."
The word lands like cold steel against your spine. Virate.
It's an unfamiliar word to you, but it tugs at your gut, like something is telling you it's important. “What is the Virate?”
The man’s expression shutters immediately. He looks over his shoulder toward the back rooms, then back at you. For a moment, genuine concern flickers across his weathered face.
Better that you don’t know,” he says quietly, almost urgently. “Go home, miss. The Lower District isn't for you."
He returns to mopping without another word, the wet slap of the mop against cracked tile the only sound between you. You stand frozen for a long second, heart hammering, before pushing open the door and stepping back into the relentless rain.
-
Minghao sits across the table from his mother in the private tearoom of the Xu family residence in the Upper District. The space is deliberately designed, a copy of old Arkos interior design and architecture. Low tables of dark lacquered wood rest on mats woven from rare fibers imported at great expense, and the walls are paneled in warm cedar that release a faint, woody smell.
Soft paper lanterns hang at varying heights from the ceiling, their golden light diffused and flickering gently, mimicking the old-world illumination of ancestral estates back in Arkos. Outside the reinforced floor-to-ceiling windows, Hyperion sprawls in an endless, restless web of neon arteries, flickering holograms, and rain-streaked towers piercing the low cloud ceiling.
Rain taps steadily against the glass, a metallic percussion that Minghao has long since learned to tune out since moving here. Inside, the air is warm and fragrant with the steam rising from the teapot and the subtle notes of jasmine.
It should feel peaceful. Instead, it feels like the calm before a storm he himself is about to unleash.
Xu Luli pours the tea with the same graceful precision she has always possessed, her movements fluid, the delicate porcelain cup gliding silently across the surface of the table as she pushes it toward him. Her grey eyes catch the lantern light as she lifts her cup, sipping.
Luli looks eternally young. It's always unsettling to Minghao that his mother doesn't look like she ages, while his father lets himself age freely. He knows it's a status and power play, but he hates the way he looks at his mother and sees someone frozen in time, someone he will eventually surpass because augmentation and longevity is not for him.
Minghao watches her hands. Elegant. Steady. The same hands that once ran through his hair when he was a young boy, before the Virate claimed the rest of his childhood and turned him into a trained weapon, a blade at their beck and call.
He takes a slow sip of the tea, letting the rare Arkos blend warm his chest and ground him. The flavor is complex, floral and slightly bitter, with an underlying earthiness that reminds him of the herbs you roll into handles and distill into oils that you like to spray across doors and clothes and objects.
"You look well," Minghao offers, sipping his tea.
Luli smiles at him softly, the kind of smile she reserves only for him. "You look tired. The marriage has been… eventful."
“Eventful,” Minghao echoes, a dry note threading through his voice. He studies her face in the golden lantern light, noting every micro-expression. "My wife and I have not had an easy start."
"All marriages are complicated. Your father and I were not always easy, either."
“Now that you've mentioned it, I’ve been thinking about your life before Father. Before the Xu name became yours.”
Her fingers pause for the briefest moment on the teapot handle. Minghao catches it, the tiny tightening at the corner of her mouth, the way her stormy grey eyes flicker once toward the reinforced window overlooking the glowing, rain-streaked city below. The lanterns cast shifting golden patterns across her flawless face, highlighting the elegant line of her jaw.
“It was a difficult time,” she says lightly. "Your father and I found each other at the right time."
"You were out of the public eye for a while. Why was that?"
"Youthful rebellion," she snorts. "I thought I could escape the expectations placed on me. Your wife has done a better job at hers, I will admit."
"And yet you think she's wicked."
"I never said wicked. She's just strange."
Minghao tilts his head, watching her with the same intense, cataloguing focus he once used on targets in shadowed rooms. The lantern light plays across her features, softening nothing.
"Was there someone before my father?" The question catches her off guard and her cup clinks sharply against the plate when she sets it down. "I always wondered. I never could figure out what made you leave."
"Minghao-"
"The Triptych always told me you wanted to leave," Minghao continues, nodding. He puts his chin in his palm, watching his mother keenly. "And that's why they were willing to part ways publically, that you'd asked for it. But your first departure from the Virate wasn't after you received permission. So what was it?"
"Son…"
"I'm not angry. I'm just looking for some answers."
Luli is quiet for a long moment. She lifts her own cup, takes a slow sip as if buying time, and sets it down with deliberate grace. The soft clink of porcelain against lacquer sounds unnaturally loud in the quiet room. Outside, the rain intensifies, drumming harder against the glass.
“Yes,” she admits at last. “I ran away with a lover.”
The admission hangs heavy in the air between them. Minghao nods, mind racing ahead. His eyes drop down to the red bracelet you'd given him, the azabache charm cool against his skin.
"Who was he?" He asks.
"Someone unsuitable. From outside the Virate. He was very charismatic, brillitan in his own way. I thought I could disappear and live outside the rules."
“And then?” he prompts when his mother falls silent again.
“I became pregnant.”
The words land like a blade between his ribs. Minghao goes very still. The lantern light suddenly feels too warm, the cedar scent too heavy. His mother continues, her voice trembling only slightly now, each word pulled from somewhere deep and painful she has clearly tried to bury for decades.
“I carried the child to term. A boy. We lived happily for a year before he decided that the child and I were too much. So I went back." She swallows. "The child wasn't Virate, though. So they took him and offered to place him somewhere safe and give me a new start, a single offer of mercy.”
"A safe start," Minghao echoes. "They offered to let you part with the Virate publicly if you did favors for them privately, didn't they?"
She chews her lip and nods. "I married your father and then we had you. You know the rest from there. We had you until you were five. Then we moved and you were theirs."
Minghao’s mind races, pieces clicking together with brutal, crystalline clarity. Grey eyes. The thin, precise scar. The way Sato Ken had studied you at the gala. You'd been unsettled by Ken, though Minghao had neither seen the man nor heard of him. None of his contacts knew of the name Sato Ken, and a quick online search had simply told the story of a businessman who married into a wealthy family.
In any other circumstance, Minghao might have disregarded it. But you'd been unsettled more than usual, insisting that the man with grey eyes - a Lin family trait from his mother's side - had the same scar as him. He trusted your instincts.
It was the same scar the initiated members of the Virate had, one where a finger had been severed during interrogation only to be later surgically added back on. The scar was always a reminder that members had passed, that they'd like the Virate take a part of them during an interrogation that felt realer than anything else Minghao has ever gone through, and that they could take it just as easily again.
He rubs his finger now, fingers brushing over the scar, remembering the snap of the bone and the way he'd nearly bit through his tongue. He'd not given up the information, though, and that had been enough to pass and earn the digit back.
If you were unsettled by a man with grey eyes and the same scar… well, Minghao didn't believe coincidences. Not since he had started watching you read your tarot and scribble into dream journals when you thought he wasn't paying attention.
“Does father know?” he asks eventually, voice low and tightly controlled.
“No. No one does. Only the Triptych."
Minghao exhales slowly, mind already spinning through the implications. If this Sato Ken was Minghao's brother - either by blood or initiation - he existed only in the dark. Which meant he was a Shade, and no one but the Triptych knew he existed. It unsettles Minghao more than he would like, mind scrambling to find a motive. Jealousy? Resentment? A move within a move by the Virate? It could be anything.
As a Shade himself, Ken shouldn't know Minghao existed. Not even the most coveted of the assassins belonging to the Virate knew the identity of one another, which was why Minghao thought nothing of Ken at the gala - hadn't even seen him. It makes him feel shaken, a ghost slipping by him that Minghao was trained to find, to see.
Worse was that Ken had seen you. Approached you. Shaken your hand. He'd done all that and Minghao simply hadn't noticed him. Years of Virate training had failed him, and he'd let something as dangerous as a Shade get close to you. It not only wounds his pride, but it wounds him.
Minghao feels the red bracelet you gave him shift against his wrist again. The azabache charm feels heavier suddenly, a small weight of your strange faith pressing against his skin.
He stands abruptly, the low table creaking as his knees push against it. Rain continues to lash the windows, the sound growing louder as the storm intensifies outside.
"I have to handle this," he mutters.
"What?" She asks, slipping into Zhenwen, a language dead to the world for generations but kept alive by the oldest families of Arkos. "What's happening?"
"Your illegitimate son tried to kill my wife."
"No," Luli shakes her head. "He was adopted into a family, outside of the Virate."
Minghao tsks. "You think the Virate gave away your child without training him? The Shade is born in darkness and has no name. I would know."
Luli closes her eyes, a single tear slipping down her eternal face. Minghao turns away before the sight can soften him. He cannot afford softness right now. Not when the delicate balance he has spent years maintaining is suddenly threatening to shatter around him for a haphazardly protected secret.
"I will do what I must for my family," Minghao tells her, steeling himself. "Blood for blood."
"Blood for blood," she agrees.
As he walks out of the room, he touches the red bracelet on his wrist, thumb brushing over the braided strands of your hair woven into the cord. The small protective charm you made for him feels both absurd and strangely vital at this moment. He wonders what you would say if you knew the truth, that the man you married carries blood older and darker than anything you have imagined. That the secrets he keeps are not just his own.
Whatever game is being played either by this half-brother of his or by the Triptych, Minghao will end it.
But for the first time, the thought of collateral damage makes his stomach turn because now, the collateral has a name, and she sleeps in the east wing of his penthouse and sticks her nose where it doesn't belong because she's too smart for her own good.
-
Thick, metallic air swallows you the moment you step into the bar. Sweet smoke chokes the room, the neon bleed of alternate reality systems flickering from behind closed doors. A few patrons sit slumped over table tops, nursing drinks lazily as though they're half in a dream. Most of the doors are shut, the private alternate reality rooms cutting them off from the bar and everything else in the real world.
Energy shifts immediately. Your skin prickles, and you scan the room, sensing the way energy here is a vacuum, like these rooms that offer everything but reality suck the essence of the soul out of the body.
The rain from outside clings to your coat in silver beads, but the oppressive warmth in the bar immediately makes your back and neck start to sweat. You step into the bar further, letting the door shut close behind you, cutting off the sound from the Pearl District. Neon from the district streets leaks through frosted windows in fractured violet and electric blue, painting the high wooden beams in shifting colors.
A few figures who move with the careful grace of people who have stepped between realities one too many times. You scan them all without making it obvious, your fingers brushing the black tourmaline cord hidden beneath your sleeve. The small knife in the hidden slit of your coat presses reassuringly against your ribs as your gaze settles on the woman behind the bar.
She's pretty, pouring someone a drink as she laughs at something the customer says. A simple black tank top shows toned arms covered in faint tattoos that seem to shift when the light hits them at the right angle. Her features are difficult to hold onto, like she's someone you might forget the moment you turn away while being strangely magnetic.
You drive toward the bar, hyperaware of the way the bartender notices you. Based on the description, you think she's who the Tower's daughter told you to find.
Kero, she'd said, eyeing you warily. Kero is good at information. Are you okay, though? I can help if you're in danger, you know that, right?
It had been a kind offer whispered at a gala last week, a rare moment where the two of you had been in the powder room and you'd been insane enough to ask her for a good source of information in the Syndicate.
Your heart pounds thinking about it again, remember the way she'd raised her brows and urge you to tell her if there was something wrong. Her kindness was a rarity in the Syndicate, and though you were somewhat familiar with her, facing her full on had been nearly overwhelming.
The bartender turns toward you as you slide onto a stool, her lips curving into a grin as she leans one hip against the bar.
"Hi," he drawls, eyes flicking up and down as she drinks you in. "New face. You look very expensive, sweetheart. What can I pour you?"
“I’m not here for a drink,” you say evenly. “I’m looking for Kero.”
Her smile doesn’t falter, but something sharp flickers behind her eyes. She tilts her head, studying you more carefully now, as if reassessing the woman standing in front of her.
"Kero is around. What do you need?" She asks eventually, fingers tapping the top of the bar.
"The Tower's daughter told me Kero might be able to help me with some information."
The words land with weight. She straightens slightly, the playful curve of her mouth diminishing. Mentioning the Tower’s daughter commands absolute authority here, you realize. She gives you a long, measured look, dark eyes tracing over your face, your coat, the way you hold yourself, drinking in every detail.
"I'm nothing if not a humble servant to the Tower and his children," she says eventually. "I'm Kero. You can come with me, sweetheart. Keep your pretty hands where I can see them, yeah? Baby is a good friend of mine, but I don't know you."
She slips out from behind the bar fluidly, exchanging a quick, wordless nod with the burly bartender who steps in to cover her station seamlessly. You follow, weaving between tables. No one notices you as you walk by, each customer staring off into nothingness with a glazed over expression that makes you shiver.
Kero leads you to a narrow hallway, the walls covered in flickering frames of alternate reality landscapes. You glance at them as you walk by, looking into lush forests, empty beaches, and night skies. At the end of the hall, she stops and presses her balm to a hidden scanner, a heavy wooden door hissing open after her clearance passes. She gestures for you to enter first, grinning and winking as you pass by her.
The private room beyond is small but surprisingly comfortable, a storage space turned lounger. Dim amber sconces cast warm, flickering light across two worn leather armchairs and a low table. A plush couch sits against one wall, and shelves hold bottles of rare liquor, scattered data pads, and a few precious paper books.
Kero closes the door behind you, engages the lock with a soft click, then turns with that same half-smile. She gestures to one of the armchairs, leaning casually against the table’s edge. You sit gracefully, unwilling to let her know that she makes you feel off keel.
Something about her unsettles you. In the dimmer room, her features are even harder to latch on to, like her eyes change everytime you look away or her hair is a shade adjusted. She watches you like a cat watches a mouse as you sit, and though you know mentioning the Tower's daughter has awarded you some power, you're not sure it's given you immunity here.
“So,” she says lightly. "What kind of trouble are you in, hmm?"
"Who says I'm in trouble?"
"It's written all over your face. You're tense as shit."
You give a small, knowing smile. “I’m not used to the Pearl District. That doesn’t mean I’m lost.”
Kero cocks her head. “Damn, no VR for you, huh? You rich types don’t really need to escape reality. You have everything you could ever want.”
“Not everything.”
"Unless you're trying to escape that fancy marriage."
"So you know who I am?"
Kero pushes off the table and walks over to a chair, dropping into it unceremoniously before pivoting sideways to hook the backs of her knees over the arm.
“Of course I do,” she snorts, dropping into the opposite chair and hooking her knees over the arm. “Big wedding. I wasn’t invited. Not high enough up the ladder, you know what I mean?”
"No."
"You're very honest, Mrs. Xu."
You meet her eyes without hesitation. “I’m very honest, yes.”
The name Mrs. Xu still feels foreign, but you no longer flinch. You so rarely hear people use your new legal name - most people still often see you as the heiress to Nexus Capital, content to use your family name because in this city, Minghao has married into your family, not the other way around.
"I met a man a few days ago at a gala and he left me with questions," you start slowly. Kero raises her brows. "No one really seems to know who he is, which isn't common among the elite."
She snorts. "You came here because someone isn't as well known as you?"
You ignore the barb, continuing, "He gave me the name Sato Ken. He doesn't seem to be much - just a mid-level businessman who married the daughter of a Patron of the Choi Syndicate. I think he might have a second name, though. Do you know anyone by the name of Zhi Yuan?"
Kero shakes her head. "Should I?"
"I don't know. Do you know what the Virate is?”
Kero’s entire posture changes in an instant. The lazy sprawl vanishes. She unhooks her legs and plants her boots on the floor with a quiet thud, leaning forward sharply and the playful glint in her eyes hardens into something guarded and alert.
“Virate,” she repeats, voice low and sharp. “What are you doing with the Virate?”
"I don't know what the Virate is."
"Of course you don't." She stands in one fluid motion, pacing a tight circle behind her chair, one hand dragging through her hair. “Tell me how you came across the Virate. Explain in detail."
You do. You tell her about the man from the gala, how something about his energy felt misaligned, your instincts screaming. How your research led you to the foster home in the Lower District where the cleaner had given you the strange, ominous warning about the Virate. About how you think Sato Ken and Zhi Yuan might be the same person.
Kero stops pacing. She steps closer, extending her right hand under the nearest sconce, palm down. You're not sure what you're supposed to be looking at until your eyes catch the smallest little scar, silver and right over the knuckle. Just like Sato Ken. Just like Minghao.
"Did he have a scar like this? Do you know?" She asks.
"Yes."
Kero pulls her hand back, flexing it once before sinking into her chair with heavier grace. The leather creaks as she rubs her temple, staring at the low table for a long beat while distant bass throbs from the bar’s VR rooms and rain drums steadily against the outer walls.
“Alright,” she says at last, voice quieter. "The Virate isn’t some street gang or Syndicate. They're like the Syndicate's here in the city but the structure is very different and they're a lot more complex. Think generations of bloodlines that build a shadow confederation that works in the cracks most people never see. They pull kids through foster systems, adoptions, quiet placements. Forge them. Shades, they call the ones with no names. Ghosts trained from blood and bone to serve the Triptych - the three who sit at the top.”
"Okay," you say slowly. "So you're saying maybe Sato Ken was Zhi Yuan previously, and now he's Sato Ken and he's a member of the Virate."
She shows her hand again, the silver scar making you shiver. "Virate initiation. They take the same finger during interrogation to see if you break. If you don't, they give you the finger back. If you break, you die."
You sit frozen, the weight of her words pressing down like cold rain. Minghao has that scar. You think of Minghao’s brutal efficiency on the terrace, the dead language in the car, the way he always deflects with half-truths. Your heart beats hard, frantic.
"If Sato Ken isn't a real name, you might be dealing with a Shade. It's hard to say. Shades are hard to find and are usually found only if they want to be… being uncovered for them is like death. They're the hidden assassins the Triptych likes to raise. Not even standard members of the Virate know who they are." Kero leans back. "Did he make any threats or have you seen him before?"
"No," you tell her. Your mind is on Minghao and not Ken - Yuan, whatever his name is. "Just met him at a party. My gut tells me he's important."
"If your gut managed to find an assassin for the Virate, that's a pretty good stomach."
You hum, noncommittal. "So you're a member of the Virate?"
"Was," she corrects. "Left when I was thirteen."
Both of you sit in silence as your mind races through fragments that feel too sharp to ignore. The scar on Kero’s knuckle. The identical mark on Sato Ken - Zhi Yuan. And Minghao. That thin, precise line across his first knuckle that you’d noticed from the very first boardroom meeting. The way his father deferred to him with a single finger twitch. The ancient language he spoke in the car after the wedding attack. The effortless violence on the terrace. The way he knew about your practice without you ever showing him.
The realization settles heavy in your chest. Your husband - the man who pressed his jacket to your bleeding arm, who wears the red bracelet you braided with your own hair - is not who anyone thinks he is.
Kero doesn’t mention the Xu family once. Doesn’t connect Minghao to any of this. Her ignorance of your husband’s involvement is louder than any confirmation could be- Minghao is an unknown member of the Virate. A Shade, Kero had called it. A ghost wearing the face of a logistics heir, planted here for purposes far beyond shipping contracts and political marriages. You keep your expression neutral, swallowing the storm of questions and fears that you can't let consume you - not here, not with this stranger.
“Thank you,” you say quietly. "This helps."
You reach into the inner pocket of your coat and pull out two things: the sleek, matte-black digital card and a small silk pouch you’d prepared weeks ago during one of your quiet Wednesday rituals. You set the card on the low table first, then slide the pouch toward her with careful fingers.
“If you ever want a new private account set up, use this," you tell her. "It's completely clean and untraceable, with access to resources most people here only dream about in these AR rooms you run." You point at the pouch. "This is for protection. Black salt, rosemary, a bit of hematite. I made it myself. It’s nothing fancy, but… it's my way of showing gratitude."
Kero stares at the offerings, genuine surprise flickering across her face. She picks up the silk pouch, turning it over in her scarred hand. “You made this?” Her eyes lift to yours, sharper now. “Are you a practitioner?”
“I dabble. It was something I started as a kid to pass time. I.. didn’t have much of a childhood and some of the housemaids practiced.”
Kero’s lips curve into a faint, knowing smile, but she doesn’t press. She tucks the pouch into her pocket with surprising care. “If you ever want to apprentice with real practitioners, go to the Silver Thorn Apothecary in the Lower District, near the old canal bridge. Tell them Kero sent you. They don’t take just anyone, but they might make an exception.”
“I appreciate it.”
Kero leans back, studying you for a long moment. The amber light softens the edges of her shifting features. “Watch yourself with the Virate. They don’t play by Syndicate rules. They bind blood, erase names, and turn children into weapons. Once you’re in their sights, it’s hard to get out.” She pauses, tilting her head. “Still… there’s something about your energy. Stubborn. Grounded. I like it."
A small grin tugs at your lips. “I’m trying. I should go. Thank you again, Kero. For everything."
You stand and she rises with you, holding the digital card in her hand. "Don't be a stranger, Mrs. Xu. Try to stay alive."
Rain hisses down on you as you leave, your boots splashing softly in the shallow puddles pooling in the concrete. The Pearl District is alive with partygoers, tourists and socialites heading to clubs, casinos and more, their laughter harsh against the churning of your mind.
Minghao is a Shade. You know with utter certainty, somehow. He's a ghost - a weapon, and you have no idea what it means that he married you or what he wants. He'd told you that you were no use to his family dead and you still believe that, but now you want to know for what.
In an alley between buildings, you dig around in your pocket for your cards. You shuffle them quickly, rain beading on their glossy surface as you do. Three cards slip out one by one, catching on your wet hands until you pull them out of the deck and flip them over.
The Tower. The Moon reversed. Death.
Thoughts of the cards haunt you all the way to the train. Your hood is pulled low, the black fabric of your coat blending into the sea of weary commuters. The bracelet on your wrist feels heavier than usual, a quiet anchor against the unease crawling up your spine.
Pressed between a businessman muttering into his phone and a woman clutching a synthetic flower bouquet, a sense of unease creeps up on you. Eyes on you. Not the casual glances of strangers, but something deliberate and predatory.
The doors hiss shut and the train lurches forward, accelerating into the tunnel with a low whine that vibrates through your bones. You keep your gaze fixed on the scratched window, watching the blur of service lights streak past like dying stars. Your hand slips into your coat pocket, fingers brushing the matte-black comm device Minghao gave you months ago. The private channel. Encrypted. Off-grid. You haven’t used it yet, but it feels good to have in your hand.
You shift your weight, scanning the car without turning your head. Faces blur in peripheral vision, a sea of tired eyes, downturned mouths, and people asleep in seats. No one stands out. No one meets your eyes for too long. Yet the sensation builds, a slow pressure like storm clouds gathering before lightning splits the Tower.
Two stops pass and your pulse quickens with each one. At the third, you make a split-second decision to get off that's nowhere near your intended route toward the Observatory. You elbow your way toward the doors as they open, stepping onto the platform and into the sub-level station, ait thick with the scent of damp rot and the distant rumble of freight loaders. Neon signs flicker overhead, advertising cheap stim-packs and off-grid betting dens.
You don’t look back. Not immediately. You weave through the sparse crowd, heels clicking against cracked concrete, and take the exit stairs two at a time. The streets above are narrower, hemmed in by crooked buildings and powerlines that spark intermittently in the thin rain. You turn left, then right, cutting through a market alley where vendors hawk sticky buns and meat skewers, fat sizzling.
Still, the feeling follows.
Your breath comes sharper now and you pause at a corner stall, pretending to examine a rack of knockoff jade pendants while your eyes flick across reflections in a rain-streaked metal panel. Nothing. A shadow shifts two stalls down, but it's gone when you focus. Your instincts, honed by years of the universe’s subtle nudges, scream a single name.
Sato Ken.
The thought lands like a cold blade between your ribs. The scar on his knuckle flashes in your memory. So does his polished smile and the way his gaze had lingered too long at the last charity function, heavy with something unreadable. You’d felt it then too. The Devil.
You quicken your pace, ducking down a narrower side street. The rain intensifies, sheeting off overhangs and turning the ground into a slick mirror of fractured neon. Your coat clings to your skin, heavy and cold. Heart hammering, you slip into a shadowed alley between two derelict storage units where it smells of rust and urine.
Crates are stacked haphazardly against one wall, providing meager cover where you press your back to the damp brick, breathing through your mouth to stay quiet. Water drips from a rusted pipe overhead, steady as a metronome. For a moment, only the distant train rumbles and your own pulse fills the space.
A splash confirms you're being followed and you don't hesitate. Your fingers close around the comm device, pulling it free with trembling hands. The surface is cool, almost alive under your touch, drinking in the faint alley light. You activate it with a press of your thumb, the faint holo-sheen blooming like starlight in the dark. The private channel connects with a soft chime that feels too loud in the confined space.
It rings once. Twice.
“Come on,” you whisper, voice barely audible over the rain.
Your free hand grips the small knife in your other pocket, though the blade feels inadequate against whatever waits in the shadows. The universe had warned you. The cards had warned you. Death upright. Transformation through violence.
The line clicks open and Minghao's voice comes through, low and immediate. "What's wrong?"
You've never been happier to hear his voice. The sound of his calm and controlled voice nearly buckles your knees. You lean harder into the wall, eyes darting to the alley mouth where a silhouette might appear any second. Rain sluices down your face, mixing with the cold sweat on your skin. The feeling of being watched intensifies, a prickling heat at your nape like fingers hovering just above your spine.
"I need you to find me," you tell him, voice barely audible. "I'm about to get taken or killed."
"Wicked-"
"You have access to my medical records," you interrupt. "You should have been emailed how to access. I have a subcutaneous tracking chip. Activate the emergency beacon with the password given to you - it pings your private network. Do it now."
Footsteps again, deliberate now, closing in from the alley’s entrance. A shadow detaches from the gloom, tall and masked.
“I know you’re a Shade,” you whisper. “Maybe I mean nothing to you at all, but you saved me on our wedding night and if I’m still important to your family, you need to find me. Or at least my body."
Minghao says your name - not wicked woman, not wicked - just your name. You say nothing else, swallowing as you drop the comm in the rain and crush it under your heel, the sharp crack lost to the sound of increasing downpour.
When the figure steps out of the shadows, all you can see are the grey eyes. You stare at him head on, refusing to show him fear despite the way your hands tremble in the cold rain.
"Is your husband coming?"
"Yes."
He nods. "Good."
-
Thunder shakes the penthouse. It's not loud enough to drown out the hammering of Minghao's heart as he gets dressed frantically. For once, Minghao feels like he might be panicking. He's not entirely sure - panic is a foreign concept to him. As a Shade of the Virate, he doesn't operate in adrenaline and panic - he simply exists in the detachment of calm and deliberate decision making.
This doesn't feel like that. He has no idea when he started caring about you so much - can't even really figure out when it happened. He supposes between the random late night dinners, the rare instances of breakfast, and the weekends when he watched you sit at the coffee table with your little herbs and candles muttering to yourself, he decided he liked you.
Had you been the elitist, snobby socialite he assumed you were going to be, he wouldn't be in this situation. Yet fate - because he's starting to believe in fate - had put you into your position - unprepared and woefully unjaded - through the violence of your sister's death, and put you directly into Minghao's path. He doesn't know what else to call it, because only destiny could be this specific.
Rain crawls in silver streaks down the windows, turning Hyperion into a smeared galaxy beneath the clouds. Minghao stands in front of the open wardrobe in a black compression shirt and tactical trousers, fingers gone motionless around the clasp of his chest holder as the information he'd requested through your instructions appears across the retinal display he'd put over his right eye.
PATIENT STATUS: ELEVATED STRESS RESPONSE WARNING: HEART RATE EXCEEDING SAFE BASELINE WARNING: ADRENALINE EXCEEDING SAFE BASELINE WARNING: CONCUSSION DETECTED LOCATION PING: ACTIVE LOCATION: 908 LOWER WATER STREET, WAREHOUSE DISTRICT, HYPERION 3094304
Minghao watches as your biometrics spike violently across the lens. Oxygen levels unstable, cortisol flooding yourself, neutral activity elevated. Nothing in your current vitals tells him that you're dying, which is the single positive news he has while he finishes buckling the holster before he opens another hidden compartment in his room, revealing weapons.
He takes the knives and two guns. They charge at his touch, the pulse letting him know they're primed as he holsters them. The red cord around his wrist slides with his hand movement, the azabache charm clicks against the gun as he removes his hand.
You'd looked so serious when you handed it to him, like you were testing him. He hadn't seen it then for what it was - a leap of faith to see if he was serious about you practicing your little customs without fear from him. Now he knows that he'd passed the test, because you'd start being more open around him. Not hiding things. Calling him and telling him you needed his help.
Minghao yanks a jacket over the holsters and accesses the medical feed again with a blink of his eyes. Nothing has changed, and your location still pings in an abandoned shipping corridor near Pier Nine. It's in Xu territory, a dock that belongs exclusively to Minghao's father, and by extension, Choi Moojin.
The hours Minghao has spent trying to track down his half brother have gone to waste. It appears that his brother has the jump on him, and why shouldn't he? Zhi Yuan or whatever the name he goes by now has known Minghao existed for far longer than Minghao has known he had a sibling, and it's clear that you've been in his sights for a while as an obvious attempt to get to Minghao.
Minghao is going to kill him. He made the decision long before you'd called him. He had decided before his mother even finished telling him about Yuan, about the first born son she naively thought the Virate gave away. It doesn't matter if Yuan is blood, though. He'd spilled the blood of those under the protection of the Xu family, and Minghao was bound by honor to pay him back.
Blood for blood.
It's not an easy situation. Minghao doesn't know if his brother is here by authorization of the Virate, or if he's gone rogue. The right thing to do would be to contact the Triptych, but Minghao has no plans of doing that. It's too much of a risk if they've sanctioned whatever attack this is, so he's decided to do what he wants. He knows it'll have consequences - he has carried out the punishment for this kind of thing plenty of times.
"Fuck," Minghao sighs, running a hand over his face.
As much as he wants to do this alone, he knows that the odds will be better if he has leverage. Everything with the Virate and the Triptych especially is above leverage and moves within moves, and Minghao doesn't have any right now. So he picks up the phone and dials a number he's never called before, heart hammering as the phone rings.
"Xu Minghao," Jeonghan answers softly. "What can I do for our favorite shipping heir on a rainy Thursday evening?"
Minghao slips a knife into the sheath at the base of his spine as he speaks. “I need a deal.”
Jeonghan pauses. "Oh?"
"In exchange for leverage and information on the Virate."
"I'm listening."
"I need protection and support from the Choi Syndicate if the Virate comes knocking at my door."
Jeonghan's no longer amused or joking when he says, "And why would they do that?"
"Agree to it before I say anything."
Jeonghan pauses. "Why'd you call me?"
"You're the heir to the Wisdom and you're smart. You'll know whether I'm lying or you'll figure it out yourself. Now I want a deal before I say anything."
The Observatory feels too high, too isolated tonight, suspended above the storm like a fragile glass cage. Neon from the distant Pearl District bleeds through the fog in fractured violet and electric blue, painting the matte black steel beams in shifting hues that do nothing to calm the unfamiliar knot twisting in his chest.
The line is silent for a beat too long. Jeonghan’s voice returns, stripped of its usual lazy amusement. “A deal, how bold. Alright - I, Yoon Jeonghan, Second to the Wisdom, affirm that the verbally negotiated agreement between us is valid and binding, and will be upheld by the Choi Syndicate under penalty of death or exile. Talk."
“The Virate,” Minghao starts, running a hand through his hair. "I'm a member. They raised me as a Shade. Nameless. Trained for killing and secret work. My family’s move to Hyperion, the logistics empire, this marriage - it isn't just business moves, it’s for the Virate. They wanted someone nameless but loyal to sow seeds and gain influence with one of the Syndicates of the city, ideally the Choi Syndicate."
A soft whistle from the other end. “And here I thought you were just another pretty Arkos heir playing at power. Continue.”
Minghao’s jaw tightens. He moves to the bedroom door, glancing once toward the east wing where you should be safe. The biometric feed in his retinal display pulses steadily, your location fixed, stress elevated but alive. For now.
“I have an unexpected target on my back,” he says, already striding toward the private elevator. “A Shade operative. One I didn’t know existed until recently. He orchestrated the wedding attack. Tonight, he has her. I’m on my way to eliminate him. It might blow back. If the Virate decides I’ve gone rogue or exposed too much, they’ll come for cleanup. I need Choi Syndicate support if that happens - protection, resources, a buffer. In exchange, I’ll give you information useful for leveraging a partnership with the Virate in Arkos. Real leverage. Names. Structures. Weak points the Triptych would rather keep buried.”
The elevator doors hiss open. Minghao steps inside, the mirrored walls reflecting a man dressed for violence. His hair is still damp from the earlier rain, eyes sharp and unblinking. Jeonghan is quiet again, but Minghao can hear the calculation in the silence, the Wisdom's son weighing angles, risks, opportunities.
"Hm," Jeonghan hums. "Interesting. You know this verbal agreement could be void based on your intent to threaten the safety of the Syndicate, right?" Minghao doesn't answer as the elevator plunges downward. "Why trust me with this?"
“Because you’re useful,” Minghao answers flatly. “And because my wife is bleeding time in a warehouse while we talk. Agree or don’t. But if I walk into this alone and don’t come back, you lose the chance at whatever game you’re playing with the docks.”
“You’re more interesting than I gave you credit for, Minghao. Fine. Deal. Choi support if the Virate comes calling. You deliver on the information. And try not to die, Baby would be devastated if the lead she gave your wife ended up with her dying."
Minghao pauses. "We'll discuss what you mean later."
"Sure."
Minghao pockets the phone. His mind cycles through possibilities of Yuan’s training, the scar, the grey eyes that matched his mother’s. Blood for blood. The old laws demanded it, but something sharper cuts beneath the duty now. Your voice on the comm, steady even in terror. The way you’d crushed the device rather than let it lead danger straight back here. Stubborn. Honest. Wicked in ways that had nothing to do with tarot cards.
The doors open into the cold concrete expanse. Elara and Kai snap to attention near the armored car, but Minghao waves them off with a sharp gesture. “Stay here. Guard the penthouse. No one in or out. If I’m not back by dawn, call Yoon Jeonghan."
“Understood, sir.”
Minghao slides into the driver’s seat himself, the engine humming to life. Rain hammers the garage ramp as he accelerates upward, the city’s neon arteries blurring past. His grip on the wheel is steady, but the red cord around his wrist catches the dashboard light.
His hands tighten on the wheel. He's ending this game of shadows tonight.
-
Your head throbs with a deep, nauseating pulse that radiates from the back of your skull down through your jaw. The world tilts when you try to lift it, the edges of the dim warehouse blurring like wet ink on parchment. The concussion is surely courtesy of the desperate headbutt you'd delivered when Zhi Yuan had grabbed you in that alley. The satisfying crunch of his nose breaking still echoes faintly in your memory, a small, defiant victory amid the terror.
Thick ropes bite into your wrists and ankles, securing you to a heavy metal chair bolted to the floor. The warehouse is vast and derelict, one of the many abandoned husks along the Lower Water Street docks where Xu shipping containers sit in rows.
Rain hammers on the corrugated roof overhead, leaking in thin streams through gaps in the panels to form oily puddles on the concrete. Dim emergency lights cast long, sickly yellow shadows across stacked crates and rusted forklift skeletons.
You test the ropes around you subtly, keeping your movements small, but there's no give. Your small knife is long gone, though the black tourmaline bracelet is still there, warm against your skin, a fragile tether.
Across from you, Zhi Yuan is seated casually on an overturned crate. Blood has dried in dark rivulets from his broken nose down over his mouth and chin, staining the collar of his shirt. The injury makes his sharp, balanced features turn grotesque, his grey eyes eery in the low light. He holds a stained cloth in his hand, dabbing occasionally at the swelling in his face.
"You're not what I expected," he admits. "Though I suppose any woman associated with the Choi family fights back."
You lift your chin, ignoring the way the motion sends fresh dizziness spiraling through you. Fear coils tight in your gut, but you refuse to let it show. You meet his gaze evenly, challenging every boardroom lesson your father ever drilled into you since your sister's death.
"Headbutting you was worth the headache," you mutter. "Though I imagine it hurts worse on your end."
His mouth twitches into something like a smile. "I've endured worse. You know, most heiresses would be sobbing by now. Begging. Offering credits or Syndicate favors."
"I'm not worried."
"You think your husband is coming?"
"I know so."
He leans back and sighs. "I know so too." His eyes watch you carefully. "I saw the way you looked at my scar at the gala. Same as his. You don't miss much, do you?"
“Enough to know you're a threat. What do you want, Zhi Yuan? Or is it Ken? Does the Virate let you keep any name at all?"
His grey eyes narrow slightly, but the amusement doesn't fade. "Names are fluid for us. Tools. Zhi Yuan was the boy the system forgot. Sato Ken was the man who married well and smiled at galas. Neither is real. But you can call me Yuan. It's... familiar."
“Familiar because of whatever connection you have to my husband.”
Yuan stops dabbing his nose and watches you for a long moment. He rises slowly, pacing a few steps through the puddle-streaked space. His boots splash softly. Yuan drags another crate closer and sits across from you again, legs stretched out casually.
“Tell me,” he drawls. “How does it feel to be married to a man who was never meant to have a wife? A real one, anyway.”
“It feels like he's going to kill you." You stare at him. "And if he doesn't, the Choi Syndicate will. I'm not some random woman you can steal away in the middle of the night. Your turn - why me if this is about him or the Virate?"
"I was at your wedding, you know?" He cocks his head. "You made a beautiful bride. The intent was to kill you and turn the Choi Syndicate against him, but once I saw that he cared, I knew that wouldn't work. They would see his honestly. So now you're just bait. My brother owes me a conversation."
The revelation hits you like a physical blow. Your breath catches sharply in your throat. Brother. You look into Yuan's eyes and don't know how you missed it - Luli looks right back at you, the cool grey, the calm eye of the storm.
Yuan watches your reaction with dark satisfaction, leaning back slowly. “Yes. Luli’s firstborn. The one she tried to hide. I found out about him by accident, you know? There he was, golden second son, raised by our mother and Jian in relative comfort, given a public name and legit empire to inherit while being a Shade for the Virate. All while I rotted in foster homes and training cells, learning how to kill before I could read properly. It wasn’t fair. He got life, the light, the illusion of choice. I got the shadows and the scars."
The Devil upright. A man in chains, who cannot escape what he is bound to. The tarot cards make sense, suddenly. You're looking at the devil, a man who cannot or will not escape the fate he thinks he's tethered to. You think of the Nine of Wands upright - a wounded warrior still standing guard, exhausted but defiant - and realize it's Minghao. Someone stuck between two worlds.
"I don't care where you're from or who you're related to," you spit out. "Only a weak man pities himself to this degree."
It hits a nerve. Yuan stands, violence written all over his face, but a device on the table a few feet away chimes and shows a hologram of a map, a red dot pinging as it approaches. Your heart lurches when you realize it's Minghao, throat tightening as the dot speeds through the roads of the Warehouse District.
"Finally," Yuan sighs. "I get to meet my brother."
Thunder rolls in the distance. Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch the entrance door, hearing the hiss of tires and the slamming of a car door. You can barely breath until the heavy metal door is being ripped open, rain pouring in as a dark silhouette slips through. Minghao shuts the door behind him, water streaming off of his black jacket, hair plastered to his forehead and neck. His eyes are unreadable, scanning the room before they fall on you.
Minghao strides forward, ignoring Yuan entirely. Your heart stutters, the violence in his eyes like nothing you've seen.
"Are you okay?" His voice cuts through the rain, low and steady.
You manage a nod, the motion sending fresh spikes of pain through your skull. The ropes bite deeper as you shift, but you hold his gaze. “I’m alive.”
Minghao’s jaw tightens, a muscle feathering along his cheek. For a heartbeat, the polished heir you met in the boardroom vanishes completely. This is the man who snapped an assassin’s neck on your wedding night. This is the Shade.
"Good. I'll be just a moment, okay?"
You nod and only then does he turn to his brother. Yuan is standing, clearly annoyed. The resemblance is unmistakable now that you know to look for it - the same sharp-soft balance in their features, the same predatory grace. But where Minghao carries a coiled stillness, Yuan vibrates with resentment, grey eyes burning with untapped rage.
“Brother,” Yuan greets. “Took you long enough.”
Minghao doesn’t waste words on pleasantries. “You’re no family of mine. We cull men weak enough to be driven by petty jealousies.” Minghao gestures to him. “Knives only. Old way. No guns. No tricks. You and me."
Yuan’s smile widens, splitting the dried blood on his lip. “You still cling to the old customs? You're a little princeling here - you aren't Virate.”
“I honor what I am,” Minghao replies. He shrugs off his jacket, letting it fall to the wet floor. Beneath it, the compression shirt clings to his frame, revealing the holster straps and the faint outline of the small spell jar you gave him, still tucked against his chest. The red bracelet on his wrist stands out like a slash of blood against pale skin. “Do you?”
Yuan laughs, low and bitter and strips down to a similar compression shirt as Minghao. Two blades appear in his hands, thin, wickedly curved karambits that catch the light. “I was forged in the same dark you were. Let’s see which of us the Triptych favored more.”
Minghao draws his own knives. No flourish. Just efficient, practiced motion. One in each hand, shorter than Yuan’s but perfectly balanced. He rolls his shoulders once, eyes never leaving his brother’s face as the rain hammers the roof in relentless sheets and water drips from cracks overhead, plinking into puddles that spread across the concrete like spilled ink.
You test the ropes again, heart hammering against your ribs. The black tourmaline bracelet feels warm against your skin, a small circle of your own intention. You close your eyes, sucking in a short breath as you center yourself and focus on the single intention you have: Minghao living.
The fight begins without warning and you flinch. Yuan lunges first, a blur of motion across the wet floor, his karambit slashing in a wide arc meant to open Minghao’s throat. Minghao twists inside the reach, blades flashing up to parry. Metal screams against metal and sparks fly, tiny and bright in the dimness. They separate, circling each other like lions.
Yuan attacks again, faster this time, feinting low before slicing high. Minghao ducks, but not quite fast enough as the blade catches his shoulder, opening a shallow line of red. Blood wells immediately, mixing with rainwater. Minghao doesn’t flinch. He counters with a vicious upward thrust that forces Yuan to leap back, boots splashing.
Each collision is brutal, knives cutting air. Feet slide on the slick concrete, searching for purchase. Yuan is slightly taller, leveraging reach, but Minghao is faster and more economical with his movements, his efficiency brutal as he slashes Yuan across the rib, tearing fabric and flesh.
Minghao presses the advantage, driving Yuan backward with a series of rapid strikes. Their blades lock, faces inches apart, and for a moment, they strain against each other, muscles corded, breath visible in the damp air. Yuan’s grey eyes gleam with something like joy.
"I knew you liked the girl," Yuan goads. "This isn't business for you. This is emotional."
Minghao headbutts him hard and Yuan's face explodes in blood again, the damage you'd done earlier doubling. He stumps and Minghao follows, his knives dancing in a pattern too fast for you to track as he cuts open Yuan's shoulder, his forearm, his thigh. Minghao moves like pain is irrelevant, cutting Yuan until the man is screaming and kicking at Minghao for distance.
Yuan feints left, then spins, driving a blade toward Minghao’s kidney. You suck in a sharp breath but Minghao pivots and catches Yuan's wrist, twisting violently with a sickening pop. Yuan roars, dropping one karambit while swinging wildly with the other. Minghao takes a cut across the chest for it, but he doesn't let go. Instead, he yanks Yuan forward and drives his own knife upward where it sinks into Yuan's side, just under his ribs.
Yuan gasps, eyes widening. He tries to pull away, but Minghao holds him close, almost intimate. Their faces are inches apart, rain dripping from Minghao's hair onto Yuan's cheek.
"Blood for blood," he says, voice hard. He says something to Yuan in that same language you don't understand before he twists the knife.
Yuan’s mouth opens in a silent scream while his free hand claws at Minghao’s shoulder, leaving bloody streaks. His grey eyes lock onto Minghao’s for one long, terrible second. Then the light in them gutters out. Minghao yanks the blade free and Yuan collapses to the wet concrete with a heavy splash. Blood spreads beneath him, dark and final, mixing with rainwater and oil. The body twitches once, twice, then stills.
Minghao stands over his brother for a long moment, chest heaving, blood running down his arms and torso. Then he turns to you. The shift in him is immediate and devastating as the killer melts away into something soft. He crosses the distance in three strides, dropping to his knees in the puddle before your chair
His hands are trembling as he unties the ropes at your wrist, careful as he cuts through them with the knife slicked in his brother's blood. His dark eyes search your face frantically, cataloguing every bruise, the swelling at your temple, the way you’re favoring your head.
"Are you hurt?" He murmurs. "Tell me where. Please."
Please. You don't think you've ever heard him say that. Not to you. The way he says it is devastatingly soft, his sharp eyes round as he looks up at you, hands hovering like he doesn't know what to do.
“I’m okay," you whisper.
Minghao cuts away at the ropes around your ankle before tossing the knife and pulling you forward, careful not to press against any injuries. His embrace is fierce and gentle at once, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other spanning your back. You can feel his heart hammering against yours, fast and terrified in a way his face never shows.
It's the first time he's touched you - honestly touched you - since your brief kiss at the altar and the night you were almost killed. His touch is grounding and warm, the smell of him comforting but laced with the metallic tang of blood. You pull away, your hands hovering as you look at all the places he's bleeding.
“You’re bleeding-"
“It doesn’t matter.” He pulls you back in, his voice muffled by your hair. "You are nosey and you are stubborn and you are fascinating. Thank you for calling me."
"Minghao, you need stitches."
“Later.” He presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed. Rain drips from his lashes. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters right now.”
The spell jar is still pressed between you, warm against his chest. You can feel its faint outline. The red bracelet on his wrist brushes your skin as he cups your face again. Something inside your chest cracks open, relief, fear, the strange blooming warmth you’ve been trying to ignore for months.
“I knew you’d come,” you whisper.
“I will always come for you.” The words are quiet, almost reverent. He kisses your forehead, then your temple, avoiding the bruise, then the corner of your mouth. Not possessive. Just desperate reassurance. “I’m sorry you had to face him alone."
“I headbutted him. Broke his nose.”
A soft, startled laugh escapes him. “Of course you did.” His thumb traces your jaw. “My wicked, impossible wife.”
He helps you stand, supporting most of your weight when your legs threaten to buckle. The warehouse spins for a moment, but his arm around your waist anchors you. He keeps you turned away from Yuan’s body, shielding you with his own as he guides you toward the broken door.
Outside, the rain is still falling in torrents. Minghao’s car idles just beyond the entrance, lights off, engine humming low. He helps you into the passenger seat with painstaking care, buckling you in, checking the angle of your head, murmuring soft instructions to breathe slowly. Then he rounds the car and slides behind the wheel.
For a long moment, neither of you speaks. Rain lashes the windshield. Minghao’s hands grip the wheel, knuckles white. Blood still trickles from the cut on his chest, but he ignores it, eyes fixed on you.
“I killed my brother tonight,” he says eventually, voice hollow. “For you. I need you to know I would do it again. I understand I have not been forthcoming or warm, but I care for you.”
You reach across the console and take his hand. His fingers curl around yours immediately, tight enough to hurt. The red bracelet shifts between you.
“I know,” you whisper. “Thank you.”
He lifts your joined hands and presses a kiss to your knuckles, eyes closing again. When they open, the intensity is back, but softer now. Protective. Possessive in a way that feels like safety rather than the chains you'd felt that first meeting in the boardroom.
“Let’s go home,” he says.
You nod, exhaustion crashing over you like the rain outside.
-
Doctor Tzintzun finally steps back, wiping her hands on a sterile cloth. The Observatory penthouse is quiet except for the low hum of the air filtration system and the distant patter of rain against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Fog presses close outside, turning Hyperion into a muted glow far below
The doctor packs her kit with efficient movements, glancing between you and Minghao. “The stitches on your arm will hold, but keep them dry. Concussion protocol is in place - rest, dim lights, no screens. As for you, Mr. Xu, those cuts were deep. Change the dressings in six hours. Pain management is on the bedside table. Call if anything worsens.”
Minghao nods once, voice low. “Thank you. Elara will see you out.”
The door seals behind them with a soft click, leaving the two of you alone in the low-lit living room. Your body aches in new and old places, your temple tender from the concussion. But you’re alive. He’s alive.
Minghao sits on the wide, low couch beside you, closer than he’s ever been in this space. The black silk robe he wears hangs open at the chest, revealing the edge of white bandages and the hard planes of muscle beneath. His hair is damp, falling across his forehead in dark strands. The red bracelet you made him still circles his right wrist, the azabache charm catching the soft amber light from the single lamp. He hasn’t taken it off.
You shift slightly, the oversized shirt you wear - his, you realize - riding up your thighs. The silence stretches, thick with everything unsaid. The fight. The blood. The truth of what he is. Your eyes trace the line of his jaw, the faint scar on his knuckle, the way his chest rises and falls with careful, controlled breaths.
He turns toward you, dark eyes intense in the dimness. For once, there’s no polished mask, no deflection. Just raw, unguarded focus on your face.
“I don’t know why you get under my skin,” he says quietly. "I was trained not to let anyone close. Attachments were liabilities. You were supposed to be a transaction - a bridge that was useful and controllable."
He reaches out, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your cheek with surprising gentleness. The touch lingers, callused fingertips tracing your jaw. “But you fight back when you should crumble. You read the universe in cards and smoke and believe in it so stubbornly it makes me question everything I was forged to be. You called me when you were terrified and trusted me to come.”
His thumb strokes your lower lip, eyes dropping to watch the motion. The air between you crackles, charged like the moments before lightning. Your pulse quickens, heat blooming low in your belly despite the exhaustion and pain. You can smell him, clean skin, faint pine.
“I don’t understand it,” he murmurs, leaning closer. "You affect me. You make me want things I was never meant to have.”
"So have them," you murmur.
He laughs and kisses you. It’s not the chaste brush from your wedding. This is real and hungry, months of restrained tension exploding between you. His mouth claims yours, tongue sweeping in to taste you deeply. You moan softly into him, hands fisting in the front of his robe, pulling him closer. He tastes like mint and rain and something darker, needier. His hand cups the back of your neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, the other sliding down your side to grip your hip.
The world narrows to the wet slide of tongues, the soft sounds of breath and need, the heat of his body pressing you back against the couch cushions. Your bandages pull slightly but the pain is distant, drowned in sensation. His scent envelops you. The low groan vibrating from his chest makes your pussy clench.
He breaks the kiss only to trail his mouth down your neck, sucking lightly at your pulse point. “Tell me to stop,” he rasps against your skin, voice wrecked. “If this is too much after I lied-"
“Don’t you dare,” you whisper, threading fingers through his damp hair and tugging him back up for another searing kiss.
Minghao makes a low sound and shifts you both, pulling you into his lap so you straddle him. The robe falls open completely, revealing his bandaged torso and the hard length of him pressing against you through thin fabric. Your shirt rides up, bare thighs against his hips. He’s already hard, thick and hot, and the realization sends a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you.
He kisses you like a man starving, hands roaming under your shirt to cup your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they pebble tight and you let out a shaky sound, overwhelmed.
“So fucking perfect,” he growls, breaking the kiss to yank the shirt over your head.
Cool air kisses your skin, then his hot mouth is on you, sucking one nipple deep while his fingers pinch and roll the other. The wet heat of his tongue, the gentle scrape of teeth, the suction - all of it pulls desperate whimpers from your throat. You arch into him, grinding down against his cock, feeling the thick ridge slide against your dampening folds through your panties.
“Minghao-" His name breaks off on a moan.
He switches sides, lavishing the other breast with the same filthy attention, sucking hard enough to leave imprints of his teeth on your skin. One hand slides down your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of your panties, fingers finding you soaked.
“This wet for me already?” he murmurs. “My wicked wife.”
Two thick fingers push inside you without warning, curling deep. You cry out, hips rocking instinctively as he starts to pump them slowly at first, then faster, thumb finding your clit and circling with devastating pressure. The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers working in and out of your pussy fill the room, mixing with your gasps and his low groans. He kisses you again, swallowing your moans as he finger-fucks you harder, scissoring and curling until you’re trembling on the edge.
“Come for me, baby,” he demands against your mouth. “Let me feel it.”
The orgasm crashes over you, sharp and sudden, and you clamp down hard around his fingers, thighs shaking as it rips through you. He doesn’t stop, working you through it with deep, steady strokes until you’re whimpering his name.
He pulls his fingers free, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean with a groan. “Taste so good. Need more.”
Before you can catch your breath, he lifts you effortlessly, ignoring the way you yelp, hands hovering near his injuries. He lays you back against the wide couch and kneels between your spread thighs, peeling your soaked panties down your legs and tossing them aside. The cool air hits your exposed, dripping pussy, making you shiver. Minghao stares like a man possessed, eyes dark, lips parted.
He spreads your thighs wider, hooking your legs over his shoulders, and buries his face between them. The first long, slow lick from your entrance to your clit draws a broken cry from you, his tongue parting you like velvet.
“Fuck, you’re dripping for me,” he mutters, voice muffled.
He sucks your clit between his lips, tongue flicking rapidly while two fingers plunge back inside you, fucking you in time with his mouth. It makes you suck in a sharp gasp, lost to the heat of his tongue, the stretch of his fingers. You fist his hair, hips grinding against his face as another orgasm builds fast and brutal. He curls his fingers against that perfect spot inside you, sucking hard on your clit, and you shatter again with a sharp scream, thighs clamping around his head as you come again.
He laps you through it, gentler now, until you’re twitching and oversensitive. Only then does he rise, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand. His cock strains against his pants, a wet spot forming at the front that makes you eager. You reach for him, tugging the fabric down, freeing his thick, heavy length to reveal a flushed dark head slick with precum. You wrap your hand around him, stroking once, and he hisses, hips jerking.
“Need to be inside you,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “Now.”
He sits back on the couch, pulling you into his lap again so you can straddle him with your knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips. His cock slides hot and bare against your soaked folds as you grind down, coating him in your arousal.
“Fuck me,” you whisper lips dragging against his. "Like you mean it. Like I'm yours. Like you should have on our wedding night"
Minghao grips your hips, eyes locked on yours, and pulls you down onto him in one smooth, relentless thrust that has you gasping into his mouth, your hands cradling his face.
The stretch is exquisite, burning pleasure as he fills you completely, bottoming out with a shared groan. You’re so wet he slides in easily, but the fullness makes your breath hitch. You can feel every ridge, every throb of his cock buried deep enough to make you shiver.
"Fuck," he hisses. His hands knead your ass, guiding you to rock on him. “So fucking hot and wet around me.”
You start moving, riding him slow at first, savoring the drag of his thick cock against your walls. He floods your senses - his scent, the taste of him still on your lips from earlier kisses, the sight of his bandaged, muscled torso flexing beneath you, the feel of his hands guiding you harder, faster.
He surges up, capturing your mouth in a messy kiss as he thrusts up to meet you. The angle hits deep, grinding against that spot inside of you that has you twitching. Sweat slicks your bodies where they press together, his heart pounding against yours.
“Ride me harder,” he growls, one hand pressing your lower belly, feeling the bulge of his cock inside you. “Want to feel you come on my cock.”
You do, grinding down with fluid rolls of your hips until the pressure builds again. He sucks harshly against your neck then lower, biting and licking his way toward your chest. The feeling of his teeth scraping against you sends you over, coming around him as you hide your face in his neck, crying his name.
Minghao curses, flipping you onto your side gently with your back to his chest. He's careful as he lifts one of your thighs and hooks it over his, and he slowly thrusts back into you from behind in a single, fluid stroke. His arm wraps around you, hand cupping your breast, pinching the nipple as he fucks you with long, drawn out thrusts that have you panting.
"My pretty wife," he pants against the shell of your ear, nipping lightly. "Fate brought you to me. I know it. I never believed before until you."
You moan helplessly, pushing back to meet every thrust. Another orgasm crashes over you, vision whitening as your walls flutter and squeeze him. Minghao groans deeply, pace faltering until he buries himself to the hilt, hips jerking as he spills inside you.
You stay locked together, panting, bodies slick with sweat. His cock softens slowly inside you but he doesn’t pull out, holding you close. His hand strokes lazily over your stomach, down to where you’re still joined, feeling the mess of your combined release leaking out.
After long minutes, he presses soft kisses to your neck, your shoulder, your jaw. Turning your head, he kisses you properly again.
“I never intended this,” he murmurs against your lips, breaking the kiss. “I was supposed to use this marriage, keep my distance, and fulfill the Virate’s purpose. But you deserve better. You deserve a real husband. Protection, honesty, partnership. I promise you that - until death, like I said. No more shadows between us."
"I would like that," you whisper, looking up into his eyes - open and honest for the first time. "Thank you."
Rain taps against the window as you lay there, tired and safe in his arms. For once, you don't worry about anything - there is nothing to worry about. The Tower has already fallen. The illusions are gone. All that remains is what you choose to build from the wreckage.
-
The wedding you always imagined is better than your first one. Late afternoon light filters through the canopy of trees in soft, dappled gold, catching on the mist that clings to ferns and low-hanging moss. The air carries the scent of damp earth, pine resin, crushed herbs, and night-blooming jasmine. For once, the rain has paused, like the earth is letting you have this brief moment among the trees.
This is nothing like the extravagent wedding suspended three hundred floors above the city. No cameras. No political theater. Just earth. Just intention. Just truth.
You're barefoot on a small clearing of soft moss and fallen petals, wearing a simple slip of midnight silk that brushes your ankles. Minghao stands across from you, barefoot and dressed in loose black linen that makes him look less like a Shade and something softer. More solid. Something yours.
A length of hand-dyed red silk binds your hands together, soaked through with oils, saturated with the smell of rose and mugwart and something bitter. Baby stands a respectful distance away beside Seungcheol, her haunted expression gentler today, almost peaceful. Jeonghan leans against a tree with his usual lazy smirk while Kero grins, all teeth.
“This is the one that matters,” Minghao murmurs. "Until death."
You smile. "Until death, Xu Minghao."
emergency contact | yoon jeonghan
› pairings: yoon jeonghan x female reader › aus: dilf jeonghan, boyfriend jeonghan, jeonghan is a girl dad › genres: angst, fluff, smut (18+) › word count: 23k
READ PART ONE HERE
› warnings: toxic family dynamics: jeonghan's ex is a bad person in general (a neglectful parent), talks about speech therapy, speech impediment. jeonghan is an idiot. reader is emotionally constipated. so there's A LOT OF drama.
› smut warnings: smut with plot (this part has more plot than the previous one, you're warned), they're both crazy for each other, dirty talk, pussy eating, jeonghan is pussy drunk, quickies, make up sex, breeding kink, cowgirl, daddy kink, edging, bathroom sex, silence play, unprotected p in v sex (i'm such a bad influence, wrap it up!), creampies, mating press, yn is slightly 🤏🏻 bratty, dom jeonghan, aftercare. pet names: babe, baby, beautiful, darling, sweetheart, (hers) babe, daddy (his)
› author's note: hiiii! i'm here to say thank you guys for the support in the pineapple on pizza? post! it was really nice to see that so many of you enjoyed it, so here is a part two! honestly i enjoyed writing dilf!hannie quite a lot and couldn't get him out of my brain for months so here it is, a part two lol. and this chapter is looooong, so buckle in!
also another note: this is incredibly self indulgent. like everything i write. but i think this one takes the cake.
› disclaimer: minors DO NOT INTERACT. this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your blog description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂
“Have you seen my keys?”
Morning routines were always a mess. Something different happened every time, and somehow, even though you’ve done this more than a dozen times, it was still hard to catch up.
But you were getting the hang of it.
The apartment was a controlled chaos, as you liked calling it. The air smelled of coffee and the soft fragrance that Jeonghan wore to work. Repetition was starting to have its effect as you began to associate your mornings with those two scents.
“Have you tried looking under the couch?” you asked, turning around with a small bowl in your hands. You placed it carefully on the small tabletop of Sohee’s booster seat and watched quietly as she sank her little spoon into her bowl of cereal and milk.
“I should’ve added more milk,” you mumbled, biting on the inside of your cheek.
The little girl didn’t seem to notice, though. She ate happily, kicking her feet in the air and clapping her tiny hands together as she chewed, milk dripping from the corners of her pouty mouth.
You heard a sigh, and then the sound of footsteps approaching from the hall, and you lifted your head.
Jeonghan was still buttoning his perfectly ironed shirt, his hands going lower and lower, distracting you from your initial task. You felt your lips parting before forcing any kind of control onto your facial expression. His black trousers were also yet to be fixed, but as he finished buttoning his shirt, he tucked it inside his pants, quickly fastening his belt.
You lowered your gaze to the little girl slamming her palms onto the tabletop. Sohee was dancing happily. And you were glad that you had zero witnesses to your ogling your boyfriend quite shamelessly.
You brushed crumbs off the table, picked up the empty bowl and put it away. “Alright,” you said with a sigh, pretending to be deeply focused on the morning routine. “Did you find them?”
When you looked up, you found that Jeonghan had also been staring. His eyes were trained on the scene happening before him. His mouth parted, and he appeared to be confused for a split second—giving himself a very brief shake. “Yeah,” he smiled shyly and patted the pocket of his trousers. “Under the bed.”
“Huh,” you grinned. “How could they have gotten there?” you asked, innocently tilting your head.
Jeonghan sighed. The smile was still glued to his face, but it slowly brushed off as he raised his wrist to his face, looking at his watch. “I’m late,” he said, delivering the words with an annoyed edge in his tone. “Fuck. I’m so late,” he added, turning around to grab the jacket that had been previously placed on the couch.
Panic rushed in your veins. It was a big day for Jeonghan at his work—he had a big meeting in which it was certain that he would get some good news about a project that he had proposed for the company he worked for. You knew what this meant for him.
You looked at the time. His shift started earlier than yours did, and with another twist to your stomach, you knew that he wouldn’t be able to drop Sohee off at the daycare and then make it on time to his meeting.
“Go. I’ll drop Sohee at daycare,” you blurted right as he was throwing Sohee’s things into her bag.
His gaze snapped up and locked onto your face. The shock was flitting, but you were able to catch it before he blinked and parted his mouth to say something.
But you were quicker— “Here. Take my car and I’ll take yours so I can put Sohee in her car seat. We can switch later,” you said, stumbling over your words as you fished your car keys from the pocket of your smart trousers, handing them to him.
Jeonghan straightened, fixing the wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose—you always went a little crazy when he did that—but this time he placed his hands on his hips, his face thoughtful, calculating. “Are you sure? I don’t want to cause an inconvenience with—”
“Babe, you’re not causing anything,” you insisted, thrusting your fist holding the keys into the space between you and him. “Take my car. Go to your meeting. I’ve got Sohee.”
At that, Jeonghan’s face relaxed, starting to approach you with a softened look on his face—like he could melt just at the sight of you. He took the keys from your hand. “You’re godsent, did you know that?” he asked, his tone low as he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you to his body.
“I’m just here to help,” you said lightly, meeting his gaze as he bent his head to meet your lips with his own.
Jeonghan gave you one feathery kiss. “Thank you, baby,” he whispered, pushing his lips on yours again. “Be careful, okay? Call me if anything happens.”
You smiled against his lips. “I got this,” you repeated in a sweeter tone.
Part of you was sure that Jeonghan knew this as well. But Sohee was his entire world. And he was quite literally leaving her in your hands.
And you were unsure as to what to think about it.
Jeonghan turned, peeling himself from your lips with a begrudged groan and placed a kiss on top of Sohee’s head. “Goodbye, sweetheart,” he cooed gently.
Your tummy twisted again. This time, the reaction was from the way Jeonghan switched into dad mode in the blink of an eye. The switch from hot boyfriend to diligent father never failed to mess with you.
Sohee lifted her head, her eyes looking at her dad, but she didn’t respond.
“Be good today, okay? Eat all of your meals and try not to miss me too much,” Jeonghan insisted, trying to get her to utter something. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart. Byeee,” he cooed again.
But Sohee kept looking at her father fixedly.
“Sweetheart, say bye,” Jeonghan encouraged Sohee again, this time lower but still gentle.
“Maybe she’s not feeling it today, babe,” you muttered behind him.
A few weeks ago, Jeonghan confided in you that he started to notice that Sohee often froze at the moment of speaking full sentences. Initially, he had brushed it off, thinking that his daughter was innately shy, just like himself. But as months passed by and she continued developing other social skills, he began to believe that it was something else.
“Right,” Jeonghan mumbled, not hiding the slight look of worry on his face. But he leaned and propped another kiss on her forehead before stepping back. He kissed you on the cheek, handing you the keys to his car.
“Good luck,” you mumbled, and he replied with a quick nod. You and Sohee watched quietly as Jeonghan slipped through the door.
As soon as the door clicked shut, you realized what you had gotten yourself into. It was supposed to be a simple task, yes. But it had a thousand layers of meaning beneath it. Taking Sohee to daycare was something you could do every day, gladly—but something felt off.
Like you were starting to cross a line, and neither Jeonghan nor you knew how to talk about it.
Taking Sohee to her daycare was one thing—driving Jeonghan’s SUV was another.
It wasn’t a particularly daring task either, but it also put your nerves on edge. After fixing Sohee’s daycare bag and your own stuff, you grabbed her first, hoisting her up your hip, and then you swung your bag and Sohee’s on your shoulder.
“Ready to see your friends today, Sohee?” you asked, raising your tone into a sweet one. It felt practiced, and you remembered the first few times you ever did it—how it made your cheeks flush in embarrassment. But after a time, you could say that you understood why people would talk in a cute way to kids, it came naturally.
“Yeah,” Sohee replied, the word landing almost aloofly. Like you had just caught her in a moment where she didn’t find any barriers for her to speak.
You pushed the button of the elevator and slowly moved your head to look at her.
Sohee was a perfect little girl of almost three years of age. When you met her over half a year ago, you were sure you were holding a little angel. She was gentle and sweet. Her head was full of dark hair that matched her long eyelashes, just like her father’s.
“Oh, yeah? What are their names?” you asked, eyeing her as you stepped into the elevator with her still attached to your hip.
“Dany,” she mumbled perfectly, raising her tone as though she were about to make a list of names.
“Dany? Okay, and who else?”
“Nora,” she said, quieter this time.
The elevator paused on its way down, opening the doors for another person to step in. You knew the conversation was over.
Sohee fell silent, lowering her gaze from you and fixing it on one point on your shirt. You realized after a few seconds that she was staring at your hand, at your painted fingernails. What made you certain was the way she raised her hands to her gaze, comparing her fingernails to your own.
Something twisted inside you, the idea of her and you doing each other’s nails dawned in your head. And you knew what that pang in your stomach was—possibility. You were thinking of the future.
“Here we go,” you mumbled as you approached Jeonghan’s navy blue Kia Seltos. The fresh smell of new and clean leather still lingered inside it as you opened the door and put Sohee in her chair.
She never complained, just quietly sat on the chair and looked at you as you fixed the buckle of her safety belt.
“Safety first,” you said, trying to fill in the silence. You grabbed one of the toys from the toy basket sitting beneath her seat and showed it to her. “Look, it’s Rory!” you cried dramatically, showing her the dinosaur plushie that you knew she loved.
Sohee extended her arms and made grabby hands at the green and very cute T. rex. She didn’t speak again, no matter how hard you tried to get her to say something.
The parking lot was buzzing with activity, cars coming and going, hustling parents coming in and out of the building, dropping their kids off—and you for sure felt like a fish out of water, but you didn’t want to entertain the thought for too long. You signed Sohee in without an issue—the staff mentioned that as you were dropping Sohee off, Jeonghan had phoned them to let them know you were coming in his stead.
You soothed Sohee’s hair and gave her a quick kiss on her head as she scrunched her fingers on your back, almost affectionately. “You be good, sweetie,” you said before leaving her and turning to the parking lot, feeling strangely empty when you climbed inside the SUV.
You carried out work as usual. You didn’t think about the odd feeling clawing at your heart for the rest of the morning. The second the clock hit one o’clock, your phone started vibrating, snapping you out of your monitor screen. You scrambled to get your phone, only to see Jeonghan’s face on the screen.
“Hello?” you responded with a hushed tone, looking over to see if you had interrupted the workflow in the office. But you realized the space was nearly empty, and everyone had left for lunch.
“Am I interrupting?” Jeonghan noticed immediately by your tone alone.
“No. I just didn’t look at the time,” you told him, pushing yourself off the chair and walking in the direction of the elevator.
“Oh, I see. Is this still a good time to speak with you?” he asked.
You smirked at his choice of words. “I don’t know, you tell me. Is this a good time for you?” you retorted, noticing that he was also in his cubicle.
“You got me,” he said, and you could imagine the shy smile on his face. “I’m stepping outside, hold on.”
You pushed the button to the elevator and waited while on the other side of the line, you heard Jeonghan moving.
“Okay, I’m out,” he said with a sigh. “Are you going to the food court?” he asked.
Jeonghan knew your schedule well, and he was also very familiar with your routine since you always kept him in the loop of the things you did. When you started dating, you would quite practically narrate to him your daily life through text messages, to the point that he knew all of your co-workers by name without knowing them in person.
“Yes,” you replied, stepping out of the elevator.
“Chicken salad?” he asked with a low tone, making you think that he probably had some co-worker passed him by.
“Oh, I think I’m moving on from that,” you told him. “I want a burrito. A chicken burrito.”
“Oof, how different,” he teased.
“Let me be,” you bit back and then frowned, suspecting something was off.
“I will. But I’m going to tease you about it either way,” he said with a brief laugh. “How is work going?”
“Fine,” you replied simply. But it was then that you dared to ask, “Is something going on, babe? You’re never this weird.”
Jeonghan sighed, and you knew he was smiling. “Am I being that obvious?” he said, and then, before you could say something, he continued. “I just wanted to tell you to come tonight and have dinner with Sohee and me.”
“Mmn, why do I feel like this could’ve been a text,” you said as you sat down at an empty table that was cluttered with a tray and a single French fry sitting on its box.
He laughed. “I am trying to get somewhere here,” he said.
“You’re taking a lot of detours!” you laughed with him. “Of course, babe. You know I love having dinner with you and Sohee.”
“Good. Great,” he mumbled, and something about the dejected way his words came out made your ears perk.
A long moment of silence happened between you, where you could hear the sound of his breathing and nothing else. Your gaze fell out of focus, landing on a single grain of salt on the dirty table in the very crowded food court.
“Is everything alright, babe?” you asked, your tone lower. “Did the meeting go well?”
“Yeah. It’s not that. I want—” he cut himself off, but then, “I want us to talk,” he said.
Your heart fell to your stomach, the feeling so impactful that it left you completely stunned. There was nothing in the world that could replace the feeling you’d get when you heard the words we need to talk, and all of its variations.
“Oh, then—t-that changes things,” you mumbled awkwardly, not forgoing that he ignored your initial question.
“Wait, no,” he started, noticing the tension in your words. “It’s nothing bad.”
“Okay,” you said under a heavy sigh. “Then tell me now,” you said.
“I’d rather wait until tonight—”
“Did I do something wrong?” you asked instead. And perhaps you could’ve controlled yourself better, but you were fully induced in anxiety now.
“No. I swear it’s nothing bad,” he told you firmly. “It’s something I have been wanting to ask you.”
You started toying with the lonely grain of salt with the tip of your finger. “If it really is nothing bad, then you could ask me now,” you said, fully aware of how shaky your tone was.
“Are you sure?” he asked slowly, stretching out each word.
“Very.”
Jeonghan sighed and then paused. You could picture him clearly—standing on the balcony of the building where he worked, looking very polished on the outside but probably tense, judging by his tone alone.
“I was just thinking that we’re always so busy, you with work and me with—well, with everything and…” You heard him pause, and then release a sigh, and that’s how you knew he was also steadying himself. “I wanted to know if you would like to move in with us. With Sohee and me.”
In all of the things you could’ve possibly imagined him saying, this wasn’t one of them. You straightened in your seat as a chill ran down your spine. “Jeonghan, are you serious?” you asked, unable to control how firm you sounded.
“I don’t mean now, but sometime in the future. We can plan and see how things go from there,” he offered, and he sounded steady, but you could notice the slight edge of nervousness in it.
The feeling invading your body made you feel as if you had been dropped from a very tall building.
“Babe…” you started, looking for the words to say.
“It’s okay if you want to say no,” he said. “I just wanted to talk about it with you tonight over dinner.”
You closed your eyes, swallowing hard. “I’m not saying no,” you told him.
“You’re not saying yes either,” he sighed in defeat. “I’m rushing into things.”
Your chest caved in. You wanted to say yes, you wanted this. But there were so many things that you thought needed to happen before you moved in with him and his daughter. In your book, things like the first I love you had to happen before sharing a roof with that person. Or at least knowing them for a full year.
Oh, and the judgment. Your friends already thought you were insane for dating a single parent, and now you were moving in with him eight months after meeting him? Not only that, your whole life had taken a turn when you started dating Jeonghan—to the point that the person you were a year ago wouldn’t recognize the person you were now.
“Can we talk about it tonight over dinner?” you asked, your tone tiny.
“Of course. We can talk about it more calmly,” he said, and you couldn’t ignore the note of sadness in his words. “I get it, baby. I should’ve waited. I’m sorry.”
“No, Jeonghan. You did nothing wrong,” you said, but then something felt off.
“Listen, I have to go back. See you tonight?” he asked, and you caught the way his tone picked up. Something had come up.
You deflated completely. “See you tonight, Jeonghan.”
And then something hung in the air. An unspoken thing between you, something that needed to be said.
Your heart started to hope.
But then the line went dead.
There was a thought that you couldn’t quite keep away. When you met Jeonghan, you instantly knew this man was for you—every bone, every nerve ending in your body told you that. Then, when you knew he was a single father, you knew that a relationship with him would be challenging. But it turned out to be easier than expected.
However, things started to shift from the first night you and he took things to the next level. Spending the night in his bed was a very conscious decision you both made. You were both ready, and truth be told, aching for each other. What you didn’t foresee was that you were climbing those steps into a serious relationship without paying attention to how fast and how uncontrolled you were.
Now, it felt as though you were in too deep, but there were no rules or boundaries in place.
You gnawed on your lower lip, debating whether to write him a text telling him that you knew he meant well by his proposition.
Instead, you got up and went to the nearest convenience store, got a sandwich, and ate half of it on the elevator ride back to your office.
The rest of your shift happened in a blink. Thankfully, you were so busy that the aftermath of that call with Jeonghan was pushed to the second plane of your brain. You would sometimes remember it with a jolt in your stomach. And he also didn’t text you afterwards, which meant that he was also probably busy—or that’s what you wanted to believe anyway.
You came out of the office some four hours after the phone call, scrambling inside your handbag to get your car keys.
Your phone started vibrating furiously somewhere in one of the many pockets, your heart deflating stressfully in the thought that it could possibly be Jeonghan. A flashing thought drove that anxiousness right into your soul, telling you that he would be telling you that tonight’s plans were off.
But it was an unknown caller. And you picked up solely on the thought that it would be a work-related thing.
“Yes?” you said, putting your bag on top of the trunk of your car.
The caller was a woman with a very polite tone, asking for you using your full name.
“This is her,” you replied almost routinely.
“Hi! This is Katy from the Speech and Learning Center. Am I speaking to Sohee’s mother?”
“Oh—” you gasped, leaving the task of finding your keys completely abandoned due to the sheer shock that question gave you. “No. I’m her father’s partner. Is something wrong?”
“Oh, no. Everything is fine. I’m so sorry, ma’am,” Katy responded kindly. “We have you on Sohee’s file as the emergency contact in case her father doesn’t answer, and we’ve tried him three times just now, but no answer. Are you able to make choices about her appointments with us?”
“God,” you mouthed to yourself, screwing your eyes shut. “Um, Sohee’s birthday is on Friday, so Thursday would probably be better,” you responded automatically, and then you stopped yourself with a shake. “But I think you should try her father again.”
But then you remembered—Jeonghan had mentioned a very important meeting, the one where his boss would determine whether he had the promotion or not.
“I believe he was in a meeting. Maybe you should try in…” you checked your watch. “Twenty minutes. He should be off by then.”
“Understood. I will call him instead. Well, I thank you for picking up this call and wish you a good rest of your day. Bye!”
“Thanks. You too,” you replied shakily.
And then she hung up.
The drive to Jeonghan’s apartment felt like an out-of-body experience. You felt yourself driving, but at the same time, your mind was somewhere else. After being hit with two reality checks, one after another, you were reconsidering what to do, what to say to Jeonghan once you saw him.
He had assigned you as Sohee’s emergency contact. Not her grandmother, not her aunt. And certainly not her mother. You.
It shouldn’t be a big deal—maybe you were making it into a big deal. But after Jeonghan had told you he wanted you to move in with him and his daughter, this just felt like too much.
You turned the doorknob of his apartment door as you released a shaky sigh, trying to drive out all your nervousness. But as you entered and laid eyes on him, you knew it would be impossible not to be nervous for the remainder of the night.
Jeonghan was sitting on the couch, baby Sohee sitting safely on his thigh as he held a triceratops in one hand, making it clash gently against Sohee’s brontosaurus. His gaze immediately switched to the door as you crossed it. Then tension set in, making the features of his face harden.
And you probably were mirroring that same expression. You closed the door behind you quietly and removed your shoes by the entrance.
Jeonghan placed Sohee on the couch carefully as you walked to the living room, feeling strange.
“Hey,” he said, reading your face with his eyes.
Your heart was racing incredibly fast. “Hi,” you replied.
“I got it,” he said with a big sigh.
Understanding dawned on you with a blink. “You got promoted?”
He nodded, but his expression was still blank.
“Oh my god!” you gasped, thinking that the tension in his demeanor was due to the call from earlier. “Congratulations!” you said excitedly, going for a hug.
Jeonghan didn’t appear to be happy, not precisely. But he wrapped your torso in his arms, hugging you tightly. “Thank you, baby,” he sighed, sinking his face into the crook of your neck.
Then you felt a pair of tiny hands palming your leg intuitively. You pulled away from Jeonghan’s arms, looking down to spot Sohee trying to get your attention.
“I think she’s feeling left out,” Jeonghan interpreted keenly.
“Oh, my bad,” you giggled and bent down to hug her. “Come here, princess,” you spoke softly to her as you lifted her in your arms.
“Look,” Sohee said quietly, showing you a new dinosaur toy.
“Wow, what is this?” you asked her, your tone turning into honey.
“Saurus,” she mumbled shyly, still showing you her dinosaur figurine.
“A stegosaurus,” Jeonghan informed you quietly as he watched you carry Sohee in your arms. And there was that look again. The one you had seen in the morning. He was watching intently, calmly—like he wanted to remember this moment forever without missing a thing.
“This is so cool,” you told her, still using that tone. “Is this the one you liked the most?” you asked her.
She listened to you intently, but her gaze was fixed on her figurine. She shook her head.
“Show her your favorite one, sweetheart,” Jeonghan said as you placed her back on the floor.
She ran back to the couch, grabbed the forgotten dinosaur and brought it back to you. You crouched to be at eye level with her as she showed you a new Triceratops.
“Did you just get these?” you asked her sweetly, your tummy twisting in cuteness aggression as she just nodded, ruffling her black hair.
“It was one of her birthday gifts. I thought that it would be safe to keep them stashed in my closet, but I guess that I should’ve known better,” he said guiltily, crouching with you as Sohee went on to show you her new collection of dinosaur toys.
“You’re a very observant girl, aren’t you?” you asked her, to which she ignored completely.
You could feel Jeonghan beside you, his gaze set on you as you continued your silent exchange with Sohee. After some seconds of feeling the weight of his gaze on you, you glanced to his direction.
“Can we talk?” he whispered as soon as he caught your eye.
You nodded, tummy twisting uneasily.
Jeonghan opened and then closed the fridge in one short motion. He placed his empty hands on his hips as he released a sigh. You noticed then that he was anxious. “Sohee’s mother is coming to town.”
You froze in place.
Of course. You should’ve expected her to be for her daughter’s birthday. But part of you was also completely vexed about this piece of information—since you had believed for a moment that Jeonghan wanted to talk about the proposal he’d made earlier. But Sohee’s mother rarely called, to the point that in the eight months you’ve been dating Jeonghan, you had never even seen her in person.
“Oh, I see,” you said, swallowing hard. And then you added quite awkwardly: “Is she… did you… Did she call to see what you would do for Sohee’s birthday?”
Jeonghan understood where your curiosity came from. But he was still looking at you wearily, just like all the times he talked to you about a difficult thing in his life. Like the time he told you about his daughter, or the time he told you about Sohee’s absent mother.
It made your stomach churn.
And you knew what it was. It was selfishness.
“No. I called her,” he said. You knew that he was telling you the truth, and in doing so, he was nervous. “Sohee’s birthday is one of the few times I can get her mother to come see her, so…”
“I understand,” you said, resuming to set the table with the tablecloth and the dishware. “Do you… want me here that day?”
“Of course I do,” he said. You glanced his way, seeing his worried face—his eyebrows knitting softly. “Do you want to be here?”
“As long as you are comfortable with it, yes,” you said, and then added: “I just don’t want to complicate things.”
Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “Believe me, things can’t get more complicated with her. Soomin is just…” he shook his head lightly. “Well, you’ll see.”
You exhaled sharply. “Okay… no pressure,” you mumbled.
All you knew about Soomin was that she was not present in Sohee and Jeonghan’s lives from the moment Sohee turned eight months old. Her reason for parting and leaving everything behind was simply—I don’t want this life—and one day she packed her bags and left. Some months later, Jeonghan asked her for full custody of the baby, receiving it without any fight from her.
“Is she coming the day of?” you asked.
“On Thursday afternoon, after Sohee’s therapy,” he said. And then you noticed that the anxiety hadn’t quite brushed off. “I want you to meet her that day. That way we can have the party without any issues, if any.”
You raised your eyebrows, watching him from the other side of the table. “That bad?”
He nodded silently, throwing a look to the living room, where Sohee was dancing around to the music playing on the TV screen. “I just don’t want her to make a scene on Sohee’s birthday, you know? It’s supposed to be her day.”
The tension in your shoulders dissolved when you turned over your shoulder and saw baby Sohee bending her knees to the rhythm of the music, her tiny hands planted on the sofa to keep herself steady as she danced happily. Your stomach twisted with the realization that you loved Sohee in a way that you wanted to protect her, care for her.
You had gotten irrevocably attached.
You took a deep breath, slowly turning to see Jeonghan. “Don’t worry, babe,” you told him, smiling at him as you approached him again. “We’ll make Sohee’s day just about her, alright?” you said, pushing yourself to your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
Jeonghan smiled softly. “Alright,” he said.
You stared at that smile on his face for one long second, and slowly, the memory of the phone call from earlier came back to your mind. Your heart faltered. You carefully thought of how to open the conversation, but nerves got the better of you first— “About earlier…” you said in a whisper, pausing to clear your throat. “Were you serious? About me moving in?”
Jeonghan inhaled slowly, blinking away from your face briefly, glancing to where his daughter was in the living room. “We don’t have to rush,” he said, licking his lips before turning his gaze back to you. “It’s a big step, but it makes sense, right? I mean, you’re already here all the time…”
You studied him for a brief moment. You were hearing him, but all you could think about was the way his shoulders were tight, the way he was gripping the back of the chair with one hand. And more than everything else—the way he wasn’t meeting your eyes.
“It feels fast, Jeonghan,” you said carefully.
“It feels right,” he countered, taking one step towards you. His face had changed now that you could see him with more closeness—his dark eyes were full of certainty, full of tenderness. “I want you here. With us. You’re already here all the time, you do morning routines with us, put her in bed, and drop-offs…”
Your chest tightened. Something felt off. And then by pure instinct, you glanced at Sohee. The baby had stopped moving, her gaze fixed on the flat screen mounted on the wall, sticking her index finger in her mouth quite aloofly.
But the sight of her made your tummy twist even harder. It was the realization hitting you like a train. If you lost this—if Jeonghan and you ever get to a point where you split, you would lose Sohee as well. The mere thought threatened to break your heart.
His gaze shifted—and without following it, you knew that he was looking at Sohee. “I’m just… scared of doing this wrong way, you know?”
You reached for his face, cupping it with your hands to draw his gaze back to you again. “Then we should slow down,” you said, your heart protesting against your words with a stabbing pain. “Just a little.”
He swallowed hard. “Okay,” he breathed.
“Yeah?” you replied in kind. “We slow down for just a little while. We could talk about it again when the timing feels right.”
Jeonghan grabbed one of your wrists, squeezing it gently. He looked relieved, so much so that the next sigh he let out was slow as he leaned his forehead on yours. “I’m sorry. The last thing I want is to rush you,” he whispered.
“It’s okay,” you replied, despite your heart deflating a little. “I understand. Just know that I’m not saying no. Okay?” you said, raising your tone just a little bit higher, trying to swallow your nerves.
“Okay,” Jeonghan replied with a breathy giggle, hearing your nervous tone.
You felt his lips grazing yours before he kissed you fully. It was then that you felt those three littlewords sitting on the tip of your tongue. You were falling for him, fast and uncontrollably. But instead of telling him that, you pushed your lips against his, kissing him fervently.
But then a sharp, and very high-pitched laugh pulled you both apart. Baby Sohee was laughing at something happening on the TV. You broke away and stepped back from Jeonghan.
“I’ll… bring her to her chair so she can have dinner,” Jeonghan said. And by the look in his eyes, you knew that there was something else on his mind.
You let out a tired breath. “What a Monday,” you sighed.
“Welcome to my life,” Jeonghan replied.
After dinner, Jeonghan started to ready Sohee for bed, and that usually involved a bath, brushing teeth and then bed. It took him around thirty or forty minutes. And in that time, you usually took it upon yourself to tidy the space up. Initially, you had started doing it to kill the time while waiting for Jeonghan to come back—despite his insistence for you not to do it—but lately, it felt like it was part of your routine too.
You had put all of Sohee’s toys in the basket, folded the blankets and were now doing the dishes. The task had fallen into a steady rhythm, and so you were deeply focused on washing a pan when a pair of arms snaked around your waist, startling you.
“Stay the night,” Jeonghan said, his tone low as he bent his head to rest it on your shoulder.
Your tummy twisted.
Ever since you slept with Jeonghan for the first time, you had fallen into a pattern of addiction. You would stay over at every chance you could get, which, granted, weren’t as many since you had a very hectic work schedule as a CEO Assistant and he as a single parent, and now newly ascended to Director. But even as you had finally stepped to that level of intimacy, it was life that constantly would get in the way. It wasn’t as easy to find a time for you to come to his apartment, and it would be nearly impossible for Jeonghan to spend the night at yours.
You felt his lips grazing a particular tender spot on the crook of your neck. “Hannie,” you sighed, recoiling from his sweet kisses.
“What?” he mumbled against your skin, you could tell from his tone that he was smiling. But he didn’t stop kissing your neck slowly.
You swore you could melt. When you took too long to respond, he giggled gently against your skin.
“Want me to stop?”
You had already scrubbed every inch of the pan you were holding under the stream of water; the task had been long forgotten. “No, I want you to let me finish doing the dishes,” you replied with a playful tone.
“Alright, my bad,” he said, stepping back from you and starting to put things away in the kitchen.
You watched him through the corner of your eye as he roamed all over the space. Feeling the absence of his touch on your skin made you swallow hard. “I didn’t say you had to stop,” you mumbled, feeling hot on the cheeks.
Jeonghan huffed, clearly still amused. “Baby, we’ve been going like this for weeks,” he said pointedly, then chuckled as he threw a look at your face, finding your pout.
Since the night when you slept with Jeonghan for the first time, you have had very few occasions of true intimacy. However, that didn’t stop Jeonghan from teasing you, touching you in places he hadn’t dared before that night, but now he did it at every chance he could get when no one else was looking.
It got you nervous. You liked him too much. Every time he touched you intimately, your mind would be thrown back to those nights where it was just you and Jeonghan. It made your blood dance, heating your entire body.
Only Jeonghan had that power.
You placed the last item on the drying rack and grabbed the hand towel, drying your hands before returning it to its place. “Fine, I’m done doing the dishes,” you said, putting your hands on your hips. “Where were we?”
Jeonghan let out a teasing huff. “You’re cute,” he said with a chuckle.
“You’re a tease,” you bit back, trying to sound as annoyed as you could, but instead your tone denoted how flustered you already were.
Jeonghan rolled his eyes at you, the smirk not washing off his face. “So? Are you staying or not?” he asked, his tone still playful.
“Only if you behave,” you said impishly.
Jeonghan raised his eyebrows, stepping closer to you. “Me?” he asked, his tone rising. He was close enough now that all he had to do was lift his hand to cup your face, fixing your gaze on him. “All I do is what you tell me, baby,” he said, his tone so low and raspy it was almost like a purr.
“So whenever you misbehave, is it because I told you to?” you huffed, not caring that his face was closer to yours now.
He smirked slowly as his eyes outlined your face. “Obviously,” he shrugged lightly. He finally closed the space between your lips and his, kissing you tenderly. “I always behave. While you, on the other hand…”
He didn’t finish his sentence, his gaze dipping to look at your lips briefly before he kissed you again. You smiled into the kiss, despite it being chaste in the way that he was only pressing his lips to yours repeatedly, creating soft, wet noises that only incited you to get more.
“Babe,” you muttered, laughing sweetly. “Kiss me properly,” you told him.
Jeonghan didn’t waste a second. Repositioning his hands around your face, he only leaned in, locking his lips with yours. His kiss was soft, but slow, wet, and so full of heat. You closed your eyes and let him dominate the kiss, parting your mouth when you felt the tip of his tongue swipe your bottom lip, and then you felt his tongue against yours.
Your legs tensed as an automatic response, a shot of arousal coursing through you like lightning. His hands switched from cupping your cheeks to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. That made a silent moan bubble in your mouth, so you grabbed him by the belt in his jeans, pulling him closer to you.
Jeonghan grunted in your mouth and then pushed you to the kitchen counter by simply taking two steps forward, making you take two steps back. His lips took yours with more vehemency now, kissing you deeply, with a very unique urgency. It made you lose control, it made you feel hot all over.
So you pulled back, but not far. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?” you said breathily, running a hand over his clothed chest.
Jeonghan smiled, making you think that he’d say something about your nervousness again. But he grabbed your hand, “Alright,” he said, and then he pulled you in the direction of his bedroom.
Whenever you stayed the night, you would wear Jeonghan’s clothes—mostly oversized t-shirts and sometimes sporty shorts. So much so that you’d noticed Jeonghan kept the clothes he’d lent you in a particular spot in his closet, making you suspect that he probably had stopped wearing them, only to keep them clean in case you came to stay the night.
Your gut twisted when Jeonghan pulled the same oversized t-shirt and handed it to you. “You know, you could bring some stuff in. I’ll empty a drawer for you,” he mumbled, turning on the bedside lamp.
He always said something akin to those words whenever he had the opportunity. It reminded you of his other request—of moving in. “Yeah, I’ll bring some spare pyjamas,” you replied nervously, turning on your feet to start unbuttoning your shirt.
“And maybe clothes for work?” he asked, and you could hear the hint of hope in his tone.
You already had a toothbrush and makeup remover wipes that you once bought to keep in Jeonghan’s bathroom. That time you’d also felt you were stepping over a line, for some reason. But Jeonghan thought it was endearing that you had asked him for permission beforehand. You don’t have to ask, he told you every time.
“Yeah, that too,” you replied, sounding short of breath. When finished unbuttoning your shirt, you threw a look behind you, seeing that Jeonghan had just turned his gaze elsewhere in that instant. You smiled to yourself, noticing that he, too, was acting strange, fidgety.
Or perhaps it was just staying behind the line you always painted. That was another thing that drove you crazy about this man—he always waited for your word. But he kept a keen eye on you, certainly making sure that you were not having trouble initiating. And this time was no different.
You liked Jeonghan. No, you loved him. And tonight, with all those questions roaming about in your mind, questions about moving in, taking care of Sohee, meeting her mother… You were simply too much in your head.
And Jeonghan knew.
After brushing your teeth and cleaning your makeup off, you slid into the bed beside him. He was eyeing you and the screen of his phone back and forth, waiting for you. “Ready?” he asked.
Your stomach twisted again. “Huh?”
Jeonghan smiled at you. “To sleep?” he added.
“Ah. Yes. Oh, yeah,” you stuttered nervously, scooting closer to him.
Jeonghan left the phone on the bedside table and turned the lamp off. He turned around, draping an arm around your waist as you also turned, forming up a spooning situation where he was the bigger spoon. He kissed your shoulder over his clothes, and then your cheek.
“Did you have a good day at work?” he asked, his tone soft and low.
You blinked, turning slightly to look at him. “Yeah. Why?” you asked.
He shrugged. “Hopefully I didn’t distract you too much with my stupid phone call,” he said.
Your heart softened. “It was okay, babe. Today's work was nothing out of the ordinary,” you told him, and then showed him a playful smile. “And I love your phone calls.”
“No matter how inopportune they are?” he asked, his tone waning ever so softly.
You nodded. “They never are. Stupid or inopportune,” you replied, your tone waning too.
He paused, looking briefly at your lips before bringing a hand to pinch your chin softly. “Where were you my whole life?” he asked.
Your heart could burst. You wanted to say a million things to him. You wanted to tell him how you fell in love with him at first glance, you wanted to tell him you loved him.
But you choked up. “I could say the same,” you whispered. And you weren’t lying—despite having had other boyfriends in the past, you had never ever felt love like this in your life. It only made you think that Jeonghan hadn’t either. And the thought broke your heart.
He smiled, moving his head so he could touch your forehead with his. “I’m never letting you go, you hear me?” he said.
You nodded. “Never.” Please.
You and Jeonghan fell asleep shortly after that, going back to your original spooning position. He wrapped an arm around you, and you snuggled close to him under the covers. Sleeping with him was extraordinarily good—he never moved, never snored, and you were careful not to disrupt his sleeping either.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, you felt him stir and slip out of bed. You became too conscious about it because the bed grew colder around you, and it was getting harder to go back to sleep.
You turned over, thinking that you might’ve done something to wake him up. But he was nowhere to be seen. “Jeonghan?” you called.
He stepped into the bedroom, carefully leaving the door ajar. “Did I wake you?” he asked, his tone low.
You watched him as he came back to bed. “What’s wrong?” you asked instead.
He sucked in a breath when he felt your warm body, as though he had been exposed to a chill temperature. “Sohee’s mother called.”
“This late?” you asked. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah. She’s fine. I suppose she didn’t look up what our time zone was before calling,” he explained calmly.
“Well, what did she have to say?” you asked, feeling sharply awake now.
He slipped his arms around your body, pulling you closer to him. His clothes were cold, as well as his skin. He was probably having the phone call outside on the balcony so as not to wake you or Sohee up. “A bunch of nothings. She cancelled Thursday’s plan. Said she’ll be meeting us at the party.”
You couldn’t help but feel relieved. “Did she say why?”
Jeonghan shrugged. “Yeah. But it was all an excuse.”
Something inside you deflated with shame. Here you were, feeling relieved that you wouldn’t meet Soomin a day sooner; meanwhile, that also meant that Sohee wouldn’t see her mom either until the party. And Jeonghan’s lower tone reflected that pity.
“I’m sorry, babe,” you murmured.
“It’s fine. I had expected something like that,” he replied, but you could still hear the hurt in his tone. “She promised she’d be here for Sohee’s birthday. So, I’ll take whatever at this point.”
Now, you were even more reluctant to meet her. Your gut twisted, but before you could even process what type of feeling you were having, Jeonghan kissed your brow, easing the storm cooking up in your mind.
“Shall we go back to sleep, beautiful?” he whispered, moving his lips to kiss your eyelid, then your cheekbone.
Jeonghan was so sweet, so loving, that it scrambled your brains to think how he was yours.
His lips reached your cheek, and you moved your face so that the next kiss landed on your lips. He planted a sweet kiss, but then you parted your mouth, trapping his bottom lip in. You kissed him deeply, trying to put all of your feelings into one single kiss.
You wanted to show him that you were madly in love with him without having to say the words. You kissed him with such force that had him moaning in your mouth. He said nothing, only letting you lead as you pushed him by the shoulders, wordlessly telling him to lie on his back.
He gave you one confused look that quickly evaporated once you straddled him. His hands snaked on your thighs as you bent forward, taking his face in your hands to kiss him, moaning on his lips once his fingertips grazed the lace hem of your panties. The sound only gave him the green light to continue, exploring your skin with the pads of his fingers as he hiked the t-shirt up your torso.
You pulled back, but only to let him take the t-shirt off, leaving you only in your panties, and your chest bare for his view. His gaze roamed all over your bare skin, but it was for just a moment. You leaned in again, his hands latching to your waist, while the other fisted your hair by the side of your head.
You shifted on your knees, grounding your hips down on him—but just barely. Jeonghan was already hard, and you could feel him just by moving on top of him a little.
Dragging your fingernails down his chest, you crawled back to give yourself space to pull his shorts down. Your fingers hooked around the waistband of both his boxers and shorts, and you pulled, uncovering an inch of skin as one of your fingers traced a line over his thin but dark, happy trail.
Jeonghan sucked in a breath—but this time it was because of something else. “Sweetheart,” he mumbled, looking at your hands as you pulled his cock out, grabbing it with your other hand.
“Mn?” You raised your gaze to him.
His hands slipped on your hips, clutching you gently as you lifted them to move your panty line aside. “Condom?” he mumbled, groaning and clenching his jaw as you guided the head of his cock down your folds.
You pretended not to hear, lowering your hips and slipping him inside your warm walls, all in one go. And fuck, he was perfect—his cock was perfect too. The feeling of having him raw and stretching your pussy was the sweetest feeling you’ve ever felt. Your mouth fell open, eyebrows drawn together as you started bouncing on him gently.
“Fuck,” Jeonghan gasped, closing his eyes before sinking his head back on his pillow.
You anchored your hands on his chest, using him as support to roll your hips on top of him. And yet again, you wondered what the scene would look like—middle of the night, his pants halfway pulled down, you bouncing on top of him with your panties still on and trying your best to be quiet.
But it was nearly impossible. Jeonghan moved his hands from your hips, palming your breasts and caressing your pebbled nipples with the pad of his thumbs. You clenched your teeth together, letting out a soft whine as you ground your hips on him, trying to take his cock deeper into you.
“Quiet, baby,” he said, smirking. But then he moved his hands, one to your hip, the other on your lower abdomen. He pushed your panties further aside, pressing your lower belly with his palm before starting to rub your clit with the pad of his thumb.
“Fuck—Daddy,” you mewled, hips buckling on top of him.
“Do you like that?” he asked, his tone low. He glanced at your face once before his gaze dipped to your cunt, moaning at the sight of his cock disappearing inside you.
You nodded, picking up the pace of your hips. The pad of his thumb rubbed your clit steadily, not switching, unstopping. It was driving you closer to the edge with every second that passed, making your walls tighten around his girth.
“Is this what you wanted, baby? Daddy’s cock?” he asked with that lazy smile still on his face, his tone raw, but waning.
It drove you insane—the switch from being sweet and gentle to talking to you like that. “Mm-mmph,” you admitted.
He tilted his head back slightly, teeth clenched tightly as he tried to exert some control on himself. But as you continued rolling your hips on top of him, you saw him starting to fall apart—his eyes went white before he squeezed them shut. And then, he made a sound, a long, raspy moan that was stuck in his throat. “Baby, I’m not going to last long,” he said.
It was your turn to smile now. “That’s okay, Daddy,” you told him sweetly, and then you tilted your head, showing him a playful side. “I could slow down for you.”
Jeonghan’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. “I don’t think that’ll make a difference,” he gritted, smiling despite himself.
His hands switched to your sides, lifting your hips with one powerful groan that rumbled in his chest. The sound made your pulse quicken, and your gaze immediately shot to the door, as though trying to fish for any kind of sounds coming from down the hall.
Jeonghan acted quickly—rolling your back onto the mattress effortlessly. A gasp spilled from your mouth, eyes locking with his as he slid your panties down your legs. And then he crawled between your thighs before taking his t-shirt off.
“We should be quiet,” you told him, smiling shyly as he placed his palms on your knees, pushing your thighs up to your chest.
“Let’s see how long you can do that,” he replied, letting out a tired giggle.
And he had a point about that. Last time you and Jeonghan had sex, you had been so noisy that the downstairs neighbors made some tacit remarks about a creaky bedframe. So you watched as Jeonghan grabbed a pillow, probably thinking the same as you and placed it behind the headboard.
“Can’t make any promises,” you mumbled, still looking as he pulled his shorts and boxers down, taking his hard cock in one hand and guiding it to your drenched pussy. You swallowed hard, holding your breath as the crown of his cock nuzzled against your entrance, and then he slipped inside you, so fucking slow.
You couldn’t resist it. The sight of his length disappearing in your mound was alluring, and the feeling of him reaching so deep inside you was even more delicious than riding him. He pushed your thighs to the sides of your ribs by climbing on top of you, so he was now fully pressing your body with his.
Jeonghan smiled. “See? Didn’t last long,” he said, hearing your soft whines as he bottomed out inside you.
“Fuck—daddy,” you gritted, breathing hard under the weight of his body, but you loved it. “Move, please, move.”
You didn’t need to beg—he did it right away, pulling back to push right in, creating a steady pace effortlessly. He framed your face with his forearms, his face so close to yours that he only leaned slightly to get a swift kiss. You cupped his head in your hands, lifting your head so you could kiss him deeper, earning a soft moan from him.
It was truly suffocating. The warmth of his body, being so close to him. Looking into his eyes as he claimed your body like it was his. It overwhelmed you—the need to be his woman and have him like this every night, forever. You were going insane with the mere thought—waves of love and lust coursed through you uncontrollably.
The room became flooded with the muffled sounds of pleasure—the small whines you made, the short moans Jeonghan let out in between tired breaths, and the very obvious creaking of the bedframe despite the headboard having a pillow to not slam against the wall.
You loved it. Loved how you both had fallen into an addiction of silent quickies in the middle of the night, stifling moans and speaking filth in hushed tones. The sheer adrenaline of trying and failing to be quiet made you wet. You could even catch the slippery sound of your arousal as Jeonghan pushed his cock deep inside you.
“God,” you gasped when he picked up a pace, fucking you faster, still massaging that glorious spot inside your walls.
And you let pleasure bloom inside your body with a hot, intense shiver. Long ago, it was so rare that you’d cum with penetration alone—but somehow Jeonghan always made you cum like that, effortlessly. Your mouth dropped open, almost tasting your orgasm on the tip of your tongue.
“You close?” he asked with sharp, ragged breaths. He gave you a dazed look, outlining your features with his gaze. When you nodded, he gave you another light smile. “Let go, baby.”
You stared into his eyes, watched him as his jaw twitched when he ground his teeth down—you noticed he was close too. “Cum with me?” you asked, cheeks turning hot as you heard how fucking sweet you sounded.
Oh, you were in love. You had come to this realization a while ago, but now it was becoming more and more unbearable. Your mind spun with questions—did Jeonghan know? Could he see it in your eyes? Hear it in your tone? There you were, riddled with questions while you were begging for him to cum with you, and he wasn’t wearing a condom.
“You’re cumming first, Babygirl,” he replied, his tone waning.
You could’ve sworn that he had a way to hear your thoughts, but you didn’t let that distract you—because you were instantly swept over by an intense wave of pleasure. A gasp tore from your chest, and before you could let out a scream, Jeonghan crushed his mouth against yours, drowning out your sounds of pleasure.
He continued thrusting in that same calculated pace until you became a puddle of pleasure. You were wet. Sweaty, hot, and quivering on his bedsheets. And he was kissing you softly, passionately, like he hadn’t done before.
“Felt good?” he mumbled.
You nodded. “Amazing,” you drawled sweetly.
“Good,” he mouthed, the muscles of his face tightening, like he was in pain—he was close.
Your heart skipped a beat. “Don’t pull out,” you said.
He blinked, his gaze finding you instantly.
“Please,” you whispered, linking your wrists behind his nape, as though trying to hold him right there.
He blinked slowly and then let his forehead rest on top of yours. “Fuck,” he sighed, pushing his hips against yours with tight, deep thrusts. You closed your eyes as another euphoric rush gripped your body wholly. “God—fuck, baby,” Jeonghan drawled, letting out a raw, quiet moan as he gave you a final push, his cock twitching in your walls as he spilled himself deep inside you.
Jeonghan remained there, breathing fitfully, his body completely glued to yours as though unable to move. And then you wished you’d known what to say next. You wished you knew what to do or say after making love. So instead, you moved your face, finding his lips with your own. You kissed him slowly, trying to convey the quick rhythm of your heart, the butterflies swarming inside your chest.
He pressed his lips against the corner of yours, then he kissed your cheek. “You’re okay?” he whispered, gently pushing the tip of your nose with his before pressing another kiss against your lips.
Your heart gave another leap. “Yeah,” you mumbled shakily. “We should probably get ready to sleep. You have work tomorrow.”
Jeonghan pulled back, blinking at you confusedly. “Yeah. Sure,” he replied, his gaze outlining your features. “But after I’ve taken care of you, baby.”
And when he peeled off your body, you knew you had made a mistake. You felt foolish then, because this man was clearly thrown off by the switch in your tone, confused by your evident refusal to talk about what was going on in your mind.
But he took care of you with the utmost gentleness, offering to start a shower for you, which you declined due to how late into the night it was. However, you cleaned up in the bathroom, and when you came out, he had a glass full of water ready on the bedside table, and he’d already changed the bedsheets.
“I put your clothes in the washing machine and programmed it for a quick start early in the morning,” he said thoughtfully as he unstuck the pillow behind the headboard. “They should be clean and dry by the time we both get up.”
It made you smile—the very careful manner in which he was fluffing the pillows as you approached the bed. “Thank you, babe,” you replied, feeling your heart warm up.
“Don’t thank me,” he whispered, lifting his head as you stood beside him before the bed. “Hopefully you will remember to bring in some spare clothes next time?” he insisted, smiling shyly about something, and then— “Sorry. I keep bringing it up.”
Your heart deflated. “Don’t apologize,” you replied, placing your palm on his side, feeling the muscle of his abdomen contract at your touch. “I’ll remember to bring some stuff in. I promise.”
“Okay,” he mumbled, grabbing your hand and taking it to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. “Let’s go to sleep.”
You nodded, climbing back on the bed and snuggling him close. Jeonghan wrapped your waist with one arm, the little crook beneath your earlobe.
Your heart fluttered. “Do we already have a cake?” you asked suddenly.
Jeonghan pulled back. “What?” he mumbled.
You turned slightly. “For Sohee’s party. Did you order a cake?”
His brow creased. “Yes. Why?” he asked curiously.
You turned again, face to your pillow. “It’s nothing. I can bake really good chocolate cakes,” you gave him a light shrug. “Thought I could help with something.”
Jeonghan smiled; you felt the change in his breath on your neck, making you shiver. “I’ll remember that,” he said, pressing his lips to the first spot of skin he could find. “For her fourth birthday.”
The knot in your tummy twisted harder. “Yeah…” you trailed off, deciding to snuggle closer to him, silently telling him to hold you tighter to his body.
“Sleep well, pretty,” he whispered, unaware of the shift happening in you.
Your head was about to blow up. You were sure. And every time you blew air out of your lungs, your abdomen screamed in pain and exhaustion.
“Perhaps I’m not made for this,” you mumbled to yourself quietly, wrapping the bead around your fingers to secure a tight knot, and then proceeded to put tape on one side of it, sticking it to the wall.
You had successfully decorated the side of the dining room that had the most cleared space for it. There perched a big and colorful daisy of white and light blue petals, with a Happy B-day Sohee sign sitting in the centre in baby pink colors, made by your hand. You had pulled out your party decorating skills, which you had put away since entering college, but they came in handy the moment you realized Jeonghan wasn’t planning on decorating.
“Okay,” you sighed tiredly, looking at the wall. Now that you had one task done, you needed to tend to the other two tasks you had set for yourself.
Task number one was decorating, done. Task number two was tidying up the place for the guests. And task number three was psyching yourself up for meeting your boyfriend’s ex, and the mother of his daughter.
Your stomach did that thing again—it felt like some deep part of you protested against what you had ahead for you, and it wanted to draw your attention to it by stabbing you right in the gut.
But you went ahead and tidied the place up—putting toys where they belonged, folding blankets and taking them to the bedrooms, cleaning the kitchen counters, and setting the table just nicely.
Two hours had passed since you’d arrived at Jeonghan’s place, and all of your tasks were done. You realized you could sneak fifteen minutes of mirror talk and touching up your makeup before Jeonghan and Sohee arrived back home.
When you came out of the bathroom, you felt like something was shaking inside your veins, leaving a trail of prickled nerves in its wake. But you took a deep breath—catching the sweet smell of vanilla, sugar, and cinnamon from the birthday cake set in the centre of the round dining table. You outlined the entire space with your gaze, mentally checking every single item you told Jeonghan you were in charge of getting for the party.
Balloons. Fruit tray. Candy tray. Banana milk. Peach drinks (Sohee’s favorite), candles and goodie bags, which were dinosaur themed.
The smart lock of the main door clicked and beeped, making your stomach contract and your nerves fire up in different directions inside your limbs. Jeonghan was crossing the door carrying a backpack on one shoulder, gift bags hanging on the same arm he was carrying Sohee with.
“Hello, you two,” you chirped, anxiety instantly swept when you saw Sohee’s adorable face. “What took you so long?”
“Sohee’s teachers,” Jeonghan exhaled tiredly, closing the door behind him and watching you approach him and Sohee. “They had a lot to say to me. One of them even got emotional.”
“And what did they have to say?” you asked, eyes set on the little girl perched on her father’s arm.
“Oh, just how much they appreciate Sohee,” he replied, bumping his daughter on his arm and turning to her. “They said you were the best girl, right? The smartest, kindest and friendliest. She’s been pretty talkative at school,” he added at the end, giving you a meaningful glance.
You made a shocked expression. “Is that true?” you asked, and then giggled at the sound of your own voice.
Sohee was listening to the conversation while she chewed on the tip of her index finger. But she nodded intently.
“They gave her a couple of presents,” Jeonghan said, gesturing to the gift bags on his arm. “Some of them were from her friends, two of them were from her teachers.”
You took one glance at the gift bags. “Oh, shoot,” you muttered.
“What?” Jeonghan said, brow furrowing.
“I forgot the present I got for her back in my apartment,” you said dispiritedly. But you turned to Sohee, extending your hands at her. “Hi, sweetheart!”
Sohee inclined her little body forward, just as you grabbed her by the torso and wrapped her around your hip. The movement was so natural that it went almost unnoticed, but it was Jeonghan’s gaze, the way he blinked, and his eyes lit up as he looked at his daughter, pointing at the wall behind you.
“That’s okay, we can go get it tomorrow morning,” Jeonghan mumbled faintly, still looking at his daughter perched now on your hip.
“Mn,” Sohee hummed softly, kicking her legs up in the air and pointing at the wall slightly harder.
“Oh, right,” you turned on your feet, taking the baby girl to the living room area so she could see the wall decorations. “We made this for you, kiddo,” you chirped, looking at her pretty face.
She pointed again.
“D’you like it?” you whispered, heart warming up at the sight of her sweet brown eyes taking in the big daisy on the wall.
She nodded aloofly. And then kicked her legs, pointing them to the floor.
“Alrighty,” you mumbled, carefully setting her on the floor. You watched her run joyfully to her bedroom, perhaps to get something, a toy for her to show you.
But then you turned, catching Jeonghan still staring at you, hands deep in his pockets, head tilted to one side. But it was the tenderness in his eyes that made your heart flip in that same rhythm as before—the one you had been so keen on avoiding, but was becoming unbearable.
“Do you like it?” you parroted, showing him the wall with your hands. You exhaled, trying to calm your nerves down—but it was futile.
“I love it,” he replied with a warm tone coating his words. Then he approached you with a slow step, slipping a hand on your waist to pull you closer to his frame. He leaned his head forward, planting a sweet kiss on your forehead. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
A vehement shudder crossed your entire body, and you let your eyelids fall closed as he planted another kiss on your forehead, this time longer. The words he said were ones you knew your heart was aching to hear—but the noise inside your head didn’t let you form a response.
The doorbell rang loudly, making you cringe visibly and turn to the door. “I’ll get it,” you said, slipping out of his embrace.
“No, I’ll get it,” Jeonghan said kindly.
“Then I’ll go get the birthday girl,” you said, forcing a smile that didn’t feel too stiff on your face—but your heart was going a thousand miles per second.
Jeonghan caught something in your face, his eyes outlining your features before you turned around and hurried down the hall and to the toddler’s bedroom.
Sohee was playing with the new dinosaurs that her father had gotten for her birthday. She already got them all lined up on the colorful bookshelf in one corner of the room. Your stomach twisted with cuteness overload when you heard the tiny noises she was making for a triceratops as she made it stomp across the shelf.
“Hey kiddo,” you cooed, approaching her and crouching behind her. “Your friends are here. Do you want to come with me and greet them?”
She turned around and directed a steady look at your face. “Yeap,” she nodded happily, taking another dinosaur in her fist and running out of the room, squealing like she knew she was the star of the day.
You rose, and with a big sigh, you followed the toddler down to the dining room. You greeted the guests, parents of Sohee’s friends from daycare. And before you knew it, the party had already started, and it was going smoothly.
You made light conversation as you got juice boxes for all the kids, who weren’t many, but they felt like a massive multitude when they were swarming around you trying to get juice boxes and goodie bags.
“Alright, alright!” you laughed, holding up both hands. “Everyone will get one, I promise!” you said while handing a goodie bag to each kid.
You felt a hand on the small of your back. “That includes me?” Jeonghan asked close to your ear before planting a kiss on your cheek.
You leaned into the kiss. “If you behave, I’ll consider it,” you replied warmly.
“Mmn,” he hummed, pressing another loving kiss. “You know you’re all I want.”
Your heart stammered, making you blink and find his eyes. Your tongue twisted, and you wished you had been quick enough to quip back something as enticing—but it was already too late. The doorbell rang again, but this time, neither you nor Jeonghan had to go get it.
It was Sohee’s mother, Soomin. She had only rung the doorbell to announce her arrival, since she knew the combination to the smart lock—a thing you had thought only you and Jeonghan knew, but you were proven wrong.
The person who crossed the door was entirely not what you had imagined. In all the scenarios where you had pictured yourself meeting Jeonghan’s ex and the mother of his child, you’d never imagined that it would be like this.
Soomin was beautiful. She was tall and had a bright smile as she crossed the door. “Where’s my girl?” she shouted from across the apartment, and your poor heart fell to your stomach when you saw Jeonghan smile widely.
“Oh, thank god,” he mumbled beside you. He ran quickly to his daughter, snatching her from the floor and making her squeal with the abrupt movement. Sohee laughed, drawing the attention of the room as Jeonghan carried her to see her mother. “Sohee baby, mom’s here!”
“Hi, peanut,” Soomin said in a high-pitched tone. “Happy birthday, sweetheart! Mommy is here,” she said, and then she leaned towards Sohee, who was sitting in Jeonghan’s arms.
But Sohee recoiled, turning her back to her mother. It was only natural, you thought, since the child barely recognized the face in front of her. But the scene before you hurt to watch either way. Jeonghan bounced the toddler in his arms, trying to drag her attention back to Soomin, who was getting something out of her leather handbag.
“Look what mommy got for you!” Soomin said, still speaking in that faux sweet tone. “Look!”
Sohee turned to see her mother getting a red gift bag, small enough that it fit inside the slick black leather bag. Sohee stared at it for a hard second before extending her hand and grabbing it, and then she proceeded to kick her legs to the floor.
“Alright,” Jeonghan said, putting the toddler back on the floor.
Sohee ran freely, and back to her little friends. Your gaze followed back to Jeonghan, who greeted Soomin with a very dry hey, but then approached to give her a quick hug, devoid of all kinds of affection. It was almost like neither of them knew how to treat each other anymore.
“Wow, you really went out this time,” Soomin said, looking at the decorations, the birthday cake carefully set in the centre of the table, birthday plates piled up, and trays of fruit and candy already about to empty.
“Oh, it was all her,” Jeonghan said, extending an arm towards you almost ceremoniously.
Your heart warmed up at the gesture, but your nerves had eaten you up already. You approached them with a stiff step until Jeonghan wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you up to his side, showing you off proudly.
“So I can put a face to the name, finally,” Soomin said, showing you a dashing smile. She extended a hand towards you. “I’m Soomin, Sohee’s mother.”
You took her hand. “Pleasure to meet you,” you said, smiling at her politely.
At that exact second, one of the little kids had pulled one of the candy trays from the table and thrown the candy all over the floor. “Oh—” you uttered, motioning to go clean the candy from the floor.
“I’ll get it,” Jeonghan said, giving you a quick but reassuring look. And then he said to you, “I’ll be back, baby.”
And you knew he didn’t want to leave you alone with his ex, but he also didn’t want you to go and clean up the floor. So you stood there, anxiously watching as Jeonghan picked the candies and put them back on the tray one by one.
“Can I help with anything?” Soomin asked, more for decency than true intentions of helping.
“Nope,” you said awkwardly. “Everything’s set up.”
Soomin leaned her head to one side slightly before throwing one glance to the kids playing with Sohee. “You’ve done a lot already.”
“It’s not that big of a party,” you said, shrugging.
She smiled faintly, and you knew what she was looking at. “It’s big enough,” she said faintly.
You followed her gaze, finding Sohee playing with one of her little friends. They were both sharing a soundboard that someone at the party had gifted her.
“She’s shy, isn’t she?” Soomin said, her tone was devoid of snark, but then she added, “Kind of like her father.”
Although the comment wasn’t ill-natured, it hurt your heart to hear it. “She just takes a minute,” you replied, wishing you hadn’t sounded so harsh towards Soomin. But your heart was beating frantically, making you afraid that it was going to jump out of your chest.
And then you watched as Soomin’s gaze went around the room again, stopping on the wall behind you. Her dark brown eyes went over the balloons forming a giant daisy, and the big birthday sign made by you.
“You’re really good with her,” Soomin said after a moment. Her eyes found you. “Jeonghan has told me about you.”
Your tummy clenched. “I care about her.”
“I can tell,” she replied, and then you caught an edge in her tone. And then added, softer, “Not everyone would step into something like this.”
You frowned. “Like what?”
Soomin raised her eyebrows, gesturing around the apartment, the toddlers. “Well, a life that’s already in progress, you know what I mean?”
You told yourself that the words were neutral. Nothing was targeted towards you. But it still felt like it was.
You forced a smile. “I didn’t see it that way.”
Soomin’s expression didn’t change; it was as though she were having a great time talking with you. “That’s probably why you’ve made it work. It was really brave of you to have stepped in. To do what I couldn’t.”
Your stomach clenched again, and your mouth twitched like you were about to tell her something you’d regret.
“Baby! Where are the candles?” Jeonghan called from the kitchen.
You exhaled, glad. “Excuse me,” you said, and as you walked away, you felt Soomin’s gaze on you, following you.
Your ears were ringing, anger still boiling inside you. Jeonghan was closing a drawer, his expression hardening at once as he took one look at you. “Everything okay there, beautiful?” he asked, glancing towards the living room.
You could still feel Soomin’s eyes on you. You nodded. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” you said, trying to mask your anger. You would talk about it with him later.
His eyes outlined your expression. “Sure?”
“Sure,” you said, opening the top cabinet and then handing him the pack with green and pink candles in it.
Jeonghan grabbed the candles, sighing. “Looks like the party is going well,” he said, giving you a hopeful smile and glimmering eyes.
Despite the rage still tightening your stomach, you smiled at him. “Sohee’s happy,” you said, casting a look at Sohee. “I’ll go get her,” you told him, turning around and walking towards Sohee.
The toddler was happily focused on her toys and her little friends. Her eyes were wide and glimmering in excitement, and candy wrappers were spread all across the floor. Something caught your eye—a red, unopened gift bag, forgotten in one corner of the living room.
“Princess, come here,” you called softly, crouching behind her to see her at eye level. “Do you want cake?”
The question caught her attention immediately, making her turn around and face you. You stretched your hands to her, and she silently responded by stretching her little arms to you. You grabbed her, standing up to secure her at your hip, and she instantly wrapped her legs around you.
“Oh, I got her. Let me.”
Soomin was already behind you, showing you her palms so you could transfer Sohee to her grip. A pang of jealousy sank deep inside your belly, making you want to hold Sohee closer to your body, almost like a protective defence mechanism.
You conceded, though begrudgingly. “Of course,” you replied, but there was no way you could hide the disappointment in your tone.
With a fretful pain lacing your heart, you handed Sohee over to her mother. The toddler kicked her legs anxiously and turned to look at you as though trying to understand she wasn’t in your arms anymore. And with little control over yourself, you glanced in Jeonghan’s direction, almost as knowing he’d be looking. He had watched the whole exchange from afar, and he immediately recognized the dispirited look on your face, because all he did was offer you a solemn smile.
It made your blood boil. What else could he do? A tiny voice called inside your head. You’re not Sohee’s mother. The voice said with painful regret.
It was the truth. No matter how bad it hurt, you weren’t Sohee’s mother. And you were getting attached to her—attached to this life without having a true anchor to it.
And the thought ruined the rest of the night for you.
So you watched as Soomin sat on the table with Sohee sitting on her lap, the toddler forgot about the anxiety of being with a stranger as soon as Jeonghan stepped beside the chair and lit up the candles on the cake.
You debated whether to step closer or just watch from afar. The candles you had picked for Sohee’s cake were green and pink, and a single sparkling candle that, once Jeonghan got to light it up, stole the attention of the toddler. Her big, brown eyes glimmered in the dark against the sparkles that flew up to the ceiling, and instead of gasping or crying out as the other kids did, Sohee just stared at it, fascination spread across her face, parting her little lips.
Your stomach twisted in adoration. And you couldn’t resist it. You pulled out your phone and hit the record button, determined to save this little moment forever—even if in real life it only lasted about fifty seconds.
Sohee was happy. She ate cake happily, shared her toys with her friends and seemed to be getting better at talking with others. And that was the only shining light in your night.
By the time that all the guests had left, the apartment didn’t look as wrecked as you half expected it to be after hosting about fifteen people in it. The paper plates were stacked in a crooked tower, forks and spoons piled next to it on the kitchen counter, breadcrumbs spread all over the surface. There were plastic cups everywhere, toys, gift bags and confetti all over the living room floor.
The front door opened, and Jeonghan slipped inside the apartment, quietly closing the door behind him. The minute he stepped in, you decided to busy yourself by looking for a large trash bag that you had left somewhere in the kitchen.
“Well, that’s everyone,” Jeonghan said, pleased that all of the guests had gone home. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing.
You started shoving trash into the bag as quickly as you could without making too much noise, and you were half glad that there was so much to do before you went home because you needed to think.
But Jeonghan had already noticed you were in a mood, and you could feel him hovering in the kitchen, trying to get a read on you. “The party went really well. Everyone had a lot of fun,” he said, his tone gentle.
You were grabbing a bunch of plastic cups in one hand, throwing them inside the bag without caring that they were still half full. “Yeah. Sure,” you huffed, continuing to clean the dining table.
The silence that followed was truly unsettling, making you weigh on the tone you had used and the manner in which you were moving. You were stepping out of control, and you didn’t care where you were taking this conversation.
By the time you found the courage to raise your gaze, you found Jeonghan frowning at you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Air left your lungs like you were suddenly punched in the chest. “Did you have fun today?” you asked, raising your eyebrows. “Because I didn’t.”
Jeonghan’s frown didn’t ease; he was confused. But his gaze softened, showing you worry. “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone dropping when he added, “Did something happen?”
You left the bag aside on the floor, dropping your arms at your sides in a defeated manner. “I mean, I spent the entire evening running around, trying to make sure everything worked,” you said, gesturing around you. “I made the food, drinks, decorations, and cleanup. I didn’t have the chance to sit down once.”
Jeonghan blinked. “You didn’t have to do all that.”
You sighed. “That’s easy to say now.”
He shifted his weight, motioning to approach you. “That’s not what I meant—”
“I know,” you cut him off, putting a hand between him and you. “I know you meant it nicely.”
You could feel the waves of emotion coming closer, coming to get you. And your body acted off of instinct, picking up one stray napkin on the table and folding it in half, almost as though preparing yourself to have something in your hand for when you started crying.
With a tearless sob, you added. “It would’ve been nice if someone had noticed while it was happening.”
Jeonghan’s frown disappeared. “I noticed.”
“Did you?” you asked, still holding your emotions back.
“Of course I did,” he said, his tone dropping to an even gentler one.
But you could still feel the tears prickling in your eyes, everything you held back making you taste them in your tongue. “Then why was I still doing everything while everyone else was enjoying the party?”
Jeonghan tilted his head to one side, looking at you as though finding you endearing that you were about to cry for something like this, but still approached you with caution. “Why didn’t you ask for help?” he said, and then he hesitated, almost as though wanting to take back his words, so he added instead, “I was busy with things as well, I thought we were both busy, baby.”
You deadpanned to him. “You really didn’t think I wanted to enjoy the party too?”
He opened his mouth, his eyes widening as his mind started to reel, you knew it.
But you kept going. “I wanted to sit down with her when she opened her presents. Or be next to her when she blew out the candles. Honestly, Jeonghan, I felt like a guest at a party I helped throw. I couldn’t even hold Sohee for two minutes!”
His face fell in utter worry, his shoulders going slack. “Is this all because Soomin wanted to hold her?” he asked, his tone hollow, like he now couldn’t believe you were throwing a tantrum over this.
You let out an exasperated sigh. “No—! Yes! But it’s not only that!” you stammered.
Jeonghan stepped back, but just slightly, as though he wanted to take a good look at your face—disbelief still contorting his face. “Soomin was just trying to have a moment with her as well,” he shook his head. “I don’t see that as a bad thing. Maybe you’re reading too much into it.”
“Am I?” you asked, raising your tone.
And Jeonghan sighed. “Baby… she’s Sohee’s mother.”
It wasn’t necessarily cruel. His tone was devoid of venom, but it still hurt—like a bitter truth being forced down your bloodstream, burning and leaving an ache in its wake.
Your entire body shook before a powerful shudder. “Right,” you said slowly.
Jeonghan immediately realized the weight of his words, the pain translating in your features. “Wait—” he said, his jaw set tight as his eyes widened in worry. “Baby, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant—”
You shook your head. “No, I get it,” you said, but your voice had lost all power, and the wall you had put between reason and emotions crumbled. Tears burst in your eyes, and a sob broke through your chest.
“You’re right. I’m not her mom,” you continued, giving him a brittle smile. “I never forgot that. Not for a second,” you said, voice cracking slightly. “You know, I keep reminding myself of that. Of where I stand.”
Jeonghan took another step towards you, this time more decisive. “Baby, you’re blowing this out of proportion,” he said, trying to be nice still, trying to figure out how to calm you down.
You looked down to wipe your tears. Confetti was spread all over the floor, and your stomach twisted at the thought of how this scene might appear from the outside. The apartment was a mess—gift bags, wrapping paper, candy, and new toys scattered across the living room. A half-eaten cake sat on the table, and balloons were stuck to the walls. The lights in the kitchen and living room remained on. You and Jeonghan were arguing, trying to keep your voices down so as not to disturb the little girl’s sleep.
You finally found the strength to look at him again. And when Jeonghan saw your tired face, fear replaced the worry in his eyes. He saw the determination in your eyes—he knew you well. “I think I’m going to go.”
Jeonghan sighed, motioning a step closer. “It’s late. Stay,” he said, his tone still wrapped in a careful gentleness.
You shook your head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jeonghan,” you said, your tone fading into a mere whisper. “I’m going home.”
He took a pause, studying you with his gaze roaming all over the features of your face, finding something in your eyes that made you wonder what you would look like. Because he seemed to lose all composure. “Baby, come on,” he said, his eyebrows drawn in. “We just had a fight. That doesn’t mean you need to leave.”
You sighed tiredly. “It wasn’t just a fight, Jeonghan,” you said calmly. All need to fight was gone now. You had lost. You shook your head. “I’m done.”
You turned around, heading towards the door. But you caught a glimpse of Jeonghan’s expression, the shock and worry making his eyes wide and glistening. “Baby.”
You grabbed your sweater and your handbag. The only two non-disposable belongings you had in his house.
“Baby,” he insisted again, more firmly now. “You’re not seriously leaving because of something I said.”
You paused, but you didn’t let the moment catch you in your determination. “It’s not just something you said. It’s a fact.”
Jeonghan stiffened, but words got stuck in his mouth, making his throat bob visibly.
You wrapped your fingers around the doorknob. And then all self-control slipped out of your hands. “Today I learned two things. One is that I was changing my whole life to fit into yours,” you told him, pulse quickening when you realized what you were doing, what you were breaking. “And the other thing is that I was the only one doing that.”
Jeonghan took a weak step towards you, his eyes showing the realization of what was about to happen. “We can still figure things out,” he whispered, eyes wide and glossy.
And something reminded you of how easy Soomin walked back into Jeonghan and Sohee’s life, how fleeting her presence was compared to the mess you had in your hands now. Your heart was breaking, and you couldn’t fit in your head how easy it was for her to walk out and walk back in. You envied that for a split second, because now you had a broken heart to fix.
Jeonghan still thought the problem was logical. And not something you had been wanting him to truly see.
You took in a deep breath. “Goodbye, Jeonghan,” you whispered, slipping out through the door and shutting it quietly behind you.
Coming back home to your apartment felt hauntingly out of the ordinary. It was as though you were stepping into a scene that had been put on pause. There was a forgotten glass of juice half empty on the kitchen counter, and you couldn’t remember leaving it there. The ironing board was standing in the middle of the living room, iron unplugged and in the holder—two things you had left there while in a hurry to get to your work in time. Plants all over the apartment were starting to wither, neglected.
A secondary instinct kicked in, telling you that at this hour you’d be helping Jeonghan tidy the place up while Sohee slept. You’d be stacking toys back into their place, folding blankets while Jeonghan did the dishes.
You closed your eyes slowly, finally hurting when you realized that you had walked out on all of it.
And your apartment didn’t feel like home.
You left your things on the counter and decided to plop down on the couch, face down against the cushions. Your pulse hadn’t slowed down since the moment you’d said goodbye to Jeonghan—and when you collapsed on the couch, you realized that you were crying. And you weren’t crying angry tears like when you were having a fight with Jeonghan, no.
You sobbed uncontrollably, tears kept coming and blurring your vision. And there was nothing in your mind except the memory of Jeonghan’s face when you walked out on him. You did the right thing, you told yourself, but your heart felt empty.
It had been the right thing. That much was true.
You loved Jeonghan. You loved Sohee.
Somewhere in the kitchen, you heard your phone buzzing, vibrating furiously inside your handbag. You ignored it. And you ignored it ten times all through the night, until it eventually ceased ringing.
Quiet settled around the empty apartment. An apartment that was yours, with all the things you built on your own. And the worst part is that it didn’t feel like home anymore. You kept wanting to reach for your car keys and leave somewhere.
Did you overreact? You wondered. I probably did blow everything out of proportion. You thought, remembering Soomin’s satisfied face when she told you that you were brave for stepping into her shoes.
Your chest tightened.
But you pushed it down.
The first twenty hours were hell.
That’s how Jeonghan felt. Like a long, gruelling torture that only pushed him to reflect.
The balloons on the wall had started to deflate, but he didn’t want to take them down. The rest of the things that you had prepared for the party had already been cleaned up, one thing that Jeonghan had done the morning after you left. It helped him think instead of bombarding your voicemail with messages pleading with you to call him back.
I could just go to her apartment, he thought. But he imagined the scene—Sohee on his arms as he begged you to come back. And he instantly pushed the idea away.
The apartment was awfully quiet. Until his phone started to vibrate on the dining table, making his stomach drop, and his hand reached for it instantly, thinking it was you, finally calling him back.
Soomin.
Jeonghan sighed, his heart deflating.
But then, a knock came to the front door. And for a moment, he thought he imagined it.
Then it came again. You knocked two quick times, deciding to step back from it and wait, clasping the gift bag with your hands. Standing there, your gaze fell out of focus, and inevitably started comparing the times you had stood there, how quickly Jeonghan would get to the door and welcome you in with open arms.
When Jeonghan finally opened the door, it was the first time you had seen him truly torn. It was normal for you to see him untidy after a long day at work, hair messy, unmade tie, untucked shirt, whatever. But no, this time was different. His face was darkened by the dark circles under his eyes, but it was the deep, conflicted sparkle in them that disheartened you completely.
“Hi,” you croaked, and cleared your throat nervously.
Jeonghan let out a quick sigh, running a palm down his mouth and chin before stepping aside, letting you in.
Your stomach twisted. You didn’t know what you were expecting him to say, but silence was the last thing you had anticipated. But you stepped into the apartment anyway, immediately spotting the quietness, which could only indicate one thing.
“Where is she?” you muttered, turning around to see Jeonghan shutting the door behind him quietly.
“Asleep,” he told you quietly, leaning back against the door with his hands tucked behind his back. You noticed the tired look he gave you, but that wasn’t the only thing that consumed your attention wholly—he was wary. “I just put her to bed.”
Your heart squeezed one more time, and you gave him a reproachful look. “Oh, okay,” you sighed, looking at the green gift bag in your hands. “Then I’ll leave this with you. She’ll like it, I’m sure. It’s a—it’s an axolotl plushie,” you said, stammering over your words with the need to hurry and get this over with. You wanted to run back to your car and cry.
Jeonghan nodded, licking his lips in a way that told you he had a lot to say, but decided to remain quiet. See how things would unfold first.
But this wasn’t going according to your plans. Your eyes began to brim with tears, which you blinked away quite successfully. “I wanted to see her one last time. Say goodbye properly,” you told him, tone lowering as your throat closed up.
He leaned the back of his head against the door, and as he blinked slowly, you saw his walls crumble down. “I know,” he said, his tone lowered too. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly.
You saw him blink up, fixing his gaze on the ceiling. “Is that why you put her to bed earlier than usual?” you asked keenly. “So I wouldn’t get to see her?”
Jeonghan nodded slowly, moving his arms and crossing them on his chest. “I didn’t want her to see this. I’m sorry,” he shrugged with a look of pity on his face. “But I think we should talk first.”
You felt your brow furrowing. “I thought we already talked, Jeonghan. Last night,” you said, feeling lost.
“Yeah, but last night you walked out on me,” he said, tilting his head to one side as his gaze changed, quickly being filled with disappointment and resentment. He pushed himself away from the door, approaching you with the same wariness.
“There was nothing left to say,” you muttered, trying to keep down the tight knot sitting in your throat.
“Really?” he gasped, stopping dead in his tracks just one step in front of you. His face had fallen in something that went far beyond resentment now, like uncontrolled exasperation and anger. “We could’ve solved things last night before you ended everything!”
Shame filled your bloodstream, coursing through your body and leaving your skin feeling hot and prickling with anger. You carefully set down the gift bag on the table, deciding to leave. “I won’t let anyone treat me like I’m second-best, Jeonghan. That’s why I walked out.”
It was as though you had slapped him in the face. He stepped back, blinking in a way that told you that your words had hurt him. But before you could have a confirmation on this, Jeonghan took another step, but now in your direction. “I didn’t treat you like second-best,” he replied, his face crumpling with hurt, and most shocking—you saw fear in his eyes.
“No? I was trying to make everything perfect for Sohee. And by the end of it, what did I get? Your ex walking all over me like I’m her stand-in!” you blurted, words coming out raw and shaky. But you were glad that, despite the overwhelming need to cry, you could still speak what troubled your heart.
Jeonghan looked at you like he was finally seeing the truth. Almost as though he had willingly blindfolded himself throughout the party last night, but now, he finally saw something he didn’t want to.
So, with heat flooding your chest, you continued, “You truly didn’t notice, Jeonghan? The tacit remarks she’d make? Or when I wanted to hold Sohee and she would casually step in? Or what about the moment she told me I was brave for doing what she couldn’t?” you said. Your throat tightened, anger burning as tears finally spilled. You wiped them angrily, refusing to look away.
“She said that?” he said with an empty look in his eyes as his shoulders sagged a little. “I didn’t hear her. I actually thought she was being nice. For once.”
“Maybe you didn’t want to see it because she was being nice to you,” you accused, crossing your arms to hold yourself steady. Or to protect yourself. “That’s myproblem. She doesn’t have to fight for a space!”
“That’s not fair. You don’t have to fight for a space—”
“No, but I do,” you interrupted, blood heating up after remembering how it felt. “And what’s not fair was pretending she was being nice. She knew exactly what she was doing, and whether you meant it or not, you let her.”
“I should’ve known she would do things when I wasn’t looking,” Jeonghan replied, his tone firm. But then his gaze softened, right as he too crossed his arms, making you think that he was guarding himself up as well.
You let out a resigned sigh. “But this isn’t truly about your ex, Jeonghan,” you finally said, gulping hard. “This is about us failing to do things right.”
And when he lifted his gaze back to you, you noticed a glint in his eyes, like sorrow taking over him. He wasn’t crying, but your heart slowed down at seeing that torn-up look on him. Your words had struck a nerve. “This isn’t on me—I tried making things right!” he said, not lifting his tone, his words devoid of heat.
“You were rushing into things! Asking me to move in? Putting me as the emergency contact on Sohee’s file without telling me?” you said, trying to keep your tone light, but instead you sounded like you were on the brink of tears again.
He still looked hurt, but now, he was beginning to detach himself from you—and you could tell. He shook his head like he couldn’t believe you, running a hand down his mouth, frustratedly. “I thought that you moving in with us would make us stronger. But now I know we weren’t on the same page with that.”
You understood why he delivered his words dryly, but it still made your aching heart deflate even more. Tears burst from your eyes again, and you hated that you were now out of control. “I just wanted to know that you weren’t just looking for someone to share the burden with.”
He let out a huff, a cold smile painting his face. “I don’t need someone to share the burden with; I have been doing fine on my own since Soomin left.”
You rolled your eyes—he was missing the point. “I wanted to be certain that you wanted me.”
That left him cold. His arms were still crossed on his chest, but you saw the smallest of budges, as though the very air had left his lungs, cracking that wall he was putting between you. “Is that it? Is that why you said no?” he asked, his tone softer. He motioned to approach you, but the look on your face stopped him.
You were fully crying now. No sobbing, no hiccupping, no runny nose. Just unstoppable tears streaking down your cheeks. Your lip trembled, just as you were looking for the words to tell him what you needed to hear from him.
His mind reeled—you could tell from the way his gaze shifted quickly, dropping from your face to the ground and then back to you. His brow twitched. “I thought you knew.”
You nodded. “I still needed to hear it, Jeonghan.”
His gaze fell to the space between you, as though trying to untangle this mess in his mind.
But it didn’t matter now. Nothing he could say now would ease the pain in your chest. You were done now. You wanted to go home.
You didn’t say goodbye this time. You didn’t want to drag it any further.
You walked past him, rushing to the door before he could stop you—or to be quick and have the confirmation that he wouldn’t try to stop you. And when you were safe in the elevator, your heart broke anew when you blinked and saw the image of Jeonghan standing in the dining room, a grief-stricken look on his face.
Oh, this would take you months to heal.
Your friends were right. Getting into a relationship with someone like Jeonghan would only bring you pain. Nothing else.
The walk from the elevator to where you had parked your car was excruciatingly long. Your chest was constricting more and more as you fished your key out of the pocket of your jeans, unlocking the car door from afar.
“Wait!”
Jeonghan’s raw voice crossed the parking lot like lightning shooting through the night sky. You stopped, not because you wanted to follow the request, but because of the sheer shock of knowing that he’d chased you down to the parking lot.
Jeonghan was catching up, running to where you stood, frozen to the ground. “Wait,” he pleaded, breathing hard as he reached you. “Don’t go… please.”
Had he run down the emergency stairs just to catch you before you got in your car? Had he left Sohee alone just to get to you? You stared at him, beyond disbelief.
He composed himself with one deep breath, raising his palms at you warily. “I know I don’t deserve this, but please hear me out.”
When you didn’t respond, a wild look of fear shot across his face, making his eyes widen slightly. “I didn’t ask you to move in with us because I wanted someone to share the burden of being a parent,” he said, his words honest despite the tremble in his tone. “I said those things because Sohee is my priority. I was dumb, and that was the first thing that popped into my mind. I wasn’t thinking of how I sounded.”
He gulped air, hard. “I asked you to move in with us because I feel empty when you’re not around,” he said, more fiercely, his eyes glimmering as he took another step towards you. “I asked you to move in with me because of the most selfish reason—because I don’t want to be without you.”
And then the look in his eyes turned to complete despair when you remained motionless. His confession had done nothing to you, or so he appeared to believe. But your heart was beating wildly, thumping in your eardrums. You stood there, torn between holding your ground and giving in to him.
His mouth parted, and he took half a pace to where you stood. But he stopped, as though all strength and courage had dissipated the moment your eyes began to brim with tears again. “Please,” he whispered, gulping hard once again. And you knew what he was feeling—his heart thrumming in his throat. “Don’t do this.”
He wasn’t scared of losing a perfect candidate for his ex’s stand-in. No—and you were a fool to have believed that. You had seen the terrible person his ex was and still decided to run with that idea.
What you had failed to remember was that Jeonghan had gone through difficult breakups before. His ex left him with a baby in his arms. And even if his relationship with Soomin had been loveless from the start, it was still hard, and it still hurt.
God knows how long it had been since Jeonghan felt love.
And the truth is, you trusted that not even he remembers it as well.
Jeonghan was exceptionally bad at sharing his feelings aloud. That is one thing you’ve learned in all eight months you’ve been with him. But then you saw his posture change, the strength in him waning. “I won’t let things go this way again,” he told you, his eyes pleading.
A brutal shudder coursed through you. You loved this man. There was no way you could just turn around and walk away.
Your lip trembled. “You promise?”
It was as though life had been injected into him, hope glimmering in his eyes now. “I promise,” he replied.
With just a couple of paces, you closed the space between you and him, grabbing him by the collar of his black t-shirt and pulling him in. And he simply let you, receiving the impact of your smaller body against his by grabbing you by the waist, already knowing you were aiming for a kiss.
Your lips clashed with his in a crushing kiss; it almost hurt, but you didn’t care. Your body brimmed with energy, making your fingers curl around the fabric of his t-shirt. It was a leap of faith—but this time, you were ready. “I love you,” you said, squeezing your eyelids tightly.
A small sigh escaped him. “I love you too,” he replied, switching his hands from your waist to your face, cupping it before going back to kissing you. “Please, stay,” he whispered before pressing his lips against yours tightly.
You melted in his embrace. “Okay,” you replied, nodding.
He wrapped you with his arms completely, placing one hand on your back and the other on your head, making your face nuzzle against the crook of his neck. “You scared me,” he whispered, the sound of his voice strangled.
You swallowed hard. “You scared me too,” you admitted.
He kissed the top of your head, moving to cup your face again. “I know this doesn’t solve everything,” he said, his tone brittle. That’s when you noticed his eyelashes crumpled with tears. “So I think we should talk about what comes next.”
You shifted slightly to get the tears on the corners of your eyes. “What do you mean?”
He seemed to calm down with one breath. “Soomin is still going to be part of our lives.”
You nodded. “I know.”
His eyebrows knitted slightly. “And sometimes our lives will get messy.”
“I know that, Jeonghan,” you whispered, smiling at him softly.
He caressed your cheek tenderly. “But I want you to talk to me every time something feels off,” he said.
“And will you?” you asked.
He nodded. “Every single time,” he said. “I want us to be stronger together.”
The certainty in his demeanour made you pause. “You mean that?” you asked with a tiny tone.
“Yes, I do,” he replied. “I should’ve told you this before. I don’t want to be without you.”
And now the honesty was the thing that disarmed you completely. For a second, you almost felt like your vulnerable side was about to win, but you sighed. “I was jealous of her,” you confessed.
He blinked in disbelief. “Of Soomin?”
You nodded. “She’s Sohee’s mom. I didn’t like to feel that I was competing with her.”
“You weren’t,” he said with certainty. “Things got messy yesterday. I didn’t notice she was trying to make you feel insecure.”
You shook your head lightly. “This whole thing feels ridiculous now.”
He frowned. “What does?”
“All of this,” you gestured to the space between you and him. “We nearly blew up our entire relationship because we couldn’t talk about what we actually feel.”
He let out a light laugh. “It won’t happen again,” he said, stepping back and grabbing your hand, motioning back to the building. “Let’s go back inside?”
You nodded, walking with him, feeling ten times lighter than before.
You both stepped into the elevator, still holding hands. But as soon as the doors closed, Jeonghan tugged at your hand, pulling you closer to his frame. He wrapped an arm around your waist, finding your cheek with the other hand. “Will you forgive me?” he mumbled softly, smiling at you like he was shy. “I let things go out of hand.”
Your heart softened again, making you choke up, so you just nodded. “Me too,” you whispered. “I apologize too.”
He blinked slowly. “We talked about this before, remember?” he told you. “My life is messy, and I haven’t had a relationship since Soomin. I think this is us trying to find the balance in everything.”
You smiled at him. “Please don’t tell me that finding the balance will look like this every time.”
He laughed lightly. “I told you, baby. I won’t let this happen again,” he said, full of certainty. “I mean it.”
You sighed softly, relief finally setting in. “Okay,” you whispered, closing your eyes as he leaned in to kiss you, pressing his lips against yours ever so tenderly, like he was trying to isolate every single feeling and just focus on how your lips felt against his.
The kiss deepened, lips locking together in a heated dance that had your blood dancing in your veins almost instantly. A moan bubbled in your mouth when you felt the tip of his tongue swiping on your bottom lip, touching your tongue as it rolled inside your mouth.
You placed a hand square on his chest. “Don’t think you’re off the hook,” you said, faking a stern look on your face.
The elevator reached the floor, doors parting with a soft ding. Jeonghan took your hand again, as though not wanting to let you go for one second. “I didn’t think it would be that easy,” he said with a smirk. “But please tell me what I can do to get there faster.”
You laughed. “Well, first, you could give me a neck massage.”
He raised his eyebrows. “That’s starting strong?” he laughed.
“And take me for dinner at that restaurant you keep telling me you wanted to take me,” you said.
“You free tomorrow?” he said while opening the door for you.
He quickly pushed your back against the wall of the hall to his bedroom, locking his lips with yours in a quick, but passionate kiss. “I could pick you up at eight,” he said, his tone raw.
“I dunno. I’ll have to check my calendar,” you replied jokingly, putting your hands on his chest, feeling him up.
Jeonghan giggled into the kiss. “You do that,” he replied.
You smiled, letting him dominate the kiss. And Jeonghan quickly took on the task, kissing you vehemently, like putting every emotion he felt for you into a silent dance of his lips with yours. His hands slipped from your face, finding your waist to clutch on as his tongue rolled inside your mouth.
You moaned, feeling his tongue against yours sent a shiver down your spine. Your hands on his torso slipped further down, finding the hem of his clothes and slipping beneath his shirt, feeling his warm skin.
The muscle of his abdomen contracted softly. “Wait—” Jeonghan said, pausing mid-kiss with a smacking sound from his lips and yours. “Bathroom.”
You were only able to moan out a sound of affirmation. The door to the bathroom was a couple of steps away from you, and when you both got there, it was as though a lightbulb had been switched on in your mind. Jeonghan was intending to take you to the most secluded place in the house—far away from the baby’s room.
Jeonghan turned the lights on with one hand, undoing the button of his jeans with the other. You acted quickly—taking one step in his direction and grabbing the black t-shirt, enjoying the look in his eyes, the hunger, the lust and devotion in them.
The clothes came off quietly—hurriedly, while his gaze remained trained on your face. Jeonghan was quiet, unusually quiet as you worked your trembling fingers to undress him. “Do you want to undress me?” you mumbled, your tone sweet, but low.
He blinked slowly and nodded, biting his bottom lip. He first grabbed the hem of your tank top, hiking it up your torso while you raised your arms to help him in the process. His gaze shifted to your chest when your bralette came into view. “I like this,” he whispered, running the pad of his thumb along the pretty lace hem of the cup of the bralette. “You know I like this one.”
You smiled softly. “If you’re suggesting that I wore the bra you liked to break up with you in case something happened, then you’re sorely mistaken,” you replied smugly.
He matched your smile. “I’m glad,” he whispered, tilting his head to meet your lips with his. He kissed you once, softly at first, his lips creating a low smacking sound when he pulled back, but not far. “I’m glad you didn’t break up with me.”
“I guess all we needed was to talk it out,” you joked in between hurried, heated pecks. Then your breath hitched, Jeonghan’s cold fingers had found the clasp of your bralette.
Jeonghan sighed in amusement. “Who would’ve thought,” he replied with an obvious tone while his hands gently eased the straps off your shoulders, and took your bra off your chest.
You needed one second to take in the situation in—you had just gone through one of the worst moments of your life, thinking that you were breaking up with the man you had fallen head over heels for. And now to be back in his apartment, hiding in the bathroom with him so that whatever went down in there wouldn’t wake the baby up.
It felt strangely exciting.
He pushed the tip of his nose against yours softly, making you angle your face as he swiped the tip of his tongue on your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You parted your mouth, letting him in with a silent moan, right as his tongue found yours. He kissed you slowly, sensually, like he had been aching to do that for the longest time, but things just got in the way.
You understood then, all the intense gazes, the way he kept looking at your lips…
“From now on, I’ll tell you everything,” he told you suddenly, giving you small kisses as his hands came up to cup your face lovingly. “Every single thought that crosses my brain, you’ll know it.”
You laughed at that, the sound louder than anything else; it bounced off the walls in a denouncing manner.
“Quiet, baby,” Jeonghan uttered, but he let out a tiny giggle with you anyway. “Sohee might hear you.”
You couldn’t help it; your heart melted. “Sorry,” you whispered, but the smile didn’t wipe off your face.
He tilted his head to one side, smiling endearingly at you. “I have a feeling you like this,” he muttered, voice low like a purr.
You nodded, biting your lower lip as you pushed his boxers down.
“You like it when I tell you to be quiet,” he kept going, keeping his tone down.
His gaze dropped to your hands as you grabbed his cock and started stroking him with your hand wrapped around the underside of his shaft. He had a pretty cock, soft and veiny on his thick shaft, dark pink on its head.
Seeing your hand rolling up and down his erect cock made him swallow a grunt, but as you twisted your grip around him, the sounds he made grew louder. How easy it was for him to surrender under your touch caused a deep satisfaction to bloom in your chest. But more than that, arousal had already started to pulsate between your legs. You enjoyed giving him pleasure just as much as you enjoyed receiving it.
“I like everything you do, daddy,” you mumbled, your tone wrapped in honey.
“Fuck,” he sighed, pressing his forehead against yours. He slipped his hands on your waist, clutching your skin tightly but not enough for it to burn. “You make me crazy.”
Your fist tightened around the crown of his cock, smearing the slick precum leaking from his slit. You loved pleasuring him, yes, but you needed him inside you—the thrumming between your legs ached to feel him. A cunning smile painted your lips, considering playing with him some more.
But Jeonghan caught that naughty smirk on your face.
In one motion, he pushed your back to the countertop of the sink. You gasped at the sudden movement, but before you could protest, he was already getting to one knee in front of you.
“If you make a single sound, I’ll stop,” he told you, his eyes darkened with need and lust.
And without waiting for your verbal response, his head dipped down, pressing his mouth to your mound. He kissed the top of your pussy first, pressing his lips to your skin tenderly, almost adoringly as his sweet brown eyes found yours, but briefly. You let out a ragged breath, parting your legs by half, sitting on the countertop. That gave him all the access to your slick folds, which he nipped and licked eagerly.
You instantly tensed, your hand finding his head and the other holding onto the basin like your life depended on it. Jeonghan knew you well; he knew how you liked being touched, how to eat your pussy out until you were a mess of tears and babbles. He knew how to make you cum. What he was doing now was just to tease you, to drive you crazy—licking the juices off your folds with pleased grunts from his part, loving the way you were always ready for him.
He grabbed your thighs, spreading you further apart so you stopped twitching and moving—and licked your pussy up and down slowly, thoroughly, only to tease you some more.
But then he finally wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking it ever so lightly.
Your jaw went slack, and to not let a scream out, the hand that was previously clutching the basin flew and landed on the tap, accidentally pushing it open. The sound of water flowing freely was the perfect mask for your whiny moans, because Jeonghan had started to run his tongue flatly on top of your engorged clit, all the while his lips kept it trapped.
Thoughts ceased to exist. Nothing mattered to you except for the sweet waves of pleasure running uncontrollably through your veins, making your skin prickle and your nipples pebble. It was as though you were submerged in a pool of pleasure. Your breathing turned ragged, and your body tensed solely to let the orgasm build up—because Jeonghan wasn’t stopping, and apparently, he had forgotten about the no noise rule.
Or maybe he liked this too.
But then he lifted his face slightly, keeping his lips and tongue on the top of your pussy as his lust-filled gaze met yours. You sank your teeth on your bottom lip, using the hand that was cradling the back of his head to push his face against your cunt, begging him silently to continue.
Jeonghan eyed the basin swiftly, briefly. And that was all the command you needed. You pushed your thumb against the tap, shutting it off.
However, he continued being a tease. Or a menace. He dragged his tongue against your swollen clit, pushing the wet muscle against you, achingly slow.
Your eyebrows pinched. Please, you begged with just one look.
There was a smile that only showed in his eyes right before he resumed eating you out, sucking and licking your clit. And he only needed to do it for mere thirty seconds before your orgasm tore through your body. You forgot about pulling his hair, taking that hand against your own mouth to stop yourself from screaming.
The waves of pleasure running through you were beyond anything else you’ve felt before. He’d teased you for so long that you were very much ready for that orgasm, leaving you limp and trembling on the countertop.
Your chest was rising and falling dramatically. Embarrassed, you cast a look at Jeonghan, who was pushing himself onto his feet with a light but wicked grin on his face. He didn’t need to say anything, he knew that you’d liked that.
And you needed him now.
You grabbed his wrist, pulling so that he stood between your thighs. “Wait,” he whispered, sliding his hands on your thighs to bring you to a halt.
You instantly knew what he’d say. You shook your head. “I want you now,” you mumbled.
But he motioned a hand to the cabinet behind you, where you knew he kept one large box of condoms. He kept it there and would also restock the bedside table every night you stayed in.
You grabbed him by the hip, pulling him closer to your body. “Now,” you whined.
Jeonghan didn’t resist, didn’t question you.
His hands returned to your thighs, wrenching them further apart and positioning himself between them. Tilting your hips up, you angled yourself for him while still sitting back on the countertop—you knew he liked the view of his bare cock entering you, the view of your pussy stretched open with his girth.
So his head dipped, keeping his gaze where your body and his were about to join. He pushed his hips closer to yours, and you took his cock, guiding it to your sopping core. His mouth parted when the crown of his cock nuzzled your entrance, and a rush of excitement flowed through you when you felt him push inside.
Feeling him raw, skin on skin, was a delicious experience. Maybe it was more in your brain than in your body—because you swore you could cum right there and then, and he wasn’t even fully inside you.
You caught a glimpse of his face changing, of the pleasure taking over him quickly as he gave the first thrust, the muscle of his jaw twitched, and he immediately crushed his mouth with yours. With a muffled moan, he started moving, languidly at first, as though testing you.
“God, baby, you feel… amazing,” he whispered, pushing his hips with gentle motions. You believed that he wanted to take it slowly, so he wouldn’t finish fast and inside you. But then you heard how fucking wet you were. You could hear his cock slipping in and out of your walls, and Jeonghan wanted to enjoy it.
You cupped the side of his neck with one hand, motioning his gaze back to yours. You stared into his eyes for a long moment while he took your body slowly. Jeonghan blinked, his hands grabbing your thighs and motioning them around his hips, making it even harder for him to pull out.
It was a game you both had. And it made you feral. You loved it.
Jeonghan pushed his body flushed against yours, thrusting slowly, but deeply. “Like that?” he asked, although he didn’t need to—the look on your face told him enough.
But you nodded either way. You remembered what he said about telling you every single thought that crossed his brain, and you decided to give him some of your thoughts in return. “I love this,” you whispered. “I love feeling you like this.”
He let out a grunt, bowing his head to kiss your shoulder. “I know,” he sighed, his breath fanning your pert nipples. “I love it too.”
You slipped your hand from his neck and then locked your arms around his shoulders. All reason flew out of your brain, and then you knew you were just babbling—but you didn’t care. “The thought of you cumming inside me makes me cum,” you mumbled, uncaring of how pathetically sweet your tone sounded.
“Oh, fuck,” Jeonghan moaned loudly, the sound barely muffled by the crook of your neck, hips stuttering against yours for half a second.
You cupped his nape with your hand as he lifted his head to face you. “Yeah?” he hummed, his gaze taking you in. “Want me to pump you full of my cum?” he asked with a playful lilt.
You nodded, incapable of giving him a verbal reply. The question was crude; it sounded beyond dirty and sinful as it came out of his lips. This surely wasn’t the first time he spoke filthy things to you, but it was the first time he asked a question like this.
And you loved it.
The pacing of his thrusts quickened, but didn’t relent on their depth, keeping his body flush against yours. You could feel the film layer of sweat covering his skin, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell if you were sweating as well.
But you noticed that Jeonghan was forgetting about your game of keeping quiet. The pacing of his thrusts quickening also meant that the sounds of skin slapping against skin were harder to avoid. You thought of mentioning this to him, but it turned you on to see him lose control slowly.
“Babe,” you whispered, “be quiet.”
Jeonghan had to bite his smile back. And fuck, you loved this man. One of the things you loved about him was how sexy he could be. He pushed his hips against yours in a particularly thorough way that made you think he was trying to reach as deep into you as he could, making you whimper loudly.
“You be quiet,” he bit back, continuing to slip his cock in and out of your walls deliciously, making you see stars.
Your eyelids fell closed, but you could capture the image of him leaning his face closer to yours, feeling his breath on your lips before he kissed them. “Quiet or you won’t get to cum,” he said, his tone raspy, tired.
“Doesn’t that mean you won’t either?” you taunted, loving the way the pacing of his thrusts changed. You knew he was trying to draw out his own pleasure, make himself last longer.
Jeonghan laughed, the sound languid. “Remember how I got you to shut up that one time?” he asked, his tone still low, waning. And when the memory instantly flashed behind your closed lids, your walls tightened around him, drawing out a moan from him.
That time, he showed you a different side of himself. You were being louder than most nights, having fun by testing how far Jeonghan would go to make you submit to him.
“Yeah, you remember it,” he drawled, moving his face ever so slightly so he could join his lips with yours, all while still moving inside you painfully slow. He was edging you, and in turn, he was edging himself as well. “I thought you looked pretty with my cock inside your mouth,” he said.
You could’ve fallen over the edge in that second. A shameful whine came out of you, but you were too gone to even think of how pathetic you were sounding. You didn’t care. Having Jeonghan inside you, raw, and speaking filth to you felt so good. “I’ll be quiet, Hannie,” you told him. “Just don’t stop.”
With a grunt, Jeonghan obliged, changing the push and pull from a painfully slow one to a deliciously hard and deep one. You let out a silent moan, angling your hips to him so he could reach deeper inside you, so you could feel him completely.
Jeonghan cussed, his voice drowned out by the dull sound of skin hitting against skin. And it was then that you knew that this was his obsession—the quiet play, the bickering, the very obvious sounds of pleasure…
And you simply let him take you. The closer he grew to his orgasm, the closer you felt like giving in to the sweet pleasure dancing beneath your skin. Jeonghan parted his mouth, and you felt his hips buckling, his hands gripping your hips, his body flush and pushing against yours…
“Fuck, baby,” he said with a tired, but blissful drawl. “I’m close,” he said, his words heavy with meaning.
And you knew what he wanted to say. “Inside,” you moaned. “Do it inside me.”
Jeonghan gave you another one of those hazy smiles, tilting his head back so you could see his face, while pleasure took over the features of his beautiful face. “Are you going to cum for me, sweetheart?” he asked, looking like he was in between happy and tired.
You nodded. “Uh-huh,” you mewled, aware that the sounds bouncing off the walls of the bathroom had become louder. But you didn’t care, and Jeonghan didn’t seem to pay attention.
He pushed inside, slamming his front to yours, switching the grip on one side of your thigh to your hair at the base of your head. “Then give it to me,” he whispered, the sound raspy and full of greed. “Cum for me.”
You could’ve gone off simply from the way he was talking to you. But you needed to get it done, fast, now. You moved your body slightly, taking your hand in between his body and yours and started rubbing your clit, teasing it with fast swirls. “Daddy,” you moaned, louder. His thrusts were deep, hard, and so fucking good. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Jeonghan responded with a deep moan of his own. “Baby,” he gasped, releasing the grip he had on your hair, his hand sliding down your back as he dropped his forehead on your shoulder.
You closed your eyes, letting your orgasm barrel down your body, letting Jeonghan push his cum deep inside you with a couple of final, languid thrusts. His face was pressed tightly against the crook of your neck, making your skin prickle as he breathed hard against you.
The inner side of your thighs trembled quite dramatically as you tried holding onto him. Jeonghan let out a light, breathy giggle, right as you, too, were composing yourself, caressing his naked back with the tips of your fingers.
Then you felt his lips on the crook of your neck, your shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps on your skin. “I’ll start a shower for you,” he croaked, lifting his head to direct a tender look at you. “I have to go check on Sohee.”
You nodded. “Okay,” you replied.
But there was a great reluctance in his following movements. Casting a look down your body, he carefully peeled his body back from yours, turning around to start the shower. You watched him as he walked back, only to plant a sweet kiss on the tip of your nose before grabbing his shorts and slipping through the bathroom door.
Once you found your limbs, you climbed off the counter and stepping before the shower. After testing the temperature, you stood below the stream, closing your eyes as you let the water wash down your face.
Your heart still felt heavy with the weight of a thousand questions and things that you still wanted to say. But one thing was finally clear to you.
The gentle sounds coming from the door announced he was back, right as you were halfway done washing up. When he stepped into the shower, he immediately wrapped his arms around you, his chest pressing against your back as he embraced you tightly. “Hey,” you mumbled, grabbing his forearm to squeeze him.
He inhaled deeply, pressing his lips to your hair. “Hey,” he replied, his tone low and raspy.
You turned around, moving on the shower floor so that the stream bathed his bare skin. “Let me,” you said, grabbing the soap and washcloth.
Jeonghan gave you a sheepish smile. “Oh, are you going to wash me?” he asked, his tone turning playful as you nodded at him silently, looking into his eyes. “Alright, just don’t give me those eyes, or we’ll never get this done.”
You laughed, the sound filling the bathroom. His glimmering eyes found your face, and you could see the minute his mind snapped with decision. Cupping your face in his hands, he pulled you in for a kiss full of passion and endearment. “I love you,” he mumbled, his tone so gentle that it made you think he was relieved to say it.
“I love you,” you replied, laughing softly before he pressed his lips against yours again.
“What’s that?” he asked in between pecks.
“Nothing,” you huffed as he moved to kiss your cheek. “You’re very confident now.”
He responded with a light laugh of his own. “I don’t care. I’m going to say it more,” he told you, sounding serious like a warning.
“Good,” you mumbled faintly, as he bent down to kiss your neck.
“Starting now,” he said, slipping his hands from your lower back to your rear, pressing you against his frame.
“Careful,” you replied. “You might start sounding desperate,” you teased.
You felt him smile against your skin. “Desperate, huh?” he asked, his voice low and in your ear.
“Well,” you said, tilting your head to give him more space for him to kiss, “you did just almost lose me.”
He nodded. “That put things in perspective.”
A sigh escaped your mouth when he kissed a particular sweet spot on your shoulder. “You’re going a bit overboard.”
“Mmm,” he sighed against your skin. hands squeezing your ass, but just softly, tenderly. “I love you.”
You bit back a smile. “See?”
“You’re the one who wanted me to say it.”
“I didn’t say you had to start saying it every minute,” you said, smiling despite yourself.
He pulled back, making you miss his lips on your skin instantly. “I can slow down.”
You bit your lower lip, nodding. “Please.”
But he showed you a charming half smile. “I love you.”
You laughed, trying to push his shoulder. “You’re a tease.”
A pause. The smirk wiped off his face as he exhaled softly. “And yet,” he said, his eyes glimmering with something you hadn’t seen before in him, “you’re still here.”
You watched his eyes for a moment, your pulse quickening. “That’s still under review,” you tried to joke, sounding out of breath.
If Jeonghan heard your tone, he made no comment about it; he played along. “What can I do to help my case?”
“I already told you,” you said, looking at his eyes and then his lips.
He nodded, leaning to kiss the tip of your nose. “What else?” he whispered.
You slipped your hands from his shoulders, down his torso, feeling his warm and wet skin. “Let’s go to that water park… all three of us together.”
He smiled before pressing his lips against yours. “You got it,” he replied.
Your heart shuddered. “Jeonghan?” you mumbled softly, feeling his hands all over your skin, exploring you, getting you aroused again.
“Yes?”
“Ask me to move in with you,” you said, tone falling to a mere whisper.
He pulled back, only to look into your eyes. He didn’t hesitate. “Move in with me.”
Your eyes glimmered, your whole body trembling with joy, relief, and love. You nodded. “I’ll move in with you.”
Jeonghan smiled. “Good,” he mumbled, content. “I love you.”
You groaned softly, rolling your eyes playfully. “Oh my god,” you said, loving the sound of his laughter bouncing off the walls. He leaned over, showering you with kisses again. “I love you more,” you replied shyly.
“Impossible,” he said.
› author's note pt. 2: hi hey hello!!
so, we're are so back. and jeonghan is coming back? hannieween is writing again? hell yeah
OKAY BUT I WANT TO TAKE A MOMENT TO ADDRESS SOMETHING HERE. apparently, tumblr has moved some things so that if someone comments, likes or reblogs a post that has been previously reblogged by someone else, i won't get to see those notifs. so for example, if you're not reblogging this from my page directly, i won't get to see it 😭 so if you guys comment, like, reblog, etc, i appreciate you all so much, i might not get to see it, but i appreciate it anyway!
anyway,
toodles!
© RIGHTS RESERVED TO HANNIEWEEN I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS OF MY WORKS OR THEIR REPOSTING ON OTHER WEBSITES.
because/despite 🎸 vernon x reader.
one fine day, you find a list.
★ vernon x rockstar!reader, a.k.a the catch you when i can couple. ★ word count: 1.5k ★ genre/warnings: established relationship, romance, fluff. set after the events of part five; based on a headcanon from part four. ★ footnotes: happy 0218 day. couldn't let it pass without an ode to my darling couple. 🎸🐻❄️
It’s a lazy kind of day. The kind where neither of you have anywhere to be, no pressing schedules or urgent obligations. Just you, Vernon, and the sun filtering through the curtains, painting golden stripes over tangled limbs and soft sheets.
You can’t help the sound of protest that rises out from the back of your throat when Vernon tries to disentangle from you.
“No need to be so clingy,” he huffs, ruffling your hair as he rises from the bed. “I’m not going anywhere you can’t reach.”
“We were so comfortable,” you whine in protest.
You’re momentarily distracted by the sight of his bare back as he crosses the room, but even that is ripped away from you too soon. He pulls his shirt back on, and you grumble something under your breath. It sounds suspiciously like selfish bastard.
Your boyfriend pays you no heed. Go figure.
“Getting us snacks,” he announces. “Want anything?”
“You’re the only snack—”
Your shirt hits you squarely in the face.
“Hey!” you sputter in between laughter, ready to retaliate with a pitch of your own.
Vernon is already slipping out, though, leaving the door open a crack behind him. The sound of his chuckles carries over from the next room. It’s the type of moment you used to pray for, isn’t it?
You flop back down onto the bed. You should get up, but you realize there’s something you want— nay, need— to do. When you reach around the sheets, you’re less than pleased to not have your phone within reach.
Charging in the living room. Right.
Your fingers catch on Vernon’s phone, though, and you figure that’ll have to do.
“Borrowing your phone for a sec,” you holler out to your boyfriend.
It’s more of a cursory thing; there were no secrets between you and Vernon. His sound of approval from the kitchen is to be expected. Your mind supplies you with the image of what he must look like— barefoot, leaning into your refrigerator, rummaging through all the cans of soda in search for something somewhat substantial.
Man, the things you’d give up to have this forever.
You punch in his password and pull up Instagram. Your private, joint couple account has chronicled your relationship since day one, and this is a moment you want immortalized. The sun hitting the bed post just right. The mess of your hair; a product of his restless fingers. The domestic bliss of it all.
There’s a specific caption you want. Something about laundry and taxes. You let out a low ‘tsk’ as you try to recall it verbatim. It’s a good thing your boyfriend keeps a meticulous note of all his favorite movie quotes.
Later, you will swear up and down to Vernon that it was looking up at you. You hadn’t gravitated to his Notes app with the intention to pry! You just wanted to be sweet, to be cute. A girlfriend who could accurately quote Everything Everywhere All at Once.
It tempted you. A locked note, the title nothing but a rock guitar emoji.
You tilt your head. Interesting.
Of course, you try to open it.
It asks for a passcode, and you roll your eyes. Vernon is predictable, so you type in your birthday. Wrong. His birthday. Wrong.
The name of your secret couple’s Instagram account? 11203km. Bingo.
The note unlocks, and immediately, the screen floods with words. It takes a bit to load, like the note is bogged down by the sheer amount of content in it. That might be the case, really. After all— as you find out later— the note has been sitting snugly in his phone for years now.
It’s fairly straightforward. Bullet point after bullet point, all starting with the same four words. I love you because.
I love you because you hum when you’re tuning your guitar.
I love you because you let me steal your fries even though you pretend to complain.
I love you because my shirts are all a little bit big on you, and it makes you look cute.
You let out a stuttering breath. The entries are specific enough for you to know they’re about you, but general in a way that you wouldn’t know when or where they were written. It could’ve been on his plane ride here, could’ve been weeks ago, could’ve been just this morning.
You can’t help it. You keep scrolling, your eyes flitting over the big and small moments that your boyfriend has masterfully kept from you. A dragon hoarding its treasure. And then—
I love you because even when you said goodbye, I couldn’t stop loving you.
Your stomach drops. Suddenly, you’re taken back to the headlines, the time apart, the brief stint at being shitty exes. PLEDIS Confirms SEVENTEEN’s Vernon Has Broken Up With Rockstar Girlfriend. The whole breakup lasted only a couple of months, but it’d felt like the longest few months of your life.
If Vernon’s entries are anything to go by, then he felt the same.
I love you because I know you thought leaving was the best thing for me. But I wish you’d stayed.
I love you because you perform like you went through a wholeass divorce. Hot.
I love you. I don’t know how not to.
You swallow, the lump in your throat thick, threatening to spill over into something heavier— until a voice cuts through the silence.
“You fuckin’ snoop.”
Vernon stands over the side of your bed, watching you over your shoulder. Damn him and his uncanny ability to move in silence. He sets aside the plate of fruit he’d prepared before plucking the phone from your fingers.
Thankfully, he doesn’t look particularly displeased. The guilty-as-charged expression on your face must be enough for him, because your boyfriend only looks vaguely exasperated.
“First of all,” he says, “you cracked my passcode?”
You sit up, propping yourself up by your elbows. “You should really be more unpredictable.”
“Noted.” Vernon falls back into bed, one of his eyebrows quirking upward inquisitively. “How much did you read?”
You press your lips together, and instead of answering, you just look at him. Really look at him. He’s teasing, sure, but there’s something soft in his expression. Something open and raw, like he’s challenging you to be as honest as he’s been. You take him up on it.
“You kept writing,” you say, your voice small and disbelieving, “even when we weren’t together.”
His teasing edge fades, replaced by something more sincere. “Yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Why?”
“Why not?”
The answer is so quintessentially him that you can’t help the half-laugh, half-groan that escapes you. His easy grin only widens a bit at your amusement— like your happiness is the only reason he does any of this.
Something in your chest tightens all over again, but this time, it’s different. This time, it’s warmth, pooling in your ribcage, spreading through every inch of you.
You roll over until you can rest your chin on his chest. Instinctively, Vernon wraps an arm around your waist, bracing you against him. He stares down at you with the smile of a man who has found reason after reason after reason to adore you, across the five years of this whole thing.
That’s what makes it easy for you, too, to blurt out, “I love you, even though you’re shit at peeling oranges.”
Vernon barks out a startled laugh. “What?”
It’s the first thing that came to mind; the fruit is peeled haphazardly and plated messily at your bedside, after all. You ignore his confusion, barrelling on. “I love you despite the fact you pet all stray cats, rabies be damned,” you say. “I love you even though it’s absolute hell to take photos of you because you have the same pose for everything.”
Realization seems to dawn on Vernon. He attempts to pinch your side, but the playful move only has you burrowing further into him.
“I love you despite your resting bitch fa— hey— ce!” Your words are punctuated by a squeal as Vernon ups his ante, his fingers skating over your sides.
“Don’t go stealing my gig,” he complains.
You thrash underneath his tickling, trying, still, to keep going in between breathless giggles. “I love— love’y— even though— even— Hansol!”
He laughs, unrelenting.
The fruit lays forgotten at your bedside. The sheets are crumpled, twisted between the two of you. The sun sinks; the world goes on without the two of you, just for today.
Vernon loves you because— you love him despite—



