author’s notes: i was torn between making this insane or cute so i went for a nice in between. as always, i'm in love with soobin.
tags/warnings: personal chef!soobin x heiress!reader, early 2000s rich girl vibe, kissing, slight sneaking around, highly suggestive/light sexual content so lowk MDNI, little closed door romance, mentions of drinking/partying,
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The shrill ring of your cellphone is what pulls you from a dreamless sleep. You try to open your eyes, but immediately regret it. Sunlight pours through your bedroom windows, far too bright for this early in the morning. You silently curse yourself for forgetting to close the floor-length curtains before leaving last night.
Last night. Where did you even go again?
Oh, right. Serena had called, demanding an emergency girls' night after breaking up with her boyfriend—again. And being the supportive best friend that you were, you agreed without hesitation. The two of you spent the night hopping between clubs until your feet ached and your head spun. You barely remember making it home, let alone crawling into bed.
At least you remembered to take your makeup off this time. You glance toward your vanity, where several used makeup wipes are scattered across the surface like evidence of the night's poor decisions.
Your phone rings again. Squinting at the screen, you find a text from Serena.
SOS. Need my bff for a shopping trip :(
A groan escapes your lips as you let the phone fall back onto the bed. It was so like Serena to be fully functional after a night out. Meanwhile, simply sitting upright makes your stomach protest. God. You needed breakfast before you could even think about leaving the house.
Your phone buzzes again.
Plz?
And then again.
Matching Juicy sets on me?
That gets your attention. With a sigh, you pick up your phone and type out a response.
k. give me a few hrs
You slink out of bed, still slightly dizzy as you slide your feet into a pair of slippers. The trek to the kitchen feels longer than usual. You pass through your wing of the house, through the entertainment room, and down the grand staircase.
Halfway down, you nearly trip. Boxes. Dozens of them. They crowd the foyer below, stacked beside the staircase and spilling into the hallway.
"What gives?" you mutter to yourself. It must be another one of your mother's redecorating phases. She always seemed to come home inspired after visiting one of her friends' houses. Inspired, in this case, meaning replacing perfectly good furniture. You continue into the kitchen and find your parents already there.
Your father sits at the island with a coffee mug in hand, skimming through a newspaper. Your mother fusses over an elaborate flower arrangement at the breakfast table, snipping stems with alarming precision.
Your attention drifts to the third person in the room. A man stands on the opposite side of the island, carefully portioning salads into glass containers. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, revealing toned forearms as he works with practiced efficiency.
He looks completely focused until he notices you. His eyes flick up. For a brief second, they meet yours. Then he immediately looks back down.
Interesting. Your parents had recently hired a personal chef for the birthday party preparations, but no one had mentioned he'd be young. Or tall. Or ridiculously attractive.
"Good morning!" you chirp.
His head snaps up again. "Oh—good morning." The response comes a little too fast. His cheeks redden slightly before he returns his attention to the containers in front of him. You catch him stealing another glance a moment later, only for him to look away again the second you notice. Cute.
"It's after three in the afternoon." Your mother's flat voice cuts through the moment.
You groan. "Whatever, it’s morning somewhere."
Your mother's eyes narrow. "Where's your robe?"
"What?"
She gestures vaguely in your direction. "Aren't you a little exposed?"
You glance down at yourself. Okay, maybe the pajamas were a little revealing. The thin-strapped tank top hugged your frame, and the tiny sleep shorts left very little to the imagination. Across the island, the chef suddenly becomes extremely interested in arranging containers. "Mom, these are my pajamas. I’m not wearing this out."
"We have people coming in and out of this house all week preparing for your father's birthday party," she replies. "You can pretend to be civilized for a few days."
"Ugh. You're no fun."
Your father chuckles into his coffee. "Hungry?"
Without waiting for an answer, he slides half of an untouched sandwich toward you. You cross over to kitchen island, taking the seat next to him. You immediately take a bite. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were. A satisfied sigh escapes you. "Oh my God."
"What?"
"This is incredible." You shake your head, going in for another bite.
Your father points toward the other side of the island. "You can thank Soobin." The chef glances up. You finally have a name to go with the face. "He's great," your father continues. "Honestly, after this party I might have to hire him full-time. I don't know how I'm supposed to go back to eating anything else."
A surprised smile spreads across Soobin's face. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate that." The smile suits him far too well. He finishes sealing the last container and places it inside the refrigerator. "Is there anything else you need from me today?"
Your father thinks for a moment. "Hmm. No, I think that's it."
"Great." Soobin nods. "I've got something finishing in the oven. Dinner should be ready in about twenty-five minutes." He starts gathering his things. For some reason, you're suddenly disappointed he's leaving.
"Wait." The word leaves your mouth before you can stop it. Three pairs of eyes turn toward you. You clear your throat. "Uh... what was in the sandwich?"
A smile tugs at the corner of Soobin's mouth. "You want to know my secret ingredient?" You nod. He hesitates, clearly fighting back a grin. "Well if I told you it wouldn’t be a secret, would it."
Your father laughs. You roll your eyes. "Very funny."
For the first time, Soobin laughs too. The sound is warm and unexpectedly charming. And as he disappears back toward the pantry, you find yourself staring after him.
—
"Serena, I swear. He's, like, sexy hot. You need to come over for lunch tomorrow and see him up close." You lounged on the plush velvet bench in the dressing room while Serena emerged from behind the curtain in yet another dress. This one was Dior.
She struck a pose. "What do we think?"
"You look expensive."
"I am expensive." She smiles widely, giving another twirl.
"True."
Serena grinned before turning back toward the mirror. "I thought your chauffeur was sexy hot."
"Well, yeah. But Soobin is in a different category."
She immediately spun around. "Oh?"
You sat up straighter, feeling giddy to be talking about your newest crush. "He looks shy. Like painfully shy. But I know he's hiding something deep underneath that whole gentle giant thing."
Serena's eyes widened. "Wait. That's hot."
"I know." You can’t help but smile.
"No, because every guy in LA is either obsessed with himself or trying to become famous." Serena replies.
"Exactly."
"But a quiet hot guy?" She leans toward you.
You lean toward her in response. "Exactly."
"A quiet hot guy who can cook?"
You groaned dramatically, falling onto the backrest. "Exactly."
Serena stares at you. Her eyes narrow and a devilish grin crosses her face. "Oh, you've got it bad."
"No I don’t!"
"You just invited me to lunch just so I could inspect him." Her arms cross in front of her, scanning your face. She could see right through you.
You roll your eyes. "That's called gathering information."
"That's called having a crush." You threw a pillow at her. Serena dodges it easily. "Okay," she said, settling onto the cushion beside you. "What's the plan?"
"The plan?"
She bumps your shoulder, "Your next move."
You shake your head. "There is no next move." You feign disinterest picking up your phone, pretending to check your messages.
She gave you a look. "Please. You haven't stopped talking about him for like forty-five minutes."
You considered that. "Okay, maybe there is a next move."
She smiles, rising up from the cushion. "There it is."
You crossed your legs thoughtfully. "I need a reason to spend more time around him."
"He’s over at your house all the time."
"Yeah, but he's working."
"So?"
"So I can't just stand in the kitchen staring at him all day."
Serena turns to face you again. The look on her face is serious. "You absolutely can."
"Serena."
"What? Men do it to us all the time."
You laughed. "No. I need something more subtle."
Serena tapped her chin dramatically. "You could suddenly become interested in cooking."
You stared at her. "Nobody would believe that."
"Good point." Another moment passed, both of you in deep thought. Then Serena snapped her fingers. "The birthday party."
Your eyes lit up. "The birthday party."
"Volunteer to help with preparations."
You think it over in your head. "Mom would love that."
"And you'd have an excuse to be around him."
A smile spread across your face. That was actually genius. "You know, sometimes you're very smart."
Serena flips her hair, "I know."
A sales associate knocked softly on the door. "How are we doing in here?"
"We're plotting," Serena answered. The woman looked concerned and quietly left. You both burst into laughter. Serena grabs another dress from the rack. "So."
"So?"
A mischievous grin appeared on her face. "We're still going out Friday night, right?"
You immediately knew that look. "No." After yesterday's escapade, you needed at least three weeks of recovery.
"Come on."
"No."
"There'll be athletes."
"Nope."
"Actors."
"I don’t think so."
"That guy from that band you like." You paused. Serena pointed at you. "See? That's not a no."
You sighed. The truth was, another night out sounded fun. But for the first time in a long time, the prospect didn't seem nearly as exciting as finding an excuse to spend an afternoon in the kitchen watching Soobin.
—
Returning home Friday night well, more like Saturday morning, was rough. Serena had managed to get your names on the list of nearly every club down Santa Monica Boulevard, and you had made an appearance at all of them. It wasn’t a total wreck. You even got the number of your favorite singer. Too bad you didn’t need it. Not with Soobin on your mind.
You were dropped off at home as the sun began to peek over the hills, washing Beverly Hills in a soft, golden haze. You made your way through the front doors, kicking off the Jimmy Choos your friend Leah had gifted you onto the cool marble tile. You swayed slightly, ignoring the dull throb building behind your eyes and the growl of your stomach.
Food would help. It had to. Soobin had prepared a week’s worth of sandwiches last time he was here, and you were pretty sure your father wouldn’t mind if you “borrowed” one.
You padded barefoot into the kitchen as quietly as someone who had been out drinking all night could manage.
“Oh!” You startled. Soobin was already there. The stove light cast a warm glow across the kitchen, illuminating him as he worked. In front of him sat an organized spread of fruit, each one being carefully arranged into individual platters.
“Oh!” he echoed, clearly just as surprised to see you.
“What are you doing here so early?”
He hesitated for a moment, then gave a small, polite smile. “Your mother asked me to prep breakfast for a brunch later today.”
“Right,” you said, pressing a hand to your forehead. “I forgot. She’s trying to show off the new rug she had imported from Turkey.”
A quiet breath of laughter left him. You leaned against the counter, still swaying slightly. A beat passed. Then Soobin’s gaze flicked to you. “You look like you’ve had a long night.”
“I look like I’ve had six long nights.”
His lips quirked. “Six clubs, then?”
“Minimum.”
He nodded slowly, like he was actually processing the idea of going to six different clubs in one night. “That explains the wearing sunglasses indoors.”
You groaned. “Don’t judge me.”
“I’m not judging,” he teased, “Just an observation.” You slide the glasses to the top of your head and get a good look at him. He immediately busied himself with the fruit again. A smile tugged at your mouth. “Can I get you something to eat?” he asked after a moment.
Your eyes lit up. “Would you? I would absolutely kill for pancakes.”
A smile tugs at the corner of Soobin's mouth. "That sounds a little dramatic."
"I'm hungover. Everything feels dramatic."
That earns a real smile from him this time. “I’ll see what I can do.”
You hop up onto a stool at the island while he moves around the kitchen, pulling out ingredients with practiced ease. A comfortable quiet settles between you.
“You know,” you say, watching him, “you’re here at, like, four in the morning. Don’t you ever sleep?”
“I sleep,” he replies.
“Liar.”
He laughs under his breath. “I’m just used to early mornings.”
“Mm,” you hum. “That’s very responsible of you.”
His hands pause for half a second. “You say that like it’s unusual.”
“It is in this house.”
That makes him smile again. A little softer this time. While he cooks, he glances over at you more than he means to. You catch it once. Then again. Neither of you says anything about it. Instead, he asks casually, "So..." Soobin says after a moment. "Fun night?"
You groan dramatically. "Depends on your definition of fun."
"That's usually not a good sign."
"We were at it for like six hours.”
His eyes widened. "That's exhausting."
"See? You understand me."
He chuckles while flipping a pancake. For a moment, neither of you says anything. Then he asks casually, "Meet anyone interesting?"
The question is simple enough, but something about it makes you smile. You think of the singer whose number is currently buried somewhere in your purse. "Not really."
His shoulders seem to relax slightly. Not that you'd mention it. "Good." The word leaves his mouth before he can stop it. You blink. He immediately clears his throat. "I mean, less people to remember in the morning."
A grin spreads across your face. "Right."
"So," he says quickly, focusing very hard on the pancakes, "how's the birthday party planning going?"
You smile widely, "Nice recovery."
His ears turn pink. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You absolutely do." A laugh escapes him despite himself. When the pancakes are done, he plates them carefully. Golden brown, stacked high, with fresh strawberries arranged neatly on top. He slides them in front of you. You take one bite. Your eyes close. Your shoulders drop instantly. “Oh my God.”
“Good?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
"Soobin." you say through another mouthful of pancake.
"Yeah?"
"If you ever quit being a chef, I think society would collapse."
He laughs. "I'll keep that in mind before making any career changes."
You continue eating while he returns to arranging fruit platters. After a few bites, you notice he slides a glass of water over to you. “Thank you,” you sigh, gulping it down.
The kitchen falls quiet again, but it doesn’t feel empty. Eventually, you slide off the stool, slower now. “I should go before my mother finds me like this and disowns me.”
“She wouldn’t,” he says.
You raise an eyebrow. “She might. You never know.” That earns a quiet laugh from him. You take a few steps away, then pause. “Goodnight, Soobin.”
He looks up and smiles.The warm, genuine kind that makes him look even more handsome than usual. “Goodnight,” he responds.
You head toward the stairs. Halfway across the foyer, his voice stops you. "Hey." You glance back.
"Yeah?"
Soobin follows behind you, a glass of water refilled in his hands. His expression softens. "Drink some more water before you go to sleep."
You laugh. "Yes, chef." you take the glass, bringing it to your lips for a small sip.
His smile widens. And somehow, despite the pounding headache and exhaustion, you find yourself smiling all the way back to your room.
—
The eve of your father's birthday party brought a constant stream of workers through the house. Party planners adjusted centerpieces for the hundredth time, gardeners fussed over flower beds, and delivery crews seemed to materialize every fifteen minutes.
It was impossible to get a moment alone. Which was unfortunate because you'd spent most of the day trying. There were only so many times you could wander downstairs asking for a glass of water before someone started asking questions.
As the sun began to set, the house finally started to quiet down. The kitchen, however, remained busy. Every surface was covered with food being prepared for tomorrow's party. Trays of hors d'oeuvres lined the counters while boxes of fresh produce sat waiting to be chopped.
At the center of it all stood Soobin. A cake sat in front of him. He was so focused on smoothing frosting across the top layer that he didn't notice you enter.
"Wow." You lean against the island. "So he cooks and bakes?"
Soobin jumps slightly before looking up. The second he sees you, a grin spreads across his face. "What can I say?" he says. "I'm the full package." He punctuates it with a wink. You blink. Well, that was new. "I've actually never gone as far as making a cake completely from scratch before," he continues. "But I think it's turning out okay."
You examine the cake. Three layers of white cake with a strawberry filling. A large mixing bowl filled with homemade frosting sits beside it. “This looks professional to me.”
"I have some scraps left over." He gestures toward a plate beside him. "I was going to let your parents try them later." He picks up a fork. "You want a taste?" His words send a shiver down your spine. He looks at you with innocent eyes, not realizing the tension behind his question.
"Obviously." You reply with a wink, rounding the island immediately.
"Let me know what you think," he says, loading up a bite of cake onto the fork. He brings it up between you. You open your mouth automatically before realizing what was happening.Soobin freezes. You freeze. The two of you stare at each other. Then very slowly, his ears turn pink. "Oh."
You grin. "Oh?"
His eyes darted between you and the fork. "I was going to hand you the fork."
"Sure you were."
His laugh comes out nervous. "I was!"
With Soobin still holding the fork, you lean forward and take the bite anyway. His eyes widened. He quickly lowers the fork back onto the plate, clearly caught off guard by your forwardness. You bite back a smile. "It's really good," you say after swallowing. "Dad's going to love it."
"Good. Good." He busies himself with the frosting spatula in front of him, suddenly very interested in smoothing an already smooth layer of icing. A brief silence settles between you. Nervous, he fills it immediately. "I just haven't nailed the frosting yet. I'm not sure what's missing."
An idea pops into your head. A brilliant idea. Possibly a terrible idea. Definitely your best idea all week. You tilt your head thoughtfully. "Hmm. Mind if I taste that too?"
His eyes flick up to yours. For a moment, he seems suspicious. Then he smiles and scoops a small amount of frosting onto the edge of the spatula. "Sure." He holds it out toward you. "Let me know if it's missing anything."
As he lowers the spatula for you to take, you don't reach for it. Instead, you lean forward slowly and lick the frosting directly from the edge. The kitchen suddenly becomes very quiet. You let your tongue swirl along the spatula and enclose the tip of it completely in your mouth. You flick your eyes up to Soobin to make sure he's watching. Sure enough he is, heat creeping into his cheeks.
You straighten up and hum thoughtfully, pretending to evaluate the flavor while Soobin stands frozen. His grip tightens slightly on the handle of the spatula. "Fuck." he states after a beat, his voice noticeably less steady than before.
For good measure, you wipe your thumb along your lower lip to catch any remaining frosting. You tap a finger against your chin. "Hmm. I can’t decide. Do you wanna taste?"
Another pause. You let your eyes drop between his eyes and his lips. His brows knit together for a moment, before he understands what you’re asking. The spatula is tossed aside as he closes the distance between you, lips crashing against yours. He’s eager, so eager the way he pulls your body against his. You allow your hands to roam over his frame, unsure of where to hold him.
You settle with one hand on his bicep, the other making its way to the back of his head. Gripping a hand into his hair, you give a slight tug. He sighs loudly in response allowing you to explore deeper. Soobin quickly grips your waist, pressing you against the pantry door. He grabs your legs, hoisting you up and your legs close around him in response.
You can feel him growing beneath you, the very sensation eliciting a moan from your lips. “Soobin,” you whisper into his open mouth. You needed him and you needed him now.
"How's it going in here?" The sound of your father's voice from the next room sends both of you scrambling apart. Soobin sets you back on your feet so quickly you nearly lose your balance. A shame, really. Especially considering where things had been headed and the unfortunately timed bulge in Soobin's pants.
By the time your father rounds the corner into the kitchen, Soobin has already turned back to the counter, suddenly very occupied with mixing frosting. His body pressed close to the island. Meanwhile, you find yourself staring into the refrigerator with intense concentration despite having no idea what you're supposedly looking for.
Your father remains completely oblivious. "Oh!" He beams at the cake. "That looks fantastic."
"Thank you, sir," Soobin says, voice only slightly strained.
Your father wanders over to inspect it. "Wow. This is professional-level stuff."
You glance over your shoulder. Soobin is carefully avoiding looking at you. Which only makes you want to laugh. "You should taste it," you say. His eyes immediately snap toward yours. A warning. You smile innocently. "What?" you ask.
Your father grabs a fork from the counter. "Don't mind if I do." He takes a bite. The two of you waiting patiently for his response. Your father nods approvingly. "Excellent."
"Glad you like it." The relief in Soobin's voice is almost comical.
"You've been working too hard," your father continues. "Make sure you get some rest tonight. Tomorrow's going to be chaotic."
"I will."
Your father gives the cake one final look before heading back toward the dining room. "Your mother wants me to approve napkin colors."
You wince. "Good luck."
"Thanks." As soon as he's gone, the kitchen falls quiet again.
For a brief moment, neither of you says anything. Then your eyes meet. And suddenly you're both very aware of what had almost happened. Or rather what had happened. Heat creeps into your cheeks. You clear your throat. "Well."
"Yeah."
Another awkward pause. You smile despite yourself. "I should probably get out of here."
"Probably." Soobin nods, still unmoving behind the counter.
“You good?” you ask, holding back a laugh.
His ears immediately turn red. “Yeah, I will be. In like a few minutes."
You grin triumphantly. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before he can respond, you saunter out of the kitchen making sure to shoot one last sultry look at Soobin. His eyes are on you, something so hungry beneath them.
This was ridiculous. You lived in a mansion with twenty-two rooms and somehow couldn't get five uninterrupted minutes alone with one man. That was about to change.
—
The night of the party finally arrived. Business partners, family friends, and people you vaguely recognized from charity galas filled the backyard of your sprawling estate. Warm string lights hung between palm trees, and the pool reflected the glow of the entire scene like something out of a magazine spread.
A long banquet table stretched across the patio, perfectly arranged with dishes that looked almost too beautiful to eat. All courtesy of Soobin.
You spotted him near the far end of the table, speaking quietly with one of the event coordinators. Sleeves rolled up, focused, calm. Completely in his element. And completely unfair.
Serena appeared at your side like she’d been summoned. “You’re right,” she said immediately, eyes locked on him. “He’s sexy.”
“I know.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t hit that already.”
You nearly choked on your drink. “We came close yesterday.”
Serena snapped her head toward you. “What!”
“In the kitchen,” you said quickly, lowering your voice. “But we got interrupted.”
Her eyes widened. “No. You cannot say something like that and then just move on.”
You shrugged. “It wasn’t planned.”
“That makes it worse.” Across the yard, Soobin glanced up—almost like he felt your gaze. For half a second, his eyes met yours. Then he looked away first. Serena noticed everything. “Oh my God,” she said slowly. “This is happening.”
“What is?”
“You two are doing that slow-burn, eye-contact-across-a-crowded-party thing.”
You take another sip from your drink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You absolutely do.” She grabbed your arm. “If you don’t get him alone tonight, I’m doing it for you.”
“You are not.”
“I will ask him to explain every dish on that table in extreme detail.”
You shake your head. “That’s harassment.”
“That’s strategy.” You laughed despite yourself. Before you could respond, your mother’s voice cut through the noise, calling your name from across the yard. Duty calls. You groaned. Serena leaned in one last time. “Go. Be rich. Be mysterious. Be unavailable.”
“I live here.”
“Exactly. Make it work for you.”
And just like that, you were being pulled into conversations, greetings, and polite smiles—while every few minutes your eyes drifted back to Soobin. And every time you caught him looking back, he looked away just a little too late.
—
Late into the party, once the perishable food had begun making its way back into the kitchen, you knew your window was closing. Soobin had slipped inside a few minutes ago. Alone. It was now or never.
You take the final sip of your drink, set the glass down, and push through the crowd. “Where are you going?” Serena asks, immediately noticing.
You don’t even slow down. “Don’t wait up for me.”
Her eyes narrow with instant understanding. “Oh my God—”
But you’re already gone. The music fades slightly as you slip back into the house, the noise of the party replaced by the quieter, warmer hum of the kitchen just ahead. Your heart is beating harder than it should be.
Soobin stands at the counter, wiping down a surface that is already spotless. It’s the kind of cleaning that looks less like necessity and more like something to do with his hands. You approach gently, “So,” you say lightly, leaning your hip against the counter. “This is where you disappeared to.”
Soobin glances up briefly, then immediately returns to wiping the counter. “I’ve been wondering when you’d come to find me.”
You lean your forearms onto the counter. “Hmm is that right?”
He sets the cleaning rag down and crosses closer to you. You watch closely as his eyes scan you. Any trace of the shy sweet chef is gone. The dim light of the kitchen emphasizes the lustful look in his eyes. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” He admits, voice low.
You bite your lip in response, “Yeah?” you rise, standing before him. You place a hand on his chest slowly letting it travel down to his waist. You let your finger loop into the belt loops of his pants, pulling him closer.
Soobin’s head dips down, his lips brushing yours. “Can I?” He breaths.
“Yes.” You smile into his lips as you close the distance this time. This kiss picks up exactly where you left off, no hesitation, no careful testing. Just heat and urgency and the kind of certainty that makes everything else feel irrelevant.
His hand finds your waist again. The kiss deepens then falters slightly as voices drift in from the hallway. Guests moving through the house. Laughter from the patio spilling inside.
Soobin pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead almost still touching yours. “This is a bad idea,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t move away.
“You’re the one still here,” you whisper back.
Another wave of footsteps passes closer to the kitchen entrance. Soobin glances toward the door, jaw tightening slightly. “We should stop,” he says, though his hand doesn’t leave your waist.
“You don’t sound very convinced.”
That earns a quiet, breathless laugh from him. “Because I’m not.”
You swallow, glancing toward the hallway. If anyone walks in right now… You don’t finish the thought.
Instead, you grab his wrist. “Come on,” you say.
His eyes snap back to yours. “Where?” You don’t answer. You just tug him gently away from the counter, out of the kitchen, slipping through the side hallway where the noise from the party fades into a distant blur. Soobin follows without resistance. Not fully trusting this yet not wanting to stop it either. You head toward the stairs, ready to ascend. His voice finally breaks the silence again. “Are you—”
“My room,” you say quickly. That makes him stop for half a second. Just one. “Coming?” you tease, hurrying up the stairs.
Soobin is right behind you, his long legs working quickly. As soon as you reach the top of the stairs, his lips are on yours again. You feel your way down the hall until hitting your bedroom door and slipping inside.
Being alone with Soobin feels like a dream come true. No need to stifle back the small noises escaping you as his large hands grip at your hips and thighs. You close your legs around him and he carries you across the room. Thank God your house keeper deep cleaned before the party and made your bed.
“You’re so beautiful.” He exhales, breaking the kiss to brush back stray hairs blocking your view. He lays you back onto the mattress.
“Soobin,” You sigh as he kisses you again, grinding his hips down over yours. This simple movement was enough to unravel you. Every second in clothes was a waste of time. You wanted him now. “I need you.”
He slows his pace a moment breaking the kiss. “Are you sure?”
“More than anything."
—
The sunlight pouring into your room isn’t as harsh this morning. Everything is softened—bathed in a warm, hazy glow that makes it feel like time itself is moving slower. Last night. Soobin.
The thought alone makes something flutter in your chest. You stretch beneath the sheets, half-expecting to feel him beside you. Nothing. You sit up slightly, blinking. Had you imagined it?
Heat creeping up the walls, quiet laughter swallowed by late-night silence, the feeling of him so close you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began—
The door creaks open. You freeze. Soobin peeks inside first, like he’s checking if it’s safe, then steps in quietly. He had slipped on his clothes from last night, wrinkled in the morning light. He’s holding a tray with a simple breakfast. Nothing extravagant. Fresh fruit, toast, a cup of tea that still steams gently in the morning air.
“Oh, you're awake?” Relief flickers across his face.
“I thought you left,” you say, still half-dazed.
A soft smile forms on his lips. “Never.” He crosses the room carefully, like he’s afraid of disturbing something fragile. “I just wanted to surprise you with something.”
He sets the tray down on the side table next to you, then hesitates like he’s suddenly unsure of where to put his hands, or himself. The air between you feels different this morning now that the boundary has been crossed.
“Come here” you say softly, patting the bed beside you. He goes to sit beside you. “Take the clothes off silly.”
He's a bit flustered, “Oh yeah of course.” He swiftly removes his pants and unbuttons the dress shirt from last night leaving him in his underwear. He crawls back into bed beside you.
You bring him close, resting your head on his chest. “Thank you for breakfast.” you say pressing a kiss against his chest. Instinctively, his hand rises to play with your hair.
“Of course.” A silence settles again, but it isn’t awkward. Familiar in a way it definitely shouldn’t be yet. Soobin shifts slightly, like he’s about to say something else.
You notice. Of course you do. “What?” you ask softly.
He hesitates. “Nothing,” he says too quickly. The silence stretches again, his hand drawing lazy circles across your back. “I’m glad it was you,” he says quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple.
You place a hand to his cheek, pulling him down for another kiss. This one feels different, sweeter and softer than before.The kiss lingers, unhurried, like neither of you is in any rush to name what this is yet.
When you finally part, he doesn’t go far. And neither do you.
synopsis: rich girls don't date, they simply... indulge
author's note: I was lying by my pool when this idea came to me, so of course I had to make it come true. you can decide if you want to read these as a stand alone or one long entangled story.
sweet escape // soobin
you + me, now wouldn't that be sweet?
soobin as your personal chef
buttons // yeonjun // coming june 19th!
every girl needs a bit of arm candy
yeonjun as your personal stylist
glamourous // beomgyu // coming june 26th!
i've got tinted windows and a few bad ideas
beomgyu as your chauffeur
summer boy // taehyun // coming july 3rd!
we'll still have the summer after all ;)
taehyun as your pool boy
crazy in love // huening kai // coming july 10th!
love makes you do crazy things, like getting a gym membership
kai as your personal trainer
the life of a star can be quite lonely, except when he's around
--------------
wc: 6.2k
pairing: huening kai x reader
author’s notes: final chapter of the boyfriend on demand series! forgive me for taking so long, things have been so busy. these were so fun, hope you guys like it! can't wait for you to see whats next.
tags/warnings: body guard!huening kai x famous!reader, use of she/her and y/n, protective kai, reader is a famous actor/actress, mentions of stalking, anxiety, and mistreatment, reader has an evil co-star,
Boyfriend on Demand Masterlist
--------------
“Over here! Over here!” Flashes burst in rapid succession, a constellation of white light exploding across your vision. It should have been blinding, but you’d learned long ago how to keep your expression steady, your gaze focused just above the crowd.
Photographers shouted over one another, voices overlapping into a chaotic blur. “Look this way!” “One more shot!” “Turn to your left!” This was what came with being an up-and-coming star, attention that felt both electrifying and suffocating all at once.
You adjusted your posture instinctively, offering a practiced smile as cameras captured every angle. The carpet beneath your heels stretched endlessly ahead, lined with fans, reporters, and industry figures watching your every move.
“Alright, let’s move forward.” His voice cut cleanly through the noise, steady and grounding. A hand hovered just behind your back, never quite touching, but close enough that you felt its presence. Kai guided you gently down the carpet, his pace measured. Kai wasn’t just any bodyguard. He was the bodyguard.
The one your company had insisted on assigning when your popularity began to surge faster than anyone expected. At first, you thought it was excessive, another layer of control wrapped around your already structured life. But that was before you met him.
Before you noticed the way he subtly shifted crowds without force. The way he anticipated problems before they happened. The way his attention never wavered when it came to you.
“Next section’s a fan meet,” he murmured, leaning just slightly closer so only you could hear. “It might get crowded.”
You nodded, still smiling for the cameras. “When is it not?” A faint hint of amusement flickered across his face, gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
The barricades ahead came into view, packed with fans clutching albums, signs, and phones held high. The energy there was different, less polished, more raw. Excited voices rose as they recognized you. Your name echoed through the crowd.
You stepped closer, waving, your smile softening into something more genuine. This part always felt different. More real.
Kai stayed at your side, close enough to shield, far enough not to overshadow. His eyes moved constantly scanning. Always watching. Always there. It had been months since he was assigned to you. Months of early call times, long events, crowded venues, and quiet car rides where neither of you spoke much but somehow, the silence never felt empty.
You signed a glossy photo of yourself, handed it back, and glanced briefly at him. He caught your gaze. Just a second, but he noticed you. He always did. And for reasons you hadn’t quite sorted out yet, that made your heart beat just a little faster.
The rest of the fan meeting went as expected. Fans approached one by one, their excitement barely contained as they shared how much they loved your work, how your performances comforted them, inspired them, changed them.
It always made you smile. You still hadn’t quite wrapped your head around how spending a few hours in front of a camera could mean so much to someone else. Still, you were proud of what you did, and you made sure to thank every single person who came through the line.
“Wow! You’re so much more beautiful up close!” You looked up, meeting the wide eyes of a girl whose hands trembled slightly as she nervously fiddled with her sleeves.
“Thank you,” you smiled warmly, pulling a glossy photo from the stack. “You’re absolutely gorgeous yourself.”
Her face flushed instantly. “Th-this is for you,” she said, quickly handing over a small envelope. “Thank you for being so inspirational.”
You accepted it carefully. “That really means a lot. Thank you.”
Like always, you passed it back without looking, your hand brushing lightly against Kai’s as he took it from you. He slipped it neatly into his inner pocket without a word. Some fans brought small gifts: bracelets, plushies, keychains. Most of them you weren’t allowed to keep, but letters were different. Those, you made sure never got lost.
The line slowly began to thin. Your shoulders relaxed just slightly as you greeted the last handful of fans. “We’ll head out in about ten minutes,” Kai’s voice came from just behind you.
You turned your head, offering him a small nod. “Okay, thank you.”
When you faced forward again, someone new had taken the seat across from you. At first glance, nothing seemed unusual. He looked normal. But then he smiled. And something about it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Your fingers paused over the pen. “Hi,” you greeted, keeping your tone polite.
“I finally get to meet you,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “I’ve been waiting for this.” There was something in the way he said it, too heavy, too personal.
You forced a small smile. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“I go to all your events,” he continued, eyes fixed on you in a way that made your skin prickle. “You probably don’t remember me.”
Your grip tightened just slightly around the pen. “I meet a lot of people, but I’m grateful you came.”
“I’ve written to you,” he added quickly. “A lot.” Your heart skipped, not in excitement but unease. “I know you read them.”
That made you hesitate. Behind you, Kai shifted. His body language is subtle but clearly closer than he stood before..
“I see the way you look at the letters,” the man went on, his voice dropping just enough that it felt like he was trying to create a private moment in a very public space. “You understand me, don’t you?”
Your smile faltered for half a second. Too long. “I think you might be mistaken,” you said gently, trying to redirect. “But I really appreciate your support,”
“You don’t have to pretend,” he interrupted, leaning even closer now. “I know you feel it too.”
The air turned thick, anxiety creeping in on you. Before you could respond, Kai stepped in.
“That’s enough.” His arm came between you and the man in one smooth motion, a firm barrier that didn’t invite argument. “You’re done here,” he said, voice calm but unyielding.
The man frowned. “I’m just talking to her.”
“And now you’re leaving.” There was no raised voice. No aggression. Just finality. For a moment, the man didn’t move. Then, under Kai’s unwavering gaze, he let out a quiet scoff and stood, muttering something under his breath before being escorted away by nearby staff.
Silence lingered for a second. You hadn’t realized how tense your body was until it started to release. Kai didn’t look at you immediately. His eyes scanned the area first, ensuring everything was under control. Only then did he glance down. “You alright?”
You nodded, though your voice came out softer than expected. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
But your hands betrayed you slightly, stilling against the table. His gaze flickered to them. Then back to your face. “We’re leaving early.”
You couldn’t argue with that.
—
The car ride was quieter than usual. City lights blurred past the window as you leaned back into the seat, the adrenaline from earlier slowly fading into something more reflective.
Kai sat in the front, posture straight, eyes occasionally checking the mirrors. He had been alert ever since you left the venue. Always working.
“Hey,” you spoke up.
He glanced back briefly. “Yeah?”
You hesitated, then smiled faintly. “Thanks. Back there.”
It’s quiet for a moment. You can see his gaze is still focused out on the road. Then he responds, simply, “It’s my job.”
You exhaled softly, turning your gaze back to the window. “I know, but still. Where would I be without you?”
That got a slightly longer pause. When he answered, his voice was quieter. “You’d be fine.”
You smiled to yourself, shaking your head just a little. “Maybe,” you said. “But I’m glad I don’t have to find out.”
This time, he didn’t respond. But in the reflection of the glass, you caught it, the smallest shift in his expression. Not quite a smile. But something close to it.
—
Much later, after the schedules and cameras and noise of the day had finally faded away, you found yourself curled beneath your blankets with your phone balanced against your knee. Your apartment was quiet. A soft lamp glowed from the corner of your bedroom while rain tapped faintly against the windows. It was the kind of peaceful silence you rarely got to enjoy anymore.
With a small sigh, you opened social media. You probably shouldn’t have made a habit of checking fan posts as often as you did, but curiosity always won in the end. Besides, most of it was harmless.
“Y/N looked stunning today!” “I can’t believe I finally met her!” “She was so sweet to everyone omg 😭”
Your lips curved softly as you scrolled. Even after all this time, seeing people so excited over you still felt surreal. You’d spent years doubting yourself in auditions and exhausting yourself through endless filming schedules. Sometimes it was hard to believe anyone cared that much.
You continued absentmindedly scrolling, half focused now as sleep slowly began tugging at you until one particular photo stopped your thumb cold. It was a candid shot. You hadn’t even realized someone had taken it.
Your body was turned slightly toward Kai, your expression softer than usual as you listened to something he had leaned down to whisper in your ear earlier that evening. The lighting caught the side of his face perfectly. And unfortunately, the comments had noticed.
“OMG Y/N’S BODYGUARD??? HELLO???” “Why is he actually so fine?” “The way he looks at her???” “Wait… do I ship them?” “No, because this looks straight out of a drama.” “Bodyguard romance trope IRL.”
Your eyes widened slightly. “Oh my god,” you muttered under your breath. You clicked into the replies despite knowing you absolutely shouldn’t. That turned out to be a mistake.
“He’s always so close to her 😭” “You cannot convince me that man isn’t in love.” “The tension is INSANE.”
Heat crept slowly into your face. “That’s ridiculous,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction. You stared at the photo again. Kai’s expression was calm as always, but there was something protective in the way he angled himself toward you. Like his attention naturally gravitated in your direction no matter what else was happening around him. And you looked happy. Not your practiced red carpet smile you had perfected for cameras. Just, genuinely happy.
A small smile unconsciously pulled at your lips before you realized what was happening. Your thumb hovered over the screen. Maybe the fans were being dramatic. Maybe they were reading too deeply into things.
But your gaze drifted back to Kai in the picture. The sharp jawline. The dark clothes. The way his sleeves rolled just enough to expose his forearms. You bit lightly at the inside of your cheek.
Okay. You thought to yourself. Maybe he is kind of cute. The realization made your eyes widen slightly. Then, before you could stop yourself, you buried your face into your pillow with a quiet groan. “This is bad,” you mumbled into the fabric.
Because suddenly all you could think about was the way his hand hovered protectively at your back and how safe you always felt when he was near.
—
This project was different. Much bigger than you could have imagined. The kind of opportunity actors spent years praying for. Even the company had shifted the moment the casting confirmation came through. Meetings became more serious, schedules tighter, managers more stressed. Everywhere you went people congratulated you with excited smiles and careful reminders not to mess this up.
You understood why. The drama already had massive anticipation surrounding it, and now you were set to play the lead role alongside one of the industry’s most well known actors.
Kai stood beside you as staff hurried around backstage preparing for the first script reading. Your fingers tightened slightly around the script in your lap curling the pages. You were nervous to say the least.
“You okay?” Kai asked quietly.
You let out a soft laugh allowing your hands to relax, loosening the grip on the script. “I’m trying to be.”
His expression softened just slightly. “You’ll do fine.”
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t about to sit across from an award-winning actor whose films you’d watched since high school. You glanced toward the entrance just as the room shifted with murmurs. He had arrived.
Tall, confident, and effortlessly charming, his presence seemed to fill the entire room. Everyone greeted him immediately, staff bowing politely as he walked further inside. You straightened slightly in your seat, suddenly hyper aware of yourself.
When his eyes landed on you, he smiled. “Ah, so you’re Y/N.”
You quickly stood, bowing politely. “It’s really nice to meet you. I’ve admired your work for a long time.”
“Is that so?” he chuckled. You don’t fail to notice the way his eyes cross over your body. “Careful. Compliments like that might make me like you too much.”
A few staff members laughed awkwardly hoping to ease the tension. You forced a polite smile, making sure the shirt you were wearing never slipped low on your chest. He was just teasing, you tell yourself. You would be able to ignore it.
At first, things seemed manageable. During rehearsals he was charismatic and professional enough to impress everyone around him. The directors loved him. The staff catered to him constantly.
But the little things started building. The comments muttered under his breath. The way his hand lingered too long during scenes that didn’t require it. The casual habit of calling you “cutie” instead of your name.
You tried brushing it off, you really did. This wasn’t out of the ordinary for others in the entertainment industry. You just didn’t expect to experience that yourself.
“Relax,” your manager had whispered once. “He’s just playful.” Maybe. But the uneasy feeling in your stomach kept growing.
And Kai noticed. He noticed everything.
One evening after filming, you stood off to the side reviewing notes while staff reset equipment. Kai remained nearby as usual, scrolling through something on his phone while keeping half his attention on you.
Your co-star approached with an easy grin. “You work too hard,” he said, stepping closer. “You still have that newbie passion. I like that about you.”
You gave a small laugh. His distance causes unease in your chest. You take a small step backward. “I’m just trying to do a good job.”
“You know, you’d do even better if you loosened up around me.” Before you could respond, his hand settled against your waist.
You froze, unable to push away. Your head darts around hoping to catch the eyes of another crew member. The shift was so fast you barely processed it. One second your co-star’s hand was on you, the next, Kai was between you both.His grip firmly removed the man’s hand from your waist. The entire set seemed to go silent.
Your co-star blinked in disbelief, dazed now that Kai was blocking him. “Whoa. What the hell?”
Kai’s expression remained calm, but there was something dangerous beneath it now. “Don’t touch her again.”
The actor scoffed immediately. “Who do you think you are?”
“I’m the person stopping this before it becomes a bigger problem.” Kai replies, voice low.
The man laughed humorlessly. “She didn’t say anything.”
Kai’s voice stayed level. “She shouldn’t have to.”
Heat rushed to your face, not embarrassment this time. Because he was right. You hadn’t said anything. You’d been uncomfortable for weeks, constantly trying to avoid conflict, worried about professionalism, worried about your image, worried about making things difficult for everyone else. And somehow Kai had noticed anyway.
The actor stepped forward slightly trying to intimidate Kai. “You’re just a bodyguard. You think you have any say in this? Do you know who I am?”
Kai didn’t move from in front of you. His body still steady, unflinching. “You’re done,” he said simply.
Before the situation could escalate further, producers and staff rushed over, having clearly noticed the tension from across the set. Questions erupted immediately.
You spent a while explaining your side to producers. And once people started talking, everything unraveled fast. Apparently you weren’t the only actress he’d made uncomfortable.
By the end of the week, the company released an official statement citing “creative differences” would be delaying production. He was removed from the project entirely. The recast actor who replaced him ended up being kind, respectful, and easy to work with, someone who actually made filming enjoyable again.
Regardless, you hadn't been able to forget that night. How scary it had been to realize someone you had looked up to for years could be so awful.
One thing that had stood out to you had been the look on Kai’s face. His anger, not explosive or reckless. It seemed protective. Like seeing someone make you uncomfortable had genuinely upset him.
You sat in the backseat beside him after filming wrapped one evening, exhaustion pulling at your body. “You know,” you started softly, “I never thanked you properly.”
Kai glanced over briefly before setting his phone down in his lap. “For what?”
You look at him, really look at him. A warmness begins to seep into your chest that you hold tight to. “You know what.”
He looked ahead again. “I was doing my job.”
You smiled faintly. There it was again. Always the same answer. But this time, you didn’t let him get away with it so easily. “No,” you said quietly. “You did more than that. You saw I needed help, you stood up for me without me even asking.” For the first time in a long while Kai didn’t have a response immediately. His head remained straight forward avoiding your gaze. “Thank you for caring for me.” you say quietly.
You turn back to face the window, resting your head back. If it wasn’t so quiet in the car you may have missed it.
Kai’s voice is quiet but clear, “Of course I care for you.”
—
A full day of interviews left you exhausted. Not physically, though your feet certainly ached from hours in heels. You felt mentally drained from today’s schedule.
Every answer had to sound thoughtful. Every smile had to look genuine. Every laugh needed to come at the right moment. Cameras captured everything, and after a while it began to feel less like speaking and more like performing a version of yourself people wanted to see. Usually, you could handle it. Most days it was manageable. But today felt heavy.
The van was quiet as it carried you across the city toward yet another event added to your schedule last minute. Rain streaked softly across the windows, blurring neon lights into hazy colors.
“Ready to go?” Kai asked from beside you.
“Hm?” Your head lifted slowly from where it rested against the seat. His voice draws you out of your daze.
Kai glanced over, eyes squinting. “You’ve been staring at the same building for three minutes.”
You blinked, realizing he was right. “Sorry,” was all you could offer.
“Everything good?” It was a simple question, but you couldn’t find the words to answer. Kai patiently waited until you spoke up.
You looked down at your hands. “Just tired, I think.”
Kai studied you quietly for a moment as if he could see past your simple answer. “You know, you don’t have to push yourself so hard.”
You let out a small laugh. “Unfortunately I kind of do.”
He didn’t answer immediately. The van slowed as it approached the venue, bright lights already visible outside. Crowds lined the entrance despite the rain, phones raised hopefully toward the tinted windows. Just seeing it made your chest tighten. Too loud, too much. The chaos made your stomach sink. You let out a shaky breath, mentally preparing to exit the van.
“Hey.” You glanced over. Kai’s eyes were gentle, concerned. His voice softened slightly. “Look at me.” You pull your full attention to Kai’s face. For a second the noise outside disappeared. “You don’t want to go in there right now,” he said quietly.
You swallowed hard before finally admitting it. “I don’t think I can.” The confession came embarrassingly small. You were a celebrity, this was your job. You couldn’t help but feel ashamed.
But instead of disappointment or a scolding, Kai simply nodded once. “Okay.”
His curt response confuses you. Your brows furrowed. “Okay?”
Kai calmly responds, “We’re leaving.”
In all your years active, you had never canceled anything. Canceling was never an option. “What about the event?”
“I’ll handle it.” Before you could protest, he leaned forward and spoke calmly to the driver. “Change of plans.” The car pulled away from the venue before anyone outside realized you’d even arrived.
You stared at him in disbelief. “Kai, my manager is going to kill me.”
“He can yell at me tomorrow.” He looks completely unbothered, willing to take the brunt of the scolding. Despite yourself, a breathy laugh escaped you. It was small, but real. And Kai seemed to notice that too.
—
About thirty minutes later, the city had quieted considerably. The car eventually stopped near a secluded overlook tucked above the river, far from crowded streets and flashing cameras. The rain had faded into a cool mist.
You stepped out slowly, wrapping your shawl tighter around yourself as the wind brushed against your skin. Below, the river shimmered beneath city lights. For the first time all day, you could breathe properly.
Kai stood beside you quietly, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark coat. “No one really comes here this late,” he said.
You glanced over. “You come here often?”
“Sometimes.” he glances out over the river, eyes scanning the skyline.
“When you’re stressed?”
His lips twitched faintly. “Something like that.”
You smiled softly before leaning against the railing. The silence between you felt comfortable. “You know,” you murmured after a while, “sometimes I feel guilty for struggling with this.”
Kai looked over at you. “With what?”
You gestured vaguely toward the city. “Everything. People always say I’m lucky, and I am, but,” Your voice quieted. “Sometimes it feels like I belong to everyone except myself.” The words slipped out before you could stop them.
Kai’s expression softened almost immediately. “You’re still your own person.”
You looked down at the river below. “Doesn’t always feel like it.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Just the sound of the wind rustling the trees around you. Then quietly, Kai nearly whispers, “I see you.”
Your breath caught slightly. The sincerity in his voice made it impossible to brush off as casual reassurance. When you looked at him again, he was already looking at you. And suddenly your heart felt dangerously unsteady.
By the time Kai finally convinced you to head home, the knot in your chest had loosened considerably. The time spent in the quiet helped you organize your thoughts. Kai’s words still echoed in your head the whole way home. Knowing there was someone who sees you for you, not as a public figure made your face feel warm. It felt like the chaotic night could be saved.
That was until the car turned onto your street. Your stomach dropped instantly. At least a dozen people crowded outside your apartment building despite the late hour. Cameras flashed the second the vehicle appeared. Some shouted your name. Others rushed toward the car.
“How did they even-” You were at a loss for words. You hadn’t had problems concealing where you lived. Someone must have leaked your address. You just wanted to cry.
Kai’s expression hardened immediately. “Stay inside. Don’t open the door” The warmth from earlier vanished in seconds, replaced by sharp professionalism.
Your pulse quickened as more people surrounded the vehicle. Phones pressed against the windows. Questions shouted over one another. “Kai,”
“You can’t stay here tonight.” Kai’s voice was calm, but firm enough that you immediately knew he’d already made up his mind. He was already speaking quietly to the driver. “Keep going. Don’t stop here.”
The car pulled away from the curb once more, leaving disappointed shouts behind as the crowd realized too late you wouldn’t be getting out. You leaned back into your seat, exhaustion finally crashing over you fully. “How did they even find out where I live?” you asked quietly.
Kai’s jaw tightened slightly. “Someone probably leaked your schedule. Or they followed the car after the event.” The thought made your skin crawl.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The driver took several unnecessary turns through the city while Kai monitored the situation through his phone. Every so often he glanced behind the vehicle, making sure no one was tailing you.
Eventually, the car slipped into the underground parking garage of the company building. “We’ll switch cars here,” Kai said.
The driver nodded immediately. “Yes, sir.” the driver responds. He exits the vehicle and opens the door for you.
You blinked tiredly. “Switch cars?”
“We will take mine.” Kai answers, pointing over in the direction of his car. You followed him out of the vehicle and into the dim garage, heels clicking softly against the concrete floor. The cold air sent a slight shiver through you.
Without a word, Kai shrugged off his coat and draped it carefully over your shoulders. Your breath caught faintly at the lingering warmth. “Thanks,” you murmured.
He only nodded toward his car parked several rows down. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” You ask, pulling his coat closer around your body.
He leads you to the passenger side of the car and opens the door allowing you to slip in. “I’m taking you to my place.”
—
The drive to his apartment was quiet. Not awkward in the slightest. For once there were no schedules, no managers calling, no flashing cameras waiting outside. Just the low hum of the engine and city lights stretching endlessly beyond the windows.
You found yourself stealing glances at him occasionally. One hand rested loosely against the steering wheel while the other tapped lightly against his thigh to music playing quietly through the speakers.
He looked beautiful. The thought crosses your mind and almost makes you gasp out loud. You want to attribute it to your stressful day. You’d been through a lot today. But Kai had been right there alongside you, a steady safe presence. He didn’t look like your bodyguard anymore.
Eventually, the car pulled into a smaller apartment complex tucked away on a quiet street. Out of habit, he opens the door again for you, carefully helping you exit the car. You quietly thank him, allowing him to lead you up to his apartment.
Kai’s home was different than you imagined. It was simple, clean, warm in a way you hadn’t expected. You’d imagine a bodyguard who dresses solely in dark colors would have a place that was cold and plain. Instead his apartment was full of color, warm wooden furniture, and what looked like stuffed animals lining the couch. Dim lighting glowed from the kitchen area while rain continued softly against the windows outside.
For the first time all day in the comfort of his apartment, your shoulders relaxed completely.
“It’s late. You can take the bed,” Kai said immediately, setting his work bag down near the couch.
Your eyes widened. “Kai, absolutely not.”
He shakes his head, “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He gave you a look that made it clear arguing would be pointless. “You’ve had a rough day,” he said. “I’m not making you sleep on a couch.”
“And you are?” The couch looked comfortable. You’d have no problem falling asleep on it after the day you had. Kai was definitely too tall to lay on it comfortably.
He shrugs his shoulders, “I’ve slept in worse places.”
You let out a tired laugh despite yourself. You couldn’t argue, he was too much of a gentleman.
A few minutes later, he returned from his room holding folded clothes carefully in his hands. “They’ll probably be too big,” he admitted, avoiding your eyes slightly, “but they’re clean.”
Your heart did something embarrassing at the sight. You took them carefully. “Thank you.” You headed over to the bathroom to change. Lucky for you, your makeup bag was in your purse. You grab it before closing the bathroom door behind you.
You change, carefully folding your outfit and stacking your accessories on the counter. Kai’s clothes are soft. You can tell this must be his favorite sweatshirt, the edges are frayed and perfectly worn. The sleeves of his sweatshirt nearly swallowed your hands when you changed into it later. It smelled exactly like him.
You tried very hard not to think too much about that as you removed your makeup for the night.
—
When you stepped back out, Kai was sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone. His head lifted immediately the second he saw you. And then he froze. The oversized sweatshirt hung loosely off your frame, the collar slipping slightly toward one shoulder. For a second, he just stared. Then quickly looked away coughing.
“You okay?” you asked, trying not to smile watching him try and collect himself. At least you weren’t the only one who felt a certain way over wearing his clothes.
“Yeah,” he answered far too quickly.
Your smile widened anyway. You settled onto the opposite end of the couch, tucking your legs beneath yourself. Silence settled comfortably between you again. “Do you ever wish things were different?” You ask, breaking the silence.
Kai glanced over. “What do you mean?”
“With your career,” you clarified softly. “With all of this.” You motion vaguely around you. You stared down at your hands as they settled into your lap.
“Do you?”
“I don’t know. I’m incredibly thankful for this life. I just wished someone saw me for me. Sometimes I feel like people only love the version of me they see online. The polished version.” Your voice grew quieter. “Not the real me.”
Kai watched you carefully. “They don’t know how tired you get after interviews,” he said softly. You looked up meeting his eyes. “They don’t see how hard you work.” His gaze held yours steadily now. “Or how kind you are when no one’s filming.”
Something in your chest tightened painfully, his words hitting your heart. In a brief moment of courage, you speak up. “But you do.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.” The room suddenly felt very small.
You looked at him for a long moment before laughing softly under your breath. “I think you know me better than most people in my life.”
Kai’s expression shifted slightly at that. “Maybe because I get the version of you no one else does.” Your heart stumbled. “The real you? She’s beautiful.”
The real you. Not the actress. Not the celebrity. But you. And judging by the softness in his eyes he liked that version best. Your voice came out quieter than intended. “I’m glad it’s you. That you get the real me.”
Kai stared at you for a second like the words caught him off guard. Then slowly, so gently, he smiled. Not the restrained polite smiles he wore around staff but a real one. Somehow that felt more intimate than anything else. “I’ll always be here to support you,” he said softly. “As your bodyguard or as your friend.”
Overwhelmed with his kindness you lean over, wrapping your arms around Kai. “Thank you.” You whisper, taking in his clean scent. You pull back watching Kai’s cheeks grow red. You feel slightly nervous, you stand up leading yourself toward Kai’s room “Goodnight Kai.”
“Goodnight. Sweet dreams.” The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache. Because suddenly, you realized you were falling in love with him. And judging by the way Kai was looking at you now, you weren’t falling alone.
—
Morning came far too quickly. You barely slept. Not because the bed was uncomfortable, quite the opposite actually. His bed was warm and cozy, smelling just like him. You couldn’t sleep because every time you closed your eyes, your mind drifted back to the look on Kai’s face last night. The softness in his voice. I’ll always be here to support you. It replayed in your head endlessly.
Things between you felt different now. Something had changed between you. Your relationship was dangerously close to becoming something neither of you could pretend not to notice anymore.
Kai was kind enough to take you back to your apartment early the next morning so you could get ready for the day ahead. Thankfully, the crowds from the night before had finally disappeared from outside your complex. The relief that washed over you at the empty sidewalks was immediate.
“I’ll wait here,” Huening Kai said as you stepped out of the car.
You nodded quickly, trying not to smile too obviously at the thought of him waiting for you. Inside, you rushed through your morning routine far faster than usual. Not because you were running late, but because you didn’t want to keep Kai waiting too long. The realization alone was enough to make heat creep into your cheeks.
You had another exhausting day of schedules ahead of you. Interviews. Meetings. Public appearances. Normally the thought would’ve drained you before the day even started. But somehow it didn’t feel nearly as daunting today, not with Kai by your side.
Once you finished getting ready, the two of you made a brief stop at the company building so you could apologize to your manager for missing the event the night before. To your surprise, the lecture you expected never really came.
Your manager sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples. “Do you have any idea how hard it was smoothing things over with the sponsors?”
You winced slightly. “I’m really sorry.”
“But,” he added quickly, glancing toward Kai, “considering the situation outside your apartment, it was probably the right call.” You blinked in surprise. Even Kai looked mildly caught off guard by the rare agreement. Your manager pointed a finger toward both of you. “Still, no more disappearing acts.”
“Yes sir,” you answered immediately.
As you turned to leave, your manager suddenly paused. Then narrowed his eyes slightly between you and Kai. “Did you two get into an argument? Why does the atmosphere feel weird today?”
Your entire body nearly short-circuited. “What?” you answered far too quickly.
Kai cleared his throat softly beside you. “No, sir.”
Your manager stared a second longer before waving dismissively. “Never mind. Go before you’re late.”
The second the office door shut behind you, you buried your face briefly into your hands. “Oh my god.” Beside you, Kai let out the quietest laugh. And just hearing it made your heart flutter embarrassingly hard.
A short while later, the two of you settled into the van once more as it headed toward your next schedule. The ride was quiet. The silence felt charged now, filled with lingering glances and unfinished thoughts.
Kai sat beside you in the van, scrolling through updates from your manager while occasionally checking to make sure the route remained clear. Meanwhile, you were trying very hard not to stare at him. And failing.
“You nervous?” he asked suddenly, not looking up from his phone.
“A little.” You respond, eyes darting away from Kai afraid he'll catch you staring.
“You’ll do great.” Your lips curved softly. He always said exactly what you needed to hear.
The van finally pulled up behind the venue a short while later. Staff hurried around outside preparing for the event while security coordinated entrances. Luckily after yesterday’s mess, the entrance had been cleared. Hidden away from the public eye.
Kai slid the van door open before stepping out first. Then, as always, he turned and offered you his hand. A purely professional act. But this time when your fingers slipped into his, your chest tightened.
He helped you carefully down from the van, his hand steady against yours to keep you balanced in your heels. For a second, neither of you let go. The sounds around you faded into background noise.
Kai looked at you expectantly. “Ready to go in?”
You should’ve answered immediately. Fans and staff alike were waiting on you. Instead, your gaze dropped briefly to his lips. Then back to his eyes. He looked down at you, confusion written on his face. Before he could ask what was wrong, before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and kissed him.
Your lips were soft against his, but enough to make him freeze completely. Your hand tightened slightly around the front of his jacket as your lips brushed his, your heart pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it. For one stunned second, the entire world seemed to stop.
Then you pulled back. Kai stared at you in complete disbelief. actually speechless. Which, honestly, might’ve been the most shocking thing you’d ever witnessed.
Heat rushed to your face almost instantly as realization caught up with you. “Oh my god,” you whispered, suddenly mortified. “I’m sorry, I just-”
But then you saw it. The faint pink spread across his cheeks. The way his composure had completely cracked. And suddenly you couldn’t stop smiling.
You took a small step backward toward the venue entrance, still holding his gaze. Then softly, “Come on,” you said. “Let’s do this.”
Kai blinked once, clearly still trying to recover. Then finally, he smiled. That same real smile you’d seen last night. Only this time, it was undeniably yours. He laces his fingers through yours. And as he followed after you into the venue, one thing became painfully clear to both of you.
This was no longer just a bodyguard and actress. Not anymore.
Uh oh! You have reached your time limit dating Kai. You may now return home or choose another boy!
the other nurses think doctor kang is cold-hearted, but you know better than that
--------------
wc: 6.4k
pairing: taehyun x reader
author’s notes: i've been watching resident playbook so it inspired this one. i also know nothing about working at the hospital but i did my best
tags/warnings: doctor!taehyun x new doctor!reader, "i hate everyone but you" trope, workplace jealousy, reader experiences scolding at work, lil bit of workplace favoritism, dr. kang vs taehyun, probably don't date your co-worker unless its taehyun.
Boyfriend on Demand Masterlist
--------------
The automatic doors slid open with a quiet hiss, and the sterile scent of antiseptic hit you before anything else. It clung to the air, sharp and clean. You adjusted your badge, R1 printed in bold beneath your name, and tried to ignore the way your stomach twisted as you stepped fully into the hospital.
First day. You told yourself you were ready. You had survived med school, rotations, exams that felt designed to break you. But somehow, this felt different. This was no longer a learning experience but real life.
The walk up to your floor was nerve wracking. Fellow doctors rushing back and forth between patients, nurses organizing lab tests and orders. Amidst the noise, you can only focus on the sound of your feet clacking against the tile flooring.
“New resident?” You stopped and turned at the sound, finding a cluster of nurses gathered at the station. One of them, kind eyes, knowing smile, gestured you over.
You nodded, forcing a small smile as you approached. “Yeah. Just started today.”
A few of them exchanged looks. Not unfriendly. Their darting eyes between one another gave the impression they were worried. “Starting on this floor?” another nurse asked.
You nodded again, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. There was a brief pause before someone let out a quiet laugh. “Oh, good luck. Just wait until you meet him.”
Your brows furrowed. “Meet who?”
“The reason half the residents either toughen up or transfer out,” someone muttered.
“Hey,” the first nurse nudged her, but she didn’t exactly deny it. Instead, she turned back to you, voice lowering slightly. “Dr. Kang.”
The name settled heavily across you and the nurses. Barely a whisper but enough to change the atmosphere around you. She said it like it meant something, something you hadn’t learned the importance of yet.
“He’s…” she hesitated, searching for the right word. “Brilliant.”
“Terrifying,” someone else added.
“Meticulous,” another corrected.
“Nitpicky,” came a voice from the back. “Like, he’ll notice if your note has one extra space.”
A few quiet chuckles followed, but you could feel the undercurrent beneath it, respect laced with something sharper. “Cold,” the first nurse finished softly. “Not cruel. Just, don’t expect any warmth from him.”
Your pulse ticked up despite yourself. “Oh.”
“Just do your job, be thorough, and don’t take it personally,” she added, gentler now. “He’s like that with everyone.”
That didn’t help nearly as much as she probably intended. You swallowed, nodding again. “Got it.”
But as you turned away, heading further down the hall toward where orientation was supposed to be, their words echoed in your head. Cold. Nitpicky. Don’t take it personally. Great.
—
The conference room was already half full when you slipped in, a few other residents scattered across the seats. Some looked just as tense as you felt. Others tried and failed, to look relaxed.
You took an empty seat near the middle, smoothing your coat unconsciously. A comfortable chatter filled the space, tones still hushed as if the other residents were afraid to be too loud. You knew it would be an adjustment with this new job, awkwardness and anxiety was expected. But knowing the other senior doctors and nurses gave most of the new residents forewarning about Dr. Kang made your anxiety spike.
It wasn't long before the room went quiet. You didn’t see him walk in at first, you just felt the shift. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Chairs straightened. Even the air seemed to still. When you looked up, you understood why.
Dr. Kang stood at the front of the room, posture straight, expression unreadable. There was nothing outwardly intimidating about him, no raised voice, no harsh movements, but something about the way he carried himself demanded attention. Precision. Control. He didn’t look as scary as the others describe, although looks could be deceiving.
His gaze swept across the room, sharp and assessing, like he could take you apart layer by layer in seconds. “Welcome,” he said, voice even. Not warm. Not cold. Just flat.
“You are here because you have met the minimum expectations required to begin training.” A beat. “That does not mean you are competent or ready to practice on your own.” A few residents shifted uncomfortably.
“You will be expected to learn quickly. Mistakes will happen.” His eyes flicked briefly to someone in the front row. “Repeated mistakes will not.” Your fingers curled slightly in your lap. Okay. So the rumors weren’t exaggerated.
“As residents, you represent this institution. Sloppiness, inattentiveness, and assumptions will not be tolerated.”
Then, just for a moment, his gaze landed on you. And stayed there. It wasn’t long. Maybe a second. Two at most. But it felt longer. Something in his expression shifted, so subtle you almost thought you imagined it. His eyes lingered, just slightly, a quick look up and down your frame. It was like he was trying to place you.
He looked away as if nothing had happened, continuing without pause. “You will report to your assigned teams after this briefing.”
Your heart was beating faster than it should have been. Why did he look at me like that? You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus, but your thoughts kept circling back.
Cold, they said. Maybe. But that look didn’t feel like indifference.
—
Each day settled into a rhythm faster than you expected. Mornings blurred into a cycle of small, necessary tasks: reviewing labs, updating charts, tracking down signatures, delivering medications with a polite smile that felt just a little too rehearsed. It wasn’t glamorous, but it grounded you. It kept your hands busy, your mind focused.
Afternoons were different, your favorite part of the day. Afternoons were when you got to watch.
You trailed behind senior residents and attendings, standing just off to the side as they spoke with patients, made decisions, moved with a kind of certainty you were still trying to build. Sometimes they’d pull you in, ask a question, let you examine, let you try. Those moments felt like oxygen. By the end of your first week, you were starting to feel like maybe, just maybe, you could do this.
“Hey,” one of your co-residents whispered as you both leaned against the counter at the nurses’ station, stealing a rare moment of stillness. “Have you shadowed Dr. Kang yet?”
You stiffened slightly. “Not yet.” A few others nearby perked up immediately.
“Oh my God,” someone groaned. “He grilled me yesterday. Like, full interrogation over a progress note.”
“I heard he made Daniel redo his entire patient presentation because he said it was ‘careless,’” another added, making air quotes.
“It was one missing detail!” Daniel defended from across the room. “One!”
“That’s all it takes,” someone shot back. You let out a small, nervous laugh, though your stomach had already started that familiar twisting again.
“Well,” your co-resident said, clapping you lightly on the shoulder, “good luck. I think you’re scheduled to observe him this afternoon.”
Your heart dropped. “Me? Today?”
Your co-resident nods solemnly, “Today.”
—
You double-checked your notes three times before heading to the assigned floor, your steps just a little slower than usual. The hallway felt quieter here, like even the noise knew better than to linger.
Walking through the hall, you repeat to yourself like a mantra: Don’t be sloppy. Don’t miss details. Don’t—
“Dr.?” You turned quickly, almost too quickly. He was already there.
Dr. Kang stood a few steps away, hands tucked neatly into the pockets of his coat, expression as composed as ever. Up close, it was worse, sharper. His presence had a weight to it that made you instinctively straighten. His black hair cut neatly parting to reveal his forehead. A pair of glasses sit at the bridge of his nose. Even his scrubs seemed to be ironed flat.
“Yes—sorry—yes,” you managed, hoping your voice didn’t betray how nervous you suddenly felt. You briefly look down at yourself, in horror at how sloppy you felt in comparison to Dr. Kang. Your scrubs were wrinkled, hands marked with pen stains from taking notes, and you were sure your hair was halfway out of its ponytail.
His gaze met yours. And then, he froze. It was subtle. Anyone else might have missed it. But you were already hyper-aware, already watching for any sign of judgment, of criticism, and instead, you caught something else. A flicker in his composed nature. Something unguarded. His eyes stayed on you longer than necessary, like he’d forgotten, just for a second, what he was about to say.
“You’re the new R1,” he said finally, though it sounded more like he was reminding himself than asking.
You nodded. “Yes.” Another beat passed. You braced yourself for a scolding. But the sharpness you expected never came.
Instead, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “You’ll be observing with me today.” Polite. Even. Not warm, but not cutting, either.
“Yes. Thank you,” you said quickly, relief threading through your voice before you could stop it.
Something in his expression shifted again, just slightly. Softer, maybe. Or curious. “This way,” he said, gesturing down the hall.
You fell into step beside him, careful to stay half a pace behind. Your mind raced, flipping through everything you’d heard, everything you’d prepared for. But as you moved from patient to patient, something didn’t add up.
He was precise and focused. Every question intentional, every movement efficient. But when he spoke to patients, his tone lowered just a fraction. When he corrected you, because of course he did, it wasn’t harsh. Just direct.
“Include the patient timeline next time,” he said once, glancing at your notes. “It provides more context when you submit the final report.”
You blinked, surprised. “Right, okay. I will.”
No bite. No edge. Just simple instructions. And every so often, you caught him looking at you again. Not critically. Not like he was waiting for you to mess up. But like he was trying to understand something he hadn’t expected to find.
By the time you stepped out into the hallway again, your pulse had finally started to settle. That hadn’t been what you expected. At all. “Hey!” your co-resident rushed up almost immediately. “Well? How bad was it?”
You hesitated, glancing back briefly toward where Dr. Kang had disappeared. “He wasn’t,” you admitted slowly. “Bad, I mean.”
“What?” they stared at you. “No way.”
You shook your head, still trying to make sense of it yourself. “He was actually really clear. Strict, yeah, but not…” you trailed off.
“Not terrifying?” someone offered.
You huffed a quiet laugh. “Not like you guys said at all.”
They exchanged skeptical looks. “Give it time,” Daniel muttered. “He will find something to complain about soon.”
Maybe. But as you replayed the afternoon in your head, one thing stood out more than anything else. The way he had looked at you. Like something had started. And you had no idea what it could be.
—
It started subtly, at first, you didn’t even notice the pattern.
“Excuse me, Dr.,” a nurse called one afternoon, catching you just as you were finishing up charting. “Dr. Kang asked if you could assist on rounds.”
You blinked. “Me?”
She nodded like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Room 312.”
You gathered your things quickly, trying not to overthink it. Maybe it was just scheduling. Maybe the other residents were busy. Still, when you stepped into the room and saw him already there, his eyes flicking up almost immediately to find you, it didn’t feel random.
“You’re here,” he said simply. The slightest smile crossed over his face.
You nodded, a little breathless from hurrying. “You asked for me?”
He pauses, hands that were once shuffling through a patient file halt in place. “Mm,” he replied, like it didn’t mean anything more than a simple affirmation. But his eyes never left yours.
—
Then it happened again. And again. Different days. Different patients. Same quiet request: to have you assist during his rounds. At some point, your co-residents started noticing.
“You’re kidding,” Daniel said one afternoon, staring at you like you’d just admitted to something unbelievable. “He asked for you?”
You frowned. “What’s the big deal? He probably just needs help.”
“No,” someone else cut in immediately. “He never asks for specific interns. Normally, we just get assigned.”
“I don’t know,” you shrugged, trying to play it off even as a small warmth crept up your neck, “I’m still R1, I'm probably not as busy as some of you guys.” They didn’t look convinced. You didn’t let yourself think too hard about it either.
—
The first time he handed you coffee, you almost didn’t take it. You had just stepped out of a patient’s room, shoulders tight, mentally running through everything you still needed to finish, when he approached from the end of the hall.
He stopped in front of you, holding out a cup. “For you.”
You blinked, looking from the coffee to his face to see if this was some kind of joke. His face remained neutral. Nervously, you respond, “Oh…no, I’m okay,”
“Take it,” he said, not unkindly. Just firm. He holds the cup out closer to you.
You hesitated a second longer before accepting it. “Thank you, Dr. Kang.”
He held back a small smile, “It’s been a long morning, feel free to take a quick break to drink that,” he added, already turning slightly as if the conversation was over.
You stared down at the cup. He noticed that? Weird. Nice of course. But weird.
—
Lunch happened the same way. A small bag set down beside you while you were buried in notes. You look up to see Dr. Kang above you. He scans you for a moment, “You haven’t eaten yet.” He doesn't ask it as a question, instead an observation.
You set down your pen, startled. “I was going to, after I finish-”
“Eat now,” he said. Again, not harsh. Just certain. He slides the bag closer to you.
You exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head. You grab the bag and peek inside, “You’re kind of bossy, you know that?”
There was the faintest pause. “I’m aware.” But something about the way he said it, low, almost amused, made your chest feel oddly light.
You didn’t question it too much. He was your attending doctor. Maybe this was just how he mentored R1’s. Strict, observant, and surprisingly considerate.
—
And then there were the notes. They started appearing tucked between your charts or clipped neatly to your clipboard.
Include differential earlier—shows clinical reasoning.
Good patient interaction. Maintain that.
Double-check medication timing.
Short. Precise. Always in his handwriting. At first, you assumed he left them for everyone. Until you noticed no one else ever seemed to get them.
“You’re getting feedback notes?” your co-resident repeated, incredulous. She peer over, scanning the note. “From him?”
You glanced down at the paper in your hands, then back up. “Is that not normal?”
She shakes their head, clearly in shock. “No, not at all.”
At a loss for words, you can only respond, “Huh.”
You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just mentorship. That the small things: the coffee, the lunches, the way his eyes softened just slightly when he looked at you, were just coincidences.
And besides, he was kind of cute. In a quiet, composed, slightly intimidating way. But that didn’t have to mean anything either.
—
It was a bad day that finally broke you. The senior resident you’d been assigned to that morning had been unforgiving. Every answer you gave felt wrong. Every attempt to explain yourself was cut off, corrected, or dismissed entirely.
“You need to be faster,” he said sharply at one point. He had asked you to stand out into the hall to scold you. “You’re hesitating too much.”
Ashamed, you wring your hands in front of you. “I just wanted to make sure I had the full—”
“You won’t have time to ‘make sure’ in real cases,” he interrupted. “You either know it or you don’t.”
By the time you were dismissed, your chest felt tight, your thoughts tangled in a frustrating loop of not enough, not fast enough, not good enough. You made it halfway down the hall before the sting behind your eyes became too much. Not here.
You ducked into an empty supply room, shutting the door quickly behind you. Your hands came up to your face, pressing hard against your eyes as you tried to steady your breathing. It was stupid. You’d been through worse. So why did this feel like so much?
A shaky exhale slipped out before you could stop it. You wiped at your face quickly. Once. Twice. “Get it together,” you muttered under your breath. “You’re fine,”
The door opened. You froze. Of course. Of course someone would walk in now. You turned quickly, already scrubbing at your eyes again. “Sorry, I’ll just,”
You stopped. It was him. Dr. Kang stood in the doorway, hand still on the handle, gaze fixed entirely on you. And just like the first day he stilled. Not awkward. Not uncomfortable. Just extremely attentive.
You swallowed, forcing a small, embarrassed laugh. “ Don’t worry. I’m fine. Just a long morning.”
You moved to step past him, hoping he’d let it go. He didn’t. “Stay,” he said quietly. Not an order. Something softer.
You hesitated. “It’s nothing,” you tried again, not quite meeting his eyes this time. “Just messed up a few things.”
A beat of silence. Then the door clicked shut behind him. “You didn’t,” he said.
You frowned slightly, looking up. “You don’t even know what happened.”
“I know how you work,” he replied.
Simple. Certain. It shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did. Your throat tightened again despite your best efforts. He wasn’t pushing, but something about his stare drew the words out. “Dr. Kim scolded me. He said I hesitate too much,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “That I’m too slow.”
Dr. Kang’s expression didn’t change much, but something in his eyes sharpened. “Hesitation,” he said slowly, “is not the same as carelessness.” You blinked. “You take time to think,” he continued. “That is not a weakness. It becomes one only if you let it stop you from acting.”
His tone wasn’t condescending. It wasn’t dismissive. It was steady. Grounding. “You’re still learning,” he added. “Speed comes with repetition. Judgment comes with understanding.” A brief pause. “You are building both.”
The tightness in your chest eased, just slightly. “I just,” you exhaled, shaking your head. “I don’t want to fall behind.”
“You’re not,” he said immediately. No hesitation or doubt. And somehow, that mattered more than anything else he’d said.
You let out a small, shaky laugh, wiping at your face again. “Sorry. This is kind of embarrassing.”
“It’s not,” he said.
Your hands stilled. He stepped a little closer, not enough to crowd you, just enough to be there. Present. “You’re allowed to have difficult days,” he said quietly. “They don’t define your ability as a doctor.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, almost hesitantly, you smiled. “Thank you,” you said, softer now.
Something in his expression shifted again, that same subtle softness you’d been noticing more and more. “Take a few minutes,” he said, stepping back toward the door. “Then come find me.” You nodded. He paused just before leaving, glancing at you one more time.“And make sure you eat something,” he added.
A small laugh escaped you despite everything. “Yes, Dr. Kang.”
He smiles, “Taehyun.”
“What?” Your head tilts trying to understand.
“Dr. Kang is too formal. You can call me Taehyun.” The door closed behind him. And for the first time that day, you felt like maybe you weren’t failing after all.
Later, when you returned to your station, you found a familiar slip of paper waiting on your clipboard.
You’re doing better than you think.
You stared at it for a long moment. Then carefully folded it, tucking it somewhere safe.
—
It didn’t take long for people to notice. At first, it was just looks: quick glances when your name came up on the schedule beside his. Quiet pauses when a nurse called for you specifically during his rounds. Then it turned into something harder to ignore.
“You’re with Dr. Kang again?” Daniel asked one afternoon, not even trying to hide the disbelief anymore.
You glanced up from your notes. “I guess.”
“That’s not normal,” someone else muttered.
You forced a small shrug. “Maybe I’m just assigned where I’m needed.”
But even as you said it, you could feel the shift in the room. It wasn't a curiosity anymore. It was something harsher.
—
The comments started offhand.
“Must be nice.”
“Some people get all the attention.”
“Wish I had that kind of mentorship.”
They were said with smiles. Light tones. Easy to brush off if you wanted to. So you did. At least at first. But then came the day you walked into rounds and felt it immediately. Tense. Wrong.
The senior resident leading that morning barely acknowledged you beyond a curt nod. When it was your turn to present, he didn’t let you finish a sentence before cutting in. “You’re missing key details.”
Frustrated, you furrow your bow, “I was just getting to—”
“You should’ve started with that.” He nearly shouts back. A few of the others exchanged looks. No one said anything. Your hands tightened slightly around your tablet. “Continue,” he said flatly.
You did. Carefully. Deliberately. He still wasn’t satisfied.
Arms crossed, he lists his complaints, “Too slow.” “Unclear.” “Be concise.”
Each word landed heavier than it should have. By the time rounds ended, your chest felt tight again, like earlier that week in the supply room. Only this time, it wasn’t just frustration. It was total embarrassment.
You made it back to the nurses’ station, setting your things down a little more forcefully than intended. “Rough morning?” someone asked.
You didn’t answer right away. Before you could, someone else spoke up. “Well,” another voice chimed in, just loud enough to carry, “you can’t expect Dr. Kang to hold your hand all the time.”
A few quiet snickers followed. You froze. “That’s not,” you started, but your voice felt thinner than you wanted.
“Relax,” Daniel added, leaning back in his chair. “We’re just saying, don’t get used to special treatment.”
“I’m not getting special treatment,” you said, more firmly now.
“Then why does he only ever ask for you?” someone shot back.
Silence. You didn’t have an answer for that. Not one that didn’t sound exactly like what they were implying. “I just do my work,” you said finally, quieter now.
“Sure,” came the reply, unconvinced.
The heat creeping up your neck wasn’t just embarrassment this time. It was also frustration. Because you knew you worked hard. You knew you earned your place here. But suddenly, it didn’t feel like it mattered.
“You’re wrong.” The voice cut cleanly through the tension. Everything around you stilled. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. But you did anyway.
Dr. Kang stood a few steps away, expression composed, but his gaze wasn’t neutral this time. It was cold. Focused. Not on you, but on them.
“No one is receiving ‘special treatment,’” he continued, voice even but unmistakably firm. “Assignments are made based on performance and need.”
No one spoke. Almost everyone kept their head down, afraid to look at Dr. Kang in the eye.
Breaking the silence, Daniel shifted uncomfortably. “Dr. Kang, We were just joking—”
“It didn’t sound like a joke.” He was stern. You’d never seen him like this, not even directed at others. “If you have concerns about your training,” he went on, “you can address them with me directly. Not through comments that undermine your colleague.”
The senior resident from earlier avoided his gaze entirely. “Understood,” he muttered.
Dr. Kang’s eyes flicked briefly across the group, making sure the message settled. Then, just as quickly, the tension in his posture eased. “Return to your work,” he said.
And just like that, it was over. People moved again. Quietly. A little more carefully than before.
Daniel cleared his throat. “Hey.” You looked at him. “Sorry,” he said, not quite meeting your eyes. “That was out of line.”
A few others nodded in agreement, murmuring similar apologies.
You hesitated, then gave a small nod. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t entirely. But it was better than nothing. You exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the lingering weight in your chest.
“Dr.” You turned. He was looking at you now. Not sharp or critical. Concern filling his gaze. “Walk with me,” he said.
You fell into step beside him, the hallway quieter now, your thoughts still catching up to what had just happened. “You didn’t have to do that,” you said after a moment.
“Yes, I did.” You glanced at him. He didn’t look at you right away. “They were undermining your work,” he added. “That affects your training.” Professional. Measured. But there was something underneath it. Something just a little more personal than he was letting on.
“I can handle it,” you said, though your voice softened slightly.
“I know,” he replied. That made you pause. “I still won’t ignore it.”
Your chest tightened, just a little. Not in a bad way. He was so caring, and something about that made you nervous. “Thank you,” you said quietly.
He nodded once, like it was nothing. But as you reached the end of the hall, he slowed slightly, glancing at you. “Your presentation this morning,” he said, “was thorough.” You blinked, surprised. “You hesitated,” he added. “But your reasoning was correct.”
The corner of your mouth lifted before you could stop it. “I’ll work on the hesitation.”
“You will,” he said. Not a question. Not a doubt. A quiet certainty.
And as he turned to leave, you realized something had shifted again. Not just in how others saw you. But in how you saw yourself and how you saw Dr. Kang.
—
Back at your station, another note waited on your clipboard.
Clarity improves with confidence. You’re getting there.
You held it for a moment longer than necessary before tucking it away. Carefully. Like the others you’ve slowly begun to collect.
—
The shift dragged longer than it should have. By the time you finally signed off your last note, the hospital had quieted into that late-night stillness, dimmed lights, hushed voices, the steady hum of machines filling in the gaps. Your body ached in that dull, familiar way, exhaustion settling deep in your bones.
You rolled your shoulders as you stepped outside, the cool night air a sharp contrast to the sterile warmth you’d been in all day. Home. That was all you wanted.
You adjusted your bag and started toward the bus stop, already mentally mapping the route, the transfers—
“Dr.” You paused and turned to follow the voice. Of course. Dr. Kang stood a few steps behind you, coat draped neatly over his arm, tie slightly loosened for once. He looked different like this. Less clinical. Still composed, but not as untouchable. “You’re heading home?” he asked.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
A brief pause. His gaze flicked toward the street, then back to you. “I can drive you.”
You blinked. “Oh—no, it’s okay,” you said quickly. “I usually take the bus. It’s not too bad.”
“I know.”
That made you pause. “You know?”
“I’ve seen you leaving a few times,” he said simply. Your heart did a small, confusing flip. “It’s late,” he added. “I’m going in the same direction.”
You hesitated. You should say no. Probably. But your feet didn’t move. Instead, you clear your throat, “Are you sure?” you asked.
“Yes.”
There wasn’t much room to argue with that. “Okay,” you said finally. “Thank you.”
—
The car ride started quiet. Not uncomfortable, just unfamiliar.
You sat in the passenger seat, hands folded loosely in your lap, watching the city pass by in streaks of light. You weren’t used to this version of him. Not outside the hospital. Not without a patient chart or a question to answer.
“You did well today,” he said after a while.
You glanced at him. One hand rested over the top of the steering wheel, the other resting on his thigh. You could feel your face heating up. “Even with everything earlier?”
“Yes.” Simple. Immediate.
You smiled faintly, looking back out the window. “Thanks.”
Silence settled again, but it felt different this time. Like there was something unspoken between you two. You noticed the way his grip on the steering wheel shifted slightly. The way he seemed to start to say something, then stopped.
“Dr. Kang?”
He exhaled quietly. “Remember. You can call me Taehyun.”
Your breath caught, just slightly. “Oh,” you said, a little thrown off. “Okay, Taehyun.” Hearing his name out loud like that felt strange. Too familiar. Too real.
The car slowed as he pulled up near your stop, your usual one. He remembered. Of course he did. He didn’t unlock the doors right away. Instead he turned slightly toward you. And for the first time since you’d met him, he looked uncertain. “I need to tell you something,” he said.
Your chest tightened, unsure at what he could possibly say. “Okay,”
A beat passed. He closes his eyes a second, recentering himself. Then he blurts it out, “I like you.” Just like that. No buildup. No softening. Completely straightforward. Completely him.
Your brain stalled. When the words finally process, “Oh.” Brilliant response.
His gaze stayed on you, steady, but there was something beneath it now. Something more vulnerable than you’d ever seen from him. “I didn’t intend for it to happen,” he continued, quieter now. “It’s not appropriate. Given the setting. Your position.” Your heart started beating faster. “But it hasn’t changed anything about how I evaluate your work,” he added quickly. “Or your training. I’ve been careful about that.”
“I know,” you said, the words coming out softer than you expected. Because you did. He had always remained professional despite the helpful notes and the lunches.
He swallowed slightly, jaw tightening just a fraction. “I find myself looking for you during the day. Noticing when you’re not there.” A small pause. “Wanting to make sure you’ve eaten. That you’re not overwhelmed.” Your chest squeezed. “I respect your judgment,” he went on. “Your attention to detail. The way you think through cases.” His voice dipped slightly. “The way you care.” You stared at him. This was not the cold, untouchable attending everyone warned you about. “I’ve tried to ignore it,” he admitted. “But I can’t anymore.”
Silence. Your thoughts scrambled, trying to catch up. “You like me,” you repeated, a little breathless.
“Yes.”
Another pause. Not wanting the silence to grow, you respond, “Oh.”
He huffed the faintest breath of something that almost sounded like a quiet laugh. “You’ve said that twice.”
“I know,” you said quickly, pressing your lips together. “I just, this is unexpected.”
“That’s fair.”
You ran a hand lightly over your face, trying to process. “I mean, this is kind of,” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, “complicated.”
“Yes.” He nods.
“At work—”
“It would remain professional,” he said immediately. “No one would know unless you wanted them to.”
You looked at him again. “You’ve thought about this,” you said.
“I had to.” Of course he did.
That made something in your chest soften. “And if I said no?” you asked quietly.
His expression didn’t falter. “Then nothing changes,” he said. “Your training continues exactly as it has. I don’t make this your burden.”
Your throat tightened. God. Why was that kind of reassuring? You exhaled slowly, looking down at your hands. Because the truth was, you didn’t hate the idea. Not at all. You thought about the coffee. The lunches. The notes. The way he stood up for you. The way he saw you.
“I don’t know,” you admitted.
He gives you a rare smile, “That’s okay.”
“I need to think about it.”
“You should.”
You let out a small breath, then glanced back at him, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips. “You’re not as cold as everyone says.”
Something flickered in his expression. “I’m aware,” he said quietly. “Just not with you.”
Your heart did that thing again, a backflip in your chest. “That’s a little unfair,” you murmured.
“Probably.” Silence scratches between you. Then, his voice softens, “Will you think about it?”
You nodded. “Yeah. Yes.”
This time, when he unlocked the doors, you didn’t move right away. Just one second longer to sit with him. Before stepping out.
“Goodnight…Taehyun.”
He watched you carefully. A smirk growing on his face. “Goodnight.”
You closed the door, starting toward your place, but your thoughts were anything but settled. Because somewhere between the hospital halls and this quiet street things had changed. And you weren’t sure you wanted them to go back.
—
A few days had passed since Taehyun drove you home. It hadn't been awkward or distant. Things just felt careful between you two.
Nothing about your dynamic at work had changed on the surface. He was still composed, still precise, still the same attending everyone else knew. And you, still the R1 trying to keep up, still learning, still growing.
But underneath it there was something waiting. Unspoken tension. Every glance lingered a second longer. Every quiet moment felt like it carried more weight than before.
And you had been thinking. A lot. By the time your break finally rolled around that afternoon, you had already made up your mind.
You just needed to say it. You stopped by the café first. It felt strangely nerve-wracking, ordering something you’d seen him get a dozen times before. It’s just coffee, you told yourself. Still, your fingers tightened slightly around the cup as you made your way back through the halls.
You found him where you expected, at the workstation, reviewing something on the screen, posture as focused as ever.
For a second, you hesitated. It was now or never, “Taehyun.”
He looked up immediately. And just like always, there it was. That subtle shift. That quiet attention reserved only for you.
You held out the cup. “I figured it was your turn,” you said, trying, and only half succeeding, to sound casual.
He blinked. Actually blinked. A surprised look on his face. “You got this for me?”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
He pauses. Then he reached out, taking it from you carefully, like it mattered more than it should. “Thank you,” he said, softer than usual.
You smiled a little. “You’re welcome.”
A beat passed. “Are you on break?” you asked.
Taehyun shuffles some of the paperwork he had been reviewing aside, “Yes.”
“Come with me?” you motion your head to the side, hoping he could read between the lines.
There was no hesitation this time. “Okay.”
—
The outside seating area was quiet. Tucked away just enough from the main flow of the hospital, it felt like a different world. Sunlight filtering through, a light breeze cutting through the usual sterile air.
You sat across from each other at one of the small tables, cups resting between you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then you let out a small breath, glancing down at your drink before looking back up at him. “I’ve been thinking,” you started.
His posture shifted, subtle, but attentive. “So have I.”
You huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I figured.” Another small pause. You could see the silence eating away at him. “I’m interested.” The words came out easier than you expected.
His expression stilled, not cold, not unreadable. Just focused entirely on you. “You are?” he asked, like he needed to hear it again.
You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah.”
Something in him softened, not outwardly dramatic, but enough that you felt it. A quiet exhale left him, like tension he hadn’t realized he was holding finally gave way. “I meant what I said,” he replied. “About keeping things professional. About not letting it affect your training.”
“I know,” you said. “That’s kind of why I,” you shrugged lightly, “why I’m okay with this.” A flicker of something warmer passed through his eyes. “And,” you added, a little more playfully now, “I knew you weren’t as cold as everyone says.”
His brow lifted slightly. “Is that so?”
You leaned back just a little, smiling. “Mm. I mean, you bring me coffee, make sure I eat, leave me notes,” you tilted your head, teasing, “pretty sure that qualifies as sweet.”
A brief silence. Then, almost under his breath, “That’s only with you.”
Your heart skipped. You tried to play it off, but your smile softened anyway. “Yeah, I figured.”
—
The walk back inside felt lighter. Not easier, because there was still risk, still something delicate about what you’d just agreed to but it felt right. Like something had settled into place. You walked side by side, not quite touching, but close enough that you were aware of him in a way you hadn’t been before.
At the end of the hallway, near a quieter, unused corridor, your steps slowed. So did his. You weren’t sure who stopped first, just that you both did.
The space felt still. Private. You looked up at him.
He was already looking at you. Not like before. Not like Dr. Kang, an attending assessing a resident. But as Taehyun. “You’re sure?” he asked quietly.
You nodded. “I am.” A small pause. Then, quietly you ask “You?”
His answer didn’t come in words. He stepped closer. In the privacy of the hall he pulls you close to him, pausing before allowing his hands to snake around your waist. Your breath caught slightly as the distance closed, your heart beating just a little too fast for how still everything else felt.
Slowly and tenderly he leans in and kisses you. His lips start gently, his soft side fully on display. A side that no one else knows. Your hand instinctively curled slightly against his coat, grounding yourself in the moment as you leaned in just a fraction more. It wasn’t rushed. It was soft and sweet. When he pulled back, it was slow, like he didn’t want to break it too quickly. For a second, neither of you moved.
Then you let out a soft breath, a small, almost disbelieving smile forming. “Okay,” you murmured.
Something in his expression shifted, relief, maybe. Or something deeper. “Okay,” he echoed.
Footsteps echoed faintly from down the hall. Reality creeping back in. You both stepped back, not abruptly, just enough to maintain professional distance. But the air between you had changed completely.
You glanced at him once more, a quiet smile lingering. “Back to work, Dr. Kang?”
A hint of something almost amused flickered in his eyes. “Yes,” he said. Then, just a little softer, a voice just for you, “I’ll see you later.”
Your heart is full in your chest. “Yes, later.”
Uh oh! You have reached your time limit dating Taehyun. You may now return home or choose another boy!
the one you desired so deeply has already been promised to another
--------------
wc: 6.6k
pairing: beomgyu x reader
author’s notes: thanks for being patient! Life has been crazy. changed this one up last minute, so that's why it took longer lol.
tags/warnings: prince!beomgyu x princess!reader, feuding kingdoms, slow burn vibes, royal duty versus heart's desire, slight denial of feelings
Boyfriend on Demand Masterlist
--------------
They say there was once a time when the world did not feel so divided. Before borders were drawn into maps and loyalties carved into bloodlines, there was only one kingdom, Pariter. A land so vast and unified that its people spoke of it not as a place, but as a promise. For generations, it flourished. Trade flowed without restriction, knowledge was shared without suspicion, and true peace was not something of myth, but something real. It was called the Golden Era.
It did not last. No one ever tells the story the same way. Some blame greed. Others, ambition. But all versions end the same: with a king who wanted more than unity could offer. And so Pariter broke.
From its ruin rose three kingdoms: Eternalia, Sanctum, and Memora, each carrying pieces of what once was, and each unwilling to yield to the others again. What had once been harmony became distance. What had once been trust became caution. Peace, after that, was no longer a given. It could only be negotiated or bought. You would have learned that long before you ever set foot in another kingdom.
Being the daughter of a king meant understanding your place early. Not through cruelty, but through quiet expectation. Through the way conversations would soften when you entered a room, only to resume in hushed tones when they thought you could not hear. Through the careful way your tutors spoke of alliances, as if they were stories, until you realized you were meant to become part of one.
You were young the first time it happened. There had been a celebration in the capital of Eternalia, your home. Banners draped from every tower, music filling halls that seemed too large to contain it. Your older brother stood at the center of it all, radiant and composed, his hand promised to the daughter of King Choi of Memora. A union between kingdoms. A future secured.
You remember thinking his new bride looked beautiful in her long-sleeved traditional Eternalian gown. You remember not understanding why your mother cried, holding you tight during the ceremony. It was only later that you learned the truth: that peace is rarely given freely. It demands something in return.
In this case, it demanded you. While your brother was wed into this new alliance, you were sent away. Memora. Not as a bride, not as a guest, but as a symbol. A living promise that Eternalia would honor its word. A princess for a princess. A reminder, placed carefully within foreign walls, that alliances could be upheld or broken.
You had not been old enough to argue. Not old enough to fully understand. Only old enough to remember the feeling of leaving behind the only place you had called home.
Memora was nothing like Eternalia. You had been raised beneath canopies of towering trees, where sunlight filtered through in soft, fractured beams and winters settled deep into the bones of the land. Cold was familiar, welcomed, even. It meant layers of silks and furs, the quiet hush of snowfall, the comfort of knowing exactly how to exist within it. You still remember the day you left. The weight of your cloak wrapped tightly around you, as though it alone could anchor you to something familiar.
Memora stripped all of that away. The moment you stepped from the carriage, warmth greeted you, not gently, but fully wrapping around you in dry heat and restless wind. The air felt thinner here, touched by sun rather than shade. Your carefully layered clothing became unbearable within moments, your hands tugging at fabric you suddenly did not know how to wear.
Everything felt exposed. The palace itself mirrored the land, open, sunlit, carved from pale stone that seemed to drink in the heat of the day and release it slowly into the night. It was beautiful in a way you did not yet understand. Unfamiliar in a way you could not ignore.
Still, the welcome you received was warmer than the air itself. The King of Memora descended from his throne before you had even been fully announced, his presence far less imposing than you had prepared yourself for. You recognized him vaguely, just a fleeting memory from your brother’s wedding, where faces had blurred together beneath celebration and ceremony.
But here, now, he was no distant figure. He was your king. And yet, when he spoke, there was no cold formality in his voice. “If you have any issues at all,” he said, his tone gentle, almost fatherly, “the servants are here to help you. What is ours is now yours.”
The words settled strangely in your chest. Not unwelcome, just unfamiliar. You dipped into a practiced bow, careful and precise. “You are too kind, Your Majesty. I will do my best not to trouble your court.”
A quiet smile touched his expression at that, something knowing in it. “You are no trouble,” he replied. “You are a guest and more than that, a part of something we hope to protect.”
You understood what he meant, even if he did not say it outright: peace. You nodded because that was what was expected. That was what you were here for. It was only then, as the formalities softened and your attention lifted slightly, that you noticed you were not alone.
Near the throne, half-shadowed by one of the tall columns, stood a boy. Close to your age, perhaps a year or two older. His posture lacked the rigid composure you had been trained in. Instead, there was something restless about him, as though he had been standing still for far longer than he wished to. His gaze met yours only briefly before shifting away, quick and unreadable.
The king followed your line of sight. “Ah,” he said lightly, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I suppose introductions are in order.” The boy straightened just barely. “My son,” the king continued, “Prince Beomgyu.”
So this was the prince. You turned fully toward him, offering the same careful politeness you had been taught. “It is an honor.”
Beomgyu didn’t respond immediately. For a moment, he simply looked at you, his expression caught somewhere between curiosity and something harder to place. Then, with a small, almost reluctant motion, he inclined his head. “Welcome,” he murmured.
It wasn’t unfriendly. But it wasn’t warm, either. And for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you found yourself thinking he doesn’t like me.
—
It took time to adjust. Days blurred into one another beneath the constant presence of the sun. You learned quickly to trade your heavy fabrics for lighter ones, to move more slowly in the heat, to listen when the servants gently corrected your habits with soft-spoken patience.
The people of Memora carried warmth in more ways than one. It lived in their voices, their laughter; they never spoke with frustration, but with overwhelming patience. You tried to meet them halfway. You tried to belong. But nights were harder. The heat lingered long after the sun had disappeared, clinging to the walls, to your skin, to the air you struggled to breathe comfortably. Sleep came reluctantly, if at all, and on one particularly restless night, you found yourself staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, your patience worn thin.
You lasted longer than you thought you would. But eventually you slipped from your bed. Quiet. Barefoot against cool stone floors. If nothing else, you needed air.
The palace was different at night. Softer. The sharp brightness of day contrasted with the gentler shadows stretching long beneath moonlight. You moved without direction at first, guided only by instinct until a faint scent caught your attention.
Sweet and delicate. Again unfamiliar. You followed it. It led you outside. A garden, tucked just beyond the palace walls, opened before you, bathed in silver light, its edges softened by the quiet hush of night. Flowers you did not recognize bloomed beneath the stars, their fragrance carried on a breeze that felt, finally, cool against your skin.
You exhaled without meaning to. Relief at last. Drawn further in, you found a small tree near the edge of the garden, its branches low and inviting. Without much thought, you settled beneath it, leaning back against its trunk as the wind shifted gently around you. For the first time since your arrival, you felt like you could breathe.
“You’re not supposed to be out here at night.” The voice startled you. You sat up immediately, turning toward its source only to find a familiar figure standing a short distance away. Beomgyu. He looked different out of his princely clothes. A linen night shirt wrinkled from sleep and a simple pair of cotton pants. The moonlight caught in his expression, softening something that had seemed guarded before.
“I couldn’t sleep,” you said quickly, brushing your hands against your skirts as though that might make your presence here more acceptable. “It was too warm in my room.”
He studied you for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, he huffed a quiet laugh. “It’s always warm here,” he said, stepping a little closer. “You get used to it. Eventually.”
You frowned slightly. “I don’t think I will.”
“You will,” he insisted. “You don’t have a choice.” There was something oddly matter-of-fact about it that made you pause. Then, despite yourself, you smiled. A brief silence settled between you, lighter than the one you had shared in the throne room. Beomgyu shifted, glancing at you again before speaking, more casually this time. “You’re the princess they sent, right? From Eternalia?”
You stiffened, just slightly. “Yes.”
Beomgyu takes a moment to study you. You notice his eyes travel over you, making you aware that you should have thrown something over your nightclothes. Then, bluntly, he replies, “Hope I don’t have to marry you.”
You blinked, stunned. “What?”
He shrugged, entirely unbothered. “That’s what usually happens, isn’t it? Kingdoms trade their princesses for peace, and then,” he gestured vaguely, “marriage.”
For a second, you simply stared at him, heat rising in your cheeks. Marriage? As far as you knew, your parents had not negotiated a marriage with the prince. Your brother had taken care of that. As far as you knew, you were sent here to secure the alliance. Besides, you were too young. The thought of it makes you scrunch up your face, “Yuck.” The word slipped out before you could stop it.
Beomgyu froze. And then he laughed. Not polite or restrained. Real laughter, bright and sudden in the quiet of the garden.
You couldn’t help it, you laughed, too. The tension that had followed you across kingdoms, across halls and expectations, loosened all at once, unraveling into something unexpectedly light. “No,” you said once you caught your breath, shaking your head. “You don’t have to worry.”
“Good,” he replied quickly. “Because I wouldn’t—”
“I wouldn’t either,” you cut in, just as fast.
He grinned at that. He nods toward the tree. “Do you mind if I join you?” You shift, scooting over so Beomgyu could rest his back against the tree. Without a word, he takes his place next to you, head back. “So, is it true that people in Eternalia live in houses made of ice? Because it's so cold?”
“What?” you giggle, “It’s not that cold!”
“Well, what is it like?” his curious eyes were expecting you to carry on. And just like that, something shifted between you. Two children, sitting beneath a tree, laughing at the idea of a future they did not yet understand.
—
The years passed by in a hurry, each day feeling like an endless summer beside Beomgyu. At first, you measured time the way you always had, by seasons, by letters sent home, by the quiet ache of distance that never fully left you. But somewhere along the way, those things began to blur, replaced by smaller, softer markers.
The sound of laughter echoing through the palace corridors. The familiar rhythm of footsteps falling into pace beside yours. The way the garden became less of a refuge and more of a place you expected to find him.
Memora no longer felt like something to endure. It felt like something you had grown into. And somehow, so had he.
Beomgyu was nothing like the boy you first met in the throne room. Or perhaps he was exactly the same, only easier to understand now. Still restless. Still mischievous in ways that earned him quiet reprimands from his tutors and amused looks from the palace staff. But with you, there was something softer beneath it all, completely unguarded. Something that, over time, became yours.
“You’re thinking too much again.” His voice broke easily through your thoughts, as it often did.
You glanced up from where you sat beneath the now-familiar tree, sunlight filtering through its leaves in warm, shifting patterns. Beomgyu stood a few steps away, arms loosely crossed, watching you with that same knowing look he had worn for years. “I am not,” you replied, though your tone lacked conviction.
“You are,” he insisted, stepping closer before dropping down beside you without ceremony. “You get that look.”
“What look?”
“That one,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward your face. “Like you’re about to solve a problem no one asked you to.”
You exhaled, something between a sigh and a laugh. “Someone has to.”
“Why?” he asked, leaning back against the trunk as though the answer truly puzzled him. “No one’s asking you to fix anything.”
You didn’t respond right away. Because he was wrong. They just didn’t ask out loud. Instead, you tilted your head slightly, studying him. “And what would you have me do, then?”
“Nothing,” he said easily. “Sit here. Enjoy the day. Talk to me.”
You huffed softly. “That sounds incredibly unproductive.”
“And yet,” he replied, glancing at you with a small grin, “you keep doing it.”
You rolled your eyes, but you stayed. You always did.
—
It became a pattern. Days where responsibilities pulled you in separate directions, only to find yourselves drifting back together as though it were inevitable. Sometimes in the gardens, sometimes in quiet corners of the palace, where expectations felt distant enough to ignore.
Sometimes, when the heat of the day faded into something gentler, he would bring his lute. You never asked him to. He just did it.
At first, it was clumsy. Half-finished melodies, interrupted by laughter when his fingers slipped or when he forgot what he had meant to play. But over time, the music grew steadier, shaped by quiet focus you rarely saw from him otherwise.
You would sit nearby, pretending not to watch too closely. He always noticed anyway. “You’re staring.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“Play something better, then.”
He scoffed, but adjusted his grip, plucking at the strings again, this time more carefully. The notes that followed were softer, smoother, carrying through the warm evening air in a way that made the world feel not quite as heavy.
“There,” he said after a moment, glancing at you expectantly. “Better?”
You nodded once. “Acceptable.”
He narrowed his eyes at that. “You’re impossible to impress.”
“And yet you keep trying.”
“Maybe I just like proving you wrong.”
“Maybe you just like the attention.”
He paused. Then, with a slight tilt of his head and a shy smirk, “Maybe.”
You looked away first.
—
There were other things, too. Smaller things. The kind that might have gone unnoticed if they hadn’t happened so often.
The way he would disappear during formal gatherings, only to reappear at your side with something trivial to complain about, as though that alone justified his absence.
The way he remembered what you liked, or what you didn’t, even when you hadn’t said it more than once.
The way he would pick flowers from the garden, never the carefully cultivated ones, always the smaller, less noticeable blooms, and press them into your hands with a shrug, as if it meant nothing at all. “These were in your way,” he’d say. “Thought I’d get rid of them.”
You would raise a brow. “How considerate.”
“I know.”
You kept every single one. Though you weren’t entirely sure why.
—
If anyone noticed the way your lives seemed to intertwine, they never said it aloud. To them, it was harmless. The visiting princess. The prince of Memora. Children who had simply grown used to each other’s presence. Friends.
It was easier to think that way. Easier not to question why your gaze searched for him in crowded rooms. Easier not to think about why he always seemed to find you first.
Easier not to linger on the quiet moments, the ones where conversation faded, where nothing needed to be said, and yet neither of you moved to leave.
There were times, rare but unmistakable, where friendship shifted into something strange. A pause held just a second too long. A glance that didn’t quite look away in time. A feeling that settled somewhere deep in your chest before you could name it.
You ignored it. You both did. Because there was no reason not to. Because there was no reason to look closer. Because whatever this was had always been this way. Hadn’t it?
—
Beomgyu seemed to change overnight. It wasn’t anything obvious at first, nothing you could name. But the lightness that had always followed him, the ease in his laughter, the way he filled spaces without trying, felt dimmed. Like something had settled over him, quiet and heavy.
You noticed it in the small things. The way he lingered in silence a little longer than usual. The way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. The way he started avoiding you.
Eventually, you found him. Sitting in the wide stone windowsill overlooking the castle grounds, one leg drawn up, the other hanging loosely over the edge. The wind tugged faintly at his sleeves, but he didn’t seem to notice. His gaze was distant, fixed somewhere far beyond the palace walls.
You slowed as you passed, watching him for a moment. Then, lightly calling, “Don’t think too hard,” you called, leaning against the archway. “You might hurt yourself.”
Normally, that would have earned you an immediate response. A scoff, a grin—something. But this time, nothing. Your smile faltered. “Beomgyu?” you tried again, softer now.
He startled at the sound of your voice, turning quickly as though he hadn’t realized you were there at all. “Oh,” he straightened slightly. “I didn’t see you.”
You frowned, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. “Should I be worried?” you asked, tilting your head as you studied him. “You’re sitting still. Thinking. It’s unsettling.” You tried to keep your tone light and teasing. Something to pull him back to you.
But he only shook his head, looking away again. “Of course not.”
The answer came too quickly. You didn’t believe him. “Is something wrong?” you pressed, stepping up onto the ledge beside him. You tapped his leg lightly until he shifted, dropping his feet to give you space. You sat close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed. “You can tell me, you know,” you added, quieter now.
He didn’t answer. The silence stretched. You waited long enough to be certain he had heard you, long enough to feel the weight of it settling between you. “It’s nothing,” he said finally.
Frustration flickered in your chest. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You are,” you insisted, turning fully toward him now. “You’ve barely spoken to me all week, and now you’re sitting here staring at the outside like the world is ending and I’m supposed to believe it’s nothing?”
His jaw tightened. For a moment, you thought he might actually say it. Whatever it was. “It’s not something you need to worry about,” he said instead, quieter now.
And that stung more than you expected. You pulled back slightly, the space between you suddenly feeling more deliberate. “I see,” you murmured. You didn’t. But if he didn’t want to tell you, you wouldn’t force it. Not yet.
—
It wasn’t long after that you were summoned. The message was brief: a request for tea with the king. It wasn’t unusual. Over the years, he had made a habit of inviting you for quiet conversations, checking in with a kindness that had always felt genuine.
Still, something about the timing unsettled you. You pushed the feeling aside. Duty did not allow for hesitation.
The room was warm when you entered, sunlight spilling across polished floors, the table already set. King Choi greeted you with the same gentle expression you had come to know well. “Ah,” he said, motioning you closer. “Thank you for making time to see me.”
You bowed your head respectfully. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
“Come, sit.” You did, settling across from him as instinct guided your hands to the teapot, carefully pouring before he even needed to ask. He watched you with quiet approval. “You’ve grown into someone remarkable,” he said after a moment, accepting the cup. “It has been a privilege watching you grow these past years.”
You paused, unsure how to respond. “You are too kind.”
“No,” he said softly. “I mean it. There are times I forget you are not my own daughter.”
His words were kind, but something beneath them made your chest tighten. They made you miss your family. “I have always been grateful for your kindness,” you replied carefully.
He nodded, as though pleased by that. “And it is because of that,” he continued, setting his cup aside, “that I wish to ensure your future is a good one.”
Your hands stilled. There it was. You had heard words like this before. Not often, but enough to recognize what followed. “I am listening, Your Majesty.”
He leaned back slightly, studying you. “There is someone I would like you to meet,” he said. “My nephew, Wooyoung.”
The name meant little to you. You blinked, caught off guard. “Oh?”
“He is bright, capable, and comes from a strong line,” the king continued. “I believe the two of you would suit each other well.”
You nodded slowly, the response automatic. Polite. Expected. And yet something inside you sank. “I would be honored to meet him.”
“Good,” he said, smiling. “It would bring me great comfort to know you remain here as part of this family.” Here. Not sent away again. You should have felt relief. “Especially now,” he added.
Your gaze lifted slightly. “Your Majesty?”
He exhaled, almost thoughtfully. “The King of Sanctum has extended an offer,” he said. “An alliance.”
Your heart stilled. “If accepted, it would mark the beginning of something significant. A step toward unity. Toward peace as it once was.” Pariter. The three kingdoms are whole again. He didn’t say the name. He didn’t need to. “And to secure this,” the king continued, “Beomgyu will be betrothed to the princess of Sanctum.”
The words settled heavily in the space between you. When you remember to breathe, the word rushes out of you. “Oh,” you said softly. It was the only response you could manage.
“This is a great honor,” he went on, unaware, or perhaps choosing not to see, the way your hands had curled slightly in your lap. “For all of us. For the future.” For peace. Of course.
You nodded. Because that was what you had been raised to do. “I understand,” you said, your voice steady despite the weight pressing against your chest. “It is… a wonderful opportunity.” It was. It truly was. So why did it feel like something had just been taken from you?
“I am glad,” the king said warmly. “Then we are in agreement.”
You inclined your head. “Yes, Your Majesty.” The conversation moved on. But you barely heard it. All you could think about was him, Beomgyu.
The way he had looked that morning. The silence. The distance. The things he hadn’t said. And suddenly it made sense. A sharp, aching clarity that settled deep in your chest. Of course, this was why. You rose when dismissed, offering a final bow before stepping out into the corridor. The doors closed behind you with a quiet finality. You needed to find him.
—
It’s well past nightfall when you find Beomgyu. The palace is quiet, softened by sleep and shadow, but the path to the garden is familiar in a way that requires no thought. Your steps quicken despite yourself, guided by something you can’t quite name. Worry. Or something dangerously close to it.
The scent of night jasmine greets you before the garden comes into view, carried on a cool breeze that brushes against your skin. For a moment, it almost steadies you. Almost.
Then you see him. Beneath the tree. Your tree.
Beomgyu sits with his back against the trunk, one knee drawn up, his head tipped back as though he had been staring at the sky and simply stopped. His clothes are hastily thrown on, sleeves uneven, hair slightly disheveled, like he hadn’t cared enough to fix it.
He looks unsettled. More than you’ve ever seen him. “Beomgyu.” Your voice breaks the quiet before you can stop it.
His head snaps forward at once, eyes finding you instantly. For a moment, something flickers across his expression, relief, so quick it almost doesn’t register, before it disappears behind something more guarded. “You shouldn’t be out this late,” he says.
The words feel familiar. A strange echo of another night, years ago. You take a step closer. “I could say the same to you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” The answer comes too quickly. Too sharp. You stop a few paces away, studying him more closely now. The tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curl loosely against his knees, the quiet storm in his eyes he’s trying to hide. Something twists in your chest. “You didn’t tell me,” you say.
His gaze shifts slightly. “Tell you what?”
You stare at him. “For once,” you murmur, “don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
The silence settles between you. Beomgyu sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “I was going to.”
“When?” Your voice tightens despite yourself. “After it was already decided?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” you press, taking another step closer. “You’ve been avoiding me for days, Beomgyu. And now I find out from your father that you’re to be married,” you stop, breath catching slightly before you can steady it, “and you thought that was something I didn’t need to know?”
His jaw tightens. “I didn’t want you to hear it like that.”
“Then how?” you ask, frustration slipping through now, sharper than you intended. “Was there a better way? Or were you just hoping I wouldn’t hear it at all?”
“That’s not what I—”
“Because I had to sit there,” you continue, the words coming faster now, fueled by something deeper than anger, “and smile, and agree, and pretend this is exactly what I’ve been raised for while you,” You stop. You’ve said too much.
The silence that follows is heavy, charged in a way that makes it hard to breathe. “While I what?” he asks quietly.
You shake your head, looking away. “Nothing.” But it isn’t nothing. You feel it now, the unfamiliar feeling clearer than before. Something ugly and unfamiliar is twisting beneath your ribs. Jealousy. You swallow hard, forcing it down before you can examine it too closely. “This is good,” you say instead, though the words feel wrong the moment they leave your mouth. “It’s what’s best. For your kingdom. For all of us.”
“For all of us,” he repeats.
There’s something in the way he says it that makes your chest tighten. “Isn’t it?” you add, quieter now.
He lets out a breath, something between a laugh and disbelief. “You really believe that?”
“I believe it’s our duty,” you correct.
“Duty? That’s not the same thing. That’s not what's best for anyone.”
You fight back against the heavy feeling settling in your chest, “It has to be.”
His gaze snaps back to yours at that. Eyes sharp and sure. “No,” he says firmly. “It doesn’t.”
The certainty in his voice catches you off guard. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“Beomgyu—”
“I don’t want this marriage.” The words land between you, sharp and unyielding.
Your breath falters. “You don’t get to not want it,” you say, softer now. “That’s not how this works. You know that.”
“I know,” he replies. “That’s the problem.”
Your heart begins to race. It starts subtly, just a shift in your chest, a tightening you can’t quite ignore. But as you look at him, really look at him, the weight behind his words becomes impossible to dismiss. You study him carefully, searching for something, uncertainty, hesitation, anything that might make this easier to dismiss.
But there is none. “Beomgyu,” your voice comes quieter now, more careful. “You’re the prince.” The title feels heavier spoken aloud. “This is what your father expects of you. What your kingdom expects of you,” you continue, steadying yourself as best as you can. “It’s more than just a marriage. It’s-”
“A chance at peace,” he finishes, though there’s no conviction in it.
You nod. “Yes.”
Silence lingers, but it doesn’t settle. It presses. His expression shifts then, something raw and unguarded in a way you’ve never quite seen so clearly before. “And what do you expect of me?” he asks quietly.
The question catches you off guard. You falter, just for a moment. “I…” your fingers curl slightly at your sides, grounding yourself. “I don’t expect anything.” A hollow answer. You know it. He knows it too. “I am nothing but a peace offering,” you add, more firmly now, forcing the words past the tightness in your chest. “I was sent here for that reason. I don’t get to have a say in this.” Even as you say it something burns beneath your ribs. Jealousy. You push it down before it can take shape.
“Yes, you do.” The words come quickly. Beomgyu rises to his feet, frustration bleeding into his movements as he begins to pace, hands running through his hair like he’s trying to outrun the thoughts in his head. “You have a say,” he insists, turning back toward you. “More than anyone.”
“That’s not,”
“It is,” he cuts in. “I value your thoughts more than anyone else’s. You know me better than anyone. You,” he stops, breath uneven, “you’re the one person I can’t ignore in this.”
Your chest tightens. “Then listen to me,” you say, standing now, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “You cannot go through life choosing what you want over what is needed. Not when so much is at stake.”
“I can’t go through with this marriage,” he says, the words firm despite the strain in his voice.
“Beomgyu,”
“I mean it.” There’s something desperate in the way he says it now. Something breaking.
“We have to do what is right,” you press, your voice softer but no less certain. “You know better than anyone what our lives demand of us. We were raised for this. Sacrifice isn’t new to us.” Your throat tightens, but you force the words out anyway. “We are not meant to be happy when entire kingdoms depend on us.”
The silence that follows is unbearable. Because you know it’s true, you’ve lived by it your entire life. But when you look at him he doesn’t look convinced. He looks devastated. “But what if we could be?” he asks.
The question is fragile. Hopeful in a way that feels almost dangerous. You notice it then—the slight gloss in his eyes, the way his composure falters just enough to reveal what he’s been holding back. Tears.
Beomgyu swallows hard, his voice quieter now, but more honest than it has ever been. “What if this isn’t the only way?” he continues. “What if peace doesn’t have to come from giving up everything that matters?”
Your breath catches. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve spent my whole life doing what was expected of me,” he says, stepping closer again, his voice tightening. “Smiling when I’m supposed to. Agreeing when I’m told. Being the prince they need me to be.” His gaze locks onto yours. “But this,” he shakes his head faintly, “this is the one thing I can’t just accept.”
Your heart pounds against your ribs. “And why?” you whisper. Because you need to hear it. Part of you already knows but you need him to say it.
He doesn’t hesitate this time. “Because I love you.” The world stills. Everything falls away, leaving only those three words hanging between you.
Your breath falters. “You don’t,” your voice breaks slightly, barely above a whisper. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” There’s no doubt in his voice. No hesitation. “I didn’t realize it at first,” he admits, softer now. “It was just you. Always you. The garden, the music, the way you’d look at me like you were trying to figure me out,” A faint, broken smile touches his lips. “I think I fell in love with you a long time ago.” Your chest aches. “You were just too busy pretending it was nothing to notice.”
Tears sting at the corners of your eyes before you can stop them. “That’s not fair,” you whisper.
“Maybe not,” he says. “But it’s true.” He steps closer again, slowly this time, like he’s afraid you will pull away. You don’t. “I don’t want a life where I have everything I’m supposed to and none of what I actually want,” he murmurs. “I don’t want a future where you’re just,” his voice falters slightly, “just someone I used to know.”
Your resolve wavers. “This isn’t just about us,” you manage, though your voice feels fragile now. “If you choose me, if you walk away from this it could cost everything. Your father, your kingdom, peace,”
“I know.”
Your heart aches. Because you want that too. You want it more than you’re willing to admit. “And you’d still do it?” The question leaves your lips before you can stop it. A final test. A final chance for him to hesitate.
He doesn’t. “Yes.” The answer is immediate. Terrifying in its simplicity. “Because it’s you,” he says again, softer this time. “And for once, I want to choose my own life.”
Your heart aches. Because you want that too. You want it more than you’re willing to admit. But want has never been enough. Not for people like you with lives like yours. You take a small step back, shaking your head as if that alone might steady you, might push everything he’s said back into something manageable, something you can survive.
“You don’t understand what you’re asking,” you whisper. “This isn’t just defiance, Beomgyu. This is, this is everything. If we do this, there’s no undoing it.”
“I know.”
“You could lose your kingdom.”
“I know.”
“And your father,”
“I know,” he repeats, more firmly now, stepping forward as you retreat.
“There could be war,” you press, your voice trembling despite your effort to hold it steady. “People could get hurt because of this, because of us.”
“And what about you?” he asks.
The question stops you. You blink, caught off guard. “What about me?”
“What happens to you if I go through with this?” he challenges, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “If I marry her. If everything goes exactly the way it’s supposed to.”
You open your mouth and nothing comes out. Because you know the answer. You’ll stay. You’ll smile and do your duty. And you’ll watch him build a life that you were never meant to be part of. The thought settles heavily in your chest. “You’ll be fine,” you say instead, though it sounds weaker than you intended. “You’ll be a good king. You’ll finally bring peace,”
“And you’ll stand beside someone else,” he cuts in. Your breath catches. “You’ll give your life to another alliance. Another arrangement,” he continues, each word quieter, more deliberate. “And I’ll have to stand there and watch it happen, knowing I let this,” his voice falters slightly, “let you go without even trying.” The space between you feels impossibly small now. “I can’t do that,” he says.
His words are working. Your desfenses broken down with every point. You find it hard to fight back any longer. “Beomgyu,”
“I won’t do that.” His voice softens, but the certainty in it only deepens. “For once,” he murmurs, “I don’t want to be the prince who does what’s expected. I don’t want to choose a future that looks right to everyone else and feels empty to me.” His gaze searches yours. “I want you. I love you.”
Something inside you finally gives. All the years of restraint: the careful distance, the quiet acceptance, the belief that this was something you could carry without ever naming fractures all at once beneath the weight of it. “You’re asking me to be selfish,” you whisper.
“No,” he says gently. “I’m asking you to be honest.”
Your breath trembles. “I don’t know how to choose that.”
“Then let me choose for once,” he replies softly. His hand finds yours, warm, steady, grounding in a way that makes it impossible to pull away. “Stay with me,” he says. “Not as a duty. Not as a promise made for us.” His fingers tighten slightly around yours. “But because you want to.”
This decison feels like a threshold that you’re standing right at the edge of. “I—” your voice falters, your grip tightening around his without thinking. “I’ve spent my whole life doing what was right.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know how to stop.”
“You don’t have to stop,” he says softly. “Just choose something else this time.”
Your chest aches. Because you already have already decided. You just haven’t had the courage to say it out loud. Your gaze lifts to meet his, voice barely above a whisper. “I love you too.”
The confession lingers in the air between you. The small cracks you had desperately been trying to hide have broken though. You can no longer imagine a world where Beomgyu is with someone else. Relief flickers across his face, quick and overwhelming, like he hadn’t quite believed he would hear it.
Beomgyu brings himself closer to you. There is no more hesitation in the way he moves. His hand lifts, hesitates briefly against your cheek, warm and familiar. You don’t pull away. Responding to his touch, you lean into his hand. That’s all the permission he needs.
The distance between you disappears in a breath. Gently, his lips meet yours. He kisses softly as if you were made of porcelain, fragile. Like he’s afraid you might slip away if he moves too quickly.
But you don’t. You won’t ever leave him. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his sleeve, pulling him just slightly closer something in him breaks.
The kiss deepens, not rushed or careless, but sure and stroong, filled with everything neither of you had dared to say before. Years of quiet moments, of laughter, of almosts and what-ifs, all folding into something real. Something you both choose.
When you finally pull back, your breath uneven, your forehead rests lightly against his. The world feels different. What you have chosen is irreversible, surely there will be consequences. But none of that matters anymore.
For the first time, you’re choosing what your heart desires. You cant help the nervous laughter that rises up out of your chest, “What are we going to do?” you rest your head against his chest.
“We’ll figure it out together,” he murmurs softly, his voice still close, still certain. And this time you believe him.
Uh oh! You have reached your time limit dating Beomgyu. You may now return home or choose another boy!
falling in love with your boss wasn't in the job description
--------------
wc: 6.2k
pairing: yeonjun x reader
author’s notes: school is actually killing me, lowk should drop out and write full time! anyway enjoy heehee.
tags/warnings: boss!yeonjun x employee!reader, office romance (don't date your boss irl lol), slightly possessive yeonjun, difference in power dynamic, tension! mentions of forgetting to eat, reader is so indecisive it feels like slow burn.
Boyfriend on Demand Masterlist
--------------
Out of all days to be late, this was not the one. Back-to-back client meetings. An important presentation. A schedule packed so tightly there was barely room to breathe, and yet here you were, rushing into the office a full twenty minutes behind.
Most of your team wouldn’t have cared. Everyone had shown up late at some point, brushed it off with a quick apology and a laugh. But you weren’t worried about them. You were worried about him. Yeonjun. Your boss.
Objectively, he wasn’t a bad boss, not at all. He was patient when emergencies came up, flexible when people needed time, and attentive enough that the team genuinely respected him. Just not with you. With you, he was different.
Colder. Sharper. Like every word he spoke to you had an edge you couldn’t quite dull. You didn’t know why, and at this point, you’d stopped trying to figure it out. But being late? That definitely wasn’t going to help.
By the time you slipped into the office, the morning meeting had already started. You barely had time to drop your bag before grabbing your notepad and hurrying toward the conference room. Your pulse was still racing as you pushed the door open, trying your best to be quiet about it.
A few coworkers glanced up, offering subtle nods of acknowledgment. One of them gave you a sympathetic look. You mouthed a quick sorry before sliding into an empty chair. For a moment, you thought you got lucky.
Yeonjun had his back turned, writing something across the whiteboard: bullet points, quick notes, ideas flowing easily from his marker. His voice carried evenly through the room as he explained the next steps.
You exhaled slowly, shoulders easing just a little. Maybe he hadn’t noticed.
He turned. And immediately, his eyes found you. The marker paused in his hand as his gaze lingered, unreadable but intense enough to make your stomach twist. “Nice of you to join us.” The room went just a little quieter.
Heat crept up your neck. “I’m sorry,” you said quickly, the words coming out smaller than you intended.
He turned back to the board as if nothing had happened. “Let’s continue,” he said smoothly, capping the marker. “As I was saying, ” The meeting resumed, but the tension didn’t quite leave your chest.
You tried to focus. You really did. Jotted down notes, nodded at the right moments, kept your eyes trained anywhere but him. Still, you could feel it. Every now and then, his attention flicks back to you.
The meeting wrapped up faster than expected. Chairs scraped softly against the floor as everyone began gathering their things, low conversations rising as the team filtered out of the room. You were halfway to standing when his voice cut through the noise.
“Stay a second.”
Your heart dropped. Of course. You sank back into your chair as the last few coworkers slipped out, the door clicking shut behind them. The room suddenly felt too quiet, too small.
You kept your eyes on your notepad, pretending to organize your notes, even though your mind had gone completely blank. Footsteps approached. Then stopped.
A brief pause. Then, he exhaled softly and reached into his pocket, pulling out a card. He held it out to you. “Can you grab coffee for the team?”
You blinked, caught off guard. “…Me, sir?”
One corner of his mouth twitched barely there, gone almost as quickly as it appeared. “Is there someone else in this room?”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again. “No.”
“Then yes, you,” he said simply, placing the company card in your hand.
You reluctantly take the card from him, “Of course, sir,” a quick nod, and a swift exit from the conference room.
You stood, slipping the card into your pocket, but just as you moved past him, he called, “Don’t be late again.”
You paused. There it was. The familiar edge. “I won’t,” you sigh quietly.
—
You didn’t realize coffee runs were part of your job description. Yeonjun had called you into his office minutes after arriving. “Can you take care of today’s coffee run?” It wasn’t even a question anymore, more like a habit. Your boss didn’t look up from his screen when he said it, already halfway through typing an email, his voice calm, casual.
You nodded anyway. “Sure.” It became routine after that.
Morning briefings, spreadsheets, meetings that could’ve been emails, and somewhere in between, he’d glance over at you and say, “Coffee?” or “Can you run downstairs?” or sometimes just hold up his card without a word, like the two of you had your own silent system.
Out of everyone in the office, he always asked you. At first, you thought it was punishment for your late morning. Another trivial task Yeonjun assigned you because he hated you so much. On the plus side, it lets you leave the office for a few minutes each day.
On a day like any other, Yeonjun calls you in for the daily coffee run. “Iced Americano, please,” he says, slipping the card over to you.
Your fingers curled around it automatically, but something felt off. Different. You glanced down. It wasn’t the company card. Your brows furrowed. “Sir, this isn’t the company card,” you hold it back out to him.
“It’s mine.” You looked back up at him. For a second, neither of you spoke. “Get something for yourself, too,” he added, tone casual. Like it didn’t mean anything at all. But the way he was looking at you said otherwise.
Your grip on the card tightened slightly. “I really don’t need—”
“I didn’t ask if you needed it.” The words should’ve come off cold. But they didn’t. If anything, they felt charged.
You swallowed. “Okay.” A small nod.
“Okay.”
You walked out of the room with your heart doing something very inconvenient in your chest. He’s just your boss. You told yourself that as you made your way to the elevator. That’s all this is. But your fingers brushed against the card in your pocket, and for some reason, it didn’t feel that simple anymore.
—
When you got back, the office was buzzing like always. Phones ringing, keyboards clicking, low conversations weaving through the air. You made your way straight to his office.
“I got your drink,” you said, placing it carefully beside him. He looked up, and for a second, everything else in the room faded into background noise.
“Thanks.” You slid the cup over to him. And then, just barely, your fingers brushed. It was quick. Accidental. The kind of thing that shouldn’t linger. Except it did. A strange pause stretched between you, like the moment hadn’t quite decided to pass yet. His hand didn’t pull away immediately. Neither did yours.
And when you finally looked up, he was already looking at you. Your heart skipped. Not dramatically. Not like in movies. Just enough to make you think, Oh.
No. No, absolutely not. You pulled your hand back a little too quickly, clearing your throat. “Let me know if you need anything else.” Professional. Neutral. Safe.
He nodded slowly, but his gaze didn’t drop back to his screen right away. “Yeah,” he said. “I will.”
You walked back to your desk, sat down, and stared at your monitor. The numbers blurred. Your thoughts didn’t. That didn’t mean anything. You pressed your lips together, forcing your fingers to move across the keyboard. He’s your boss… but why did it feel like something just changed?
—
The first few times, you told yourself you were imagining it. The glances. Quick. Fleeting. Easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention. It started small during meetings, when you’d look up from your notes and catch his gaze already on you. Not in a passing way, not like he was scanning the room. He was focused. Like he’d been looking for longer than he should have.
And every time your eyes met, he didn’t look away immediately. You did, always first.
Then came the emails. “Come to my office when you have a minute.” No context. No explanation. The first time, you assumed you’d done something wrong. You knocked, stepped in, and stood there awkwardly while he barely looked up from his desk. “You needed something?”
A pause. Then, “Did you finish the client report?”
“Yes. I sent it this morning.”
“I saw.” Another pause. Silence stretched.
You shifted your weight. “Was there something you wanted me to fix?”
Finally, he leaned back in his chair, eyes lifting to meet yours. “No.”
Your brows knit together. “Then,”
“I just wanted to confirm.”
You blinked. “You called me in here to confirm something you already knew?”
His expression didn’t change. But there was something in his eyes, something almost amused. “Is that a problem?”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. “No.”
“Good,” he said simply, already looking back down at his work. “You can go.” You stood there for half a second longer than necessary before turning and walking out, your confusion following close behind. That should’ve been the end of it. It wasn’t.
It kept happening. Once a day. Sometimes twice. Always something small. Pointless, even.
“Did you update the spreadsheet?”
“Yes.”
“Send me the file again.”
“You already have it.”
“Send it anyway.”
“Did the client respond?”
“Not yet.”
“Let me know when they do.”
“I always do.”
“I know.” And yet, he still called you in. Every time.
Your coworkers started noticing. “You’re in his office a lot,” one of them whispered one afternoon, leaning over your desk with a grin that felt a little too knowing.
You stiffened. “You know how he is. Busy guy.”
“Sure,” they teased, drawing the word out before straightening. “Whatever you say.”
You tried to ignore it. You really did. Because acknowledging it meant admitting something you weren’t ready to face.
—
“Close the door.”
You hesitated at the threshold of his office. “Is this about the quarterly report?”
“No.”
That didn’t help. Still, you stepped inside and shut the door behind you, the soft click echoing louder than it should have. You stayed standing this time. It felt safer that way. “What did you need?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied you, head tilted slightly, gaze slow and deliberate, like he was taking his time. Like he wasn’t in a rush. Your pulse ticked up. “Sir?”
That seemed to snap him out of it, just slightly. He leaned back in his chair, one arm resting casually on the armrest. “You looked tired this morning.”
Your breath caught, just a little. “That’s not work-related.”
“No,” he agreed.
Silence. You shifted. “If there’s nothing else, I should—”
“You didn’t get anything for yourself.”
You froze. “What?”
“The other day,” he said, like it was obvious. “When I gave you my card.”
Oh. That. Your grip tightened around the folder in your hands. “I didn’t feel right using it.”
A pause. Then he stood. You hadn’t expected that. Your breath hitched slightly as he walked around the desk, closing the distance between you in a way that felt intimate.
“Why didn’t you?” He stopped a little too close. Close enough that you had to tilt your head slightly to keep eye contact. Close enough that you were suddenly very aware of everything: his presence, his voice, the way the air felt different.
“It felt like I’d get in trouble for using your card,” you said, quieter now.
Something flickered in his expression. “Trouble,” he repeated softly. Then, just slightly, he leaned in. “Do I seem like the type to get you in trouble?”
Your heart stuttered. “Yes,” you blurted before you could stop yourself.
Then, he smiled. Not the polite, professional one you were used to. Something sharper, more dangerous. “Good,” he said.
Your brain short-circuited for a second. “Good?”
“I’d be worried if you didn’t think that.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It’s not supposed to be.”
You stared at him. This was not normal. This was not professional. “I think I should go,” you said quickly, stepping back before you could overthink it.
Before you could notice how much you didn’t want to leave. His gaze followed you instantly. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Because you’re standing too close. Because you’re looking at me like that. Because I don’t trust myself right now. “Because I have work to do.”
A pause. Then, softer, tone almost teasing, “So do I.” You turned, reaching for the doorknob. “Hey.” Your hand stilled. Slowly, you looked back. He hadn’t moved. But his eyes were still on you. His gaze was unreadable. “Next time,” he said, voice low, “when I give you something…” Your breath caught again. “Use it.”
You left his office in a rush, barely remembering to slow down, not to draw attention to yourself. Your heart was racing, your thoughts a mess, your face warmer than you’d like to admit.
No. Absolutely not. You shook your head as you walked back to your desk. He’s your boss. This is crossing a line. This is a bad idea. A really bad idea…so why did you want him to call you into his office again?
—
The announcement came at the worst possible time. “A new client,” Yeonjun said, standing at the front of the conference room, hands tucked neatly into his pockets. “High priority. Tight deadline.”
A collective groan almost escaped the team. You leaned back slightly in your chair, already bracing yourself.
“We’ll need to stay late this week to get everything finalized.” There it was.
Your jaw tightened. Of course, it had to be this week, when you were already behind on everything, when your energy was running low, when your patience for him was hanging by a thread.
“Tonight especially,” he added, his gaze sweeping across the room before, of course, landing on you. “I want a draft completed before we leave.” Your stomach sank.
By 8:47 PM, the office was nearly empty. One by one, your coworkers had packed up, offering tired goodbyes and quiet good lucks as they slipped out the door.
“You’re still here?” one of them asked, pausing by your desk.
“Yeah,” you sighed, rubbing your temples. “I said I’d finish it.”
They gave you a look. The kind that said you didn’t have to. “You know, if he’s pushing you too hard, we can step in, right?”
You forced a small smile. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t.
“Text me when you leave,” they said before heading out. You nod in agreement and wave your coworker off. And then complete silence.
The office felt different at night. A lot quieter. The only sound was the hum of fluorescent lights, louder than usual, and the absence of voices was almost unsettling. You stared at your screen, eyes burning slightly as you scrolled through the same paragraph for the third time. Nothing was sticking. Nothing was working.
And the more you thought about it, the more frustrated you became. Because this wasn’t just about the project. It was about Yeonjun.
The constant glances. The pointless meetings. The way he’d started talking to you, like there was something unsaid sitting between every word. And now this, making you stay late?
Your fingers hit the keyboard a little harder than necessary. “Unbelievable,” you muttered under your breath.
“You usually talk to yourself when you’re frustrated?”
You froze. Slowly, you turned your head. He was there. Leaning casually against the edge of a desk a few feet away, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened just slightly, like he’d been there longer than you realized.
Your heart jumped. “I thought you left.”
“I didn’t.”
“Why?” The question came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t take it back.
He pushed off the desk, taking a few slow steps closer. “We have a deadline.”
You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Right. Of course. Because this couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
“It could,” he said.
That made you pause. “Then why didn’t it?”
His gaze held yours. “Because I wanted it done tonight.”
Something about the way he said it made your frustration spike. “Or,” you shot back, pushing your chair back as you stood, “because you wanted me stuck here tonight.”
The words hung in the air between you, heavier than you expected. You hadn’t meant to say that. Or maybe you had.
His expression shifted, subtle, but real. “Is that what you think?”
“I don’t know what to think,” you admitted, exasperation bleeding through. “You call me into your office for no reason, you single me out in meetings, and now I’m the only one still here working on something that apparently could’ve waited, so yeah, I think I have a right to be frustrated.”
You were breathing a little harder now, chest rising and falling with the weight of everything you hadn’t said, finally spilling out. In frustration, you stand up slightly, pacing, “Do you hate me?” you added, quieter. “Did I do something wrong?”
Yeonjun takes a step closer. Your pulse picked up instantly. “No,” he said softly. “I don’t hate you.”
That didn’t help. “If this is some kind of game—”
“It’s not a game.”
“Then what is it?” You barely had time to register the shift before he moved. One second, there was space between you, and the next, your back hit the wall. Your breath caught as his hand came up beside your head, palm flat against the wall, the other bracing just inches away, caging you in without actually touching you.
Close. Too close. Your heart slammed against your ribs. “Yeonjun—”
“You wanted an answer,” he said, voice lower now, but there was something underneath it. Something controlled, barely.
“You keep asking why.” His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before lifting back to your eyes. “This is why.”
Your thoughts scattered. “This is—this is not appropriate,” you managed, even as your voice betrayed you just slightly.
“I know.”
“Then you need to move.”
He didn’t. Instead, he leaned in just a fraction closer. “Do you want me to?”
Your breath hitched. Yes. No. You should. You really, really should. “Yes,” you said. Too quickly. Too uncertain.
His eyes searched yours, like he was looking for something deeper than your words. “Say it like you mean it.”
That was unfair. “You’re my boss,” you said instead, your hands pressing lightly against his chest, not pushing, not quite. “This shouldn’t be happening.”
“But it is.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“Does it make it unwanted?”
You froze. There it was. The question you’d been avoiding. The one you didn’t want to answer because answering it made everything real. Your grip on his shirt tightened just slightly. “You’re making this really hard.”
Something in his expression softened, just a little. “Good,” he murmured. “Because you’re not making it easy either.”
Your heart skipped. Your thoughts were a mess, your resolve slipping with every second he stayed this close.“This is a bad idea,” you whispered.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
Neither of you moved. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this changed everything. There was no going back to normal after this. No pretending. No ignoring it.
You inhaled sharply and pressed your hands more firmly against his chest this time, actually pushing. “Move.” It came out steadier now. More certain.
For a second, he didn’t react. Then slowly he stepped back. The space between you returned all at once, like air rushing back into your lungs after being held too long.
You turned away immediately, running a hand through your hair as you tried to ground yourself. “This,” you let out a breath, shaking your head. “We can’t do this.”
Silence behind you. Then, quietly, “Can’t?”
You turned back, frustration flickering again, but this time, it wasn’t just at him. It was at yourself. “At all,” you clarified. “You’re my boss. This is—this is exactly the kind of situation people warn you about.”
He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t argue. Just watched you. Which somehow made it harder.
“I mean, think about it,” you continued, pacing a few steps before stopping again. “If anyone finds out, if this goes wrong, it's not just awkward, it’s my job. My reputation. Everything I’ve worked for.”
Your voice softened slightly, honesty slipping through. “And I like my job.” A beat. “And I don’t… I don’t trust myself to separate things if this gets complicated.” There. You said it. Not everything, but enough.
His gaze sharpened slightly.“If?” he echoed.
You hesitated. Then, quieter, “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pick apart my words like that.”
“Then say what you mean.” Your chest tightened. You looked at him, really looked this time, and that was your second mistake. Because he wasn’t smirking anymore. Wasn’t teasing. He looked serious. His full lips were in a slight pout. And for some reason, that made it harder to hide.
“I’m interested,” you admitted, the words feeling heavier the second they left your mouth. “Okay? I’m not blind. I know something’s been going on.” Silence. “But that doesn’t mean I can just jump into something like this like it’s nothing,” you added quickly. “It’s not nothing.”
“No,” he said quietly. “It’s not.”
You swallowed. “So I’m saying this before anything happens that we can’t take back,” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “This is a risk.”
“A big one.”
Another pause. “And I don’t know if it’s worth it.” That was it. That was your line. Your boundary.
You held his gaze, waiting, half expecting him to brush it off, and turn it into something lighter like he always did. But he didn’t. He stepped closer again. Not as close as before. But enough that your breath caught just slightly. “I know,” he said. “I know exactly what you’re risking.”
Your brows knit together. “Then why—”
“Because I think you’re worth it.” The words hit harder than you expected. Your lips parted slightly, but nothing came out. “And if you’re worried about what happens if this goes wrong,” he continued, voice steady, eyes locked on yours, “then don’t think about it like that.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“It does for me.”
You shook your head, almost frustrated again. “You don’t get to just decide that.”
“Maybe not.” Another step closer. “But I can decide what I’m willing to do.”
Your heart started racing again. “Which is?”
A pause. Just long enough to make you hold your breath. “I’ll make it worth it.” Your stomach flipped.
“That’s not—” you let out a small, disbelieving breath. “You can’t just say that like it solves everything.”
“I’m not saying it solves everything,” he said, softer now. “I’m saying I’m not going to treat this like something disposable.” His gaze didn’t waver. “You’re not a risk I’m taking lightly.”
That was different. Not teasing or playful. Real. And that made it more dangerous than anything else. “You’re very convincing,” you murmured.
A faint hint of that familiar smile returned. “I know.” You huffed out a breath, shaking your head again, though this time, there was less resistance behind it. “That’s exactly the problem.”
“Then let me be clear.” Your eyes flicked back up to his. “I’m not asking you to decide everything right now,” he said. “I’m asking you not to shut it down before it even starts.”
Silence stretched between you again. But this time, it felt less like something you needed to escape. “This is still a bad idea,” you said quietly.
“Yeah.”
“And I’m still your employee.”
“I’m aware.”
“And you’re still my boss.”
“For now.”
Your heart skipped. “For now?” He didn’t elaborate. Of course, he didn’t. You stared at him for a second longer before letting out a quiet, defeated sigh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re still here.”
You rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you, curving just slightly. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
You turned back toward your desk, trying to regain some sense of normalcy, even though nothing about this felt normal anymore. Nothing about him felt normal anymore. But as you sat down, your fingers hovering over your keyboard, you could still feel it.
That pull. That very real, very dangerous possibility sitting just beneath the surface. And this time you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to walk away from it.
—
The next time he called you into his office, you didn’t panic. Which, honestly, was concerning, but you didn’t think too hard about it. You knocked once before stepping in. “You needed something?”
He looked up from his laptop, expression neutral, but his eyes lingered just a second too long. “Yeah. There’s a dinner meeting tonight.”
Your shoulders dropped immediately. “Of course there is.”
One brow lifted. “You sound thrilled.”
“I had plans,” you muttered.
“You can reschedule.”
You let out a quiet, unimpressed breath, crossing your arms. “Is the whole team going to be there?”
A flicker of something passed through his expression, gone too quickly to name. Instead of answering, he responds, “You’ll be there at seven.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“No, I didn’t,” he agreed.
Your eyes narrow, hoping to force an answer out of him. He remains unmoved, neutral expression on his face. You stared at him for a second longer before shaking your head, already turning toward the door. “Fine. But if this could’ve been an email,”
“It couldn’t.”
You paused, glancing back. “It definitely could’ve.” He didn’t argue. That should’ve been your first clue.
—
By 6:58 PM, you were already regretting your decision. You stood outside the restaurant, double-checking the message he sent earlier. Same address. Same time. No mention of anyone else.
Your stomach twisted. This is still a meeting, you told yourself. You’re overthinking it. You pushed the door open. And immediately, you knew this was more than a work event.
Dim lighting. Soft music. Intimate tables spaced just far enough apart. Not a single sign of your coworkers anywhere in sight. Your steps slowed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Right on time.” You turned. He was already there. Seated and waiting. Not in his usual office attire, no tie, sleeves neatly rolled, posture relaxed in a way you’d never seen during work hours.
You approached slowly, stopping at the table instead of sitting. “This is not a meeting.”
“No,” he said calmly.
“This is a date.”
He tilted his head slightly. “I wouldn’t say that.”
You blinked. “Oh, really?”
“I said I’d give you something worth considering.” Your breath caught, just slightly. “And this,” he added, gesturing lightly to the seat across from him, “is me doing that.”
You stared at him. “You tricked me.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“That’s not better.”
His gaze softens. With a soft smile, he nods toward the chair, “Sit.”
You hesitated. This was exactly what you were worried about. Lines blurring. Intentions unclear. Him pulling you into something before you were ready. You should leave. You could leave. But instead, you pulled the chair out and sat down. Dinner started off surprisingly normal. Conversation flowed easier than you expected, work at first, safe topics, things you could both pretend were harmless. But then it shifted.
“You don’t eat enough during the day,” he said at one point, glancing at your barely touched plate.
You frowned. “You’re monitoring my eating habits now?” You had a bad habit of forgetting to eat while at work. The business of your schedule distracted you from your hunger most days. You didn’t think it was noticeable.
“I’m just observant.”
You rolled your eyes slightly, but still picked up your fork, stabbing it into your chicken. You bring it to your mouth, “Happy?”
“Not yet.” He takes his silverware and gathers some pasta from his plate. Carefully, he portions it out onto your plate. He raises his eyebrows, encouraging you to try. Your heart did something annoyingly soft at that. You quickly looked down at your plate. His careful gesture lowers your defenses. Dangerous. This was dangerous.
At some point, the conversation dipped into quieter territory. “You’re still thinking about it,” Yeonjun said suddenly.
You looked up. “Thinking about what?”
“Us.”
Your grip on your glass tightened just slightly. “I said I was.”
“And?”
“And I haven’t decided anything.”
“I know.” Yeonjun pauses and lifts his glass to take a sip, eyes locked with yours the whole time. He continues, more gently, “I’m not rushing you.”
You searched his expression, trying to find the catch. “Then what are you doing?”
“Showing you.”
“Showing me what?”
“That this wouldn’t be one-sided.” Your chest tightened. “That I mean what I said,” he continued. “If you take the risk,” His gaze held yours. “I’ll take care of you, too.”
The words landed heavier than you expected. The sincerity is evident in his voice. He wasn’t doing this for show or some messed-up power trip. And somehow, that made them more convincing.
You swallowed, looking away for a second before letting out a quiet breath. “You’re really serious about this.”
“Yes.” No hesitation. No deflection. Just yes.
That scared you more than anything else because this wasn’t just flirting anymore. This wasn’t just tension or curiosity or something you could laugh off later. This had weight. Real consequences and real possibilities.
You looked back at him, studying him the same way he always studied you. “And what happens if I say no?”
Something softer flickered in his expression, but it didn’t break. “Then nothing changes,” he said. “I don’t make your work harder. I don’t cross the line again.”
Your brows knit slightly. “You’d just stop?”
“If that’s what you want.”
Your eyes dart away from his figure, the possibilities churning over in your mind. “And if I don’t know what I want?”
The faintest hint of a smile returned. “Then I’ll keep giving you reasons to help figure it out.”
You huffed quietly, shaking your head, but there was no real bite behind it this time. “You’re really confident about this.”
“No, not really,” he said. “I’m just patient.”
Dinner ended without your decision. Just that same tension lingering between you, but now layered with something deeper. Something harder to ignore. As you stepped out into the cool night air, walking beside him in comfortable silence, your thoughts spun in quiet circles.
This wasn’t simple. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t easy. But it also wasn’t something you could dismiss anymore. You glanced at him briefly, catching the calm steadiness in his expression. “This was unfair, you know,” you said finally.
He glanced at you. “How?”
“You made a really good case.”
A quiet laugh fills the air. “Good.”
You rolled your eyes, but your lips curved despite yourself. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still thinking.”
“I know.” And for the first time, it didn’t feel like he was trying to rush your answer. Just waiting for it.
—
The weekend had left you with far too much time to think over Yeonjun’s offer. Every time you tried to distract yourself, your mind circled back to him: to the dinner, to the way he looked at you like he’d already made up his mind and was just waiting for you to catch up.
I’ll make it worth it. You’d replayed that more times than you wanted to admit.
And no matter how many angles you tried to look at it from, practical, logical, professional. You kept landing in the same place. You didn’t want to walk away from this. You just didn’t know what stepping into it meant yet.
The answer hits you Monday morning on the way to work. You needed to talk to Yeonjun. By the time you got to the office, he was already in meetings. Of course he was.
You couldn’t wait any longer. The moment the meeting wrapped, people started filing out, but you were already on your way.
“Hey, ” one coworker started, but you waved them off, eyes locked on your target.
“Sorry, I need him for a second.” Before anyone could question it, you stepped into the room.
He was gathering his things, barely glancing up. “Give me five minutes,” he said, already reaching for his laptop. “I have another—”
“No, you don’t.” That got his attention.
Slowly, he looked up. And there it was again, that shift. That quiet awareness settles in the moment your eyes meet. “I don’t?” he asked.
You didn’t answer. Instead, you walked straight up to him, grabbed his sleeve, and pulled. “Come on.”
He didn’t resist or question it. He just followed, which, somehow, made your heart beat even faster.
—
The storage room door shut behind you with a soft click. Barely any lighting. Close quarters. Shelves lined with boxes and supplies that suddenly felt very irrelevant compared to the situation you’d just created. You turned to face him, breath slightly uneven. For a second, neither of you spoke.
His gaze flicked around the room once before settling back on you, a curious, almost amused expression touching his face. Yeonjun holds back a laugh, “This is new.”
“Don’t,” you said quickly.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know why you’re here.”
He pauses, voice dropping to a more sensual tone, “I was hoping you’d tell me.”
You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. Of course, he’d make you say it. “You said you’d wait,” you started, trying to steady your voice. “And that you weren’t going to rush me.”
“I did.”
“And you kept your word.”
“I said I would.”
You nodded once. Then took a small step closer. “I thought about it.”
His posture shifted, just slightly. Before you even said the words, instinctively, he knew. “And?” he asked.
Your heart pounded. God, why was this harder now than it had been Friday? “And I still think this is a bad idea,” you admitted. A flicker of disappointment crossed his face, but he didn’t interrupt. “But,” you continued, your voice quieter now, more honest, “I also think… I want to try.”
You held his gaze, refusing to look away this time. “I don’t have this all figured out,” you said. “I don’t know what this looks like, or how we make it work, or what happens if it doesn’t—” You take another step closer toward him. “But I want to find out.”
That was it. That was your answer. For a second, he didn’t move. Speechless, like he was making sure you meant it. “You’re sure?” he asked, voice lower now.
“No,” you said honestly. A small breath. “But I’m choosing it anyway.”
Something in his expression softened, just enough to feel real. Just enough to make your chest tighten. “You always do that,” he murmured.
“Do what?”
“Decide things even when you’re unsure.”
You huffed quietly. “Don’t analyze me right now.”
A faint smile. “Too late.”
You rolled your eyes, but didn’t step back. Didn’t put distance between you. Not this time. “And you?” you asked, softer now. “You still think it’s worth it?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Your breath caught. Of course, he didn’t hesitate. Of course, he was still steady, still certain. “Then,” you hesitated, the last bit of nerves catching up to you. “What now?”
A pause. He stepped closer to you. Tentatively, he brings his hands up, one resting on your waist, the other a light brush against your cheek. Slowly. Carefully. Giving you time to pull away. You didn’t.
“Now,” he said quietly, “you stop overthinking for a second.”
“That’s not something I’m good at.”
“I know.” He was close now. Close enough that your breath started to feel uneven again.
“But try.”
Your heart was racing. This was it. The line now blurred forever. The moment when everything shifted from 'what if' to 'this is happening'. “Okay,” you whispered.
His gaze dropped, briefly, to your lips, then back to your eyes. Checking, a gentle asking. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to. You leaned in first. And that was all it took.
The distance between you disappeared as you finally rest your lips on his. He kisses you, soft at first. Carefully, like he was giving you time to change your mind.
You don’t. If anything, you leaned into it deeper, your hand finding his sleeve, gripping just slightly as the hesitation melted away. The world outside the storage room faded, the meetings, deadlines, rules, all distant compared to this.
When you finally pulled back, your breath was uneven, your thoughts even worse. You look up, Yeonjun’s usual composure gone, his cool mask slipped off his face now revealing something full of wanting. His lips swollen after your kiss. “This is still a bad idea,” you murmured eyes darting away, slightly embarrassed to know you were the cause of this.
He didn’t move far. “Yeah,” he said softly. This time he brings his hand back up to brush your hair behind your ear. “But I meant what I said.”
Your heart skipped. “About what?”
“I’ll make it worth it.”
You let out a quiet breath, a warm smile taking place. “You better.”
A small smile tugged at his lips. “I will.”
And somewhere between the risk and the uncertainty you realized something. You hadn’t made the safe choice or the logical one. But as your hand lingered in his, as the space between you felt smaller than it ever had before. You knew one thing for sure you’d made the choice you actually wanted.
Uh oh! You have reached your time limit dating Yeonjun. You may now return home or choose another boy!
spring is the perfect time to make a move on your campus crush
--------------
wc: 6.3k
pairing: soobin x reader
author’s notes: theres like a million different directions i wanted to go with this, so lowkey going to make a whole college au masterlist in the future too get all my ideas out, obsessed with college boyfriend soob
tags/warnings: college au, junior!soobin x freshman!reader, shy reader, soobin is a leader in the acting/drama club, use of she/her for reader, little bit of cliche romance scenes, cute + fluffy
Boyfriend on Demand Masterlist
--------------
Nothing compares to campus in the springtime. Now that winter has passed, students flock to the rolling lawns to sunbathe between classes. Blankets dot the grass in scattered clusters, open textbooks resting forgotten beside half-finished iced coffees. Laughter drifts through the warm air in bursts, carried along by the breeze.
The trees, which once stood bare and skeletal through the colder months, now burst with blossoms. Pale pink and soft white petals cling to every branch, and each gentle gust sends a flurry of them drifting lazily through the air like slow-falling snow. It’s the kind of day that makes the whole campus feel lighter somehow, like everyone collectively decided to breathe again after winter.
“I could get used to this!” your roommate Jiwon declares. She spins in front of you on the stone walkway, arms stretched wide as if she’s trying to gather the sunlight itself. A few petals catch in her hair as she twirls, and she laughs when one brushes across her nose.
You can’t help the small smile that pulls at your lips. You were lucky enough to share your major with your roommate—and even luckier that the random housing assignment had landed you with someone like her. Freshman year had felt intimidating at first: new classes, new faces, an unfamiliar campus that seemed impossibly large. But somehow, between late-night study sessions and Jiwon dragging you to every campus event she could find, the year had started to feel manageable. Less lonely.
Jiwon stops spinning and beams at you, slightly breathless. “Come on,” she says, grabbing your wrist and tugging you forward down the path. “If we walk fast enough, we can make it before the good stuff is gone.”
“The good stuff?” you ask.
“The club fair!” she says like it’s obvious. “Free snacks, free stickers, free tote bags. This is basically the best day of the semester.”
You glance toward the center of campus, where rows of colorful tents have been set up across the main quad. Music drifts from somewhere in the distance, and a small crowd is already beginning to gather. “I thought you said we were just going to get coffee,” you say.
“We are,” Jiwon replies quickly. “Eventually. After we explore every booth.”
You sigh softly, though the faint smile on your face betrays you. “That sounds exhausting.”
Jiwon gasps dramatically. “You’re exhausting. Live a little!” Before you can protest, she’s already pulling you toward the quad.
The club fair is louder than you expected. Student volunteers call out to passersby, waving flyers and clipboards. Tables are covered with posters, trinkets, candy bowls, and sign-up sheets. Someone is giving away free boba at one booth, while another group blasts music to lure people over.
Jiwon thrives instantly. “Ooh, look!” she says, darting toward a table covered in tiny succulents. “Plant club!”
You trail behind her at a slower pace, hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket as you take in the chaos. Jiwon chats easily with the club members, already laughing with people she met less than thirty seconds ago. You’re halfway through reading a poster for the campus astronomy club when Jiwon suddenly reappears at your side.
“Okay,” she says breathlessly, holding up three different flyers. “I’ve decided we’re joining at least two clubs.”
“We?” you repeat.
“Yes, we.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
“You don’t have to agree,” she says cheerfully. “I already wrote your name on one sign-up sheet.”
Your eyes widen. “Jiwon.”
“Relax! It’s just the drama club. You know, you can afford to step outside your comfort zone.” You open your mouth to argue, but she’s already grabbing your sleeve again. “Come on, their booth is over here.”
You let yourself be dragged through the crowd once more. The booth she stops at is quieter than the others, tucked slightly off to the side beneath a white tent. A neatly arranged display of photo frames sits on the table, each filled with students in various productions. A banner hangs behind it, hand-painted but carefully done.
Someone stands behind the table adjusting a stack of flyers.
At first, you only notice small details. The sleeves of a dark sweater were pushed up to the elbows. Long fingers carefully align the corners of the papers. A pair of glasses slides slightly down the bridge of his nose as he leans forward to fix something. Then he looks up. Your breath catches.
For a moment, the noise of the club fair fades into the background.
He has soft eyes, the kind that crease slightly when he focuses on something. A faint, warm smile appears when he notices the two of you approaching.
“Hi,” he says. His voice is calm—gentle, even—but it carries easily over the surrounding noise. “Are you interested in the drama club?”
Jiwon answers immediately. “Yes!”
You’re still staring. He shifts his attention to you, tilting his head slightly in quiet curiosity. And for some reason, that small movement sends your heart racing.
“This is one of the best clubs on campus,” he continues, pushing his glasses back up with one finger. “We do a lot of student-run productions and work closely with the art department on campus. It’s mostly students who want to pursue acting, but anyone can join.”
Jiwon leans forward excitedly. “That sounds so cool.”
You finally manage to find your voice. “You run it?” you ask.
He shakes his head lightly. “Not exactly. I’m just one of the coordinators.” He pauses, then adds, “I’m a junior.”
Jiwon nudges you subtly with her elbow. “Oh!” she says brightly. “We’re freshmen.”
His smile softens slightly. “Well,” he says, picking up a sign-up sheet and setting it in front of you, “that means you still have plenty of time to get involved.” He taps the pen against the paper once before offering it to you. “I’m Soobin, by the way.”
You take the pen from his hand, your fingers brushing his for the briefest second. Something strange happens in your chest. Love at first sight is supposed to be dramatic, you think. Lightning. Fireworks. Something obvious. But standing here under a plain white tent, with spring petals drifting through the air and Jiwon chatting happily beside you. You’re suddenly certain. Something just started.
You quickly write your information on the sign-up sheet, then slide the pen to Jiwon. You can’t quite bring yourself to lift your head and meet Soobin’s eyes again. Your handwriting suddenly feels too messy, too rushed, like he might somehow judge you for it. Jiwon scribbles her name with far more confidence and slides the sheet back across the table.
“Great!” Soobin smiles, placing the page neatly on top of the stack of sign-up sheets. “We’ll contact you both within the week to schedule auditions and see you at the first meeting.”
Your head snaps up. You look furiously between Jiwon and Soobin. “Au–auditions?” you stutter.
Jiwon grabs your arm immediately and begins steering you away from the table. “Thank you!” she calls brightly over her shoulder. Soobin gives a small wave as you’re dragged off.
You barely make it ten steps before you yank your arm free. “Jiwon,” you hiss, turning to face her. “Auditions? You know I’m terrified of public speaking!”
She blinks at you innocently. “Well,” she says slowly, “good news.”
You narrow your eyes. “There is no good news here.”
“You won’t be speaking publicly,” she says.
You stare at her. “Jiwon.”
She sighs dramatically, throwing her hands up. “Okay, technically, you will. But it’s acting, so it’s different.”
“That’s not different!”
“It is!” she insists. “When you’re acting, people aren’t judging you. They’re judging the character.”
“That is absolutely not how that works.”
Jiwon hooks her arm through yours again, pulling you back into the flow of students moving through the fair.
“Listen,” she says, lowering her voice slightly, “worst case scenario, we embarrass ourselves for like three minutes.”
“We?” you repeat.
“Yes, we.”
“You dragged me into this!”
“And you signed the paper,” she shoots back. Your mouth opens. Then closes. She grins. “Oh my god,” she says suddenly, eyes widening with exaggerated realization.
“What?”
“You’re not actually worried about the audition.”
“I very much am.”
“No,” she says, leaning closer. “You’re worried about embarrassing yourself in front of him.”
Heat rushes to your face instantly. “I am not.”
Jiwon gasps, clutching her chest like you’ve just confessed to a scandal. “You like him.”
“I don’t even know him!”
“You like him,” she repeats with absolute certainty.
You turn away, pretending to examine a nearby booth flyer.
“His name is Soobin,” she continues helpfully.
“I heard that.”
“And he’s a junior.”
“Yes, I heard that too.”
“And you stared at him like he personally invented oxygen.” You groan quietly and cover your face with one hand. Jiwon laughs. “Oh, this is perfect,” she says, delighted. “We join a club, you conquer your fear of public speaking, and you fall in love with the cute upperclassman who runs it.”
“I did not fall in love.”
“You absolutely did.”
You peek back toward the tent despite yourself. Across the quad, you can still see Soobin behind the table, talking to another group of students. He pushes his glasses up again as he explains something, smiling that same soft, patient smile.
Your stomach flips. You immediately look away.
Jiwon notices. “Oh my god,” she whispers. “You’re doomed.”
You sigh. “Your fault,” you mutter.
She beams. “Worth it.”
—
It’s audition day. You have been rereading the same Shakespeare monologue for days now, and somehow it still refuses to stay in your head. The paper crinkles slightly in your hands as you walk across campus toward the theater building, eyes scanning the lines again and again.
Jiwon walks beside you, holding her own script like she’s been rehearsing all morning.
“I’ll frown and be perverse and say thee nay, so thou wilt… so thou—” You stop abruptly. “I have no idea. Line?”
“So thou wilt woo, but else not for the world,” Jiwon recites easily.
You groan.
“Relax,” she says, bumping her shoulder into yours. “You had it completely memorized last night. You’re just in your head.”
“I live in my head,” you mutter.
She gives you a small, encouraging smile and hands the paper back. “Just read it again. We can try one more time before we get there.”
You sigh but nod, eyes returning to the page as the theater building grows closer. Your stomach twists.
The audition room is already packed when you arrive. Rows of chairs fill the small theater, most of them already occupied by students murmuring to each other or quietly practicing their lines. Some people confidently rehearse dramatic gestures, projecting their voices toward the empty stage.
You shrink slightly into your seat beside Jiwon. It doesn’t take long to notice a pattern. Nearly everyone who walks in first scans the front of the room. And nearly everyone’s eyes land on the same person. Soobin.
He stands near the stage with a clipboard in hand, speaking with a tall girl who radiates the kind of confidence that could command a room without trying.
“Hi everyone, thanks for coming!” The girl steps onto the stage, her voice cutting cleanly through the chatter. “I’m Leah,” she says with an easy smile. “The club president.” She stands composed, scanning the room with a slightly amused expression.
“And I’m Soobin, one of the coordinators.” At the sound of his voice, a ripple of excited whispers moves through the room. You’re fairly certain you even hear someone behind you gasp. Soobin seems completely unaware of the reaction as he adjusts the clipboard in his hands.
Leah grins slightly wider. “Alright,” she continues. “Audition rules. Everyone will get a chance to perform their monologue. When we call your name, head up the steps, introduce yourself, and begin.”
She gestures toward Soobin. He steps forward slightly. “Don’t worry too much,” he says gently. “Just do your best.” His gaze sweeps across the room briefly. “And remember, everyone here is rooting for you.”
You’re not sure that’s true, judging by the competitive energy buzzing through the room.
“So,” he finishes, glancing down at the list. “Let’s begin. First up—Jiwon.”
Your head snaps toward her. Jiwon claps her hands once, energized. “Showtime.” You watch her confidently walk to the stage, posture straight and expression calm.
She absolutely crushes it. The room applauds politely as she finishes and returns to her seat beside you.
“You’re up soon,” she whispers excitedly. Your stomach drops.
One by one, names are called. The room grows quieter with each performance. The air thickens with anticipation as fewer and fewer people remain. Eventually, there are only a handful of you left.
Your fingers grip the edges of your script. Then your name is called. It sounds distant. Muffled somehow. You don’t move. “Hey.” Jiwon nudges you. “That’s you.”
“Oh.” You stand abruptly, nearly dropping your paper. The walk to the stage feels impossibly long. Every step echoes. You climb the small staircase, turning to face the audience. Dozens of eyes stare back at you.
You swallow. “Hi,” you manage. “I’m… um—” You clear your throat. You say your name again, a little steadier this time. Then you begin.
“Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face—” Your mind goes blank. Completely blank. The words vanish. Panic floods your chest as silence stretches across the room. You glance out at the audience. Big mistake.
Your eyes land on Leah. She lets out a quiet laugh, whispering something to the person beside her. Heat rushes to your face.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt quickly. “Can I… take a moment?”
Without waiting for a response, you hurry offstage. The quiet murmuring of the audience follows you as you duck into the hallway just outside the theater. You press your palms to your eyes, mortified. This is exactly what you were afraid of.
Footsteps approach. “Hey.” The voice startles you enough that you drop your hands. Soobin stands a few feet away, leaning casually against the wall. Your heart skips. “Nervous?” he asks.
You stare at him. “What gave it away?”
He smiles softly. “I used to be nervous too,” he admits. “Still am sometimes.”
You blink. “You?”
He nods. “I’m actually a huge introvert.” That seems impossible based on the way he effortlessly stood in front of the entire auditorium. “I get it,” he continues gently. “Being up there feels like everyone’s staring at you.”
“They were,” you say weakly.
He chuckles quietly. “Yeah. That part doesn’t really change.”
Your shoulders slump slightly. “I’m terrible at this.”
“No, you’re not.” You glance up at him. His expression is calm—earnest. “Just anchor yourself out there,” he says. “Pick one person in the room and focus on them. Don’t think about anyone else.”
“Anyone?”
He shrugs lightly. “If it helps,” he adds with a small smile, “you can look at me.” Your heart does something very inconvenient in your chest. “Take your time,” he says. “They’ll wait.”
You take a slow breath. Then another. “…Okay.”
When you step back onto the stage, the room quiets again. You find your spot. And this time, when you look out at the audience, you only look at one person. Soobin watches from the front row, offering you a small, encouraging nod. Your nerves settle just enough.
You start again. And this time the words come. When you finish, applause fills the room. Your heart is still racing as you step down from the stage, but a small smile sneaks onto your face.
As you return to your seat, you catch Soobin’s eye again. He gives you a subtle thumbs-up. Warmth spreads through your chest. Maybe auditions weren’t a complete disaster after all.
—
Drama club isn’t nearly as bad as you thought it would be. In fact, you’re starting to like it.
Most meetings begin with warm-ups that once seemed ridiculous but now feel oddly comforting. Vocal exercises, improv games, ridiculous trust falls that always end with someone collapsing into laughter. Other days are spent practicing short scenes with different partners, switching roles halfway through so everyone gets a chance.
You’ve even started recognizing people by name now. Some of them greet you when you arrive. Some even compliment your acting, which still feels strange.
Tonight’s meeting ends later than usual. The entire club has been gathering more frequently lately, everyone preparing for the big production that will close out the semester. Rumor has it that the director is announcing the play soon. Meaning, auditions are coming. Meaning competition.
After rehearsal, a large group ends up cramming into a nearby restaurant, the kind with bright lights and sticky tables that somehow always welcomes students past midnight.
You sit squeezed into a seat between Jiwon and another clubmate while menus pass around.
“So I heard the play they’re choosing has a male and female lead,” someone says from across the table. Immediately, the conversation shifts.
“Oh, then Soobin’s definitely getting the male lead.”
“Yeah, obviously.”
“Have you seen him act? He’s insane.”
A few people nod in agreement. You glance over instinctively. Soobin sits near the end of the table, quietly stirring his drink. He laughs softly and shakes his head. “You guys are exaggerating.”
“You’re literally the best actor in the club,” someone argues.
“That’s not true,” he says quickly.
“You’re also the only one who doesn’t believe that,” another voice adds.
The group laughs. Then someone turns toward the other obvious candidate. “And Leah’s definitely getting the female lead.”
Leah, sitting across the table, lifts her chin slightly. “Well,” she says with a confident smile, “someone has to carry the show.”
Jiwon suddenly perks up beside you. “I know someone who could do an even better job,” she swings her arm around you. Your head snaps toward her. She points directly at you.
A few people at the table glance over. Then someone chuckles. “Her?”
Another person laughs lightly. You feel heat creeping up your neck. Leah leans back in her seat, crossing her arms. “A freshman?” she says lightly. “That would be bold.”
You straighten slightly. “I mean,” you say quietly, “I could try out.”
A few surprised looks flicker across the table. Before anyone else can respond, a voice comes from further down the table.
“I think you should.” You look up. Soobin meets your gaze with a small smile. “You’ve been doing really well in scenes lately,” he adds.
Your heart stumbles slightly. Leah’s smile tightens. “Freshmen don’t usually get lead roles,” she says casually. “There’s a lot of experience required.”
You shrug, trying to look unaffected. “Well,” you say, “it’s just auditions.” Jiwon grins beside you, clearly proud. The conversation eventually shifts again, but the tension lingers faintly in the air.
Later in the evening, the group slowly begins to split off. Some people settle the bill while others pull on jackets. Soobin excuses himself to use the restroom. The moment he disappears, Leah slides into the seat across from you.
She rests her chin lightly on her hand.“You know,” she says. You look up. “Your little crush is cute.”
Your stomach tightens.“I don’t—”
“But,” she continues smoothly, “you shouldn’t get the wrong idea.”
You blink. “What?”
She gives you a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Soobin and I have been doing theater together for years.” She pauses just long enough for the implication to settle. “I just don’t want you getting hurt thinking something might happen there.”
Your jaw tightens. “I wasn’t thinking that.”
Leah hums softly, clearly unconvinced. “Well. Good.” She stands and slips her jacket on just as Soobin returns. The moment passes like it never happened. But the annoyance lingers.
—
Eventually, someone suggests karaoke. “Come on!” Jiwon says, already halfway out of the booth. “It’ll be fun!” You shake your head.
“I think I’m going to head back.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’m tired.”
She studies you for a moment, then nods. “Text me when you get back.” You wave goodbye to the group and step out into the cool evening air.
The walk back toward campus is quiet. Your mind replays the night over and over. Leah’s words. The laughter at the table. Soobin defending you. You barely make it halfway down the street before you hear footsteps behind you.
“Hey!” You turn. Soobin jogs slightly to catch up.
“Oh,” you say, surprised.
“I forgot my folder at the theater,” he explains. “Figured I’d grab it before heading home.” He gestures toward the campus ahead. “Mind if I walk with you?”
“Sure.” You fall into step beside him. For a few minutes, neither of you says much.
Then he glances over. “You did really well in rehearsal tonight.”
You blink. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
You shrug awkwardly. “I’m still kind of figuring it out.”
“That’s the fun part.”
You hesitate. “So… um…” He looks over. Your heart starts racing. You try to sound casual. “So are you… seeing anyone?”
He blinks. “Huh?”
You immediately regret everything. “Nothing,” you say quickly. “Just curious.”
He laughs softly. “It’s okay.”
You bury your face in your hands briefly. “That was smooth.”
“Very smooth,” he agrees.
You both laugh. The walk continues in a comfortable silence. Despite feeling embarrassed by asking him his relationship status, he didn’t make you feel stupid. You’re relieved and secretly thankful for the alone time with him.
It starts faintly at first, so you don’t notice it. A drop of water hits your arm. Then another. Its not long until you both glance up. The sky opens.
“Oh no,” you say. Within seconds, the rain is pouring.
“Run!” Soobin laughs.
You both sprint toward campus, the rain soaking through your clothes almost immediately. Halfway down the street, he pulls off his jacket and holds it above both of your heads like a shield.
“It’s not doing much,” you say between breaths.
“It’s doing something!”
You both keep running, laughing breathlessly as puddles splash beneath your feet. By the time you reach your dorm building, you're both completely soaked. You stop under the awning, trying to catch your breath. Rain pours behind you. Soobin lowers the jacket slowly.
Rain drums steadily against the pavement outside the dorm, the streetlights turning every drop into streaks of silver.
Your heart is pounding. You realize just how close he’s standing. And suddenly you’re very aware of how much you like him.
You and Soobin stand beneath the narrow awning, both trying to catch your breath after the sprint back to campus. His jacket hangs loosely in his hand now, completely soaked and doing nothing to keep either of you dry.
Your hair is dripping. His glasses are spotted with rain. And for some reason, neither of you moves to leave.
You laugh softly, brushing wet strands of hair away from your face. “Well. That was effective.”
“So effective,” he agrees, pushing his damp hair back. “I think we outran approximately zero percent of the rain.”
You glance at him.
There’s something different in the quiet now. Without the noise of the club or the chatter of the restaurant, everything feels smaller. Closer. More noticeable.
Your heart starts doing that inconvenient thing again. “So,” you say, trying to sound casual, “thanks for walking me back.”
“Of course.”
A small pause settles between you. He shifts slightly, looking like he’s about to say something.
“Hey, I—” He stops.
You look up. “You what?”
He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking uncertain. “Nothing,” he says quickly. “Never mind.”
Your curiosity spikes immediately. “No, you started it.”
He laughs softly, shaking his head. “It’s dumb.”
“Try me.”
Another pause. The rain continues falling behind you. “I was just going to say…” he begins slowly, then trails off again. You wait. He exhales through a quiet laugh. “Okay, yeah, never mind. It sounded better in my head.”
You narrow your eyes slightly. “Now I really want to know.”
He looks at you for a moment, really looks. Then he sighs lightly. “I was going to ask if—” He stops himself again, groaning quietly. “This is embarrassing.”
You smile a little. His nervousness gives you a brief boost of bravery. “You can direct a room full of actors, but you can’t finish a sentence?”
“Apparently not.”
You both laugh. The moment stretches again, softer now. Then he shifts his weight and glances toward the rain. “I should probably get going,” he says.
You nod. “Yeah. It’s still pouring.”
He takes a step back from the awning. Then pauses. “Oh—” You look up again.
“One more thing,” he says. You wait. “So earlier… when you asked if I was seeing anyone?”
Your stomach flips. “Yeah?”
“I’m not.” He says it casually, but there’s a small, almost shy smile tugging at his mouth. Your heart skips. “Just thought I should clarify,” he adds lightly.
And before you can respond, he pulls his hood up and jogs back out into the rain. You stand under the awning watching him disappear down the street, jacket thrown over his head.
Your brain slowly catches up. You stare after him. “…Wait.” The realization hits all at once. Your face warms. You turn toward the dorm doors, trying and failing to hide the smile spreading across your face. Drama club might actually be the best decision you’ve made all year.
—
Auditions come and go faster than you expect. The week leading up to them feels endless—late nights memorizing lines, pacing your dorm room while Jiwon throws random acting prompts at you, and constantly reminding yourself that trying is better than wondering what if.
Despite Leah’s comments at the diner, you still decide to audition for the lead role. Partly because you genuinely want to challenge yourself. Partly because a small, stubborn part of you refuses to let her scare you off.
The night of auditions is somehow less terrifying than the first time. Your hands still shake when you walk on stage, but you remember Soobin’s advice—anchor yourself. Focus on one person. You do.
And when the director finally posts the cast list a week later, a crowd gathers outside the theater doors to read it.
Jiwon grabs your hand immediately, dragging you toward the list before you can chicken out.
“Okay, okay, okay,” she whispers, scanning the page. “Where are you…”
Your eyes skim the names quickly. You don’t see your name beside the female lead. You didn’t really expect to, but the small sting still catches you by surprise. Then there it is. A supporting role. A good one. A real one.
Your breath catches.
“Wait—” Jiwon says, leaning closer. “You got one of the bigger parts!” You blink at the paper again, making sure you’re reading it correctly. “You’re literally the only freshman with a speaking role that big,” she adds.
You glance down the cast list again. She’s right. Most freshmen are listed as ensemble or background roles. A small smile slowly spreads across your face. Apparently, the director noticed your effort.
Later that afternoon, during rehearsal introductions, the director even mentions it.
“I appreciate the initiative,” he says, nodding toward you. “It’s rare for freshmen to aim high in their first semester.” Your cheeks warm slightly as a few people glance your way.
Leah, now officially cast as the female lead, simply crosses her arms. She doesn’t say anything. But the look on her face says enough.
Rehearsals begin almost immediately. At first, they’re chaotic: blocking scenes, figuring out entrances, reading lines awkwardly off scripts. But something surprising happens. You’re good. Really good.
The nerves that used to tangle your thoughts slowly start to loosen as rehearsals continue. The more you practice, the easier it becomes to step into your character instead of worrying about yourself.
People start noticing. “You were great in that scene,” one of the upperclassmen tells you after rehearsal. Another actor compliments your delivery during a group exercise. Even the director nods approvingly during a particularly emotional moment.
One night after practice, as everyone packs up their scripts, Soobin leans against the edge of the stage, watching you gather your things.
“You know,” he says thoughtfully. You glance up. “You’re improving ridiculously fast.”
You shrug a little, trying not to look too pleased. “I have good teachers.”
He smiles. “Still.” He taps his script lightly against his palm. “If you keep this up, you should apply to coordinate the club next year.”
You blink. “Me?”
“Yeah.” He gestures toward the stage. “You’re organized, people listen to you, and you actually show up prepared. That’s half the job.”
You laugh softly. “I’ve only been here a few months.”
“Exactly,” he says. “And you’re already one of the most dedicated people here.” Your heart flutters at the praise. You try to focus on packing your bag.
But the rehearsals start to fill with small moments after that. Little things. The kind you try not to overthink.
During one scene change, your hands brush as you both reach for the same prop. Neither of you pulls away immediately.
Another time, you catch him watching you from across the stage during someone else’s rehearsal. When he realizes you’ve noticed, he looks down quickly with a quiet smile.
Sometimes he goes out of his way to sit beside you during script readings.
Other times, he casually volunteers to run lines with you when you’re struggling with a scene. It’s subtle. But it happens often enough that Jiwon starts noticing.
“Oh my god,” she whispers one evening after rehearsal. “He literally crossed the entire stage just to stand next to you.”
“He did not.”
“He absolutely did.” You pretend not to hear her. But the warmth in your chest betrays you.
Leah notices too. She doesn’t say anything outright, but her irritation shows in smaller ways—shorter responses during scenes, occasional sharp glances in your direction. Still, she keeps things professional.
Rehearsals continue. Lines improve. The show slowly begins taking shape. And somehow, between the late nights in the theater, the laughter during rehearsals, and the quiet conversations with Soobin afterward, the Drama club starts feeling less like a challenge. And more like home.
—
The campus festival happens the week before opening night. Apparently, it’s an annual tradition, one last celebration before finals and the end of the semester. By the time rehearsal ends that evening, the entire quad has transformed.
String lights are hung between the trees, glowing softly against the darkening sky. Booths line the walkways, selling everything from street food to handmade crafts. Music drifts through the air from a small stage near the center lawn, where a student band plays to a crowd of swaying bodies.
Jiwon practically vibrates with excitement. “Oh my god,” she says, grabbing your sleeve the moment you step out of the theater building. “We’re going.”
You blink at her. “Right now?”
“Yes, right now!”
“But rehearsal just ended.”
“Exactly,” she says. “We deserve snacks.”
Before you can protest, she’s already pulling you toward the lights. The festival is more crowded than you expected. Students weave between booths holding cups of lemonade and paper trays of food. Someone nearby is attempting to win a stuffed animal from a carnival game while their friends cheer them on.
Jiwon drags you from stand to stand with unstoppable enthusiasm. “Try this!” she says, shoving a skewer of grilled food into your hand.
Five minutes later, she’s pointing at another booth. “Ooh, boba!”
You laugh despite yourself, letting her pull you through the crowd. At some point, you lose track of how long you’ve been wandering when you hear a familiar voice behind you.
“Hey.” You turn. Soobin stands a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his jacket. The glow of the festival lights reflects faintly in his glasses.
Your heart does that thing again.“Oh,” you say. “Hi.”
Jiwon notices immediately and grins. “Well,” she says brightly, stepping backward. “Look at that.”
You narrow your eyes. “Jiwon.”
“I just remembered,” she continues dramatically, “my friend said she’d meet me near the stage.”
“You didn’t—”
“Have fun!” she says, already disappearing into the crowd.
You stare after her. Then slowly turn back toward Soobin. He’s trying and failing not to laugh. “So,” he says after a moment, gesturing toward the festival around you, “have you explored everything at the festival yet?”
“Not really.”
Soobin lowers his head, slightly nervous, “Want to?” he asks, meeting your gaze. Ignoring the pitter-patter of your heart, you nod. You wander together through the festival for a while. The conversation comes easily: classes, rehearsal disasters, the weirdest improv games the club has ever made you do.
“How have you been enjoying your first year on campus?” Soobin asks when you’ve stopped at a dessert stand. His eyes scan over the array of breads and sweets before selecting a couple. He fishes a few bills from his wallet and hands them to the student running the booth.
“It’s been good,” you reply, quietly thanking him as he passes you a warm pastry dusted with powdered sugar. “I feel like I’ve finally got the hang of it.”
He nods thoughtfully as you both step aside to make room for the next group of students. “That’s about when it started feeling normal for me too,” he says. “First semester, I was completely lost.”
“You?” you say, surprised.
“Completely,” he laughs. “Wrong buildings, wrong classrooms… I once sat through twenty minutes of a philosophy lecture before realizing it wasn’t my class.”
You laugh, nearly dropping a bit of pastry. “Okay, that’s comforting.”
They drift back into the crowd together, walking slowly past the rows of brightly lit booths. Music from the stage carries faintly through the air, mixing with the chatter of students and the clatter of carnival games.
“So what finally helped?” you ask.
“Finding people,” he says simply. He glances over at you for a moment before looking ahead again. “Clubs. Friends. Places where you actually want to spend time.”
Your chest warms slightly at the implication. You finish the last bite of the pastry as another burst of laughter erupts nearby. A small group of students crowds around a brightly colored carnival game booth. A sign above it reads RING TOSS WIN A PRIZE.
You slow slightly as you pass. Soobin notices. “You want to try?” he asks.
“I didn’t say that.”
“But I could tell you were thinking it.” He grins and hands the booth attendant a couple of tickets. A moment later, he’s standing beside you with a handful of plastic rings. “Alright,” he says confidently. “Watch and learn.”
Soobin throws the first ring, and it falls short, hitting the floor. He tries again with a little more force. It’s still a miss, but the ring clatters against the pegs.
“You’re supposed to put the ring on the peg,” you tease as he misses again.
“Just warming up, trust me.” He continues to throw the rings. On the final throw, he makes it. The game attendant congratulates him and hands over a small plush toy.
Soobin holds it out to you. “You earned it,” he says.
“You were the one throwing.”
“Yeah,” he says, “but you believed in me.”
You laugh, accepting the prize. You both turn, heading away from the booth. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The music from the stage drifts through the warm night air.
Then Soobin glances at you. “You know,” he says thoughtfully, “I’m really glad you joined drama club.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Even though I almost passed out at my first audition?”
“Especially because of that.”
You bump his shoulder lightly. “That’s rude.”
“I mean it,” he says softly. “You’ve made rehearsals better.”
Your heart skips. “You’re pretty biased,” you say.
“Maybe.”
He looks like he wants to say something else.
But instead, he gestures toward a quieter path lined with lanterns just beyond the main festival area.
“Want to walk?”
You nod.
The noise of the festival fades slightly as you follow the lantern-lit path. The lights sway gently in the evening breeze, casting warm golden shadows across the walkway. You walk side by side in comfortable silence. Eventually, Soobin glances over.
“You were incredible in rehearsal today,” he says. You peek over at him. His eyes look upward toward the lanterns in the trees.
You smile, “You say that every time.”
“Because it keeps being true.” At this, he looks over at you, meeting your gaze.
You feel your face warm slightly. “You’re just trying to boost my confidence before the show.”
He stops walking. You take another step before realizing and turn back.
“What?” Soobin hesitates. Then says quietly, “No. I’m not just saying it for that.”
The lantern light flickers softly between you. Your heart starts racing at the way he’s staring back at you. “Then why?” you ask.
He takes a small step closer. “Because I mean it.”
Your breath catches slightly. You suddenly become very aware of how close he’s standing.
“You’re staring again,” he says softly.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
Your face warms. “Okay, maybe a little.”
He smiles. “Good.”
Your stomach flips. “Good?”
“Yeah.” He steps just a little closer. For a moment, neither of you moves. The sounds of the festival are distant now. Just music. Wind. Lanterns swaying gently overhead. Your eyes drift down briefly toward his lips. Round and full, you could only imagine how soft they’d be on your own. You were almost shocked by the thought, darting your eyes back up.
Soobin notices. His voice drops slightly. “Can I try something?”
Your heart pounds. “…Okay.”
He hesitates for only a second. Then leans in slowly. His left hand reaches up to stroke your hair. He gently tucks it behind your ear. His lips meet yours. It’s soft at first, like he’s giving you time to pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you lean into it slightly, your fingers lightly gripping the sleeve of his jacket.
When he finally pulls back, you’re both a little breathless. He laughs quietly. “Wow.”
You smile shyly. “Wow?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”
Your heart practically melts. “…Me too.”
Uh oh! You have reached your time limit dating Soobin. You may now return home or choose another boy!
synopsis: Ready to meet your perfect match? Welcome to Boyfriend on Demand, your personalized virtual reality dating experience. The man of your dreams is only a click away.
author's note: Been binging the Netflix show and couldn't help myself <3 Stories will be posted in the coming weeks. Stay tuned!
blossom // soobin
spring is the perfect time to make a move on your campus crush
his big secret // yeonjun
falling in love with your boss wasn't in the job description
forbidden fruit // beomgyu
the one you desired so deeply has already been promised to another
doctor, doctor // taehyun
the other nurses think doctor kang is cold-hearted, but you know better than that
spotlight // huening kai
the life of a star can be quite lonely, except when he's around
A hidden phantom discovers that the voice she shaped may also be the one that unmasks her heart.
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wc: 5.1k
pairing: huening kai x reader
author’s notes: forgive me for taking so long! School is lowkey killing me!! But I've been writing as a study break, so I hope you like this one.
tags/warnings: opera singer!kai x phanom!reader, kai is eager and innocent, reader is slightly possessive, heavily inspired by Phantom of the Opera 2004 movie, some intimate moments, not full smut, but reader discretion advised!
duology story with Phantom of the Opera // taehyun
--------------
You barely remember life outside the opera house. Your earliest memories are blurred, details lost to time, leaving only sensations behind—loneliness clinging to your ribs, fear pressing heavy against your chest. Faces fade, voices dissolve, but the feeling remains.
It wasn’t until someone with a shred of kindness left in their heart found you. They guided you through a narrow door hidden behind velvet curtains and crumbling stone, down into a chamber buried deep beneath the opera house. You remember the way the air cooled as you descended, the way the world above seemed to vanish with each step.
That chamber became your sanctuary. The shadows welcomed you. The stone walls stood firm and unjudging, cool beneath your touch. Below the opera house, unseen and unheard, you learned how to exist in the dark—how to survive it, how to make it yours.
You understood why the world had been so unkind to you. The reason was written plainly across the left side of your face, scarred skin stretching from your hairline to your jaw, warped and unforgiving. The memory of how it came to be is unclear. Perhaps it was an accident. Perhaps you were born this way. The truth has been swallowed by time.
But the outcome was undeniable. It was why you were abandoned, why doors closed before you could knock. Why whispers followed where warmth never did. In time, you learned to stop seeking the light altogether. The shadows were kinder. They asked nothing of you. Beneath the opera house, hidden from prying eyes, they became your home.
Living below had its advantages. When the world above slept, you slipped quietly into the theater, moving like a ghost between velvet curtains and towering set pieces. You stole scraps of fabric and forgotten costumes to warm your body, fragments of elegance never meant for someone like you. Broken chairs, discarded mirrors, and anything left behind found new purpose in your underground sanctuary.
One night, tucked away in a trunk, you found a white half-mask. It fit comfortably over your face, smooth and cool against scarred skin. With it, you felt, if only briefly, less exposed. Less seen.
During rehearsals, you learned the secret paths. Narrow staircases. Rope ladders. Beams that were hidden high above the stage. From the rafters, you listened. Music filled the space in a way nothing else ever had. Voices echoed upward, rich and alive, and you clung to the sound like a lifeline. It was there, unseen, that you fell in love with the opera itself.
And then, one day, as you passed the small chapel room tucked away in the corridors, you heard something different. Not music. Crying.
You slowed, curiosity getting the better of you. Peering through a partially open storage door, you see him. Inside sat a boy, young and trembling, shoulders shaking as quiet sobs escaped him. Candlelight softened his features, casting shadows across a face so striking it stole the breath from your lungs. He was beautiful.
Dark hair fell into his eyes as he bowed his head, fingers clenched tightly in his lap, as if holding himself together. You had never seen him before, yet something about him pulled at you—an ache you didn’t have words for. Later, you would learn his name was Kai. The son of an orchestra member who recently passed away is now earning his keep as a choir member.
But in that moment, he was simply a boy who cried alone in a chapel, and for the first time in years, the shadows did not feel like enough.
You kept a close eye on Kai as the years passed, watching him grow in quiet fragments—through cracked doors, from the shadows of balconies, from the safety of places he never thought to look. You watched him struggle just as often as you watched him sing.
Most nights before bed, he knelt in the small chapel room, the air heavy with candle smoke and whispered prayers. A worn photograph of his father rested against the altar, its edges frayed from time and touch. Kai’s hands folded tightly as if letting go might cause him to fall apart.
One night, you found him there again. You stood hidden within a narrow corridor behind a stained-glass depiction of an angel, its colors dim in the low light. A single clear pane allowed you to see him clearly, his shoulders shaking, head bowed, voice barely above a breath.
“Please… please, God, help me,” he whispered, rocking gently on his knees. “I’m so alone. I’m scared.” His voice cracked. “Please… send me someone. Anyone.”
Your chest ached. Every instinct urged you forward, begged you to cross the space between you and wrap him in comfort. But the familiar weight of the mask against your face stopped you cold. He could never see you. Not like this. Not ever. So you offered him the only thing you safely could—your voice.
“Don’t cry,” you said softly, carefully shaping the words to sound warm, human. “You’re not alone.”
Kai gasped, his head snapping up. He turned toward the chapel door, eyes wide, scanning the empty room. Seeing no one, he slowly looked back toward the stained glass. You stepped back just enough that your shadow vanished. “H-Hello?” he called, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Is… is someone there?”
“A friend,” you replied.
He hesitated. “Friends usually show themselves.”
A sad smile touched your lips, unseen. “Some of us can’t.” Silence stretched between you, fragile as spun glass.
“You must be an angel. I thought I was imagining things,” he admitted quietly. “Sometimes I talk so much in here, I forget no one’s listening.”
“I’m listening,” you said at once.
His shoulders relaxed just slightly. “Then, thank you.”
That night became the first of many. You spoke to him often after that, always from hidden places, always unseen. You corrected his breathing when he sang alone. Guided his pitch when frustration threatened to choke his voice. When doubt crept in, you pushed back against it gently but firmly.
“You’re capable of more than you think,” you told him once.
“I don’t believe that,” he said, voice small.
“Then borrow my belief until you find your own.”
And he did. Years passed like turning pages. Kai’s voice matured—stronger, richer, braver. Eventually, he stopped asking if he was good enough and started asking how to be better. By then, you were no longer just a voice in the dark. You were his teacher.
When he finally stood on stage for his first leading role, the house roaring with applause, his eyes lifted instinctively toward the rafters. And though he could not see you, he smiled—because somehow, he knew you were there.
As time passed, Kai matured into a handsome man. The softness of boyhood faded, replaced by sharp lines and quiet strength. His angelic features only grew more striking with age—eyes brighter, posture surer, his voice carrying a confidence that once felt impossible for him.
You grew, too. Not in the way he did. You marked the years only through him—through the deepening of his tone, the steadiness of his breath, the way doubt slowly loosened its grip on his heart. Each change reminded you that time was moving forward, even if you remained hidden beneath the opera house, untouched by the world above.
You were proud of him. Fiercely so. But pride was no longer the only thing you felt. You noticed it in the quiet moments first—how your breath caught when he laughed, how his voice lingered in your thoughts long after rehearsals ended. You began to listen not just for flaws to correct, but for the sound of him. The warmth in his timbre. The emotion he poured into each note.
You told yourself it was admiration. Gratitude. Habit. But admiration did not ache.
You wanted him to linger when conversations ended. You wanted him to ask questions that had nothing to do with technique. You found yourself imagining what it would be like to stand beside him instead of above him—what it would feel like to be seen by him, truly seen, and not turn away in fear.
Desire crept in quietly, dangerous and unwelcome. You wanted Kai. Not just his voice. Not just his success. Him. The man he had become—the man you had helped shape, yes, but who now stood on his own, commanding the stage and the attention of everyone who watched.
And with that realization came fear because you knew what he did not. That if he ever saw you, the music might stop.
—
One night, Kai delivered a performance so breathtaking the final note seemed to linger in the air long after he stopped singing. The theater erupted. A standing ovation shook the balconies. Applause thundered like a storm. Bouquets rained down upon the stage with roses, lilies, and ribbons tied with handwritten notes. His name echoed from every direction, called with admiration, adoration, hunger.
You watched from the rafters, fingers curled tightly around the beam beneath you.
When he disappeared backstage, the crowd did not thin. Men and women alike gathered outside his dressing room door, clutching flowers and small wrapped gifts, laughing breathlessly as they waited for a glimpse of him.
“He was divine tonight,” one woman sighed.
“I heard he’s not seeing anyone,” another voice chimed in. “Maybe I’ll ask him to dinner. A man like that shouldn’t sleep alone.”
A low laugh followed. Something inside you twisted. The shadows seemed to tighten around your chest as if mirroring the sudden constriction there. You told yourself it was pride. Of course, others admired him; how could they not? You had known his brilliance long before they did.
But pride did not burn. The thought of someone else touching his arm, leaning close to whisper in his ear, smiling up at him the way he once smiled at the sound of your voice—
It made your jaw tighten. He was yours. Not in a way the world would understand. Not in a way you could ever claim aloud. But you had shaped his voice, steadied his breath, gathered the broken pieces of his confidence, and rebuilt them carefully with your own hands. They saw a star. You saw the boy who cried in the chapel. And you could not bear the thought of someone else believing they knew him better than you did.
Inside his dressing room, the noise dulled. Bouquets overflowed from every surface. Cards lay half-opened. Gold lamplight cast a warm glow across his tired features. Without the stage lights, he looked less like a star and more like himself again. He sat before the mirror, shoulders slumped, hands resting loosely in his lap. His reflection stared back at him, eyes distant.
Your anger softened instantly. You slipped into the corridor behind the mirror, close enough to be heard but not close enough to be seen. “You were magnificent tonight,” you said softly.
Kai’s head lifted at once. There it was, that small, private smile he reserved for you alone. The one that no audience had ever earned. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he replied, voice tired but warm. “You’re always quieter on nights like this.”
“I was listening.”
He huffed a faint laugh. “They wouldn’t stop cheering. I thought my ears might burst.”
“Why do you sound disappointed?”
His gaze dropped to the roses littering the table. “They cheer for who they think I am.”
“And who is that?”
“A man who isn’t afraid.” He hesitated. “A man who doesn’t need anyone.” He shook his head. “It’s strange… the louder the applause, the more alone I feel afterward.” Silence stretched between you for a brief moment. Kai lifts his head in your direction. “I don’t feel alone now, though. Not with you here,” he added quietly.
Your breath caught. Outside, laughter echoed again. Someone knocked lightly at his door. “Kai? We’re still here! Don’t hide from us!” He rolled his eyes faintly, but there was weariness in it.
“You should go greet them,” you said, though the words tasted bitter.
“I don’t want to.”
The honesty in his voice startled you. “Why?” you asked.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting toward the wall where you stood hidden. “Because none of them are the one I want to see.”
Your pulse stuttered. “Kai…” you warned softly.
“I know,” he said quickly, a small smile touching his lips. “You’re not coming out. I remember.”
He slowly stood, crossed to the door, and paused before opening it. “You know,” he said, quieter now, meant only for you, “sometimes I think I belong more to the dark than the stage.”
The possessive ache inside you flared again, but now it felt less sharp, more tender. “Careful,” you murmured. “You forget yourself.”
He smiled faintly, hand still resting on the doorknob. “Do I?” he asked.
“Yes,” you said. “The dark is not meant for men like you.”
“And what kind of men are those?” His tone had changed from less boyish to something more deliberate.
You hesitated. “Men with futures. With admirers waiting beyond the door.”
A soft chuckle left him. “You heard that, didn’t you?” You did not answer. “Knew it,” he murmured. “If I didn’t know any better, you were jealous.”
Your pulse jumped. “I was not.”
“Mm.” He leaned his shoulder against the door but didn’t open it. “They were all so eager,” he continued casually. “Flowers. Invitations. Promises.” His voice dipped lower. “But none of them are the one I wanted.”
You swallowed. “Kai.”
“What?” he pressed gently. “Am I not allowed to want?”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying.” He turned slowly, facing the shadows instead of the door, instead of the world. “I’ve given my voice to the stage,” he said. “But I gave my trust to you.”
Your breath trembled. “You shouldn’t want what you cannot see,” you warned.
“Then let me see.” The words landed between you like a spark near dry kindling.
“You would regret it,” you whispered.
“Try me.” His voice wasn’t teasing now. It was steady. Intent. “You speak of the dark as though it’s dangerous,” he said, stepping away from the door entirely. “But you’re there.”
Your heart pounded violently.
“You shaped me,” he continued. “You taught me how to stand on that stage. How to breathe. How to be fearless.” He stepped closer to the wall behind which you stood. “If I belong anywhere,” he murmured, “it’s where you are.”
That did it. The final thread of restraint snapped. “Are you sure?” you whisper, your voice lower now, stripped of its usual distance.
“Yes,” he pleads softly. The tone of his voice sends a flutter to your chest. There was no turning back now.
You move slowly, deliberately, stepping from the hidden passage behind the mirror. The soft golden light of his dressing room stretches toward you, catching first at the edges of your silhouette. Kai’s gaze drifts to the glass as your reflection begins to form in front of his own.
At first, he frowns slightly, uncertain. Then he stills. He realizes. The figure before him is not an illusion. Not a trick of exhaustion. Not a voice conjured from loneliness but a real one.
The light catches the white curve of your mask before anything else. It gleams faintly against the dim room, a crescent of pale against shadow. Kai’s eyes snap upward in the mirror, locking onto yours through the glass. He does not move.
Kai’s breath hitches, but he does not recoil. He does not step back; instead, he comes closer to the mirror. For a long, suspended moment, he simply looks at you. Not hurried and not frightened. Just taking you in.
You had imagined this moment a thousand different ways. In most of them, he gasped. Stepped away. Looked at you with confusion or horror. None of those imaginings prepared you for this. For the way his eyes soften. For the way wonder, not fear, spreads slowly across his face as though he has been waiting for this all along.
“You’re…” he starts, but the word dies in his throat.
You tilt your head slightly. “Disappointed?”
His brow furrows immediately. “No.” The answer is instant.
“Then what?” you ask.
He exhales slowly, as though steadying himself. “Real,” he says at last. “You’re real.”
The air between you feels different now. “What happened to the brave boy from before?” you murmur. “You taunted the dark.”
“I-I didn’t understand it before,” he replies softly. “I think I do now.”
You take a slow step backward, testing him. “The dark is not gentle,” you warn.
His eyes never leave you. “Neither are you.”
There is no accusation in it. Only awe. You feel it, the shift. He is no longer trying to draw you out. He is waiting to be invited in.
“If you follow me,” you say, your voice steady but low, “Things will never be as they were before.”
“I don’t want them to be,” he answers.
Your heart stutters.“Kai,” you caution.
He shakes his head faintly. “I spent years speaking to a voice I couldn’t see. Trusting someone I couldn’t touch.” His expression softens. “I’m not afraid of you.”
You hold his gaze. “You should be.”
“Maybe,” he says. “But I would rather walk into the dark with you than stand in the light alone.”
The words silence whatever doubt still clings to you. You extend your hands to the glass and slide it aside. The barrier between the two worlds was separated at last. You notice a slight shake in Kai’s hands as he reaches out to help move the glass.
Face to face now, you reach out a hand toward him. Not as a test this time, but an invitation. There is no teasing smile when he looks at it. No arrogance. Only quiet certainty. He places his hand in yours. “Lead me,” he says.
And this time, when you turn toward the hidden passage behind the mirror, he follows without hesitation.
The way down into your cavernous home was nothing new to you. These corridors, winding staircases, and hidden passages were simply part of your world. Paths your feet had memorized long ago. You could walk them in complete darkness if you needed to. But behind you, every step was a revelation.
Kai followed closely as you led him through the narrow passage behind the mirror. The hidden door slid shut with a quiet scrape of stone, sealing away the warm glow of his dressing room and the life he had known above.
The air changed immediately, cool and damp. A single lantern in your hand cast trembling light along the corridor walls as you descended the first spiral staircase. The stone steps were worn smooth by age, and the deeper you went, the more the sounds of the opera house faded into distant murmurs.
You glanced back after a few steps. Kai stood midway down the staircase, one hand lightly brushing the wall as he looked around. Not fearful, but overwhelmed.
“Still with me?” you asked softly.
His eyes lifted to yours through the dim light. For a moment, he didn’t answer, as if words had deserted him entirely. Then he nodded. You continued downward.
Passageways twisted beneath the opera house like veins beneath skin. Narrow corridors opened into forgotten storage rooms, crumbling archways, and staircases no one above remembered existed.
Kai said nothing as you walked. But you could feel his attention on everything: the rough stone beneath his fingers, the echo of your footsteps, the strange quiet that wrapped around the underground halls.
After a while, you glanced back again. He was watching you now. Not the tunnels. Not the darkness. You. You couldn’t quite place the look in his eyes, one unfamiliar to you. There was a sureness there beneath the awe.
“You’re quiet,” you said.
His voice came softer than before. “I’m trying to understand.”
“Understand what?”
“This,” he said, gesturing faintly around him. “How long you’ve been down here. How no one else knows.”
A small smile tugged at your lips beneath the mask. “The opera house keeps many secrets.”
“And you’re the greatest of them,” he murmured. You turned away before he could see the effect the words had on you.
Eventually, the narrow passage opened into a long stone corridor sloping downward toward darkness. The faint sound of water echoed ahead. Kai slowed when he heard it. When the corridor finally opened into the underground lake, he stopped entirely.
The lantern light stretched out across still black water, revealing the small wooden boat waiting at the edge of the stone dock. The cavern ceiling arched high above, disappearing into shadow.
Kai exhaled slowly. “This is… beneath the opera house?”
“Yes.”
He stepped closer to the water’s edge, staring out across the dark surface like someone standing at the edge of another world.
You stepped into the boat first, steady and practiced. “Careful,” you said, holding the lantern high.
Kai looked at you, then at the boat. Not a trace of hesitation crossed his face. He climbed in. The wood shifted softly beneath his weight, and you pushed away from the dock, guiding the boat into the still water. The lantern’s glow rippled across the cavern walls as the boat glided forward.
For a while, neither of you spoke. Kai sat opposite you, elbows resting lightly on his knees, eyes moving slowly across the cavern. The reflections of candlelight flickered across his face as the boat drifted deeper into the lake. He looked almost breathless.
“You’re not asking many questions,” you said quietly.
He shook his head slightly. “If I start asking,” he replied, “I might wake up.”
You paused in your rowing. “You think this is a dream?”
Kai looked directly at you across the lantern light. “If it is,” he said softly, “I don’t want to wake up.” Your chest tightened unexpectedly at his response.
The boat drifted closer to the far side of the cavern, where soft golden light began to glow against the rock walls. Candles flickered along the edges of the cavern floor, illuminating the strange beauty of the hidden space.
Kai slowly stood as the boat reached the shore. His eyes widened. “This is where you live?” he whispered.
You stepped onto the stone first, then turned back toward him. “Yes.”
He followed you onto the shore, still looking around in stunned silence. The cavern seemed to swallow his voice, leaving only the sound of dripping water and the faint flutter of candlelight.
“You built all this… alone?”
You hesitated before answering. “Yes.”
Kai looked at you again then. Not with pity. Not with fear. But with something deeper. “I’m glad you brought me here,” he said quietly.
You look away quickly, the simple kindness in his voice melting something in your chest far quicker than you had expected. It is easier to watch the cavern walls, the flicker of candlelight on water, than to endure the warmth in his gaze.
Kai, meanwhile, begins to wander. He moves slowly through the space, careful as though afraid to disturb anything. His fingers trail lightly across the back of a chair, the edge of a velvet drape, the polished wood of a small table. He studies everything with quiet fascination, as though piecing together the life you have built beneath the world above.
Then he stops. The large organ sits against the far wall, its pipes rising like silent sentinels toward the cavern ceiling. Kai’s eyes brighten instantly. He turns back toward you with a look of pure astonishment. “How did you get this down here?”
You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. His amazement is disarming, so genuine, so boyish despite the man he has become. “Very carefully,” you reply.
He circles the instrument slowly, running his hand along the polished wood as if confirming it is real. “This is magnificent,” he murmurs. Then he glances back at you, something hopeful flickering in his expression. “May I?” he asks, gesturing toward the bench.
You incline your head slightly. “Please.”
Kai settles onto the bench, adjusting himself before the keys. For a moment, he simply sits there, hands resting lightly over the ivory, as if listening for the instrument’s breath. Then he begins to play.
The first notes drift gently through the cavern, soft but clear. The sound bloomed in the open space, echoing faintly off the stone walls. It takes you only a moment to recognize the melody—it is from the performance earlier that evening.
Kai hums quietly as he plays, his voice blending with the organ’s tone. The sound is warm, effortless. Beautiful.
You feel the familiar pull of his voice in your chest, the same feeling that first drew you to the rafters years ago. Without thinking, the command slips from your lips. “Sing.”
Kai’s fingers falter slightly on the keys. You step a little closer, your voice lowering, thick with something you cannot quite name.
“Sing for me… Angel of Music.”
The words hang between you. Kai stills for a moment, shoulders rising slightly with a slow breath. Then he straightens on the bench, his expression shifting into something focused and devoted.
He begins again. This time, he lets his voice rise fully into the cavern. It fills the underground space effortlessly, rich and powerful, carrying through the stone like a living thing. The melody swells beneath his fingers as he sings, the notes soaring into the darkness above.
And for the first time in your life, the music of the opera house belongs to your world. Not for the greedy audiences who idolize Kai. But for you alone.
“Beautiful,” you breathe. The word escapes before you can stop it.
Kai’s hands linger on the final chord, the sound humming softly through the cavern before fading into silence. Slowly, he lifts his fingers from the keys. For a moment, he does not turn around. Then he glances over his shoulder at you.
“You’ve heard me sing a hundred times,” he says softly.
You shift slightly, suddenly aware of how close you’ve drifted to him. “Not like this.”
Kai studies you for a moment longer before standing from the bench. The organ falls silent behind him as he turns fully to face you. “In the rafters,” he murmurs, “you were always so far away.” His eyes drift around the cavern briefly before returning to you. “But here…” he says quietly, taking a slow step closer, “it feels like I’m finally singing where you belong.”
Your breath catches. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” you warn.
“Why?”
“Because you don’t understand what you’re tempting.”
Kai stops only a few steps away now. The lantern light flickers across his features, softer than the harsh glow of the stage ever was. “I think I do,” he replies. He lifts a hand and tenderly brushes it across your arm.
Your pulse quickens beneath the mask. “You should go back,” you say, though the words lack conviction. “Before the night grows any later.”
Kai doesn’t move. Instead, his hand trails down your arm until it finds yours. “You brought me all the way down here,” he says gently. “Do you truly want me to leave already?”
The question settles heavily between you. “No,” you admit before you can stop yourself.
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly, not teasing like before, but warm. “Good,” he says. He steps closer again, slow enough that you could retreat if you wished.
You don’t. Instead, you remain where you are, watching him approach until the space between you disappears entirely. Kai’s hands lift with quiet hesitation before settling at your waist, as though asking permission even as he draws you gently closer.
Your breath catches as his arms wrap around you. It takes everything in you not to react to the sudden closeness: the warmth of his body, the quick rhythm of his heart where your chest meets his, the soft rise and fall of his breath against the edge of your mask.
For a moment, neither of you moves. Then something inside you gives way. You abandon the careful distance you’ve kept for years. Your hands slide up his back, gripping the fabric at his shoulders and pulling him closer, flush against you, leaving no space between your bodies.
Kai inhales softly at the sudden urgency but doesn’t pull away. If anything, his hold tightens.
“Kai…” you murmur. Your voice is quieter now, unsteady in a way it has never been before.
He tilts his head slightly, eyes searching yours. “You’re trembling,” he whispers.
You ignore the observation. Instead, one hand rises slowly to his jaw, guiding his face toward yours with gentle but unmistakable intention. He understands instantly. Your lips meet his. The overflow of emotions over the years seems to rush out of you. The extreme loneliness, the desire to be loved, the pride of seeing Kai succeed, all behind the kiss.
Kai exhales against your mouth as though he’s been holding that breath for years. One of his hands moves from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you closer as the kiss deepens slightly. The world above ceases to exist.
You lightly push Kai back onto the orchestra bench, allowing him to sink into the seat before wrapping your legs around him. The sudden closeness shocks him, eliciting a gasp. You use this as a chance to explore deeper, your tongue savoring the taste of his lips.
Your boldness makes him braver now. Kai’s hands roam across your body, relishing in the moment. When he begins to fiddle with the ties at the front of your cloak, you reach up to untie them. The velvet fabric slips off onto the floor behind you.
There is a rhythm to your kiss, and you allow your body to move in time with your lips. Your hips roll deliberately against Kai’s. The added pressure stirs something within him. As you move against him, he lets out a moan.
The sound is music to your ears. You break away from his lips and begin to trail kisses down his neck. “That’s it, my angel,” you croon, each kiss placed, causing him to shiver. “So beautiful.” He stifles back another moan. You rise from his neck to look him in the eyes. His face perfectly blushed, and his lips left in a swollen pout. “I want to hear you, my love,” you beckon.
He nods his head fervently before crashing his lips back to yours. Your request draws him deeper, now not holding back his whines. His breath quickens, and he breaks the kiss.
“Please,” he cries, his head falling onto your chest. “Please, I need you.”
You thread your left hand into his hair, guiding him closer until you’re face to face once more. “Patience,” you whisper against his lips, “There is so much more I want to show you first.”
She believed her angel was divine—until the mirror opened to reveal a man willing to claim her soul.
--------------
wc: 5.2k
pairing: Taehyun x reader
author’s notes: I kept this one for so long because I needed to be perfect, hope you enjoy.
tags/warnings: phantom!Taehyun x opera singer!reader, use of she/her pronouns for reader, Taehyun is lowk jealous, obsessive, + possessive, naive reader, heavily inspired by Phantom of the Opera 2004 movie, kissing + intimate moments, not full smut, but reader discretion advised!
duology story with Angel of Music // Kai
--------------
The applause still echoes faintly through the walls as you close the dressing room door behind you. The sound is muted now, muffled by velvet curtains and distance, as though the theater itself is finally exhaling after holding its breath for you.
You sit before the mirror, the dim lights catching the remnants of stage paint still clinging to your skin. Candle flames tremble at the edges of the glass, and for a moment, your reflection seems to waver with them. You smile softly, watching your features shift beneath the exaggeration of makeup: eyes too dark, lips too red, a version of yourself shaped for the stage rather than the world beyond it.
The magic of performing is still new, still fragile. Every performance feels like a gift you need to savor. Sometimes the sweetness of it aches. Your father should have been here to see this, to hear you. He would have stood at the back of the hall, hat clutched in his hands, eyes shining brighter than the chandeliers overhead. You remember how he used to hum as he worked, how he would laugh and tell you that your voice was a miracle, the voice of an angel.
He died when you were young, but his presence never truly left you. Not when you sang. Not when the notes rose effortlessly from your chest, as if guided by hands you could not see.
You reach for a cloth and begin to wipe away the rouge smudged at the corners of your mouth. The color fades slowly, like the night refusing to let go. You wonder, not for the first time, if your father hears you still, if he listens from wherever he rests, if pride carries across the veil between worlds.
At least you are not alone. You never have been.
From the quiet spaces between rehearsal rooms, from the darkness behind the walls, your guardian angel has watched over you. Your angel has guided you, corrected you, and shaped you. His voice came to you in moments of doubt, rich and patient, teaching you how to breathe, how to surrender to the music rather than fight it. Without him, you would never have learned to sing as beautifully as you do. Without him, the stage would feel unbearably empty.
You owe him everything. You owe him more than you can name.
Carefully, you unpin your hair. One by one, the curls fall loose, tumbling over your shoulders, shedding the weight of tonight’s role, though not entirely. You stare back at yourself with knowing eyes. You never truly leave her behind. Not anymore.
And somewhere, just beyond the reach of candlelight, you sense that your angel is listening, always listening. The cold cream glides across your skin as you wipe away the night’s illusion. Each stroke reveals something quieter, more vulnerable beneath the painted perfection. Your real mouth. Your real eyes. You wonder, as you often do, which version of you your angel prefers.
A knock at the door startles you, drawing you back to the present moment. You finish wiping away the stubborn rouge before shouting out, “Come in!”
Madame Giry, one of the opera house’s coreographers, peeks her head in. “There is someone here to see you, Miss.”
You rise from the vanity and shrug a silk robe over the remnants of your costume, tying it loosely at the waist before stepping toward the door. Madam Giry pauses just long enough to allow another presence to reveal itself. A familiar head peeks around her shoulder. Yeonjun.
Time softens him, but it does not erase him. The boy who once ran beside you along the docks now stands before you in tailored coats and polished shoes, his smile just as bright, just as easy. For a moment, the years between you collapse entirely.
“My, my—she’s done it again!” he says, clapping softly as he steps fully into the room. His eyes flicker over you with unmistakable pride. “I swear, every time I think you can’t possibly outdo yourself, you prove me wrong.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” you say, though the words lack any real reprimand. A laugh slips out instead.
“I had to be,” Yeonjun replies. “The entire opera house is still buzzing about you. I thought I’d congratulate our leading lady properly.” His gaze softens, something gentler slipping beneath the teasing. “I’ve missed you.” The admission settles quietly between you.
He takes in the dressing room, the wilting roses, the discarded pins, the mirror still glowing with your reflection, and then looks back at you. “Walk with me?” he asks. “There’s a little café still open near the river. We could catch up. Just like old times.”
For a heartbeat, you want to say yes. You imagine the night air, his familiar laugh, the comfort of something simple and known. But even as the thought forms, the candles tremble—a secret warning.
“Not tonight,” you say gently, shaking your head. “I’m sorry. I’m tired.”
Yeonjun studies your face, as though searching for the truth beneath the words. Whatever he sees there makes him smile, softly this time, without disappointment. “Another night, then,” he says. “I’ll hold you to it.”
He reaches for your hand, squeezing it once before letting go. “You were incredible,” he adds. “He would have been proud.”
Your chest tightens. As Yeonjun steps back toward the door, you feel it again—that subtle shift in the air, that quiet, watchful presence curling in the shadows. You do not look toward them. But you know your angel has been listening.
Yeonjun gives you one last look before he leaves. Madam Giry steps back into the doorway soon after, bidding you a swift good night before shutting the door with practiced finality. The latch clicks softly, sealing you once more inside the hush of your dressing room.
Silence settles. You release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and turn back toward the mirror. It’s late. Too late. The corridors will be empty soon, the Opera House slipping into its nocturnal stillness. You should be going home before the night grows any heavier.
Your fingers move automatically. The bodice loosens beneath them. Silk sighs as you shrug it down, the costume slipping away. You fold it neatly, smoothing the fabric with care. You set the costume pieces within the small wardrobe tucked in the corner of the dressing room, leaving you in the thin fabric of your slip. There is a slight chill in the air, so you tug the silk robe back over your frame. You slip the heeled shoes you had been wearing into their box.
When you reach for a hanger, the light in the room falters. One candle sputters, then another. The gaslamp flickers violently before extinguishing altogether, plunging the room into a dim, uncertain glow. Shadows stretch and twist along the walls, breathing where they should not—your heart stutters.
“You are quite popular tonight,” a voice murmurs from the darkness. It is smooth. Familiar. Reverent. Your angel.
His voice curls around you like a secret only the walls are allowed to hear, and you freeze—half undressed, half trembling, entirely aware that you are no longer alone. “Angel! You startled me,” you exhale, catching your breath from the fright.
“I was listening,” he continues softly. “They adored you.” A pause. Almost thoughtful. “He adored you.”
You swallow. “Yeonjun was only being kind,” you say, though your voice lacks conviction.
A quiet sound follows, something like a scoff, quickly smoothed away. “Kindness,” he repeats, as if tasting the word. “You do not know the ways of men.” His tone darkens, just slightly. “Kindness was the last thing on his mind.”
You should be afraid. You know this. And yet your pulse betrays you, fluttering when his attention sharpens.
“Do you feel something for him?” Your angel asks.
The question is not accusatory. His voice is soft, intimate. You open your mouth, then close it again. Yeonjun’s smile rises unbidden in your mind, warm, familiar, safe. And yet it is not his face your heart reaches for in the dark. It is not his voice that finds you when you are alone. Not his presence that lingers long after the applause fades. “I don’t know,” you admit.
A breath passes through the room, slow and deliberate, as though the walls themselves have leaned closer. “I see,” he murmurs. “Then it is time, I must help you decide.” The mirror catches your attention then, its surface gleaming faintly, reflecting only shadows and the pale line of your throat. You feel drawn to it, compelled by something gentle yet insistent.
“Come closer,” his voice calls.
Your feet move in the direction of his voice before you fully decide to obey. As you stand before the glass, the air grows cooler—the reflection wavers, not with candlelight this time, but with something deeper. You reach out, fingertips brushing the frame. You hadn’t noticed this before, but it looked as if something or someone was behind the glass—no longer a mirror but a window into a world you had never seen before.
Beyond the mirror is no reflection at all, but a narrow stone corridor, spiraling away into darkness. It is impossible, your mind rejects it even as your eyes refuse to look away. The candelabras lining the walls cast long, unmoving shadows, and within them stands a figure, still, solid, waiting. Your pulse thunders in your ears.
“You believe I am an angel,” He says quietly. “Tell me… do angels cast shadows?” The figure begins to move forward, steps slow and deliberate. The candlelight casts shadows along the ground as it moves.
This voice, this person, your angel must be real. Your hands tremble as you pull back. “You’re—” Your voice falters. “You’re not—” Your breath catches.
“You always prayed so quietly,” he says instead. The words steal the breath from your lungs.
Your gaze snaps to the figure beyond the glass. “How—”
“I heard you,” He murmurs, “Every night you asked for someone to stay. For someone to teach you. For someone to listen.” The candlelight shifts as he moves, slow and unhurried, his shadow stretching across the stone floor toward you.
“You called me an angel because you needed me to be one,” he continues. “Because believing I was human would have frightened you.”
Your fingers curl against the mirror. It is cool beneath your touch. Solid. “You’re not—” You find your voice again. “You’re not supposed to be real.”
A quiet, almost fond sound escapes him. “And yet here I am.” He steps closer until the thin glass is the only thing between you. You feel his warmth through it, a sign of life. “Tell me,” he says gently, “if I were divine, would you feel this?”
Your heart pounds. Your mind screams for you to step back, to run, to remember the world beyond this room—but your body betrays you, leaning forward instead. You’re filled with the overwhelming desire to join him. He slides the glass aside, and suddenly there is nothing between you at all. No reflection. No barrier. Only him.
He stands fully before you now, close enough that you can see the careful stillness in the way he holds himself, as though any sudden movement might send you running. His long frame is cloaked in black, the fabric drinking in what little light remains. White opera gloves cover his hands. Pristinely clean, at odds with the shadows he inhabits.
You gather what courage you have and lift your gaze. Half of his face is hidden beneath a white mask, smooth and expressionless, while the other half is achingly human—eyes intent and searching, features sharp and handsome. Your breath catches.
Slowly, he reaches out. A gloved finger brushes a stray curl back behind your ear, the touch impossibly gentle. You shiver, not from fear.
“You don’t have to come,” He adds, his voice softening. “I will not take you where you do not wish to go.” The mirror shivers beneath your palm. “But you’ve already been walking toward me for years.”
The truth of it settles heavy in your chest. The opera house, Yeonjun, the night beyond the walls, everything fades as the passage opens before you. And when your angel offers his hand, you take it without looking back.
Gently, he clasps your hand in his. The warmth of it steadies you more than you expect. With a careful tug, he draws you forward, guiding you deeper into the hidden corridor. Stone walls curve and narrow around you, twisting in quiet turns that swallow the last remnants of the opera house above. Each step takes you farther from the familiar, farther from anything you could easily return to.
The passage opens suddenly, revealing a staircase spiraling downward into darkness. Your breath catches. For the first time since entering the corridor, fear blooms in your chest, dulling the curiosity that had carried you this far. The steps disappear into shadow, and the air below feels colder, like something long forgotten is waiting.
“W-Where are we going?” you stutter, halting at the top step.
He stops immediately. Your angel, if you can even call him that anymore, turns to face you. The mask gleams faintly in the low light, but it is his uncovered eye that holds you, open and searching.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, his voice gentle, careful, as though the answer matters more than anything else.
You hesitate. The word angel no longer fits him, not with the warmth of his hand still wrapped around yours, not with the quiet humanity in his gaze. “Angel?” you murmur. “What is your name?”
For a moment, something vulnerable flickers across his expression, so fleeting you almost miss it. Then his grip tightens, not possessive, but grounding. “Please,” he says softly, “call me Taehyun.”
“Taehyun,” you whisper, trying the name for the first time.
At the sound of your voice, his eyes slip shut. His throat bobs, and when he opens them again, the intensity there steals the air from your lungs. “Yes,” he answers softly, the word barely more than breath. “Do not worry, my sweet. Not much farther now.”
There is something dangerously tender in the way he says my sweet—an unfamiliar feeling washing over your body, settling deep in the pit of your stomach. You swallow back the fear curling in your chest and allow him to guide you onward, step after careful step, deeper into the dark below.
The stairs stretch endlessly, spiraling downward as though the earth itself is drawing you in. The stone is cold beneath your feet, uneven, slick with moisture. You hadn’t even noticed when you lost your shoes, when the world above slipped away entirely. Taehyun’s hand becomes your lifeline, steady and sure, his thumb brushing reassurance into your skin whenever you falter.
At last, your foot meets the final step. You gasp as you step forward and feel water lap against your skin. Your gaze lifts.
Before you lies a vast subterranean lake, its surface dark and glassy, reflecting only faint glimmers of light from unseen lanterns along the cavern walls. The water stretches farther than you can see, disappearing into shadow, surely beneath the entire opera house, perhaps beneath the city itself. The silence here is profound, broken only by the soft echo of dripping stone.
At the foot of the stairs, a small boat waits, rocking gently as though it has been expecting you. “Let me help you,” Taehyun murmurs.
Before you can respond, his hands come to rest at your waist—firm and careful. With effortless strength, he lifts you over the last steps, holding you as though you weigh nothing at all. For a brief, breathless moment, you are suspended against him, close enough to feel the steady beat of his heart.
He lowers you gently into the boat. The wood creaks softly beneath your weight. Water ripples outward, carrying the sound into the darkness. Taehyun follows, stepping in after you, the boat swaying before settling once more.
He takes the oar and guides the vessel forward. The lake closes around you. The air is cool, damp, carrying the faint scent of water and something older, something secret. You watch him as he rows, the mask catching stray light, his movements practiced and quiet. This place belongs to him. And somehow, impossibly, so does your attention.
“You could still turn back,” he says without looking at you. There is no challenge in his voice, only truth. “I would take you home if you asked.”
You hesitate, heart pounding. Home feels like a distant memory now. Unreal. “I don’t want to,” you admit.
His grip tightens on the oar. When he finally looks at you, his gaze is unguarded, filled with something raw and aching. “I have waited so long to hear that,” Taehyun whispers.
The boat glides onward, deeper into the dark, toward whatever waits beyond the water. Each slow pull of the oar sends ripples across the lake, the sound echoing softly through the cavern. The silence between you feels charged with something you can’t quite name—anticipation, perhaps.
You have scarcely ever been alone with a man before. Not like this. Not with the opera house miles above you, stone and water sealing you away from the world you know. The reality of it settles slowly, thrilling rather than terrifying. Your pulse quickens, not from fear, but from the intimacy of it—the closeness, the secrecy, the fact that you have chosen this.
The quiet presses in, making your heart race. You rush to fill it. “Where are we headed?” you ask.
Taehyun does not look at you as he rows. “Patience, darling.” The word lands gently but decisively, sending warmth blooming across your cheeks.
The cavern begins to widen, the darkness thinning. Flickers of light appear ahead, first one, then dozens, then hundreds. As the boat rounds the final bend, you gasp.
Before you lies a vast cave, illuminated entirely by candlelight. Candelabras line the stone walls and cluster along natural ledges, their flames steady and deliberate, casting a warm glow that transforms the cavern into something almost sacred. Shadows dance along the ceiling like living things.
Stacks of books and loose papers litter the floor, some carefully organized, others scattered as if abandoned mid-thought. Music sheets lie everywhere, inked with frantic notes, revisions layered atop one another, ideas spilling faster than they could be contained. This is not chaos. It is an obsession made visible.
At the center of it all sits a massive organ. Its pipes rise toward the ceiling like the ribs of some great sleeping creature, dark and imposing, yet undeniably beautiful. The wood gleams in the candlelight, worn smooth by years of use. This is the heart of the cavern. Of him.
“This is…” Your voice trails off, words failing you.
“My home,” Taehyun says quietly as he guides the boat to shore. There is no pride in his tone. Only truth, “And my refuge.”
You step out slowly, bare feet meeting cool stone, your gaze drifting over every detail, the music, the candles, the instrument that has sung to you long before you ever knew his name. It is not the lair of a monster. It is the sanctuary of a man who has been waiting.
“Why?” you ask finally, the word barely louder than the crackle of candlelight. You turn to face him fully now. “Why have you brought me here? Why me?”
Taehyun is quiet for a long moment. Too quiet. When he speaks, it is slower than before, stripped of the mystique he once hid behind. “You were such a lonely child,” he says. Your breath catches. “You needed someone to look out for you.”
You shake your head faintly, trying to understand. “You’ve been watching me?”
“Yes.” He does not hesitate. “For years.”
The honesty of it sends a shiver through you, surprised that it is not fear, but something sharper, electric. He steps closer, stopping well before he touches you, as if giving you the space to pull away if you wish. You do not pull back.
“I heard your voice long before the world did,” Taehyun continues, circling you. “A child singing to an empty room, pretending someone was listening.” His gaze softens. “I listened.”
“You taught me,” you whisper. “All those nights… the lessons.”
“I guided you,” he corrects gently. “You did the rest. Every step forward was yours.” His jaw tightens. “I only stayed in the shadows because I believed that was where I belonged.”
“Why show yourself now after all this time?” you ask.
He exhales, slow and uneven. “When I realized I was no longer content just to watch.” Silence stretches between you, thick with meaning. “I told myself it was devotion,” he admits. “That I wanted only your success. Your safety.” His eyes lift to yours, unguarded now. Behind them, a hunger you are unfamiliar with. One you had only heard stories about from the older ballet girls. He steps behind you, voice whispering into your ear. “But devotion has become longing.”
With trembling hands, he reaches for you, drawing you closer until there is scarcely any space left between your bodies. His face lowers into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he inhales softly, as though committing your scent to memory. The gesture is unguarded, almost desperate.
A shiver runs through you. Not fear. Want. You melt into his touch, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as you lean into the solid reassurance of him, heart racing with the knowledge that he is holding you because he longs for you so deeply.
“Do you mean love?” you whisper. The word feels heavy, settling between you. He stills, hand pausing their movement across your body.
Then, slowly, he lifts his head. “Yes,” Taehyun admits, voice low and raw. “I have loved you from the moment I first saw you.”
Your pulse quickens, not because of the confession, but because of how deeply it settles in your chest. He loves you. You should feel overwhelmed. Instead, you feel unmistakably seen.
“Why wait until now to say it?” you say quietly. You turn your bodies so you face each other again. His hands now rest on your waist.
“I waited because you deserved a choice,” he replies at once, as if he had carried those words for years. “I would have remained nothing more than a voice if that was all you ever wanted.” His jaw tightens, hesitation flickering across his expression. “When he came back, Yeonjun, I thought…” He trails off, breath uneven. “I thought you might already belong to him.”
You pull back just enough to look at his whole face. “You’re afraid I’m in love with him.”
“Yes,” Taehyun admits quietly. “Because he can stand beside you in the light. Because he can offer you a world I never could.”
Your heart aches at the vulnerability laid bare before you. Slowly, you lift your hand, brushing your fingers against the uncovered side of his face, warm, real, trembling beneath your touch.
“Why can’t you stand beside me?” you ask gently. “Why do you hide?”
He stills at once. For a long moment, he says nothing. Then his hand comes up, covering yours, not to stop you, but to hold you there. “Because the light has never been kind to me,” Taehyun says at last. “Because when people look at me, they do not see the man I am. They see what frightens them.”
Your breath catches. “Is that why you wear the mask?”
“Yes.” His voice is steady, but only just. “It is easier to be a phantom than to be pitied. Easier to be feared than rejected.” He hesitates. “Easier than watching you look at me and turn away.”
Your thumb brushes his cheek in a silent refusal of the thought. “May I see?” you ask softly.
He inhales sharply. “You may,” he says, after a beat. “But only if you truly wish to.”
You nod. Slowly, he reaches up and loosens the mask. When he lowers it, the truth of him is revealed: not monstrous, not unreal, but marked—a face shaped by hardship, by pain, by a life spent in shadow.
You do not recoil. You do not look away. Instead, your gaze softens. “Oh,” you breathe. Fear never comes; instead, your heart is filled with sorrow for the man who had been left abandoned in the shadows.
Your eyes scan his face intently, taking in the sight. His eyes glisten, the restraint he has carried for years cracking under the weight of being seen. Carefully, he lifts the mask again. Shame seems to cover him as he turns from you.
You raise your voice to stop him, “I am not frightened,” you say, certain now. “Not of you. Not of this.” He pauses, but doesn’t turn to you yet. “I care for Yeonjun,” you say honestly. “He’s familiar. Safe.” You shake your head gently. “But what I feel for him isn’t this.”
“And what is this?” he asks, barely above a whisper.
You step closer, closing the distance this time by choice. “I do not know,” you say. “But I am being drawn to someone I don’t want to turn away from.” His breath stutters as he lifts his face to meet your gaze. “I choose you,” you say softly, not quite understanding the finality behind your words.
“You chose me? Knowing what lies beneath the mask?” he replies sharply. For a moment, he can only look at you, awe and disbelief warring across his face. The intensity of his gaze sends another shiver down your spine.
“Yes,” you breathe out.
“Then,” Taehyun says quietly, “I am yours, only as much as you wish me to be.”
You study him, the mask, the man beneath it, the years of restraint etched into every careful line of him, and realize you are no longer afraid of what waits in the dark. Yet again, the distance between you closes. Sure now, you bring a hand up to his face, fingertips running along his jaw. You guide his face close to yours, lips lightly brushing.
Before they can touch, Taehyun stops you. “Are you sure you want this?”
The anticipation of his lips leaves you aching. “Yes.” You let your fingers anchor into his hair, and a small groan escapes his lips.
“Once I begin, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop,” he exhales, breathless now.
“Please, Taehyun,” you plead. This cry pushes him over the edge, and your lips crash together.
You are surprised by how easy it feels—how natural it is to be this close to him. You have never kissed anyone before, yet when his lips brush yours, there is no panic, no hesitation. Only a quiet certainty, as if your body recognizes him before your mind can catch up.
Taehyun pauses at first, giving you time, giving you space to pull away if you wish. When you don’t—when you lean in instead—something in him softens. His hand comes to rest at your waist, warm and steady, grounding you as his lips meet yours again.
You marvel at how quickly you learn from him. How your mouth begins to mirror his movements, tentative at first, then surer. Every gentle press feels like a question asked and answered in the same breath. He kisses you as though you are something precious, something he has waited a lifetime to touch.
A quiet sound escapes you, surprise more than anything, and he smiles against your lips, the slightest hint of wonder there. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, voice low and reverent, before kissing you again.
This time, you respond without thinking, guided by instinct and feeling rather than insecurity. The world beyond the cave fades until there is only this moment, this shared breath, this first kiss that feels less like a beginning and more like a long-awaited arrival.
And when you finally pull back, forehead resting against his, you realize your hands are still clutching him, as if letting go has already become unthinkable. “Taehyun,” you gasp, heart racing, clothing feeling too tight. Something feels different; a new feeling has awakened inside you, leaving a dampness between your legs.
“What is it, my love?” He asks, brushing your hair back. Eyes tenderly searching you, “Is something wrong?”
You’re breathing heavy now, chest rising and falling at a new rhythm. “I-I need you,” you whisper, and the words feel unfamiliar, almost dirty, coming out of your mouth. You wait for shame to wash over you; it's happened before when you’ve found yourself alone late at night, hands where they weren't supposed to be. That feeling doesn’t come; the need only grows.
Taehyun moans in response, pressing your lips back to his again. His hands travel upward, brushing over your clothed breast. You gasp, mouth opening wider, allowing him to explore deeper. Softly, he rubs circles with his thumbs. You relish in the pleasure; it seems even greater at the hands of another person. Your hands quickly begin untying your silk robe, letting it drop to the floor. You reach for the hem of the nightdress, but Taehyun stops you. You whine in protest.
“Patience, darling,” he says, breaking the kiss. He takes a strap of the gown between his fingers, allowing it to drop off your shoulder. His lips meet the now bare skin. You shudder at his lips, placing kisses against your shoulder and neck. “I will free you from these clothes soon enough.”
Desperately, you guide his face back to yours and kiss him again. “Now, please.” You cry, desire rippling through your body. You feel a smile cross his face as he kisses you again. His hands grip your waist tightly as he begins to lift you. You follow, wrapping your legs around his frame.
He begins to carry you toward his bed, tucked to the side of the organ, surrounded by sheer curtains. He places you delicately onto the bed, hovering over you.
“Are you sure?” He asks one more time, as if this moment is too good to be true. As if he were in a dream, he will soon wake from. You nod your head eagerly in response. “I need to hear you, love. Words.”
“Yes. I am sure,” you start, allowing him to take in the sight of you. “I am yours.”
For a long moment, he does not move as though the words have struck something too deep to touch carelessly. Then his hands come up—not claiming, not hurried—but framing you gently, thumb brushing over your cheek as if to make sure you are real. Something in him finally gives. He lowers himself over you, trailing kisses down your neck and stomach before eventually settling in between your legs. He very gently parts them, the cold air of the cave hitting your dampened undergarments. With a gulp, he presses his lips against your core; it is tender, the pressure overwhelming.
“I will prove myself worthy of your choice, angel,” he purs, fingers looping the band of your drawers, sliding slowly down your legs. The candles flicker. The cavern hums softly around you. Above, the opera house waits—but you no longer feel its pull. For now, this is where you belong. With him.
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additional author’s notes: I went back and forth on whether or not this would be full smut or none at all, so I settled in between. let me know what you think 😉
author’s notes: last one! It has been a challenge, but also a lot of fun to have written these; an ambitious writing debut, for sure. Please enjoy!
tags/warnings: cozy Christmas, wholesome hangout time with close friends, short and cute
12 days of Christmas 2025 masterlist
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It’s Christmas Eve. Outside, light snow falls steadily, covering the earth in a soft white blanket, each flake carried sideways by the cold wind whipping through the air. The world beyond the windows feels hushed and distant, wrapped in winter’s quiet.
Inside, though, it’s warm. Comfortably so. The kind of warmth that settles into your bones and makes you sigh without realizing it. You’re glad you don’t have to travel anywhere today, no rushing, no bundling up, no braving the cold. Just staying right here, where everything feels slow and safe.
You chose to leave the colorful string lights on all day instead of switching to the usual overhead lighting. They cast a gentle glow over the house, soft reds, greens, and golds reflecting off the walls and furniture, making everything feel a little more magical. Shadows dance faintly as the lights flicker, and for a moment, time seems to pause. This is exactly where you’re meant to be tonight.
Waiting for your guests to arrive, you light a few candles, the house slowly filling with the sweet, evergreen scent of balsam. Even though the night hadn’t fully begun, you could already tell it would be perfect in its own quiet way.
A gentle knock at the door pulls your attention away. When you open it, Soobin stands there with a shy smile, puffer jacket zipped all the way up, his cheeks tinged pink from the cold. Snow clings lightly to his hair. “Come in,” you say, reaching out to help with the bags he’s carrying and ushering him inside. “You’re early.”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d need help,” he replies, stepping out of his coat as warmth settles back into his limbs. Then, softer, he adds, “I figured I’d come by anyway.”
Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into a hug. He’s still cold from outside, the chill seeping through his jacket, but it only makes the warmth of the house feel more real. “Besides,” he murmurs with a small smile, pulling back, “I wanted to get a head start on the cookies.”
You laugh quietly and lead him into the kitchen, helping him set out his baking supplies. You and Soobin had cooked more than a few questionable dishes together in the past, but baking was different; nothing ever went wrong when he was in charge of desserts.
As he works, you gather the wrapped gift boxes he brought, carrying them carefully to the tree. Five identical packages sit neatly in your arms, names scrawled across the paper in familiar handwriting. You place them beside your own gifts, pausing for a moment to imagine how the space would look later tonight, full and overflowing.
Soon, you fall into a comfortable rhythm together. Soobin measures and mixes with quiet focus while you roll out the dough, pressing cookie cutters into it, stars, trees, little snowmen. The kitchen fills with soft conversation and the steady hum of warmth.
“Can’t wait to decorate these later,” he says, glancing over with a fond smile.
“Christmas Eve tradition,” you agree.
He nods, satisfied. “It wouldn’t feel like Christmas without it.”
It isn’t long before another knock echoes through the house. You wipe your hands on a towel and step away from the kitchen, already smiling as you head for the door. When you open it, the cold rushes in, along with Beomgyu and Kai.
“Merry Christmas!” they shout in unison, voices bright and unmistakable.
“Merry Christmas,” you laugh, stepping aside to usher them in out of the cold. Their laughter follows them inside, snow melting off their coats as they kick off their shoes. Almost instantly, the energy in the house shifts, louder, livelier, and warmer.
“I’m glad you’re here,” you say, glancing between them. “Gyu, I need your help with the fireplace. Kai- can you check on Soobin? We need to start getting the icing ready.”
Both nod immediately. “I’ve got this,” Beomgyu says with confidence, already rolling up his sleeves.
“Soobin!” Kai shouts, already halfway down the hall before you can say anything else.
You follow Beomgyu into the living room, where a neat stack of logs sits waiting beside the fireplace. “I was having a hard time starting it earlier,” you admit as he crouches down to inspect the setup.
He hums thoughtfully, rearranging the logs with quick, practiced movements. “You just need better airflow,” he says, glancing back at you with a grin.
You hand him the box of matches from the mantel. He strikes one, the soft scratch filling the quiet for a moment before the flame catches. With a gentle nudge, the fire comes to life, warmth blooming outward as orange light dances across the room.
“There,” he says proudly as the fire settles into a steady crackle. “Perfect.”
The room immediately feels cozier, the glow reflecting off the walls and the nearby Christmas lights. Satisfied, Beomgyu dusts off his hands and looks toward the kitchen. “Smells like cookies,” he says. “I’m guessing that’s my cue?”
You smile. “Yeah. Let’s head back before Kai eats all the icing.”
The two of you return to the kitchen, where Soobin and Kai are already at work, bowls laid out, icing half-mixed, Kai suspiciously licking a spoon while Soobin pretends not to notice. The warmth from the oven and the fireplace trails in behind you, the house slowly filling with laughter, light, and the feeling that the night is only just beginning.
You sink into the chair next to Kai as he mixes green food coloring into a bowl of icing.
“You need to stop eating icing,” you tease, reaching for another bowl. “You’ll spoil your dinner.”
Kai gasps, eyes wide in mock offense. “What? Who said I was eating the icing?”
You hold back a laugh and reach over, wiping a smear of green from his cheek. “Okay,” he sighs, defeated, “guilty. You got me.”
Laughter lingers in the kitchen, blending with the soft hum of the oven and the crackle of the fire in the next room. Just as the moment settles, a knock sounds at the front door. You glance up instinctively. “That must be them.”
You rise one last time to answer the door. When you open it, Yeonjun stands there with a familiar grin, arms weighed down by several bags of takeout, the warm scent of food drifting into the cold night air. “Delivery,” he announces proudly, lifting the bags slightly.
You laugh and step aside to let him in. “Perfect timing.”
“I’m glad we agreed no cooking disasters this year,” he says, slipping out of his shoes. As he moves inside, he tilts his head toward the street. “Taehyun just pulled up.”
Right on cue, headlights flash briefly through the falling snow. Moments later, there’s another knock, softer this time. When you open the door again, Taehyun stands there, coat dusted with snow, hands tucked into his pockets. “Merry Christmas,” he says, voice calm but warm.
“Merry Christmas,” you reply, welcoming him in.
Behind you, Yeonjun calls out, “You’re late.”
Taehyun shrugs as he steps inside. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t drop food on the way in.”
The door closes behind him, shutting out the cold for good. With everyone finally inside, the house feels full, complete. Laughter drifts in from the kitchen, the glow of lights reflecting off familiar faces, and for the first time that night, you realize there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.
“Okay, everyone,” you say, clapping your hands lightly to get their attention, “let’s eat first while the food is still warm. Then cookies.” Your announcement is met with immediate nods and murmurs of agreement.
“Yes, please,” Beomgyu says, already pulling out a chair.
“Good, I’m so hungry,” Taehyun adds calmly.
Kai looks longingly at the cookies. “I can wait. Probably.”
You laugh and begin clearing space, carefully moving the bowls of icing from the table back onto the counter. The table quickly transforms as you set out the spread Yeonjun brought, containers opened, steam rising, the familiar scent of your favorite restaurant filling the room.
“I made sure to get all the favorites,” Yeonjun says, settling in proudly. “I even double-checked the order.”
“My hero,” Soobin says sincerely, reaching for chopsticks.
Everyone gathers around, chairs scraping softly against the floor as the group settles in. The first bites are met with contented sighs, conversation picking up easily between mouthfuls; small comments about favorite dishes, teasing over who claimed the last piece, quiet laughter filling the space. Plates slowly empty, the rush of hunger fading into a sense of comfort.
When the last container is pushed aside, and the table is cluttered with used napkins and half-empty drinks, you lean back in your chair, smiling. “Okay,” you say, already standing. “Now we can do cookies.”
A few cheers rise up immediately, chairs scraping back as everyone begins clearing away empty plates. Soobin and Yeonjun take charge of the cleanup without needing to be asked, stacking containers and wiping down the table while you linger nearby, far too excited to get to the cookies.
“I’ll get these,” Soobin says with an easy smile, already rolling up his sleeves.
“Go,” Yeonjun adds, waving you off. “Cookie duty is more important.” You don’t argue.
By the time you return, Kai is already setting up the table with practiced enthusiasm, carefully lining up bowls of icing like they’re something precious. “I made more colors,” he announces proudly. “Just in case.”
“They’re perfect,” you say, setting down the stack of cookies you helped Soobin bake earlier. The scent of sugar and vanilla fills the room as you spread them out, each one slightly different.
Soon, everyone gathers around the table again, sleeves pushed up, laughter bubbling as icing bags are passed around. Someone bumps elbows, another smears icing where it doesn’t belong, and suddenly there’s frosting on fingers, on cheeks, on noses.
“This one’s abstract,” Beomgyu declares, holding up a cookie no one can quite identify.
Taehyun tilts his head thoughtfully. “Is that a tree?”
“Uh, I’m not sure,” Beomgyu replies, grinning.
You’re focused on outlining icing along the edge of a cookie when Yeonjun slides into the chair beside you, close enough that your shoulders brush. He watches you work for a moment, unusually quiet. “You’re really serious about this,” he says, voice low, amused.
“You’re just saying that because yours look like chaos,” you reply, glancing over. His cookie is lopsided but colorful, icing smeared where it doesn’t belong. “I think it’s cute,” you say.
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re lying.”
“No,” you smile, nudging his arm. “It looks like you had fun.”
By the time the last cookie is finished and proudly set aside, the energy in the room has softened. Fingers are sticky with icing, laughter has settled into something quieter, and the night feels slower now, full in the best way.
“So,” Yeonjun says, leaning back in his chair, stretching, “what’s the move?”
“Hmm,” you ponder, glancing at the clock. “ I was thinking we can change into our pajamas.”
Soobin laughs softly, shaking his head. “Let’s clean up first before we turn the living room into a sleepover.”
Everyone scatters to clean up after themselves; cookies moved off the table, icing bowls rinsed, lights dimmed just a little more. One by one, people disappear down the hall or into the guest room, returning moments later in soft sweaters, flannel pants, oversized hoodies. Blankets are dragged into the living room, pillows tossed onto the floor, the fire crackling steadily nearby. Someone turns on a movie in the background, not to watch closely, just to exist alongside it.
You sink down among them, wrapped in warmth and familiar laughter, the kind that only comes when no one is going anywhere, and nothing else is expected. It feels like a sleepover. It feels like home.
The remainder of the night is spent sprawled across the living room, laughter bouncing off the walls as Taehyun excitedly unveils the new board games he’d been dying to try. Everyone crowds around the coffee table, eager to see what’s in store.
The games are full of playful chaos, cards flying, rules being debated, and the occasional dramatic groan when someone loses a round. Beomgyu exaggerates every defeat, tossing his hands in the air. “No! That was totally unfair!”
Yeonjun teases relentlessly, grinning whenever someone makes a silly move. Kai, of course, is too focused to notice, tongue peeking out as he strategizes carefully, only to realize he misread a rule and groan dramatically. Soobin quietly keeps track of the scores, occasionally offering hints that turn out to be of no help whatsoever.
By the end of a few rounds, luck seems to favor you twice, even, and you can’t hide your smug grin. “I swear, this is all skill,” you joke, though everyone knows it’s mostly luck and just a little magic of Christmas Eve.
Taehyun claps you on the shoulder. “Okay, fine, fine. You’re the champ tonight,” he concedes, though the gleam in his eye hints at plans for a rematch.
The night stretches lazily on, full of playful bickering, shared laughter, and the quiet comfort of being together. Beomgyu is the one who transitions the night into something more nostalgic, retelling stories about Christmas trips he took with his family as a child. One by one, everyone takes a turn sharing their favorite Christmas memories.
When it gets to you, you sit quietly for a moment before responding. “I think this Christmas might be my favorite, really. I’m really lucky to have you guys.”
After a few more rounds of stories and memories, laughter and teasing, the energy in the room starts to soften. Beomgyu leans back against a pile of pillows with a contented sigh, his eyelids drooping. Kai curls up on the floor with a blanket around his shoulders, slowly letting the quiet of the night settle in.
“I’m getting sleepy,” Yeonjun admits, stretching and yawning, a rare soft smile tugging at his lips.
Taehyun glances at the clock and hums softly. “It’s getting late. Should we call it a night?”
Soobin nods and begins gathering blankets and pillows. The group moves slowly, stretching stiff limbs. Yeonjun gently shook Kai awake to have him move into a more comfortable spot. The fire in the fireplace casts a warm glow, and the string lights flicker gently, making the room feel even cozier. Someone grabs the last few mugs of hot cocoa from the kitchen. Blankets are spread across the floor, pillows arranged into a messy but inviting nest, and the sense of togetherness lulls everyone into calm.
You sink back into your corner, wrapped in a soft throw, watching the others settle. The fireplace has dimmed, leaving only glowing embers, and someone has turned off the lights, leaving the room bathed in the gentle silver glow of the moon outside.
Soft breaths and quiet murmurs fill the space, Beomgyu’s arm draped over a pillow, Kai curled up near the edge of the blanket fort, Soobin tucked in close, and Yeonjun leaning back with a faint, satisfied smile. Even Taehyun has surrendered to the warmth and quiet, slightly snoring.
Your eyes grow heavy. A yawn escapes before you can stop it, and you murmur one last, sleepy, “Merry Christmas, everyone.” The words drift softly into the night, carried along with the gentle crackle of the dying fire.
Everything feels still, safe, and right. Outside, snow continues to fall, covering the world in white, but inside, laughter, warmth, and the quiet comfort of togetherness remain.
And finally, you let yourself drift into sleep, the night holding all of you in its gentle embrace, full of the simplest kind of joy, the kind that comes from being home, wherever that may be, with the people who matter most.
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