cherrybomb
seungcheol x afab reader || angst smut fluff || exes2lovers, pacific rim universe
NSFW - minors DNI
Summary: Piloting a jaeger requires a rare ability called drifting - a neural connection with your co-pilot. You and Seungcheol are masters of the drift... until you have something in your head that you don't want him to see.
wc: 19.5k
warnings: language, heavy angst with happy ending, fight scenes, fight scenes written by an author with zero fighting or martial arts knowledge lmfao thus they are vague as possible, feelings heavy plot light and smut light, kissing and pretty generic (and brief) p in v smut
Author's note: thank you for hali for 1) accidentally sparking this idea, 2) agreeing to collab with me, 3) reading this along the way and hyping me up, and 4) beta-ing my mistakes, a million smooches for you ily
This fic takes place in the Pacific Rim universe but I honestly don't think you need to know the lore, everything you need to know should be explained. If you think something is unclear without prior pacific rim knowledge, shoot me a message privately and I'll make some edits and credit you for the insight!
Also in this universe: storm breaker by @sailorsoons
Teaser:
“Marshall, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re calling me,” you admit. “You were there. You saw what happened. Seungcheol and I can’t drift anymore.”
“You couldn’t then,” he points out. “That was three years ago. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift… they’ve had time to mellow.”
He’s wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing has mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did then.
“Have you talked to him about this?” You’re afraid of the answer.
The Marshall’s voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Choi will follow orders,” he says evenly, “and so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.”
“You can’t order us into being able to drift again,” you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest.
“No,” the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, “but I can - and will - order you to try.”
Playlist: you're the smoke in my gun, blowin' like cherry bombs...
--
The first time you ever saw Choi Seungcheol, he was flipping a man four years his senior over his shoulder and slamming him into the ground. Satisfied, he staggered backwards, chest heaving from exertion, eyes narrowed in preparation for the next move.
That’s what Seungcheol did - he leveled whatever was in front of him, and he started watching for what was coming next before the body could even hit the ground.
That’s what made him a great jaeger pilot. Not the brute strength - strong men are dime a dozen, always have been - but the watching.
You’d marked him as your first choice.
You were both nineteen. You’d grown up in the Shatterdome, the only child to a couple who piloted a neon green jaeger named Charron’s Revenge. You knew everything about how jaegers and their teams worked by the time you were nine. You started training to fight years before that. There was never a question that you would follow in your parents’ giant, mechanical footsteps one day. You just needed the right partner.
You needed Seungcheol.
The jaeger program didn’t turn away recruits - everyone could do something - but there was an organized process to match up compatible pilots. Applying recruits would fight before an audience of previously-accepted but currently-unmatched potential pilots. The pilots would rank the fighters, choosing their top five based on perceived potential for compatibility.
Then, the roles would switch. The applicants became the audience. The audience became the show.
When it was your turn to fight, you silently pleaded with the universe that Seungcheol would mark you high as well. This was the only guarantee that you’d get a chance to spar with him, to test it out before the Marshall, who would make the final call.
Let him see, you begged. Let him see how perfectly we’d work together.
And, by some miracle, he did. In fact, he rated you first, as well.
Your sparring match went exactly how you expected - he barreled at you, and you dodged every move. He could easily take you out with a single blow, but he couldn’t get his hands on you, not when you used his own inertia against him at every turn. What you didn’t expect was your own inability to land a shot. For the whole fight, you were unable to move out of the defensive - keeping out of his reach took all of your effort.
It was a draw - the first sign of strong compatibility.
You didn’t talk after the match - your father whisked you away to recover before your second-rated match, and you didn’t see Seungcheol for the rest of the day.
The second-rated match was a dud. But you already knew, even then, that it didn’t matter.
You’d met your co-pilot. You’d found your partner.
—
He found you in the mess hall that night, dropping into an empty spot on the other side of the table, his tray in his hands. His black hair was loose and wavy, and his right arm sported a sizeable bruise that he definitely didn’t get from you.
“I know who you are,” he said by way of greeting. You raised a brow at him, waiting. “Your parents piloted Charron’s Revenge.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “That better not be why you picked me.”
He gave his head an annoyed little flick. “Of course not. I picked you because you’re fluid - and I’m not.”
Appeased, you felt your hackles settle back down. “That’s true,” you allowed. “You’re not fluid. But you’re purposeful, and-”
You were interrupted when Yoon Jeonghan dropped into the seat to your left, chuckling under his breath as he fixed his long, dark hair into a spiky ponytail at the back of his head.
“Cherry, did you hear?” he asked you, ignoring the new-comer. “The crew for Fatal Rapids got called back in for misconduct.”
“Choi Seungcheol, Yoon Jeonghan,” you said, introducing the two young men. “Hannie does more than gossip, I promise. He’s one of the pilots for Devil’s Advocates. Their drop stats are insane.”
“In practice only,” Jeonghan demurred. “For now.”
“Cherry?” Seungcheol parroted, raising a dark brow. “That’s not what I wrote on my paper earlier.”
“Just a nickname,” you explained. When you were very small, you’d struggled with the name of your parents’ jaeger, calling it Cherry’s Revenge instead of Charron’s, and the crew - who doted on you like their own - started the habit of calling you Cherry. Somehow, it had spread, and stuck. “Only my parents use my real name. But you can call me whatever you’re comfortable with.”
“No,” he said, frowning as if deeply considering his options. “I like it.”
You folded your arms on the table, leaning in to peer at Seungcheol. “So, what’s your story? You’ve heard of me. I haven’t heard of you.”
He shrugged, glanced around, then decided he could talk freely. There’s something about being in a room that’s positively teeming with people and conversation - it gives you privacy without feeling too intimate. You’re not alone.
“Not much of a story, not like you,” he admitted. “I grew up thinking I’d take over my dad’s business. We lost my dad… then, we lost the business. I have no marketable skillset, and university was out of the question. But…” He trailed off, then met your gaze firmly. Something in his look demanded you forgo any pity or sympathy, demanded you take him seriously. “I’m strong. So I came here. I came to fight.”
You sidestepped the bruises he’d bared. “Not like me,” you repeated with a bit of a scoff. “I hate to disappoint you, but my parents are the pilots - the story is theirs. I don’t have one, not yet.”
Something playful glinted in his eyes, the first true sign of personality you’d seen. “So all the rumors about the Princess of the Shatterdome aren’t true?”
Your jaw dropped. You’d heard the nickname before - it was never meant nicely. You tried to ignore it as best you could - people could think what they wanted. When you had a crew, when you had a jaeger, you’d be able to prove them wrong. “What rumors?”
“You’re spoiled,” Jeonghan supplied, having decided he was part of the conversation after all. “Entitled.”
You spluttered as Jeonghan stood, giving you a cheerful pat on the shoulder. “And bitchy! That’s just what I’ve heard. Of course I know better. Anyway, I’ve got to go. Love ya!”
You stared incredulously after him as he disappeared, your face burning with embarrassment and your heart hammering with adrenaline. Fight, your systems told you.
If only you could.
Seungcheol bit back a smile, reaching out to pat your arm placatingly.
“I don’t…” you started to say, but your voice caught in your throat. You cleared it, tried again. “I don’t think I really deserve all that.”
He nodded, lips pushed into a semblance of a thoughtful pout. “What I’d heard,” he said calmly, “is that you’re a hell of a fighter, scary smart, and that you take no shit. Unless it’s from your friends, apparently.”
This made a bitter little laugh bubble from you. You still simmered with humiliation, feared that maybe he’d decide he didn’t want to co-pilot with you after all.
“I think it’s up to you which story gets told,” he said finally.
“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “That’s what I always said. So… let’s get started.”
—
You and Seungcheol lucked out - the team that had been recalled for misconduct were terminated from their posts in the weeks following the sparring trials, and their jaeger Fatal Rapids had been disassembled, the parts up for grabs.
You and Seungcheol repurposed Rapids’s main frame, your crew working to individualize the bot to your needs as best they could. You splurged on quad-processors for her legs to allow your jaeger to keep up with how you move - quick and lithe. Seungcheol lobbied for (and won) some extra power in the top half, and you compromised and chose a mix of red and blue sections for her paintjob.
Duellona Fury, you named her. Duellona for you, the destroyer. Fury for Seungcheol, because that was where his fight came from.
You got to know Seungcheol’s fury very well. Especially when you started trying to drift.
None of it happened fast - not the building of your machine, nor your neural handshake. In fact, you didn’t pilot Duellona Fury together for a whole calendar year.
You started with physical compatibility - you sparred almost all day, every day. You fought - with each other and against each other - until all you could do was lay on the ground and pant, blinking to make the ceiling stay in focus.
Seungcheol may not have grown up training in the Shatterdome the way you did, but he kept up without complaint. You learned his way - force and strength - and he learned the way you favored - to weave and dodge.
The fighting was the easy part.
You had never drifted with someone you had true drift compatibility with. Seungcheol had never drifted at all. The Marshall wouldn’t even consider hooking the two of you up to the machine until you went through the proper training.
On the day you and Seungcheol were officially declared as co-pilots-in-training, you both stood below the half-built shell of your towering jaeger, sparks flying and drills screaming as the crew worked on her.
Your Marshall looked seriously at his new team-in-training. “Starting tomorrow, you’ll meditate together. Talk to each other. Get deep about it. If you’ve talked about it out here-” he swept an arm across the deck, “-it won’t take hold so strongly in there.” He’d jabbed a finger in the upward direction of Duellona Fury.
Seungcheol didn’t look at you, nor the Marshall. Instead, he kept his eyes on Duellona's unfinished frame, stories above you. “Yes, Sir,” he said steadily.
Your parents weren’t technically retired yet, the year you and Seungcheol started training together. Charron’s Revenge still sat in the well below the Shatterdome. They still lived on the base, still took part in daily training. They hadn’t been called into a fight in years, though; the assignments went to the younger crews.
You took dinner in their quarters instead of the mess hall, that night.
“Congratulations,” your father said warmly from across the table. “You worked hard to get here.”
“Thank you,” you said, feeling shy beneath the praise. “I hope the drift will work for me and Choi Seungcheol.”
“What do you think of him?” your mother had asked, her sharp eyes honing in on you, watching your reactions.
“I think he’s a great fighter,” you said. “The rest… I guess I’ll have to learn.”
“Do you trust him? Can you trust him out there, when the sea and the wind are trying to knock you down, and hell itself rises up from the depths?”
You swallowed. She’s right for her intensity - they will be putting their daughter’s life in her co-pilot’s hands, every time there’s a fight. You knew firsthand how terrifying it was to stand in the tech bay and wait, not knowing if your loved ones will make it back.
You thought about how you and Seungcheol fight together in the sparring rooms. You thought about how you weaved and your opponent followed your movement, only to be knocked sideways. You thought of how Seungcheol followed your motion backwards, ducked in tandem with you to avoid a hit, and how you followed his momentum forward and up to attack. Your bodies followed each other like they were magnetized. And Seungcheol was always watching for the next hit.
“Yes,” you said, so quietly that you cleared your throat and said it again. “Yes, I trust him.”
“Then we wish you luck,” your father said, and raised his glass. “To Duellona Fury.”
“To Duellona Fury,” you echoed.
On your way out of the quarters, later, you slowed as you passed the wall where they hung their accolades and awards, the newspaper clippings, photos, and medals. Before your eyes they aged - the photographs changing through the years, no longer showing a bright, fiery couple, instead displaying proof of passing time: a baby bump, then a toddler, then a child beaming alongside them as if she’d done what they had done; greying hairs, softening bodies, deepening of wrinkles. Then the pictures stopped.
You never asked them if they missed it.
—
You and Seungcheol started meditating together the next morning; it seemed logical to begin at the easiest step. In an empty sparring room, you sat facing each other, knees touching.
“Have you done this before?” you asked, as you both settled in, shifting weight and adjusting ankles.
“Not with someone else,” he admitted, lips protruding in a bit of a pout. “Only alone.”
You nodded. You’d grown up learning all of this - the right way to fight as a team member, how to be in tune for a neural connection. It led to you teaching Seungcheol often - yet when you fought together, any leadership fell away.
“Normally,” you explained, “you focus on your breath, keeping your mind clear. But for our practice, you want to focus on our breath. We breathe together. And when your mind wanders, your awareness should be coming to peace with my presence there. Like, making a path for the neural connection - for later. So there’s no resistance.”
“Have you done this before?” Seungcheol asked.
You wobbled your head around - not yes, but not no. “I’ve practiced it - I’ve done the meditation with partners. But I’ve never moved forward to an actual drift with anyone.”
This seemed to appease him, and he settled his weight backwards, letting his hands rest near his knees.
You let your eyes float closed and inhaled, listening and feeling for Seungcheol’s inhale to end, letting your breath out when he did. It took no time to match your breaths, to let your mind go blissfully quiet. You focused on feeling open, readable - any thought that floated through your mind, you pretended he could hear, too. You tried to feel and release any defensiveness, any urge to close off.
When the timer went off, it surprised you. You opened your eyes, and the feeling that struck you was this -
It was surprising to see Seungcheol before you. It hadn’t felt like he was beside you. It had felt like he was you.
You meditated, you fought, and finally, you talked.
Laying on the sparring room floor, your head somewhere near Seungcheol’s shins, he asked you, “Where do you wish you were right now? If you weren’t here.”
You laughed at yourself before answering, knowing how silly you would sound. “In a tree.”
A disbelieving smile played on his lips, almost as if he wasn’t sure you weren’t making fun of him somehow. “A tree?”
“No, really,” you insisted, still smiling a little. “There’s not a lot of nature here, in case you didn’t notice. I grew up in the Dome - never got to leave, much.”
Seungcheol didn’t respond to this, just nodded like he understood, his small smile going a bit tight around the edges.
You frowned, reading him exactly. “You think I’m sheltered,” you observed. It wasn’t a question. He couldn’t say no.
He looked at you, then. “You were sheltered,” he said, voice low. “But when I say it, I don’t mean naive. I just think… there’s a lot of world out there. A lot of things to see. You won’t see any of it if you spend your entire life under the Dome.”
You nod, accepting this. “I won’t see any of it if it gets destroyed, either. There’s a lot of world out there - that we’re trying to keep safe.”
Seungcheol watched you intently for a moment, lips downturned and gaze heavy. Then, he asked, “Have you ever seen a kaiju? I mean - in person?”
“Sort of,” you mumbled.
He’d rolled from his back to his front, closer to you, putting you shoulder to shoulder. “Kind of seems like a yes-or-no question.”
Your lips twisted. “Then, no. But I’ve stood in the bay and listened to Mission Control talk my mom and dad through a fight dozens of times, watched Charron’s Revenge on the screens and prayed I wouldn’t see her get sawed in half.”
You stopped, trailed a finger through the thin layer of dirt on the floor. “I know it’s not the same as looking one in the face myself,” you whispered. “But the fear… shouldn’t that fear count, shouldn’t it feel the same?”
Seungcheol swallowed, trailed his own finger through the dirt until his fingertip just barely touched yours. It felt like energy sizzled in the centimeter between your pointer and his.
“When Menaceclaw attacked,” he said, “he missed my home by one block. We watched him go by from the sidewalk. I wasn’t even as tall as his foot. But even with him towering over the buildings, taking them down without even trying, I don’t think what I felt was afraid. I think I just felt resigned. Like I knew, at seven, that even though we survived this one… nothing was going to be… the same, or okay. I don’t know.”
“You knew what you lost,” you said quietly. “Part of you did.”
He looked up at you, nudged his finger into yours. “You never knew anything different. It wasn’t a loss. The fear was just always part of the deal.”
You rolled sideways, laying your head on your bicep for a pillow, regarding the dark-eyed, dark-haired young man across from you. His face scrunched in a laugh, brows furrowing and lips pouting.
“What?” he asked through the quiet laugh. “Why are you looking at me?”
“What else?” you mused. “What else am I going to find when we go tiptoeing through your memories?”
He smiled faintly and then mirrored you, laying his head on his arm, his eyes swimming as he thought.
“A lot of my family, probably,” he said. “A lot of fighting. Menaceclaw. Probably some very mid sex.”
You laughed without meaning to. “My condolences?”
He grinned at you, pleased. “Eh, what can you do? I try to treat everything like a learning experience.”
You laughed again, and his smile grew, gums showing. “What about you?” he asked off-handedly.
“Mid sex?” you asked, eyebrows raising. “I hate to inform you, Choi Seungcheol, but I don’t do anything mid.”
“No,” he protested, laughing, reaching out to gently shake your shoulder. “I meant - what will we see when it’s your turn?”
“The Dome,” you said, half-joking - but it was true. “Training. My parents. Their fights, their accomplishments.”
And, as a true drift partner should, he understood what you weren’t saying.
“We’ll have our turn,” he promised, pushing himself to sit up, then stand, reaching down to help you up. “We’re gonna be fucking unstoppable. Let’s go again.”
Fire sparking behind your ribs, you nodded seriously, then reached up to take his hand.
—
Weeks of sparring melded into months of meditation and talking. The next phase of training co-pilots was learning to drift in one of the simulators - but not in a jaeger. Not yet.
You and Seungcheol finished training in one of the sparring rooms shortly before dinner would be served in the mess hall.
“Meet you there?” you asked, still half-breathless, your body starting to ache as the adrenaline from a fight melted away.
“Sure,” he agreed, and you disappeared into the changing rooms, scrubbing the sweat and dirt away as quickly as you could. You changed into something clean and made your way to the mess hall.
You scanned for familiar faces, frowning when your normal table seemed to be occupied by a team of new recruits that you didn’t know.
Seungcheol appeared at your elbow, frowning dramatically. “Our table,” he whined.
“There’s Chan and Wylie,” you said, nodding to another corner where your friends sat practically on top of each other. Chan and Wylie had never understood personal space, not when it came to one another. They barely noticed when you and Seungcheol plopped onto the benches next to them, but Seungkwan did.
“You’re bleeding, Cherry,” he said, before inhaling an entire mouthful of rice.
You started to scan your arms - you didn’t feel pain anywhere - but Seungcheol found it first, gingerly swiping his thumb along your cheekbone.
“Sorry, Cherry,” he murmured. “I should’ve pulled that punch.”
“No you shouldn’t have,” you grumbled, swatting at his hand and wiping roughly at the spot, your hand coming away with a small smear of red - nothing to be alarmed about. It would stop on its own. “You pull shots in practice, you’ll hesitate in the field.”
“She’s right,” Chan said from his physical tangle with Wylie. “What you practice will show up in your muscle memory. You’ve got to mean it, every time.”
Wylie reached across his arms and took a bite from his plate, then asked, “Did you guys see the new jaeger?”
“I did,” Seungkwan said eagerly. “Chaser Supernova, or something like that? She’s smaller, but she’s supposed to be fast.”
“Is that her team at our normal table?” you asked dryly, shooting the rookies a dark look over your shoulder. Seungcheol jostled you playfully, sending you a smile that brought you back.
The bench dipped to your left, and you turned to see Soonyoung - one of Seungkwan’s two co-pilots - settle in.
“Talking about Supernova?” he asked, hands busy opening his drink. “They seem okay - they’re a trio, like us.”
“Where is Seokmin?” Seungkwan asked, scanning the room. “I haven’t seen him in like two hours.”
“Talking to Jihoon, I think,” Soonyoung answered absently, focused on his meal. “He lost another co-pilot today.”
“Not again,” you and Seungcheol both blurted, matching levels of exasperation.
“That was freaky,” Wylie said, just as Chan told you, “You two are acting like us, now.”
“We do not need another Chan-and-Wylie,” Seungkwan said seriously, shaking his head.
Seungcheol sent you a sideways, sheepish grin.
“We won’t be,” he promised the group, but his eyes were still on you.
—
The simulators were built to be exact replicas of the conn-pod, so that trainees could get used to the feeling of being strapped in, of moving with the gear. But the real purpose was to practice the neural handshake without risking damage - to the jaeger, to the tech bay, to each other.
“Don’t be nervous,” you told Seungcheol as the tech team worked around you both like a choreographed dance.
“I’m never nervous,” he said, suddenly cocky.
If you could reach his hand from where you were strapped in, you would have. If you understood anything about Seungcheol - if any part of him mirrored you - it was the way he showcased bravado, the way he used it as his most-familiar mask.
“It’s only practice,” you reminded him. “And it’s only me.”
He licked his lips quickly, eyes darting to the side and then back to you. Then, he gave you a small nod.
“Normally,” your chief tech - a beautiful woman with jet-black hair named Nainsi - told you, “right now, you would be ready for the drop. In the simulator, we skip that step because we aren’t dropping onto a jaeger. Instead, we’ll engage the pilot to pilot connection protocol sequence.”
You and Seungcheol nod in tandem.
“You’re all good?” Nainsi checks. “Then I’m going back into the tech bay - you’ll hear me through the intercom.”
Alone in the simulator, you met Seungcheol’s gaze and couldn’t help the excited grin that spread across your face. Finally, finally you were here. Once you could do this successfully, the next step was to fight in your own jaeger - to drop into Duellona Fury and walk into the sea.
He didn’t return your smile, instead giving you a tight nod, expression serious.
Over the intercom, you said clearly, “Ready and aligned.”
Nainsi answered, “Prepare for neural handshake.”
You took a deep breath and steeled yourself as the artificial voice of the simulator’s tech system spoke around you, 3… 2… 1… neural handshake initiating…
At first, you thought something went wrong. Everything went red behind your eyelids, and you blinked, instinctively trying to clear it away.
The red faded, and you found yourself in Seungcheol’s childhood home. You didn’t know how you knew that - you just knew. It was as familiar to you, inside the drift, as your own. You knew that to your left was a small kitchen with two broken floor tiles; you knew - without having ever seen it - that to your right was a narrow hallway that led to a bathroom and two small bedrooms.
Two small boys played on the carpet; rather, the smaller one played with some toy cars while the other watched the television with rapture. Behind them, at the kitchen table, a woman typed busily on an outdated laptop, bags heavy under her eyes.
Somewhere around you, a voice floated by, telling you, neural handshake strong and holding.
You could see Seungcheol in your periphery - the adult Seungcheol, the Seungcheol of now - as he looked at his mother, his brother, himself.
“It’s not real,” you reminded him gently. “It’s just a memory.”
“I know,” he said back, voice hushed, as if he might scare them away. “It’s just… good to see them.”
The house evaporated as gently as morning dew under a mid-morning sun; you stood in a schoolyard. Seungcheol, the small one, had a bloody lip and a mean swing.
You felt a rush of affection for him - him, the child, face contorting with misplaced anger, using strength as a bandage. You wanted to stand in front of him, between him and the anger, him and the other kids, and let him take a breath. You wanted to tell him to step with his punch to get more power. You wanted to put a hand on his shoulder and tell him, you’re going to be fine.
And he knew all of it, because he was in your mind.
Seungcheol - your Seungcheol - walked away from the swarm of children egging on the fight and opened a door. You followed.
Inside was not the school, but a hospital room. Your body jolted forward, distracting and alarming. You heard, faintly, a series of beeps, that robotic voice needling in your ears, saying, calibration failure… recalibrating in 3… 2… 1…
“It’s only a memory,” you said again, but the warning beeps were coming stronger, louder, more clearly. The hospital room looked opaque, and Seungcheol walked backwards towards you, away from it, herding you both out of the room. The room - a bed, a pulled curtain, a lot of white - flickered, like a glitch, and then vanished, leaving you standing in the simulator.
Neural handshake disengaged…
“Seungcheol!” you yelled, pulling your helmet off and wheeling on him as best you could with most of your body still strapped in. “What the hell was that? You pushed me out!”
He was breathing hard, eyes a little wild. “Not that,” he said, a little ragged. “I’ll let you in but - not that.”
“You don’t get to choose!” you snapped. Part of you knew this was just growing pains, he’d never drifted before, he was learning. But the rest of you smarted and stung - both from his rejection and from your failure to train, to succeed, to check off this final step before you could get inside your jaeger. “It’s kind of an all-or-nothing thing!”
He let out a billow of air, reaching a hand up to rub at his face. “Sorry. I’ll… let’s try again.”
You didn’t answer, fuming silently instead.
“I’m sorry, Cherry,” he said. “The stuff with my dad…”
“You can’t cherry-pick what we see and what we don’t,” you fired back. His eyes shot to yours and his mouth quirked and you read the joke all over his face. “Don’t you laugh, Seungcheol, it’s not funny!”
But you were laughing through the scolding.
“Stop,” you whined.
Your anger defused, he looked at you again, taking a bracing breath. “It’s not about you,” he tried to explain. “I’m not keeping you out. I’m keeping me out.”
“Don’t chase the rabbit,” you told him, shaking your head. “See what it wants you to see and move on. Find the next door. If you stand there and let your hurt - or your, I don’t know… grief - rise up… that’s when we’re going to have trouble.”
“Find the next door,” he repeated, eyes on the floor. “Got it.”
“You can’t push it away,” you reminded him, “but you don’t have to stay in it, either.”
He nodded, eyes already lighting up, ready to go again.
The second time, you saw him steel himself before opening that same door, watching carefully as he shuffled inside, only looking sideways at the hospital room that materialized around you.
“Seungcheol.”
He turned to look at you, wide-eyed, but you hadn’t called him. The voice, weak and hoarse, had come from the other side of the fluttering curtain.
The glitching started almost immediately - the image around you flickering like a bad wall projection. Something rocked beneath your feet, an earthquake only inside your minds.
You opened your mouth, started to tell him, you don’t have to stay, to remind him that he could move forward. Instead, you heard yourself say, “I’m here.”
The tremors under your feet quivered to a stop. You watched with trepidation and Seungcheol closed his eyes and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Then, he held his hand out, waiting.
You slipped your hand into his, and then he turned and continued walking, ignoring his father’s memory calling out to him. The flickering stopped, the picture you were part of brightening again as you found the next door, stepped through, left his pain behind.
—
It got easier quickly. Seungcheol’s ability to press on, to maintain focus, strengthened.
The strolls through your mind went easier - you’d had years to practice maintaining focus, waiting until after to let the emotions hit you.
Seungcheol learned to be ready for you, after. He’d sit with you, silent, and breathe in tandem as you worked to let go, to release the images of Charron’s Revenge on the tech bay screen, the sounds of your parents’ frantic communication as they fought together, the fear crawling its way up your legs every time until someone in the bay said, “Charron’s Revenge, cleared to return.” The loneliness of being the only kid in the Dome, having no outlet except fighting. Everything that threatened your mind while you piloted, everything that you had to save for later - save for him.
You were both freshly turned twenty when you got green-lit to drive.
“Seungcheol!” you called across the mess hall, practically racing to your table. He turned, eyebrows raised, as you crossed the large room.
“We’re approved to drop!” you told him excitedly. It churned in you - finally, finally you could fight, you could prove what you could do, you could help. “We’re on the drop schedule for tomorrow!”
His grin was unfettered, unfiltered, just for you. He reached up a fist and you bumped it enthusiastically. You were too excited to eat, too excited to sleep. You tossed and turned, imagining experiencing a drop for the first time, imagining striding through the mighty sea like it was nothing, imagining staring down hell itself and bringing it to its knees.
You were still awake when you heard the alarms down the hall. Yours didn’t go off, because you weren’t on duty, weren’t approved to fight.
Down the hall, there was a flurry of commotion - shouting, rushing, people pushing past you as they pulled on boots and jackets.
“Cat-3 in the west bay,” someone shouted.
“Deploying Devil’s Advocate!”
You reached the tech bay, trying to stay out of the way but not unseen. When the Marshall strode by, you stepped sideways.
“Let us drop,” you said quickly, knowing time was precious. “It’ll be like practice. We can be back-up. We’ll hang back.”
“Absolutely not,” the Marshall said, already moving to work past you. “You’re not approved yet. We don’t need a liability right now.”
“We’re scheduled for tomorrow!” you protested, and then you felt a hand on your shoulder.
“We’ll get our turn,” Seungcheol told you quietly. Of course he’d come out, of course he found you.
You deflated. “It could have been us. We are hours from approval.”
He gave your shoulder a tiny shake. “We’ll get our turn,” he repeated. “Don’t make trouble.”
You glowered, but you knew he was right. “Fine,” you grumbled as Joshua and Jeonghan slinked past you in matching jackets and matching shit-eating grins. You stayed out of the way as they prepared to drop.
You stayed through the fight, listened to the control room buzz and chatter, until you heard, “Devil’s Advocate, cleared to return.”
Only then did you try to go back to sleep. Seungcheol gave your shoulder one more squeeze.
“Tomorrow,” he promised.
“Tomorrow,” you repeated.
—
Some people feel God at church. The history of tradition and the sanctity of ritual speak to them, help them feel part of something, help them feel that unnameable swell of something spiritual.
Some people feel God in nature. The patterns of the universe, the way math exists without human touch, the harmonies and patterns that seem too intricate for coincidence help them believe in a planner’s touch. The beauty of the outdoors allows them to wonder, to feel like they belong as a piece of this clockwork.
But you - you felt God when you stood before your jaeger, marveling at the power, the beauty, how it feels like yours, how it feels like Seungcheol before you’re even inside it. Duellona Fury promises you power, promises you purpose.
That hand was on your shoulder again, and it slid down to the center of your back before removing itself.
Beside you, Seungcheol stared up at your glorious machine.
“She looks sick,” he said, the grin taking over his face.
“I can’t wait to fuck shit up,” you murmured, your reverent tone at odds with the flippancy of your words.
“Ready?” the Marshall asked you, coming up to your left. “We’ll get you calibrated and dropped, and then you’ll do a lap of the bay. We’re sending out Pretty Savage just in case you run into trouble.”
The defensiveness rose in you quick, like a snakebite.
“We don’t need a babysitter,” Seungcheol said, voice hard. You reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze - a reminder to watch it, just as his hand on your shoulder frequently did for you.
“It’s just safety protocol.” The Marshall was unphased by the outburst. “Have fun, you two. Enjoy your first joy-ride.”
You screamed when you dropped, the exhilaration rushing out of you as Duellona Fury fell story after story before slowing and attaching to your jaeger’s mainframe.
Goosebumps raised along your arms when the Shatterdome’s sea-doors slid open, shudders traveling your body as you and Seungcheol stepped together, Duellona Fury stepping with you, her gigantic, metal form following every movement.
For the first time in your whole, careful life, you felt powerful. Your jaeger cut through the ocean waves like they were nothing, making an easy perimeter of the bay. In your head, you could somehow both hear and feel Seungcheol’s delight, his low-simmering desire to fight, to do something a perfect mirror of your own.
“How is it?” Soonyoung’s voice crackled in your ears, reminding you that Pretty Savage wasn’t far behind you.
“Incredible,” Seungcheol answered him, at the same time that you said, “It’s everything.”
It didn’t matter that you came from a family of pilots. It didn’t matter that you were raised in the Dome, training since you were young. None of that mattered. You were born for this - born to fight for your planet, born for Duellona Fury, born for Choi Seungcheol.
—
The west bay became Duellona’s playground; you and Seungcheol were often assigned to patrol there.
It was only a few months in that you faced a kaiju for the first time.
“Come in, Duellona Fury,” Nainsi’s voice came through. “We have a reading just a few miles north of you. Cat-2. Approaching at -”
Duellona Fury was turning due north before the command was even given.
“Are you ready for this?” you shouted to Seungcheol as Duellona slid through the water, the adrenaline singing in your system already.
“You know I am,” he answered, something hard in it, and the thrill in your stomach sparked.
When the sea split in half, the kaiju rising from the depths with an unearthly roar, you sank into a defensive stance, feeling Seungcheol move beside you, doing the same.
“Let’s fucking go,” Seungcheol said darkly, and launched forward, your arms rearing back for momentum before the first swing. The punch landed solidly, your whole body shaking once as the kaiju faltered backwards a few steps.
It opened its mouth and you glimpsed three rows of teeth bigger than a cow before it was lunging at you; Duellona Fury lurched. You tried to duck sideways as Seungcheol tried to move towards your opponent.
The moment of indecision cost you - the kaiju got its teeth on Duellona’s shoulder, knocking you back several steps. Beside you, Seungcheol roared as sparks flew near the bite.
“Are we breached?” you yelled, trying to steady your balance again.
“Not yet!” he yelled back, and you swung again, a hit landing hard enough to knock the kaiju loose, spitting it back into the sea.
You tried to move into a defensive crouch again; again, the jaeger faltered.
“Cherry!” Seungcheol yelled, desperation laced in his voice. “Cherry, don’t fight me!”
“Move with me!” you answered, and he did, miraculously, Duellona dodging left before an incoming attack.
Don’t fight me.
You rocked forward with Seungcheol as soon as you were clear of the kaiju’s trajectory, just as you’d done in practice thousands of times. Back in sync, Duellona Fury landed a kick to the kaiju’s middle that sent it stumbling.
“We’ve got him,” you said, feeling a win.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Seungcheol warned you. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the kaiju exploded from the dark ocean, limbs flailing as it flew towards you.
Duellona’s arms came up and locked it in battle, the impact shaking you so hard that your teeth chattered against each other. You groaned with exertion as you tried to match its strength.
“I don’t think we can hold it,” you managed through grit teeth.
“We’ve got this,” your partner promised, and with a mighty shove, you managed to flip the beast over your shoulder and beneath the waves.
“Drop the bombs and head for the east side,” you said quickly, already moving. Duellona Fury followed your command, turning and starting an easy run through the bay’s churning waters, away from where the kaiju was struggling to its feet, furious and vengeful. As she ran, she dropped three small explosives, about sixty feet apart. The explosives slipped into the ocean depths.
“Ready?” Seungcheol asked, a little breathless. “Are we far enough away?”
“Light him up,” you replied. Seungcheol reached up and tapped the button; somewhere behind you, the ocean exploded.
—
“How’s your shoulder?” you asked, later, in the med bay.
“Not that bad,” Seungcheol said, but you could see the blood-stains on the bandaging.
“It won’t happen again,” you promised. “I think I just… practiced alone for so long. I forgot to listen. I’m sorry.”
Seungcheol shook his hand, eyes finding yours. “There’s nothing to forgive, Cherry. Forget about it.” Then, he brightened. “You know what I want to do?”
“What?” you asked, not entirely past feeling guilty.
His smile was devilish. “I want to go celebrate our first fucking kill.”
–
You marked the passing of two years in statistics.
Three hundred and forty-six explosives detonated.
Two hundred and eighty-three drops. Two hundred and eight-three kills.
Seventy-two mainframe repairs.
Twenty-eight achievement awards.
Nine television interviews.
Six upgrades.
One ill-informed “vacation” during which you both itched with anxiety, spending the whole time messaging your friends back in the Shatterdome desperately, praying you wouldn’t miss a fight in which you were needed.
Seven hundred and thirty days of living in and around Seungcheol’s mind and heart. But that stat should’ve gone first.
It was a good high. Your team had a good run.
It wasn’t a kaiju that reduced it to ash, not an attack that took your team out of the rotation of main fighters and sent your jaeger to gather rust and dust below the Dome. It was your own stupid heart.
There were a lot of moments that could have been it. Each time you walked into a fight knowing the danger, each time he ended up in the med bay reeking of antibacterial ointment and resentment. Each time you slid into your place beside him - space he saved only for you. Each time his voice bidding you goodnight from the bottom bunk was the last thing you heard at the end of the day. Any of these moments might have been the one to make you stop, gasp, suddenly slammed with understanding. That you loved him, that he was everything you couldn’t bear to be without, that he was part of you. But they weren’t.
There was no moment of realization at all.
Instead, it slowly seeped into your consciousness, as gently and naturally as morning dew collecting on pre-dawn petals. The knowledge clung to you, as impossible to ignore as damp feet after running barefoot through the yard just after sunrise.
If you knew something, that meant your co-pilot would know it, too.
Unless you tucked it away, pushed it down deep and cast his attention elsewhere, a mental sleight-of-hand. Look here instead.
You were twenty-three, on a routine patrol, when Mission Control radioed Duellona that there was a reading in the bay.
“Looks like it’s only a Cat-1,” Mission Control told you.
“On it,” you told them, feeling your body already mirroring Seungcheol’s as Duellona picked up her pace, striding through the waves.
You glanced sideways at him, and immediately wished you hadn’t. He was already zoned in, eyes focused and jaw sharp as he concentrated.
He caught your gaze for only a second. “Focus, Cherry,” he cautioned. “Don’t get cocky.”
“I would never,” you retorted, and he laughed. You were both cocky; you both knew it.
For a second, things felt better.
The fight was almost easy, when the ocean seemed to split in two and the waves fell away like wrapping paper to reveal the kaiju you’d been sent for.
You swung and ducked, dropping explosives strategically, Seungcheol moving in unison with you. There was something graceful about it - something beautiful in the sync, something holy in the way your muscles mimicked each other’s.
This is what happens when sunlight hits morning dew: it warms, lifts, makes the air humid and sticky until it burns away.
It rose up in you, your love for him, infusing the air around you, infusing the neural handshake that he was deeply imbedded in.
No.
You panicked, tried to do several things at once - tried to shove the feeling down, tried to think of something else, tried to push Seungcheol’s consciousness out of yours.
Duellona Fury lurched around you, shuddering.
“Cherry!” Seungcheol screamed to your left, and then the kaiju hit, its full weight slamming into Duellona’s mainframe.
You both staggered, trying to right yourselves, as the machines around you blinked and beeped and rebooted.
Seungcheol grunted under the neural weight of driving alone as you gasped and closed your eyes, trying desperately to fix it. Around you, you heard the floating words - recalibrating.
“Recalibrate faster!” you shouted, glancing sideways to see your co-pilot struggling to hold the monster in place, his face contorting with effort, arms straining against the machinery. He bared his gritted teeth, exhaling in a hiss between them.
You gave yourself a shake, bouncing on the balls of your feet, desperate for the connection to take again so you could pick up your half, take the literal weight from him. As soon as you felt the neural handshake, you gave a mighty shove and Duellona flipped the monster backwards, the ocean receding and then coming back to slam her shins, swallowing the monster whole.
You both sank into a defensive stance, ready for the beast to rise again.
“What was that?” Seungcheol demanded, later, as he sat in the med bay, waiting for his nosebleed to stop. The nosebleed you’d caused by letting him carry a neural load meant for two.
“I don’t know,” you lied, still panicked and desperate.
“Bullshit,” Seungcheol countered, eyes narrowed. He reached up and pulled the cotton away from his face, examining it. “I’m fine now,” he announced, and tossed the wad into a nearby trash bin, standing.
You fought the urge to cower, knowing he’d never let it go if you did. You followed him silently out of the med bay and back towards your dormitories. Halfway there, he slowed, then stopped.
Then, more calmly this time, he asked, “What happened, Cherry? You pushed me out.”
There was a slight pout to it, a sliver of hurt, and it sliced through you like something tangible, like you were actually wounded from it, like it might actually bleed.
“I don’t know,” you repeated. Guilt poked at you until you relented, gave him something that was at least partly true. “I got scared.”
“That can’t happen, and you know it,” he said seriously, his large frame casting a long shadow to your left as he leaned into your space. “You can’t keep secrets - that’s piloting 101. We’ve got to handle it. You know what’s at stake here.”
You did; you did, and that was entirely the problem. It wasn’t just feelings, it wasn’t just your relationship with Seungcheol at stake. It was your relationship with your co-pilot - your ability to fight was at stake, your ability to keep others safe. Your legacy.
Your parents’ wall of pictures flashed in your mind.
“I’m going to my mom and dad’s for a while,” you said quietly.
He nodded, let you run away - trusted you to come back to him when you were ready, trusted you to let him in.
You weren’t sure if he was right or wrong, as you walked away and left him behind.
You didn’t go to your parents’, though. Instead, you went to the tech bay and sat, watching Duellona undergo simple repairs from her fight. You stayed there, the metal cold beneath your thighs, watching the tech team buff over a scratch on your jaeger’s torso, until someone dropped into the spot next to you, bumping their shoulder roughly into yours.
“Where’s Seungcheol?” Wylie, who co-piloted Fury Striker with Chan, was your closest friend in the Dome besides Seungcheol.
“He’s pissed at me,” you answered, looking sideways, because the question had really meant, why isn’t Seungcheol with you?
You weren’t sure she’d understand what you were going through - she and Chan had been obsessed with each other since they were kids. Neither of them had ever had to fear that their love for each other would mess anything up. It had been part of their deal from the start.
“What’d you do?” Wylie demanded, turning her full, unfettered attention on you. You wanted to shrink from the intensity of it - but that was always how Wylie worked: full wattage, all the time.
“Almost got us killed by a fucking Cat-1 tonight,” you muttered, angry at yourself, angry at your heart.
Wylie smacked your arm hard enough to send you sideways. “Cherry!” she scolded.
“There was something I didn’t want him to see.” You said it in your head first, weighed the words, then forced them through your teeth. You hoped she’d just know what it was, hoped you wouldn’t have to force those words past muscle and bone, too.
Wylie’s face dropped into irritation. “Cherry,” she repeated, disappointment dripping from the two syllables.
You looked up at Duellona Fury again.
“You can’t do that,” she told you, giving your ankle a little kick for emphasis. “You know you can’t do that.”
You can’t love him? Or, you can’t keep secrets from him?
You didn’t ask. You didn’t want to know the answer.
Seungcheol was waiting up for you when you finally returned to the dorm. You opened the door to find the first room - an entryway and kitchen, both - dimly lit. Beyond it, in the small sitting space, Seungcheol sat facing the door, his chin in his hand.
You knew the look on his face. You knew it so well that you almost ran from it, almost turned right around and went back out to the hallway.
Brows slightly furrowed, mouth a straight line, jaw tight. Eyes focused, locked in. It was the face he made in training before he bodied someone. It was the face he made in the field before an offensive strike. It meant he had his sights on a target, a problem, and he was about to throw everything he had at it.
And right now, you were the problem.
“Hey?” you tried meekly.
He nodded. Licked his lips. Stood.
He’s pissed at me, you’d told Wylie. The energy radiating from your co-pilot was much more complex than that, the air around you palpably tense and teetering.
“How was it at your parents’?” he asked, voice low.
You took one tentative step closer. “I didn’t go,” you admitted. One lie between you was already more than you wanted. “I watched them patch up Duellona instead. Talked to Wylie a little.”
He nodded, eyes still on you. Nervousness coursed through you, but it would be a lie - another one - to say it wasn’t laced with a little excitement. He was stunning, always, but like this - it almost took your breath away.
If he was in your mind right now, there’d be no question. He’d know all of it. The attraction, the desire, the fear, the affection, the love, the need. All of it.
His eyes caught on a bruise peeking out from the short sleeve of your top. “You should’ve had them look at that,” he said, reaching out like he wanted to run his fingers over the dark splotch, but he was just too far away, fingertips closing around the air just an inch or two away.
You shook your head. “You needed attention first. You carried the neural load alone.” Because of me.
“Only for a minute.”
“A minute too long. I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
It hung between you. You don’t know if you’d inched forward or he had, or both, but you were close enough to touch now when you hadn’t been just seconds ago.
He lifted his eyes, his gaze locking on yours. In the dim room, his eyes shone black. “You pushed me out.”
It was an accusation, but it was also a question.
“I’m sorry,” you repeated, barely able to say it, your voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. “Seungcheol, I was scared.”
Maybe he was in your head. Maybe he did know all of it.
“Don’t be,” he told you. “Don’t be scared.”
His arms were around you though you didn’t see him move. It wasn’t the first time you’d let him embrace you - after a fight, in relief, or in victorious delight, or sometimes just in sleepy affection at the end of a long day. It was far from the first time that you’d found comfort in the space between his arms, strong and capable around your frame, your forehead pressed against his sternum as his heart beat directly into your bones.
But it was the first time that his fingers, confident and sure, tipped under your chin, guiding you to look up at him, guiding your mouth to meet his.
You don’t know if you melted or exploded - it was somehow both at once. You gripped his back, feeling the muscles move beneath his t-shirt, relaxing into his hold and focusing on the feel of his full lips firm and hungry against your own. This was everything - everything you’d wanted, everything you were afraid of, everything you needed, everything that could rip your life apart.
You didn’t mean to whine, but it slipped up your throat and into the gasped space between your lips and his as you tried to pull in a desperate breath. He responded with a grunt, walking you backwards until the edge of the kitchen counter jutted into your lower back. His hands traveled, up to the back of your neck, back down to the slight curve of your waist, around to the back of your ass. He tugged your hips against his roughly, and you let your head fall back, panting, head spinning.
“Cherry,” he breathed against the newly bared stretch of your neck, his lips close enough to drag against your skin as he spoke.
Your hands found the back of his neck, gave the slightest tug upwards, and he followed, bringing his mouth back to yours. His tongue pressed yours briefly, your moan muffled entirely by his mouth as you tried to press him closer, closer, as if you wanted your rib-cages to meld, to slip together like fitting puzzle pieces.
His hand slipped lower from your ass and wrapped around your thighs, taking only a second to lift you onto the counter behind you. You wrapped yourself around him immediately, pulling him into the space between your legs, arms around his neck, pulling him in, wanting to feel every bit of him against you.
His hands found the hem of your shirt and lifted; you raised your arms in compliance and felt the cotton slip over your head and your hands.
“Yours,” you murmured, but he had already reached back between his shoulder blades, his own top joining yours on the floor.
Your hands found him on their own, sliding over his skin, fingers dipping between muscles, thumbs sweeping over shadows.
You kissed until you turned liquid, molten, your fingers wrapped in his hair. His fingers mapped every inch of your skin, as if his job was to report back on every previously unknown dip, every rough circle, every beauty mark or blemish. His fingers traced them all, his hands passing over you reverently.
The brush of his bare chest against your own was torturous; delicious until you were full, until you couldn’t take it anymore, until the electric-sharp thrill became uncomfortable. You tilted backwards, creating more space between your torsos but pushing your hips firmly into his.
You both groaned at the contact. You could feel the heat and weight of him now, and everything instinctual within you urged you to shift further, to bring that heat and heaviness closer to the part of you that ached for it.
He pressed his hips into you without reservation, your core clenching in response to the movement and the friction.
Then he leaned back, his hands gripping the edge of the counter, his arms bracketing you on either side, his chest heaving as he struggled to control his breathing. He drank you in, his eyes as molten as you felt. You leaned back on your elbows and met his gaze.
The moment expanded; nothing existed but his eyes and the pant of his breath and the way he smelled like he’d just finished a fight and the way he felt between your thighs, unmovable and steady.
Neither of you was connected to jaeger machinery, but you may as well have been, because you knew without a shadow of a doubt that your minds were connected, the drift be damned. Your eyes locked, you knew he felt everything you felt - the gravity of what you were doing, the love that drove you, the fire coursing through you. If there was going to be hesitation or questioning, this was the moment, this was the pause. But you were one, your minds were one, and there was none of that.
His unvoiced question definitively answered by the certainty that flowed between you, Seungcheol moved to lift you again, taking you easily from the countertop into the dark of the room you share, settling you on your back on his bottom bunk.
Above you, mostly shadowed, was your other half, the only person who knew and understood every cobwebbed corner of your consciousness, the only person who had walked through your mind and found himself mirrored in every way that mattered. He was beautiful in the fractured light, his expression serious and gaze intense.
You reached up to slide your thumb along his jaw and his eyes fluttered closed, his breath leaving him as in relief, as if you’d made some kind of admission.
Making love to Seungcheol felt like drifting. His eyes on you as his fingers pulled you apart felt the same as the careful way he’d watch you when your memories got emotional, like he was watching for any sign that you weren’t okay, that you needed more or less or him.
The way his breath and shoulders shuddered when he pressed into you for the first time felt the same as when he faltered in face of his father’s memory; both times, his fingers laced through yours and held tight until you could both breathe again.
He felt how you’d always known he would. Perfect - a perfect fit for you, a physical compatibility you had never tested but had always trusted would be there. He took you apart without even trying, and all you could do was hold onto him, feel all of him, feel all of it, and try to remember to breathe.
You didn’t speak as you moved together in the dark; the only sounds in the tight room were muted gasps, tiny moans muffled against necks, skin on skin, the obscene squelching sounds that accompanied each snap of his hips. You didn’t say the words that your lips tried to form - it’s so much, go slow for a little, Seungcheol, I love you, more - please, don’t stop. Maybe he heard them. Maybe this was a different way to drift, one that didn’t need wires.
You did your best to hold his gaze, losing sight of him only when you strained up to kiss him, when you nuzzled your face into the warmth between his neck and shoulder and gasped against a wave of sensation, when you couldn’t help but close them as they rolled back, your toes curling.
He pressed his forehead to yours when he finished, your name slipping out of him, as if it had been literally squeezed from his lungs. “Cherry… Cherry…”
You lay together in silence for a long time, feeling your hearts slow, your skin cool. Your thumb traced his jaw again and again, slow, worshipful. “Cheol,” you whispered. My Cheol. My everything. You didn’t say the rest as you lay together in the quiet, in the dark, your heartbeats competing.
You didn’t know that you’d drifted together for the last time. You didn’t know that your ability to neural connect could be broken.
–
The wind whips around you, stinging your face. You barely flinch. When you’d first relocated here, three years ago, the cold had made you literally cry during your first month. Just from having to walk from the door of the dormitory across the yard to the mess hall dorm, the intensity of it had sent you spiraling into misery - damning the circumstances that had sent you here, away from everyone and everything you knew and loved, to a place where the air hurt.
You were sure it would hurt, this intensely, forever.
But time eased the sting, and despite your doubts you did adjust. Now the early morning wind feels bracing and refreshing rather than painful. You’ve adjusted to a lot of things since relocating to a small training center in Alakanuk, Alaska: the climate, the food, the no-frills campus you lived and worked on. Being away from your parents, from Wylie and Chan and Seungkwan and Jeonghan and all the other pilots you were friends with at the Shatterdome.
Being away from Seungcheol. Being partnerless, a half instead of a whole.
Being unable to pilot, unable to fight.
Being brokenhearted.
Just like the cold, the pain of your losses was the same - the sting of heartbreak and loneliness and homesickness faded to something ignorable, something you could keep tucked tight in the back of your mind.
You can hear the noise from inside the mess hall before you even cross the courtyard. There are short of fifty girls ranging from ages seven to eighteen being housed here, but from the noise you’d swear it was at least a hundred.
The buildings are single-storied, painted with a heavily-chipping grey-blue that sometimes seems to belong to the mist you often get rolling in from the ocean. When you’d first come, you’d legitimately thought they were painted that way as camouflage, meant to blend in with the sea. The other trainers had a good laugh about that.
As you cross the courtyard between the trainers’ dorms and the mess hall, you breathe deeply, eyes on the birds alight above you. After a lifetime in the Shatterdome, you don’t take for granted the fresh air you’re afforded as you pass between buildings, outside, the sky open and changing above. You don’t take for granted the rhythm of the ocean, the cries of the gulls, nor the distant treeline.
It was Seungcheol who had noted that you were sheltered, having never lived outside of the Dome.
It was Seungcheol you could blame - at least halfway - for your relocation here, where there wasn’t a jaeger or even a city for hundreds of miles.
When you pull open the flimsy door to the mess hall, the noise triples. Several of the girls call out to greet you, and you give them a quick wave as you head to the table where the staff eats.
“You’re later than normal,” one of the other instructors notes as you reach for a piece of bread.
You shrug lightly, unbothered. “Still have plenty of time before the first class. What day is today, Thursday? I’ve got the little ones first, right?”
The all-girls training center is meant to teach fighting and the groundworks for drifting, but no jaegers are housed here, no teams launch into the icy bay. The girls here will grow up to pilot - if they get selected, if they get paired with a partner.
You’re mostly here to teach them to fight, the way you trained in the Dome, but you do plenty more. Help brush hair in the mornings, console tearful faces, teach games and sports, mediate arguments. You also got sucked into running one literacy class a week, though you still haven’t figured out how that happened.
It would be a lie to say this wasn’t fulfilling, that you didn’t love the girls you cared for, that you weren’t happy here with the ocean and birds and trees and laughter. In many ways, the seclusion of this training center is exactly what you needed to get back on your feet, to find strength in yourself, to heal with distance and time.
But, god, what you would give for a real fight. What you would give to feel both loved and threatened by Wylie, to rib at the guys, to hug your mom. What you would give to hear Seungcheol’s teasing pout, to catch his gaze across the span of your jaeger and know what his body and yours will do, to feel his fingers just barely graze your back when he knows you need to be reminded to focus.
The final time you’d tried, the neural connection never took. It was like trying to connect with a stranger. It had simply been still, a thing that was never alive.
“Don’t do this,” Seungcheol had begged, and that had been the nail in the coffin.
Don’t do this, he’d said. It had landed like blame. Like everything was your fault, and only yours. Like you had broken the connection on purpose, were keeping him out, barricading your mind from his when you desperately wanted everything to go right back to normal.
After that failure, you didn’t tell him you were asking to be reassigned. You didn’t want to give him the chance to say don’t do this a second time.
You’ve just ended a class, the girls starting to filter out through the training room’s side door towards the mess hall for lunch, when the center’s Administrator calls your name from the door.
“There’s a call for you on my line. I have them holding.”
A call?
Adrenaline races through you; it has to be an emergency. Your parents and friends can reach you on your own device, which is tucked into your back pocket. To call the mainline here at the center means this is a base-to-base call, not a personal one.
You’ve only been in this office a handful of times in your few years here, and you shuffle awkwardly around the desk and pick up the receiver that sits abandoned on the chipped, wooden desktop.
You greet the person on the line with your real name.
“Cherry?”
Your Marshall - your old Marshall, from the Dome - sounds unsure if he has the right person on the line. No one has called you Cherry in three years. Even your parents have used your given name the few times they’ve said it on your weekly calls home.
“It’s me,” you affirm. “Is everything okay? My parents?”
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, and you heave a relieved breath. “Everyone is fine. This is official business. I want to call you in.”
You shake your head, frowning, well aware that he can’t see your reaction. Your body has said no, but you force yourself to ask, “Me? Why?”
“We’re down a few teams,” the Marshall says. “And -”
“You’ve got more recruits than places to put them,” you counter before he can finish. “Call one of the new teams up. Call three new teams up. You don’t need me.”
“We do - we need teams with experience, teams that are ready. Not rookies bumbling around looking for mistakes. We need precision. We need Duellona Fury.”
Your Marshall lays out the situation: the teams that are out, the problems they’re having at the breach - less time between attacks, more monsters at once. You’ve seen this before, you all have, and there’s protocol in place - protocol that starts with all hands on deck.
You shake your head again. From the door, the Administrator of the center watches you seriously, like she knows you’re being taken away.
“Marshall, with all due respect, I don’t know why you’re calling me,” you admit. “What can I give you? I can’t pilot Duellona.”
Not anymore.
The Marshall sighs, like he knew this argument was coming and didn’t have a good response.
“I think you can,” he says finally. “I’m not saying it will be easy, and I’m not saying it will happen quickly or without effort. But I think you can.”
“No,” you say, the first time you’ve voiced it. “You were there. You saw what happened. We can’t drift anymore.”
“You couldn’t then,” he points out. “That was three years ago. You’ve both had a lot of time to…. You’ve both had a lot of time since then. Things that were once too painful to carry into the drift… they’ve had time to mellow.”
This blow knocks you into silence. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, eyes steadfastly on the warped wood of the desk, fingers toying absently with the Administrator’s pen.
He’s wrong, and you want to tell him so. Nothing had mellowed. You love Seungcheol just as much today as you did three years ago. The splitting ache in your chest that you’ve felt every day since you became aware of loving him has only worked its way deeper with time.
And Seungcheol’s anger? The anger and betrayal he’d leveled at you, when he was sure you were keeping him out of your head on purpose? You couldn’t speak for him, but if you had to guess, there weren’t enough years in a human life to let that hurt mellow into something safe enough to drift with.
“Have you talked to him about this?” You’re afraid of the answer.
The Marshall hesitates. “Not yet.”
“You might want to do that first,” you point out. “Before flying me back only to have him refuse.”
The Marshall’s voice hardens, and you can just picture his eyes narrowing. “Mr. Choi will follow orders,” he says evenly, “and so will you. Asking is really just a courtesy.”
“You can’t order us into being able to drift again,” you snap, pulse suddenly pounding in your arms, your hands, your face, your chest.
“No,” the Marshall says, and any previous friendliness is gone from his voice now, “but I can - and will - order you to try.”
The girls cry when you tell them you’re leaving, and it makes you want to cry, too. You hold it together as you give them hugs, hold it together as you pack your single bag of belongings. You hold it together in the passenger seat of the center’s only beat-up van, waving out the back window as the training center fades away.
It’s standing on the deck of the ferry, the coast receding and the sea wind clawing at your face, that you let it go. You bury your face behind your hands and feel it release behind your ribs. You cry for all of it - for leaving the girls behind, for leaving a place that had sheltered you like a sanctuary. For the time you’d lost at the Dome, for the fights you’d sat out, for the years with your parents and friends that had slipped away like sand between your fingers. For your fear that Seungcheol will turn you away, just as hurt and angry as he was one thousand and ninety-five days ago.
You’d been so determined to keep him from walking through the depths of your love for him, in the drift. You were so scared it would be too much, too intense, too much emotion for the drift. You’d been scared it would be too much for him - that the weight of it would inherently ask for more than he could give you in return. You’d been scared it would ruin your partnership, your compatibility, your capability to co-pilot.
But that had happened anyway. You almost have to laugh.
As furiously as your tears begin, they peter out quickly. You take a few deep gulps of salty air, use the backs of your hands to wipe at your cheeks and beneath your nose. As you calm down, you keep your eyes on the horizon, your hands tight on the ship’s railing, and you let your mind wander back to Seungcheol. Here, thousands of miles away, you let yourself think back to those last weeks before you left the Shatterdome. You let yourself wonder, for the first time, what exactly caused everything to crumble.
You’d been so afraid to let Seungcheol into your head once the loving him had taken over. Why had it scared you so badly? As you keep your eyes on the grey of the horizon, you puzzle it out in your mind.
Had it been the uncertainty? That had certainly played a part. Did Seungcheol love you, back then? If he didn’t, everything between you could have changed - your friendship, your partnership, your ability to drift. It hadn’t seemed worth the risk to lose it all - his presence in your life, your ability to fight together.
But maybe he had. If he did love you, back then… that would have changed things, too. What if starting something romantic affected your drift? There were too many maybes, too many variables. It had seemed safe to push it all down, to try and keep him away from it. To try and keep things the same.
Of course, you’d lost it all anyway.
Even if he did love you three years ago, you think as the sea air whips around you, did he love you the way you loved him? What if it had been too much - the way you could breathe once he was with you, the way you kept each other in check - what if he had loved you, but not that much?
Had it been a mistake to keep him out? Maybe. But it could have been just as catastrophic to let him in. There was no way to know, now.
You turn away from the ship’s railing, away from the horizon and the sea, away from your mistakes. There’s no use looking back like this. You can’t change it. You aren’t even sure you can fix it.
You were hoping to sleep on the plane, but you’re woefully awake well after take-off. Determined not to keep ruminating on what had happened before you left, instead you wonder what awaits you now.
The most-likely scenario, you think, professional and polite - but cold. Like you, he takes duty and responsibility seriously. The airplane bumps, a pocket of air jostling the small craft, and your hands find the armrests and cling tight until it stops.
The best case scenario, of course, would be that enough time has passed that Seungcheol’s hurt has faded. Maybe, you think, maybe he’s moved on from harboring that anger. Maybe he’ll greet you warmly, maybe you’ll pick up right where you left off.
This hope, this day-dream, aches, so much that you blink it away and turn to watch the clouds through the window, a desperate distraction. You crave Seungcheol - you crave feeling safe with his arms around you, you crave the elation you’d feel when he entered the room you were in, you crave the peace that comes with two minds engaged in neural handshake - the peace of someone’s mind interlaced with your own, understanding you, operating with you, picking up half of your mental lift.
You crave his giggle when you say something stupid in the dark of the dorm before bed, his pout when he feels like he isn’t getting enough attention, you crave his voice echoing in your head long after he’s gone asleep because you heard him talk to you all day long.
You crave his lips on yours, his teeth on your neck, his hands on your body, even if you only had it once. You’ve craved it ever since.
You crave closing your eyes and pressing your forehead to his sternum, feeling safe and quiet and like you belong. You miss the sanctuary of that space, chest to chest with him, something sacred in the way it exists only for you.
You know you can’t have it - any of it. The daydream isn’t real. Your curse will be to crave it forever, alone.
When you arrive at the Shatterdome, it’s your parents who greet you just inside. For a moment, you’re happy to be back, overcome with emotion as you hug them tight. They’ve aged in these three years. You’ve missed them awfully. You only tell them the latter.
They walk with you to the Marshall’s office, where you’re meant to report upon arrival.
You hesitate, covering the moment by tugging your duffle’s strap higher on your shoulder. Your mother reads you anyway, reaching out and giving your shoulder a squeeze.
“It will be okay,” she whispers.
Your father catches on. “You’ve faced down worse,” he reasons.
You disagree. There’s no monster in the sea bigger than your love for Seungcheol, no wounding possible that could hurt more than losing him has. But you appreciate the sentiment, so you give them each a grateful nod, tell them you’ll visit after dinner, and turn to knock on the door.
“Come in,” the Marshall’s voice carries through the door, and you turn the knob and step inside.
All you see is Seungcheol; the Marshall, the office furniture, the flickering screens on the walls all snap into nonexistence in the presence of your former lover. He’s the only thing in the room that comes into focus. Everything else is just fuzzy noise.
His face wavers for a moment when your eyes meet his, the muscles rippling as he fights to get them under control.
You don’t know what reaction he’s fighting. You don’t know if he’s feeling happiness or hatred. You don’t know if he’s fighting a smile or a scowl.
You give him a quick bow in greeting, and he returns it. His face is stone, now, his mouth tight and eyes flat.
He turns to face the Marshall, to receive orders, so you do the same.
“I trust your travel went well?” the Marshall begins.
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Even the single syllable of yes will come out of your mouth like gravel and dirt and sand, getting everywhere, leaving a trail.
“Your orders,” he says then, a bit of a sigh on his tone - as if he knows the uphill battle this will be, “are to reconnect as best you can. You’ll follow your old schedule. You’ll spar, you’ll meditate, and you’ll talk. After some time, we’ll try the drift again, see if the connection has recovered any.”
Seungcheol’s voice startles you when he speaks. “How long do you imagine it will be before we try?” he asks, just cold enough to have a sliver of sarcasm in it.
The Marshall’s eyes narrow, just slightly, as if he’d caught it. “That’s entirely up to you two,” he says evenly. “When you were young and hungry to fight, you trained yourselves into exhaustion. You spent every waking second trying to cultivate the bond that would carry you into your jaeger. With the same intention and drive, I imagine you could be piloting Duellona within the week.”
You fight to keep your chin up, your eyes on the Marshall, instead of ducking your head and watching the floor. The Marshall lifts his arm and glances at his watch.
“Your allotted time in Sparring Room 7 begins on the hour,” he says. This is his way of dismissing you.
In the hallway, you pause. “I’m just going to drop my bag in the dorm,” you say quietly, not looking at Seungcheol.
He gives a tight nod. “Fine,” he says, and turns to go the other way, towards the sparring and training rooms. Clearly he intends to meet you there. You heave a deep breath, and turn back towards the wing with the dorms.
Stepping into the dorm you used to share with Seungcheol hits you harder than you thought it would. You’re not sure what you expected - to feel like coming home, maybe, or perhaps to be slapped with the memories of you and Seungcheol together, dancing around each other as you hurried to get dressed for a drop, lazing around in the sitting area after a full day of training. And, of course, the single night you’d spent together.
Neither thing happens. You aren’t overcome by a feeling of nostalgia and love, nor are you inundated by memories of what you’ve lost. Instead, the room feels exactly as it is: empty and still.
Your footsteps’ echoes taunt you as you walk through the kitchen, the sitting area, and into the bedroom. It’s pristine to the point of detriment; it feels like no one lives there. You set your bag on the floor near the foot of the bed - you can unpack later, after training - and turn to go.
Strangely, it’s stepping into the training room that slams you with memory and nostalgia. The wood cool beneath your feet, the vague smell of sweat and citrus-y cleaner, the sounds of punches landing and grunts of effort from the training rooms on either side - they all cocoon you in history, making goosebumps rise on your arms as the emotions surround you.
It makes sense, you think, as Seungcheol glances over his shoulder at the sound of your arrival. He doesn’t speak to you, just swaggers to the center of the room and takes a stance you recognize from Form One. Your body leads you opposite him, muscle memory guiding you into the first form you ever learned with him. It makes sense that this would be what felt like home - your minds going empty together, your bodies following the steps in unison. The sparring forms are the closest you can get to drifting without an actual neural connection.
Well, that and sleeping together, but you don’t see that on your agenda.
You stare at him across the invisible circle between you and try to read him. His face is cold and empty, but that already tells you so much about what he’s feeling. Seungcheol was never cold with you. When you fought together he slipped into that mode you loved so much - ready to level anything, chin lifted, eyes narrowed, confident and so very strong. But it was when you were together outside the fights that you had loved him best - often pouting, lips protruding, voice lifting into a whine. And the best of all - that smile, dimples creating shadows that beg for your thumb to press them, eyes squeezing shut with happiness or laughter.
Something must show on your face, because you watch the muscles in Seungcheol’s upper body untense, as if he’d been ready to fight and recognized that you weren’t.
“I’m good,” you mutter quickly, before he can ask. It feels better to lie to him before he actually asks you, like that’s somehow less dishonest. “Let’s go.”
Form One is basic - no hits, no fancy moves. At the training center, you’d teach it to the littlest ones until they had it memorized. It was really about control and communication - precision and alignment with your partner. You had to breathe together as your feet traced opposite circles across the knots in the wooden floor. You had to rise and bend in unison. It was about watching and listening.
You and Seungcheol could - literally, you’d tried more than once - do it blindfolded in perfect step with one another. Before. You don’t know if you still can. But, now, unblindfolded, it’s too easy.
You move through forms one through six without incident - both of you flowing as easily as water.
Form Seven is the first form that incorporates actual hits and blocks. You’ll have to touch for the first time, even if it’s forearm to forearm or ankle to shoulder. You move right as he moves left, crouch and circle as his right foot flies over your head, stand and punch where you know his open hand will be waiting to stop you.
It is, and you press your fist against it for just a second before spinning away to continue the form. You ache, even as your body continues following the steps, to have him entirely again - to meet his eyes and smile the way you both used to, because you were pleased with what your bodies could do. Because you had each other, completely.
After the tenth form, you bow, turn, and walk out of the ring. You drink some water, your back to him. Years ago you’d have used this break to chat, but you don’t know what to say to him. You’re scared that he’ll shut down anything you say, whether you choose small talk or go straight for the heart of the problem, and you honestly don’t think you can shoulder his rejection right now. So you stay quiet.
After a few short minutes of rest, you return to the center of the room. This is when you’ll spar for real.
You and Seungcheol had done this for years before things went wrong. You’d long ago adjusted to how hard you should hit, how to dodge his moves, how to make this a dance as much as a fight. Now, you feel like it’s your first time again.
Seungcheol attacks as you’d expect - all offensive, pushy, succeeding in herding you backwards even as you dodge each blow. You know his goal is to flip you, and normally you can avoid that by forcing him to go on the defensive as he avoids your own hits. Simply dodging won’t be enough - eventually he’ll cage you in unless you distract him.
You throw yourself into a summersault and manage to get behind him - an opportune moment to strike. You shift your weight to follow the blow as you twist your hips to send a kick towards his unprotected head. He turns just too late - the blow will land.
You can’t do it. You freeze, your core working to keep you upright as you fight your own momentum, halting the kick inches from his temple.
You know immediately that pulling the hit was a mistake. His eyes narrow, and he sweeps his foot at the ankle you’re balancing on. You crash to the ground, heaving a breath and taking quick inventory.
You aren’t hurt. Not this time.
“Get up, Cherry,” he says darkly, moving back to the center to start again. “And don’t do that shit again.”
He comes at you full force in the next match, too. You dodge and weave, but you don’t try to strike. You know he knows it; this isn’t how it used to work. You can almost feel him get angrier as you fight, but you can’t make yourself hit back. You want him to knock you down, you deserve to take some shots.
You take two blows to the back and one to a shoulder; you fall back unsteadily but manage to find your footing and roll away from his next kick.
The match continues - you taking a handful of blows, though none with the force to level you, and Seungcheol with his lip curled in fury.
“If you’re not going to fight, then leave,” he spits.
“Would if I could,” you retort without thinking. You mean that you don’t want to be here like this - not talking, cold, at odds. But you know it reads as not wanting to be here at all.
It seems like everything you say and do only hurts him more.
“I didn’t mean -” you start, and Seungcheol takes your arms and flips you over his shoulders.
“Don’t waste my fucking time,” he says, brushing his hands together and stepping back to give you room to pick yourself up.
“Don’t curse at me,” you answer, pushing yourself to your hands and knees, pausing to catch your breath before rising fully again.
He shakes his head, rolls his eyes a little.
You hate this side of him.
You know you deserve it. For pushing him out. For leaving him here. For loving him, messing everything up, when he never asked for that.
“Seungcheol,” you say, but he ignores you, pacing a few steps and then turning to face you, lowering himself into a defensive stance, ready to spar again.
“Cheol,” you try again. “Listen to me.”
“Marshall scheduled us time to talk later,” he says flatly. “Right now we’re scheduled to fight. So fight me, Cherry. Let’s go.”
The rest of the hour continues the same. By the time it’s over, Seungcheol storms out without speaking to you, furious over every single pulled punch.
You don’t know what to do to make it all better.
You shower quickly, dressing in dry linens, and then re-emerge for the hours you’re scheduled to meditate together. You hope that maybe this will help the situation - maybe not talking will be good for you, give you a chance to feel your connection without the chance to fuck it up with words.
You’re wrong; trying to meditate together is just as desperately fruitless as sparring had been.
You can’t focus at all - can’t shift your attention to your breath, to your body, to the earth beneath you, to the energy of your partner.
Your partner is the distraction, though he sits perfectly still, eyes closed. He might as well be yelling. His shoulders are tight, his jaw still clenched. Anger radiates off him so strongly that it makes your stomach hurt, makes you want to cower from it. You can’t stop watching him, hoping you’ll see him relax, hoping you’ll see the moment that he lets go.
He doesn’t.
“Your eyes are supposed to be closed,” he murmurs, and you feel your face heat, embarrassed that he knew you were watching him.
“I can’t,” you admit. Maybe, you think, you should just be brutally honest, starting now. It’s not like you could make this worse. “I can’t stop noticing how angry -”
“Then stop pissing me off,” he snaps, eyes opening. “Just a suggestion.”
“Don’t talk to me like that!” you cry, and push yourself to stand. You’re not sure why - maybe just to pace. “You never used to talk to me like this. Who are you?”
He looks at the floor, the first sign of guilt you’ve seen since you came home.
“Fine,” he finally bites back, and you know it’s as close to sorry as you’ll get. “I’ll reign it in. Sit back down.”
You shift your weight, arms crossed defensively across your chest, and close your eyes, deciding.
“Sit down, Cherry,” he repeats, and it’s gentler now. That’s what makes you cave, and you settle back across from him.
He’s less tense this time, so you eventually manage to close your eyes and count your breaths. But you’re still feeling for him, reaching for him in your mind, and coming up with nothing between you fingers. Touching him is as possible as touching the fog that used to blanket the training center, thick enough to blind you but impossible to grasp.
The pain feels like a cramp, except it’s behind your ribs instead of in your muscles. The pain grips and tightens, takes over. You want him, you want to be his again, you want to be inside these walls - where you used to fit comfortably. The fact that you’re out here, without him, aches so badly it makes you nauseated.
You want to beg him - let me in again, let me back in, let me be close to you again.
It won’t do any good, and you know it.
He was yours - you had him, you knew him, you could reach out to him and he’d pick you up. You’d taken it for granted, and you’d run away from it. You’d chosen to let it go, and now all you get is this: Seungcheol, cold and closed. Seungcheol, hating you for everything that happened.
—
Dinner is just as bad.
You go to the mess hall eager to see Wylie and Jeonghan and Seungkwan and all the other friends you haven’t seen in years. Wylie screeches like a banshee when she spots you, crossing the mess hall in a blur and hugging you so tightly that you both stagger, off balance, until Seungkwan joins the hug and rights you again.
“I missed you both so much,” you whisper, the only vulnerability anyone’s going to get out of you today.
“Then don’t leave again!” Wylie snaps, but you know the admonishment is full of love.
“I can’t promise,” you admit. Honestly, you’ve already made up your mind - you want to go back to Alaska. You’re not wanted here, not by the person who matters. What good are you, taking up a bed, if you can’t drift?
You’ve already given up hope that he’ll come around.
Seated at the table, you listen while your friends fill you in on what you’ve missed in three years - the fights in the bay, the new teams of pilots, the illnesses and injuries. You almost don’t notice Seungcheol silently takes a seat on Jeonghan’s other side, but something in you prickles, like you’ve sensed him.
The tension around the table heightens; the conversation goes a little stilted. When it’s apparent that he’s going to ignore you two seats down from him, Wylie slaps her hand flat on the tabletop.
“Come on, Seungcheol,” she scolds, and you’re sure no one wonders what she means.
His face goes dark so quickly it’s alarming. “Don’t,” he tells her darkly, one finger coming up to point at her in warning.
Her own eyes narrow and dart to her fork. Beside her, Chan’s eyes pingpong between them. He’s probably wondering if he should hold her back or join her.
“It’s fine,” you mutter, grabbing your tray and making to rise. “I’ll go.”
“Cherry, no,” Wylie protests, and then turns a glower onto your ex-co-pilot as if to say see what you did?
“It’s fine,” you repeat, standing. “I told my mom and dad I’d come by.”
You slink out before anyone else can argue.
You can’t even be mad at him - you did this by pushing him away. You hammered every last nail in the coffin by requesting to transfer. You pushed him out and you left him behind and now you have to face the reality that you can’t have him anymore. He isn’t yours, not anymore.
When you return to your dorm, he’s already in bed, the lights out. He’s facing the wall so you can only see his back, can only see the angry, tight shoulder poking out the top of the sheets. It tells you everything you need to know.
You don’t try to talk to him. You just go to bed.
—
You spend four days identically - fighting while sparring, not meditating, and avoiding Seungcheol’s ice-out. On the fifth day, your Marshall loses patience and changes your schedule. Your entire day is blocked to working on Duellona’s mainframe - buffing, repainting, greasing, and anything else you’re able to handle on your own.
“Since you can’t do anything else useful,” he adds, and you avoid Seungcheol’s eyes, ashamed.
Standing under Duellona’s unlit frame fills you with guilt. It feels like you’re letting her down, disappointing her by letting her rust here, failing your half of the bargain. You run your hands gently over the metal, finding the rough spots that need attention. Somewhere to your left, you can hear the telltale sounds of Seungcheol tightening bolts.
You work in silence for hours.
Eventually, you crack. You’re not sure if it’s the monotony of the task, the tension woven into the silence between you too, or being so close to your jaeger but unable to fight in it - maybe a combination. Something pushes at you from the inside, like a balloon trying to inflate under your skin and running out of room.
You flop backwards on the metal walkway, the grooves digging into your back. “What are we doing?” you ask, and you hear the tool Seungcheol had been using cling loudly as he sets it down.
“Following orders?” he says, stepping around Duellona’s side to look at you. “Fixing up the jaeger?”
“Fixing up the jaeger we don’t get to pilot?” you ask, sitting back up to look at him better.
“Is that what you’re here for?” he asks, the sudden ferocity of it surprising you. “To fight? Is that why you came back?”
You reach up to the walkway’s railing and pull yourself up. You feel yourself frowning at his question, at the heat behind it.
“I’m back because the Marshall gave me an order,” you say slowly.
“And that’s it?” he demands.
You stare at him. You feel sure there’s more to the question, more that he’s asking. You feel sure, after knowing Choi Seungcheol down to the last molecule, that he’s really asking, you didn’t come back for me?
And it confuses you. You try to think about your split from his perspective: you’d shut him out, then slept with him, and then vanished. You’d made a lot of assumptions about his anger since then. You assumed he was angry at you for pushing him out of your head. You assumed he was angry at you for sleeping with him and then leaving. You assumed he was angry with you for ruining your drift, for ripping him away from the ability to fight. You assumed he was angry because he never knew why - never knew what it was that you were so desperate to hide, never knew why sleeping together had made things so much worse that the neural connection had fizzled into nothing altogether.
Is there more to it, his anger?
Should you call him on it, should you ask?
You take too long deciding. Seungcheol scoffs, like he’s disgusted with you. “I should have known,” he says coldly. “Princess of the Shatterdome, I should have known you only cared about piloting - about your legacy.”
This is something you’ve never said to him - that your desire to shine as brightly as your parents has weighed on you. This is something he’d pulled from the drift, something he only knew from tiptoeing around your mind before a fight.
“That isn’t fair,” you say, your voice hard. “Is there another reason I should have come back? I’d love to hear it.”
He hears the challenge as it is - you didn’t ask me to come back, the Marshall did. You let me go.
He has nothing to say for himself, just stares back at you, eyes narrowed in anger, chest moving too quickly as he battles with his temper.
“Exactly,” you say curtly. The victory stings. It doesn’t feel like a win at all. “The bottom line is I’m here now, and we can pilot again if we can get our shit together.”
He shakes his head. “You left,” he says finally. “That’s the bottom line. You decided you were out, you decided you didn’t want me in your head, and then you left.”
He watches you, waits for you to say something. When you don’t, he lets out a derisive little laugh. “We’re both wasting our time here. The drift won’t work. We aren’t going to fix it.”
For the first time, fear slices through you like steel. “You can’t know that,” you say. You hear the fear in the way your voice comes out low and rounded, barely sounding like you at all.
“I can,” he retorts. “You know how I know? Because I don’t want to. You wanted me out of your head so badly? You got it. Can’t turn back now.”
He heads for the ladder, swings around and finds the third rung down with ease.
“So that’s it?” you ask his retreating form. Your heart is hammering and you’re starting to get tunnel vision.
The only answer he gives you are his feet hitting each new rung with a clunk and a vibration that rattles up your legs.
—
You go to the training rooms alone and run through the forms just to do something; your mind turns the problem over and over as your body goes through the motions. After, you take a longer shower than normal, letting the water run hotter than you normally would.
After, you go to the Marshall’s office, determined. Or maybe resigned.
When he opens the door, he already looks irritated, like he knew exactly who would be on the other side.
“Requesting an audience,” you say flatly, fighting the instinct to cross your arms defensively.
He glances at his watch. “Five minutes.”
You step inside but leave the door open.
“I’m requesting transfer back to Alakanuk,” you tell him as evenly as you can manage. You’re sure he’s not surprised. “Seungcheol has made it very clear that we won’t be fighting together again. If that’s the case, then I can’t do anything useful here. But in Alakanuk I can.”
You pause, looking to see if you can read anything on the Marshall’s face - any hint that he’s considering what you’re saying, or that it’s a lost cause. He gives you nothing.
“Please,” you say. “Those girls need me. If I can’t help here, I can help them.”
The Marshall tilts his head just slightly. “Surely anyone can teach little girls the forms.”
You shake your head. “It’s more than that, and you know it. It’s not about the forms. I love those girls. I came back here to follow orders, and I tried. But if it isn’t going to happen… Please, don’t make me waste time here if I can be with them instead.”
The silence when you stop speaking seems to last for hours. Your heart pounds, and you work on keeping your breathing even. If he tells you no, you might just lose it, just give up entirely.
Finally, he takes a breath and seems to consider you. “If,” he says, and your eyes widen with hope, “your co-pilot agrees, then I will reassign you back to Alaska. But only if he will agree.”
“No problem,” you say quickly. Seungcheol was the one who said it was over. He should have no problem letting you leave.
When you step out of the Marshall’s office, Seungcheol steps out of the shadows. You should be surprised to see him, but in the Shatterdome it feels right that he just is wherever you are. That’s always how it was, before.
You look at him disdainfully. “I assume you heard that conversation?”
He nods, once.
“So?” you ask. “Will you tell him you approve, so I can go?”
For the first time since you returned, Seungcheol smiles, tight and sarcastic.
“No,” he says easily, like it’s kind of funny.
Fury erupts inside you; you can’t even pinpoint where in your body it stems from. “Why?” you demand. “Because you feel like I took something from you, so you want to take something from me?”
He doesn’t respond to this. You know you’re right. You know him. You know his mind.
“I hate to fuck up your narrative,” you spit at him, “but I’ve lost out here just as much as you have. You’re not the only one who lost the ability to fight. You’re not the only one who lost their partner.”
You wish you could tell him the rest - you’re not the one who spent three years with a broken heart on top of it. He had lost you as a partner and a friend - you had lost him in the same ways, and you’d had to harbor your broken heart.
He shakes his head. “Poor baby,” he bites sarcastically, and then takes off down the hallway, into the dark.
—
You stop sleeping at the dorm. Sometimes you sleep at your parents’, sometimes on Wylie and Chan’s tiny couch, sometimes in bed with Seungkwan, who kicks at you and whines that you take up too much space. Sometimes you sleep inside Duellona Fury, sitting up, your back against her metal frame.
The Marshall seems to have taken some pity on you. He schedules your mornings training the Dome’s recruits, and lets Seungcheol get back to what he was doing in your absence - which seems to be on track to move up in rank, to maybe become a Marshall himself, someday. It isn’t quite the same as being back with your girls, but training recruits feels at least somewhat fulfilling. And it keeps you and Seungcheol busy - separately - until afternoon.
Then, he schedules you to spar.
In your first week, you’d been unwilling to hit Seungcheol. You’d been feeling guilty for hurting him, sad for your time apart, hopeful that if you were soft to him, then he’d be soft back to you.
Now, you’re fucking furious.
For the first time, when the match begins, you hit him first. He’s surprised for only a second, eyebrows shooting up as he stumbles for balance, and then you watch something delighted and devilish fall over his face. Like he knows exactly what dance this is, and he’s been learning the steps in secret.
The match is brutal, reminiscent of your very first one, when you were both nineteen. You throw hit after hit his way; he blocks or dodges all of them. But he can’t get a hit on you either - you’re too quick, spurred on by fury. You’ve been angry in a fight before. But you’ve never been angry at him.
You spin and throw up a kick, expecting his forearm to rise and block it. Instead, you knock him in the jaw.
He grunts, hand flying up to cover his mouth, and you drop your stance with a gasp.
“Shit!” you cry, hurrying closer. “I’m so sorry! Are you bleeding? Let me look.”
“‘M fine,” he mutters thickly from behind his hand, but you ignore him. For a second, things are how they used to be between you. He lets you peel his hand away, lets you gingerly turn his head this way and that, even opens up so you can check his teeth.
“You’re gonna have a fat lip,” you tell him regretfully. “But nothing’s bleeding. Teeth look okay. Anything loose in there?”
He pokes around his teeth with his pinky. “Nope.”
You take a step back, cowed. “I’m really sorry.”
He laughs a little, wryly. “I bet you feel better, though.”
You bite back a smile. “Actually…” you say, and he laughs again. You both do.
Somehow, this seems to be the thing that cracks the anger you’ve both been encased in, unable to move forward or backward. You feel melted, and you wonder if he feels freer now, too.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you say. You mean the kick, but the words land heavy.
He avoids your gaze. “I need some water,” he says, turning and heading to the side of the room.
You do the same, sitting heavily on the bench where your water waits for you.
“Hey,” he says, and you look over, brows raised in anticipation. “Tell me about Alaska.”
You can’t help but smile.
“It’s so beautiful,” you tell him. “God, Cheol, the ocean there. And the birds, and the snow…”
He’s watching you, listening, but while he listens he stands and heads to the center of the ring, settling into a starting form. With a small smile, you follow, standing opposite him. He starts an easy match that’s mostly just following the eighth form. It includes some hits and blocks, but you both do them gently, easily, circling each other slowly.
“So you liked it?” he asks. You can hear how hard he’s working to make it sound casual.
“It was so beautiful,” you admit before ducking below a kick. “But it was also… really hard.”
“What was the best part?” he asks.
You smile, block a hit. He almost gets his hands on you for a flip, but you dodge around behind him. He turns to follow you. “Weirdly, it was taking care of them outside of class. We - the instructors - we kind of their moms, away from home, you know? I’m the one who knew Yejin won’t sleep unless someone sits by her bed for a while. I’m the one that knew that Farrah and Salome only argue because they’re competitive. I’m the one that knew that Maria and Anjali don’t know their times-tables, that Ximena can’t brush her own hair, or that Iseul is allergic to fish. I loved them. I loved knowing them.”
He looks at you for a long time. “Maybe you should go back,” he says finally.
It feels like a trap.
You look at the floor, at the wall, then finally back at him. “If you’ll do this for real,” you say carefully, “then I’d rather be here. If we’re actually trying, then I don’t want to go.”
He’s quiet for a long time. Finally, he swallows hard, not looking at you.
“What was the worst part?”
There’s only one answer.
“Missing you,” you say. “Losing you.”
He manages to get both of your arms and hauls you over his shoulders. You land on your back so hard that the air is knocked out of your lungs and your eyes close protectively. For a second, you lay there panting, waiting for the pain in your back to settle down, waiting for the stars behind your eyelids to calm.
When you open them again, the ceiling coming into focus above you, the room is empty.
–
You have a hunch on where you can find him, and you head to the jaeger bay. Sure enough, he’s sitting below Duellona, knees to his chest, staring up at her.
You sit next to him and he doesn’t get up and leave, which you take as a good sign.
“I can’t do this if you’re not all in,” he tells you without looking at you. “You walked away from me once. I can’t let you back in my head if there’s any possibility you’ll walk away again. If you’re with me, I need you to be with me.”
Something prickles in the back of your head. You feel like you’re starting to realize something - the seed of an understanding is pushing delicately through the dirt, but hasn’t yet spread out its leaves under the warmth of the sun yet.
Something about his hurt. Something about why.
“I think we should try to drift,” you tell him.
This seems to startle him - he forgets to be cold, turns to look at you, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“I can tell you how much I missed you,” you reason, “and tell you about how I spent every minute just… steeped in regret. Or we can walk through it - you can see for yourself.”
You know what you’re risking. If he gets into your head now, he’ll see it all - he’ll know everything, he’ll be able to feel for himself the depth of your loss, the height of your love.
But what’s the harm, now? You can’t lose him twice. Maybe it’ll be enough for him to realize you hadn’t left him because you didn’t care about him. Maybe it’ll be enough for his forgiveness.
Maybe then, he’ll tell the Marshall to let you go back to Alakanuk.
It’s Seungkwan you bother, since he’d been in mission control before finding his team of co-pilots. The sideways look he gives you as he walks to your conn pod is withering, but you know better than to take it personally.
You buzz with nerves. The last time you’d tried this, the neural handshake hadn’t even connected. There had just been nothing.
The second you hear neural handshake initiating, you almost sob with relief. You can’t even pay attention to the memories - Seungcheol’s memories - floating around you; you want to collapse, to press your palms to the ground and thank the universe for letting you back in.
His first memories are a breeze - the ones you’ve jogged through together hundreds of times: his first home, his school, his father’s hospital room, the Dome. Then you slow your pace, because this is new.
You’re facing the landing dock on the Shatterdome’s roof. Seungcheol stands with his back to you, watching through the glass walls as a helicopter waits, the pilot talking into his headset.
You watch yourself walk towards the chopper’s open door. You watch yourself leave, remember how hard it was to not look back.
You hadn’t known that Seungcheol had been there, that he had seen you go.
The pain that accompanies the memory hits you like you’re drowning, like it’s too deep and you can’t feel the bottom, and you feel the machinery falter around you.
“Hey,” you say quietly. “I’m with you.”
He nods, still doesn’t look at you. But the beeping stops, the connection holding.
There’s knowledge in this memory, knowledge in this pain. Seungcheol’s thoughts in this moment read in your head as clearly as if he said them aloud - I did this. I pushed her too far; I made her run.
You can’t stay here, can’t let him wallow in the memory of pain. You had to move forward - that’s how the drift works. Reluctantly you step towards the door, glancing over your shoulder to see if he’s following.
He is. His jaw is tight and fists are clenched, but he is.
When the next memory - not in order of chronology, clearly - appears before you, you want to vanish into the floor. You’re watching yourselves in Seungcheol’s bed. Thankfully, you’re sleeping - this was after. But in the memory, Seungcheol is awake, laying on his side, his eyes drinking in your sleeping form.
The emotions and the knowledge come with it in an instant. The tenderness and the love he felt in that moment surround you now in the memory, unignorable, impossible to mistake.
He had loved you. He had known you loved him, and he was showing you how he felt. The understanding slams you so hard that you think you stop breathing.
“Seungcheol,” you whisper. Around you, the scene begins to flicker, the connection starting to react to the oversaturation of emotion.
“We can talk about it after,” he says, voice hard. “Don’t stay in it. Find the next door.”
Your eyes find the door, but you feel frozen. You want the connection to drop, you want to unlock yourself from the stupid drive-suit and throw yourself into his arms, you want to apologize for leaving him thinking he’d pushed you away, thinking that he scared you into running.
“Cherry,” he warns. “The drift can’t -”
You know.
And you owe him your side of the story.
You take a steeling breath and head for the door. You don’t take his hand. You don’t know if you deserve to, if he’d want you to.
When you step through the doors, you’re confused - you’re still in your dorm. Your bodies are both in the bed.
Now, though, Seungcheol sleeps, and you - the memory of you - sits on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands.
You feel the emotion the memory holds, which means Seungcheol does, too.
Fear. It’s still fear - fear that he’ll know, fear that what you just did together will make it worse, make it harder to hide.
Beside you, Seungcheol’s eyes go wide.
“We have to move on,” you tell him. He looks at you, then back at the memory.
“You -?” he starts to ask.
“After,” you tell him firmly. “We’ll talk after.”
You open the door, and you’re suddenly outside, surrounded by white.
Alaska.
The emotion knocks you over with the fury of an ocean wave - even though you know you’re not supposed to let it. This was how you had felt every day that you were gone, and it screams at you now, determined to be heart, determined to be felt. The loneliness, the regret, the despair and heartbreak all rise up in you, overtaking you, as snow falls gently and silently around you.
And the love. That never went away. That never mellowed, as the Marshall had put it.
If he didn’t know before, he has to know now. There’s no way he couldn’t.
Seungcheol squeezes your hand, and you almost jump. You look down at your linked fingers in shock, then up at him, eyes wide.
“We should go back and talk about this,” he tells you, but his grip on you is firm, assuring.
“Okay. It’s this way,” you tell him, trying to breathe, and you lead him by the hand through the snow. The fog strengthens as you walk, until you can’t see anything but grey, can’t see anything but Seungcheol’s hand in yours.
You continue on. You know where to go. When you step through, the fog vanishes as if it was never there, nothing gradual about it. With the fog gone, you can see clearly where you are - inside Duellona Fury’s conn-pod.
As you begin to work on the straps, you call through the intercom, “Kwan? We… need some privacy. We’ve got to talk - alone.”
His voice crackles back at you. “Yes, I’m leaving, I’m already gone. If you hear popcorn crunching, no you don’t.”
Seungcheol gives you a flat look. “Let’s go home and talk,” he suggests.
Home.
You are so afraid and so hopeful. You don’t know how to juggle both.
Back in your small living space, you sit like you’re meditating.
“Let’s figure this out,” he says. “No lies.”
“No lies,” you agree. Your knees touch, and you reach to take his hands. He lets you, giving your fingers a squeeze.
“You knew,” you say first, bordering on accusation. “I was trying so hard to hide how I felt about you… but you knew.”
He nods, his eyes on you. “And you,” he says slowly, “didn’t… know? That I knew?”
You shake your head, confirming. “I didn’t know. I thought I hid it.”
He smiles at you, a little placating. “Not as well as you would have liked.”
“And you…” You chicken out, swallow, force yourself to be brave. “You… loved me, too?”
He nods. “I did.”
The air leaves your lungs so forcefully that you bend over, pressing your forehead to the tops of your hands. He pulls his hands from yours and you feel his touch, firm and reassuring, cupping your shoulders and rubbing his thumbs along them.
“We felt the same,” you echo into your shins. “You loved me.”
“Cherry,” he says above you, his voice like a plea. “I don’t understand why - when we… when I… I felt like once I forced you to look at it, it was too much. You ran.”
You sit with this for a minute, stunned and processing. His hands are back in yours, which you take as a good sign.
“You thought… wait. You thought, after that night, that I knew how you felt, too?”
He nods. “I thought you knew,” he says, confusion still present in his tone. “I thought we both knew. I thought if it was out in the open, the glitch in the drift would be fixed.”
You wipe at your face, trying to breathe. “And instead,” you realize, “we couldn’t even connect, because I was still trying to hide it from you, and then you were hurt. I thought it was broken. I thought we really broke it forever.”
He looks at you in wonder. “That’s why you left,” he breathes, and you know he’s understanding this for the first time. “You thought we made the problem worse.”
It’s your turn to nod. “After we…I mean, I knew if I couldn’t hide it from you before that night, there was no chance I’d be able to hide it after. I kept you out in the first place because I… was afraid. I was afraid for you to see how much I loved you. It seemed… hopeless to keep trying.”
The words lay bloody between you, but his grip on your hands is strong, and you take another breath.
You push on, adding, “I was afraid it would be too much. I was afraid everything would change.”
Which it did, you think. He nods, like he hears this, like he agrees.
He releases you and leans back, blowing out a loud breath. “We’re so fucking stupid,” he says, and you splutter out a laugh.
“We really are.”
“I can’t believe we lost three years over that,” he says.
“I can’t believe you thought it was your fault that I left.”
“I can’t believe you left in the first place.”
This makes you smile, guilty. “That’s fair.”
You push yourself to stand; Seungcheol mirrors you, as if you’re already in the neural handshake, bodies working in tandem.
“Cherry,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “It could never be too much. I love you. I’m crazy about you. I’m only me when I’m with you.”
You remember him, the night you’d slept together, telling you, don’t be afraid. He’d told you, after all, and you’d missed it entirely.
You close the distance between your bodies and kiss him hard. His arms circle your waist immediately, like they were waiting for you. He kisses you back hungrily. His mouth meets yours eagerly, his tongue stroking yours confidently before he shifts his attention to your jaw, your neck, then your mouth again. His hands don’t wander this time - instead he holds you so firmly it almost hurts, like he won’t let you move an inch, won’t let you out of his grasp ever again.
You cradle his face between your hands, let your teeth gently scrape along his bottom lip. “Cheol,” you whisper, then kiss him again. “You’re everything.” It’s what you should have said aloud the night you’d slept with him.
When the kiss breaks, he presses his lips to the top of your head and holds them there, melting around you a little. You give his middle a squeeze, revel in his heartbeat surrounding you like music.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t just say it.”
“Me too,” you tell him, holding him just a little tighter. “I should never have tried to hide it from you in the first place.”
He kisses your temple, and you hold each other, silently, each grappling with the time you’d wasted apart.
You’re interrupted by a knock. You break apart, puzzled. You’re even more puzzled to see your Marshall at the door, and Seungkwan literally bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement.
“I’ve heard your drift is working again,” the Marshall says dryly.
You look over your shoulder at Seungcheol, grinning. “Seems like it.”
“There’s a Cat-1 reading in the bay. I was about to alarm for Pretty Savage to drop, but Savage’s team insisted I give you the opportunity first. They can follow as backup. How do you feel?”
Seungcheol is at your side. He looks at you, his face open and raw. “Well?” he asks you. “Are you in, or are you out?”
“I’m in,” you tell him seriously. “I’m with you.”
You thrum with excitement as a tech team helps strap you into the drive-suits, and you can’t help but shoot Seungcheol a wild grin, your happiness alive and unbounded.
You tell mission control - Nainsi, probably, just like the old days - “Ready and aligned.”
Mission Control - definitely Nainsi - responds, “Prepare for neural handshake.”
The artificial voice bounces around you - 3… 2… 1… neural handshake initiating…
Around you, the machines flicker busily. Neural handshake strong and holding. Now calibrating…
You’re crying, but you ignore it. You beam through tears, looking sideways at your co-pilot. His eyes dance as he smiles back at you. You want to unstrap yourself to the drivesuit and go kiss his dimples, the dimples you hadn’t seen in years. You resist the urge.
“Ready to drop?” He looks sideways at you, sly.
You scoff at him, your own grin cocky and sure, like you’re twenty again, like nothing had ever been broken between you. “Been ready. Let’s light ‘em up.”
– end
thank you so much for reading!!!!
stay tuned for more fics in this universe! Should be a fun time!!
keeping the original banner down here bc i loved her :')
summary: you grew up with mingyu. he was your first kiss. your first boyfriend. the first man you ever loved. some things just aren’t meant to last, but during some time apart you struggle to forget mingyu, and he does his best to get you back. because who could ever love you as much as he does?
word count: 12.7k
warnings: afab reader, some gendered terms. ex!mingyu / childhood friends to lovers so plenty of fluff and angst, uhhhh scheming cheol too
be the rest of your life or whatever - choi seunngcheol imagine (2)
this is waaaaay tooooo cute to stay in my drafts, also so many readers are asking for this so here you go😅 if you haven't read the first part, check it out here!
currently working on two fics i'll hopefully post for ww and sc's bday but i have lotsssss of editing to do. so here's a quick spin off?? part 2??? whatever you call this HAHA hope you like it!
Living together came with a rhythm. a kind of dance you didn’t choreograph but somehow perfected anyway.
Like how he swears up and down the keys are missing, again, and he’s tearing the apartment apart like someone broke in and stole just that.
Did you check the pocket of your jacket? After a beat of silence...
“…Don’t say anything.”
Or how he leaves his socks in the weirdest places on the back of the couch, the bathroom sink, once inside the microwave which he claims it was “a joke. And somehow, you're the designated sock police.
But in return?
He opens every jar for you like it’s a challenge from the gods. Like, you’ll struggle with a jar of kimchi for three seconds before dramatically setting it down and calling out,
“Choi Seungcheol, fulfill your purpose.” And he’s there instantly, chest puffed like a knight, twisting that lid with one hand like he was born for it.
“Anything for you, milady,” he says.
“...Okay but put it back in the fridge though.”
He restocks the snacks without asking, always the exact brand you like even the weird seasonal ones. You refill his protein powders and label them so he doesn’t accidentally scoop pre-workout at midnight again. He insists on doing the heavy lifting at the grocery store. You insist he buys less of everything you know he’s not actually going to eat.
You steal his hoodies. He pretends to be mad. Then buys more hoodies “accidentally” in your size.
He hogs the blanket. You retaliate by becoming a human starfish.
You always find the TV remote. He always remembers where you left your glasses.
You cook when you’re in the mood. He cooks when you’re not.
“I don’t want to cook today.”
“Great. That makes two of us. Wanna order chicken?”
“God, I love you.”
The laundry is a war zone. He folds like a human disaster. You have a system. He doesn’t get it. You stop trying to explain. He starts handing you clothes with puppy eyes. You fold everything. He brings you snacks as tribute.
And sometimes it’s quiet just brushing teeth side by side, bumping hips while folding towels, scrolling on the couch with your legs tangled, his hand absently running up and down your back.
It’s a million tiny moments. Mundane. Messy. Magical.
You live together like you’ve always been meant to.
And in the chaos of socks, jars, keys, and too many snack runs and there’s no one else you’d rather do this whole life thing with.
=
He’s pacing behind you in the kitchen like a man on a mission. Shirtless, gym shorts hanging low on his hips, towel slung around his neck and hair still damp from the shower but instead of enjoying the rare peace of post-workout bliss, he’s spiraling.
“I’m serious,” he huffs. “They’re cutting out everything. No sugar, no bread, no ramyeon. do you know what that means? That means I can’t even look at your late-night snack stash without getting side-eyed by the trainer.”
You’re barely listening. Not because you don’t car but because you’ve got a spatula in one hand, half an eye on the simmering pot, and you’re already used to the sound of him monologuing behind you
“You don’t even like bread that much,” you reply calmly
“Exactly! That’s not the point. The point is, now that I can’t have it, I want it more. I’ve never wanted toast this badly in my life. And don’t even get me started on coffee. I asked if I could just have one iced vanilla latte and the coach looked at me like I asked for a cigarette.”
You hum thoughtfully and give the stew a stir. “Okay, but… why the sudden panic? You've never cared this much before.”
“I don't know,” he grumbles, tugging the towel off his neck and flopping dramatically onto one of the stools at the counter. “It’s different now. National team stuff feels bigger. Like… all eyes on us, you know? I feel like I need to be in the best shape of my life.”
You pause mid-stir, then turn to look at him.
He’s frowning at the countertop, brows knit together, abs still annoyingly visible for someone claiming to be “out of shape.”
And you, in your oversized t-shirt and fluffy socks, holding a ladle and feeling every bit the picture of domestic chaos, tilt your head.
“Why?”
He blinks up at you. “Why what?”
You smile, soft but exasperated. “Why the pressure? You already made the team. You're already good. And… I like you like this.”
He stares.
You shrug, returning to the stove. “I like you when you're all sweaty and complaining about toast. I like your stupid grumpy post-practice face. I like when you eat three servings of dinner and then act surprised you're full.”
You glance at him over your shoulder. “I like you, period. Whether you're sculpted like a Greek god or soft like a steamed bun.”
His laugh breaks before he can stop it. “Soft like a steamed bun? That’s your bar?”
“You love steamed buns.”
“I—okay, valid.”
You grin to yourself, stirring again like it's the most casual confession in the world. Behind you, you hear the stool creak. A few seconds later, warm arms wrap around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.
“Do you also like me when I keep eating while I’m on a ‘diet’?”
“Do you also keep lying to your trainer about what you ate?”
He presses a kiss to your cheek. “He doesn’t need to know about the tteokbokki incident.”
You laugh, leaning back into him.
“See?” you murmur. “Perfect just like this.”
“You’re dangerous.”
“You’re easy.”
He pinches your waist and you yelp, elbowing him gently in return.
And in that tiny kitchen, with the smell of dinner in the air and the background hum of life after college settling into something real, something solid you realize neither of you would trade this for anything.
You turn around in his arms, wooden spoon still in hand, and eye him up and down like he’s your favorite guilty pleasure at 2 a.m.
“Go on,” you say, smirking. “Tell your scary trainer your girlfriend likes you like this.”
You gesture vaguely to his entire body shirtless, towel-hair, the faintest pout still on his lips from earlier.
“I dare you. Look him dead in the eye and go, ‘My girlfriend thinks I’m delicious just the way I am.’”
He throws his head back laughing. “Delicious? What am I, a snack?”
“You’ve always been a snack,” you say, poking him in the side with your spoon. “Now you’re just a full meal. Extra side dishes. Dessert included.”
He catches your wrist mid-poke, grinning. “Wow. Remember when you refused to admit I was hot?”
You scoff, dramatic. “I was protecting myself.”
“From what, exactly?”
“From the endless ego that would’ve followed!”
“Too late,” he says smugly, pressing a kiss to the side of your mouth. “I’ve got receipts now.”
You narrow your eyes. “Yeah, well… now I sleep in your bed.”
“You do,” he says proudly.
You lift a brow. “And steal all the blankets.”
“And wear my shirts.”
“And finish your fries.”
He sighs, leaning in, voice softening. “And still somehow call me the lucky one.”
You go a little quiet at that, cheeks warming, until
“Also,” you add quickly, because God forbid you let the softness linger too long, “you do snore. Loud. Like a dying vacuum.”
He gasps. “Rude.”
“And you hog the bathroom.”
“You use all the hot water!”
“Because I have longer hair!”
“Because you’re high-maintenance!”
You’re both smiling too wide to care, leaning into each other in between jabs. The stew simmers away forgotten for now as he hooks his arms tighter around your waist and rests his forehead against yours.
“You’re lucky I love you,” he murmurs.
You grin “Damn right I am.”
And right there, wrapped in each other, laughter tangled in the air you're both more than okay with the fact that this is what forever might look like.
The sun’s barely up, the soft golden light slipping through the half-closed curtains. The apartment’s quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of Seungcheol getting ready. duffel bag zipped, shoes quietly set by the door, phone and keys in their usual spot.
But before he leaves, he makes one last stop. Bck to the bedroom.
You're still tangled in the sheets, half-facedown with hair a mess, one leg kicked out and the other tucked underneath the comforter. His hoodie is slipping off one shoulder, revealing the marks he left last night, the reason you're still dead to the world this morning.
He stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, smirking like the devil himself. Damn right you're tired, he thinks. I should get a medal for that performance.
But it’s not just the pride. It’s the way your brow twitch slightly, lips parted, cheeks still pink with leftover warmth, curled up in the cocoon of their shared bed like you belong nowhere else. There’s something deeply satisfying in knowing that this—you—is what he gets to come home to.
He steps closer, gently kneels beside the bed, brushes the hair from your face.
“Still knocked out, huh?” he whispers, voice low and affectionate. “You’re lucky I love you.”
You grumble something unintelligible, barely stirring, and that just makes him smile wider.
He leans in, presses a soft kiss to your temple. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.
You shift slightly, brow scrunching.
“Cheol…” you mumble, still far from the waking world.
“I’m heading out,” he murmurs against your skin. “Eat when you wake up, okay?”
You barely nod, eyes still closed, and he can’t help but press one more kiss to your lips. He stands, adjusts the hoodie you’re wearing so it covers you properly, then heads out, casting one last glance at your sleeping figure before the door shuts softly behind him.
He never leaves without kissing you goodbye.
And no matter how early the hour or how long the day ahead—he never forgets who he's coming back to.
=
You walk into the apartment with a spring in your step and a very mischievous glint in your eyes. He’s sprawled out on the couch, fresh out of the shower, hair damp and wearing those sweatpants. The grey ones. The dangerously effective ones.
He’s half-watching a game, half-scrolling through his phone, fully unaware of the chaos you’re about to unleash.
You drop your bag, stretch like you just ran a marathon, and casually stroll over, plopping onto the couch beside him like you’re not about to start a war.
“Hey,” you say sweetly, leaning your head on his shoulder.
“Hey, baby.” He doesn’t even look up. “How was your wax appointment?”
You grin. Game on.
“Oh, it was great,” you say, keeping your tone breezy. “Really smooth. He did a good job.”
There’s a pause. He blinks. “He?”
You nod, completely deadpan. “Yeah. This new guy. Super professional. Like he had the gentlest hands. Barely felt a thing.”
His head slowly turns toward you, phone now lowered in his lap. “He? Did a—wax?”
You nod again, eyes wide, innocent. “Uh-huh. Brazilians, you know? It’s delicate work. And oh my god he was so thorough. Light hands, like feathers. Kinda soothing, actually.”
He’s blinking at you like he’s buffering. Like his brain just short-circuited.
“Wait. Hold on. A guy waxed your entire—” He waves vaguely toward your lower half like his vocabulary’s given up. “Down there?!”
You shrug, completely unbothered. “Mhm. He even complimented me. Said I had very ‘cooperative skin.’ Isn’t that cute?”
Seungcheol shoots up to sit fully upright, eyes bulging. “Cooperative skin?! WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!”
You bite your lip to stop from laughing. “It means I didn’t flinch or move. He was really impressed. Very gentle. Like his hands were magical. Want me to call and get you a slot?”
Seungcheol looks personally victimized.
“You’re joking.”
You smile sweetly. “Want to see? He did such a good job—”
“NO!” he yells, lunging for a pillow and smacking it against his face. “NO, I DON’T WANT TO SEE, WHAT THE HELL, BABY—”
You finally crack, bursting into laughter so loud it makes the lamp shake.
“Oh my god—your face!” you wheeze, flopping over dramatically onto his lap as he groans into his hands. “You looked like you were about to file a police report!”
“I ALMOST DID!” he shouts. “WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY BLOOD VESSELS I JUST POPPED?!”
You’re laughing so hard now you’re crying, clutching your stomach as he glares at you.
“I was this close to showing up to the salon, flipping over the reception desk like ‘WHERE’S GENTLE HANDS?!’”
“‘Where’s Gentle Hands!’” you repeat, howling. “That sounds like a mob boss!”
“You’re insane,” he grumbles, covering your face with a throw pillow as punishment. “You’re lucky I love you.”
Still giggling, you peek out. “Love me enough to help me moisturize my cooperative skin?”
He groans, gets up, grabs another pillow, and throws it at you.
“You’re banned. No more waxing appointments without adult supervision.”
He’s still glaring at you, pillow abandoned somewhere on the floor, his arms crossed and jaw clenched like he’s fighting the urge to combust.
“Oh, it’s so funny, huh?” he bites out
You wipe a tear from the corner of your eye, your grin stretching ear to ear. “I mean… a little. Just a teeny bit.”
He narrows his eyes like he’s trying to calculate whether he’s mad or just irrevocably in love with you. “I endured years of you arguing with me about everything under the sun,” he starts, pacing now like he’s testifying in court. “Before we even dated. Before I could kiss you to shut you up. Before I could call you mine when you were out here being stubborn for sport.”
You snort. “I was not stubborn for sport.”
He ignores you. “You’d correct my essays, roast my fashion, roll your eyes at me so hard I could feel the breeze—”
“Because you wore neon socks to an actual class presentation.”
He whirls around, ignoring the interruption like a true professional. “—and I endured it all. You know why?”
You blink, smile faltering just a little. “…Why?”
He points at himself with both hands. “So no other guy gets to just—” and then he pauses, looking utterly offended as he motions vaguely in your direction like your entire existence is too holy to even describe, “—all of this. Absolutely not.”
You burst out laughing again, nearly falling off the couch. “So you’re telling me… you suffered through my sass just so one day you’d have exclusive rights to my bikini waxes?”
He stops pacing. Blinks. Tilts his head. “…Yes.”
You’re on the floor now, actually wheezing. “That is the dumbest, most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”
He huffs, hands on his hips. “You think I was gonna let gentle hands the rsthetician waltz in and touch what I’ve literally bled on the soccer field for?! My prize?!”
You gasp between giggles. “Your prize?!”
He crosses the room in two long strides, grabs a blanket, and tosses it over your head like he’s done with your chaos. “Court is adjourned. You’re in timeout.”
You peek out, still laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”
He sits beside you, smug and slightly red in the ears, arm slung over the back of the couch. “You love me.”
You nudge him with your foot. “Unfortunately.”
He turns, eyes gleaming. “So… there was no Gentle Hands?”
You grin, leaning close. “No Gentle Hands.”
He exhales in relief, then squints. “It was a woman, right?”
You pause. Then smirk. “Nope. It was a robot. Future tech. Laser hands. Very gentle. Super efficient.”
His mouth opens. Closes.
“…You’re sleeping on the floor.”
“Still worth it.”
=
Like most couples, you do get into arguments. Like today, it started with something dumb. Most of your fights do.
Something about the laundry. Or his wet towel being on the bed again. Or you leaving your half-full coffee mugs in random corners of the apartment.
The kind of thing that escalates not because it matters, but because you’re both Leos. Two overly dramatic, overly expressive, overly passionate fire signs locked in a tiny apartment with too much pride and not enough chill.
So when voices rise, hands get flaily, and the “Oh, you’re really doing this right now?”s start flying you know it’s about to be one of those nights.
And true to form, neither of you backs down.
You huffed, “Fine,” and grabbed your blanket and stormed off to the couch like you were doing him a favor.
He stood in the kitchen, jaw clenched, arms crossed, mumbling under his breath like a sitcom husband—“Unbelievable. All this over a towel. A damn towel. I dried my hair with it, not set the apartment on fire—”
You waited, expecting the usual rhythm: you cool off, he cools off, one of you mumbles something semi-sincere and the other reluctantly folds.
But tonight? You were not folding.
And neither was he.
At least, not right away.
The night stretched on.
You laid stiff on the couch, scrolling your phone, blanket over your shoulder like a shield. You weren’t crying or anything this wasn’t that kind of fight. It was the principle of the thing. The stubborn Leo principle.
The apartment stayed quiet.
No footsteps. No fridge door. No sneaky tiptoeing into the living room to nudge your foot and say, “You coming to bed?”
Fine, you thought. Two can play this game.
But sometime past midnight, your eyes grew heavy. Your phone slipped from your fingers. You drifted off, frown still slightly on your face, curled up awkwardly on the too-narrow couch.
Seungcheol was in the bedroom, pacing. Definitely not sleeping.
He kept glancing at the door like it would open itself and you’d walk in, dramatic sigh and all, whispering, “It’s cold without you,” and make this easier.
But it didn’t.
And you didn’t.
Eventually, the silence started gnawing at him. That’s the thing about being mad at you, he always ends up missing you mid-argument. It’s infuriating.
He poked his head out, expecting maybe you’d moved… but no. There you were.
Blanket sliding off your shoulder, legs dangling off the couch, mouth slightly parted in sleep, as if the couch was the battlefield and you’d fallen mid-stand.
He sighed, ruffling his hair. “Of course you fell asleep out here. So dramatic,” he muttered.
But the worry was already creeping in.
He padded out, gently crouched beside the couch, and stared at your sleeping face for a second. Your lashes fluttered, cheek smushed against a throw pillow, face still in that half-pout from earlier.
God, you’re cute when you’re mad.
Even cuter when you’re fake-mad.
He reached out, brushing your hair back, voice low. “Hey. Come to bed.”
You didn’t move. Didn’t stir. Or maybe you were pretending not to hear him just to prove a point. You would.
He hesitated. Then sighed again. And finally he folded.
Like he always does.
He reached under you carefully, lifting you with practiced ease. You grumbled something incomprehensible and shifted in his arms, nose scrunching at the sudden movement.
He smiled. “Yeah, yeah. Keep acting like you don’t love me.”
You were still half-asleep, but your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like muscle memory.
By the time he tucked you into bed, blanket pulled over your shoulder just right, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, brushing his thumb over your cheek.
“Still mad at me?” he whispered, lips brushing your skin.
You mumbled something.
He leaned closer. “Huh?”
“I said,” you slurred, barely conscious, “don’t ever put a wet towel on the bed again.”
He choked out a laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”
And even as you dozed off again, triumphant in your victory he curled in beside you, grinning to himself because even when you're mad… you still ended up in his arms.
The room is dim, the only light a soft glow from the hallway spilling through the cracked door. You’re warm now, blanketed in more than just the comforter his arms wrapped around you, chest rising steadily beneath your cheek, steady and solid like home always is when it’s him.
You’re already half-asleep, body still limp from the move back into bed. You hadn’t even opened your eyes when he laid you down, just grumbled something about “sabotage” when he tried to take off your socks.
But even then, even with your pride still faintly bruised and your mouth pouting in sleep you stayed close. One leg draped over his, your fingers still tangled in the hem of his shirt like your body knew better than your ego.
And Seungcheol doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at you in the quiet for a bit. Brushes your hair off your forehead. Watches your lips twitch and shift like you’re dreaming of arguing with him even there.
He sighs, but it’s not exasperated. It’s soft.
Then, his voice, low and warm in the stillness:
“I love you.”
You don’t respond right away, but he knows you heard it. Your brow twitches, lips parting like your brain’s slowly wading through sleep to send the message back.
And sure enough, a few seconds later, you murmur it hoarse and quiet, barely there.
“I love you too.”
It’s like breathing. Even after a stupid fight. Even after the eye-rolls and pettiness and temporary exile to the couch. It never changes.
You never sleep without saying it.
No matter how tired, no matter how stubborn, no matter who folded first it always ends the same way.
I love you.
He shifts a little, pulling you closer, nose brushing against your temple. “You were being impossible.”
You mumble into his shirt. “You left a wet towel on the bed.”
He chuckles. “So that’s what’s gonna haunt you in your sleep tonight.”
You nod, eyes still closed. “Every time I think about how damp the comforter felt, I lose a year off my life.”
He laughs again, pulling the blanket higher around you both. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re lucky.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead one last time before settling in beside you. “I really am.”
Title: Crazy in Love
Pairing: Xu Minghao (SVT) x Gender Neutral Reader
Genre: Fluff, Single Parent AU
Warnings: Mild Language
WC: 8k+
Collab: Love is: on the Radio - hosted by @haechanblr and @secndlife
A/N: So…I know this is an x reader but when writing this I definitely focused more on Minghao’s relationship with the reader’s daughter, and I’m not sorry. I absolutely loved this prompt and got a bit carried away with it lol. Also I did use the term ‘Nini’ as a gender neutral parent term for the reader! Also, ALSO am I dropping this after almost 3 months of inactivity…yes, did I write this back in like…December? Also yes.
Two years living in a cozy hut in the middle of the forest, caring for your herbs and plants, felt peaceful to you. Here, your past would not catch up with you; no one would force you to be something you aren't. However, this peace lasts only until the exiled and severely wounded Prince of Noxtus appears right outside your hut and you are drawn into a game filled with intrigue, vengeance and (to your horror) love.
Pairing: alpha! choi seungcheol x omega! reader
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut
WC: 11,137
Warnings: mentions of war, wounds, cussing, violence, murder, mentions of knives and weapons, reader is being overcautious and somewhat paranoid about being discovered, fighting, mention of parental death, grieving, nightmares, mentions of herbs supressing the needs of readers omega, a/b/o dynamics, reference to abusive parental figure, lying, i dont know I think this is all? let me know if i missed something!
Notes: ahhhhh it's here! part one of orbiter is here and let me tell you, i was flashed from all of your likes, reviews and comments alone from the teaser. It made me so incredibly happy that I wrote the first chapter in two days and lord, did I had fun. Daisy and Seungcheol already have my whole heart and I hope you all will love them just as much as I do! I intented for it to be more of a slow burn but I think I failed miserably lmao. But nevertheless this is probalby part one out of estimated three parts because its too much to put it just in one part and I want to give myself enough time to write the parts with angst and smut so it does justice to the story! This is also more angsty and fluffy, the smut will come soon enough hehe. Like I mention i'm farely new to the whole writing game and especially to the omegaverse au so I just made my own concept and I hope it makes sense lmao. English is not my first language and this is not read by an beta, so forgive me for possible mistakes. I hope you enjoy reading and I would be happy to read some reviews and feedbacks! This is just the start hehe.
A/N: This story is intended for + 18 only; Minors do not interact!
Series M.List | Part 2
There is a man laying in your front garden - bleeding to death.
What’s even worse, he is an alpha who is bleeding to death.
The sight made you freeze mid-motion, and your eyes did not let the man leave your sight for a single second.
The scent radiating of him made you dizzy because you didn’t had an encounter with anyone in a really long time. Especially not with an damn alpha.
You forced your breath to calm itself and the omega in you roared furiously because it longed for attention and care. But that didn’t matter. It never mattered to you. You had more important things to focus on.
Panicked, your gaze darted left and right to see if anyone else could have found you—which, in reality, shouldn't be possible. You had managed to stay undercover for two whole years. Was everything you had endured now simply going to be over?
Your heartbeat only slowly calmed down as you realized the bleeding man was the only person around.
You thought about going into your hut again, forgeting about him in your front yard and continuing your peaceful day like nothing happened. But you knew already that it was a lost case.
"We always have to help for those in need, my dear." Your mothers voice rang in your ears and you feel like you will suffocate right here and now just thinking about her.
You really are your mothers daughter so you approached the man with quick steps, claiming your future with this decision.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
You left him lying with his fresh stitched up wound in your front yard.
At least he wasn't bleeding out anymore, though every few minutes you glanced out your window to see if he was still lying there and that you didnt imagine him in your head. Everytime you looked out he was still there, his chest going up and down with each breath he took.
A hard reminder that this wasn't just a sick dream.
But after all, your daily routine had to go on, didn't it? You had your plants to tend to; you would probably be sadder if one of them died than you were about the man in your front yard.
As you were out in your backyard, watering your plants and home-grown vegetables, your thoughts swirled inside your head, so loudly, in fact, that you failed to notice the pained, groaning sounds. It wasn't until you went back inside your cottage and saw the man who was supposed to be lying in your front yard instead leaning against your front door, that you let out a startled scream.
Without a second thought, you grabbed the nearest available weapon and now stood facing him—armed with a weed puller. It seemed rather ridiculous, but you were certain you could inflict significant damage with it, should the man even entertain the idea of attacking you.
He, however, breathing heavily, leaned against the doorframe. And would your heart not pound so wildly again, you might have thought that an amused glint flickered in his eyes. Yet he merely raised his hands slowly, his face contorted in pain.
"I’d rather you didn’t skewer me with that thing there."
"Have you ever heard of knocking?!" you demanded indignantly, not daring to lower your weed-whacker.
"I would have knocked if I wasn't one hundred percent sure that you were the one who probably put me back together.", he looked at you and your weapon of choice in your hand and nodded towards it, "If I had known that you want to kill me now after saving my life I would rather leave now."
Your eyes immediately went to his injured side and thousands of emotions swirled inside you. To your misfortune, the omega buried deep inside you purred in delight at the sight of the Alpha and you breathed in annoyed. You ignored his remark and the stupid omega inside you and wondered how the hell he is able to stand with this kind of wound he has.
The wound you tended to was deep, and… you took a closer look at him.
It took every ounce of his strength to remain upright. Tiny beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and his hands repeatedly clenched into fists as if the mere thought of lying helplessly on the ground again would cause him even greater pain.
Slowly you lowered your „weapon" and eyed him cautiously before nodding your chin towards a chair. He was still hurt, you reminded yourself and that thought alone calmed you down even a little bit. "Sit down. You’re about to collapse again."
A scoff escaped his lips. "It takes a lot more than that to knock me out."
You stared at him, your expression completely blank. "Bold words coming from someone whose life I saved just today." You gestured toward the chair once more. "Do us both a favor and sit down, so my efforts aren't wasted and your wound doesn't reopen."
His gaze darted back and forth before—presumably—the logical part of his brain won , and he slowly walked over to the chair and let himself sink into it. His face relaxed almost immediately, and you couldn't help but scoff. "So it doesn't take that much after all," you muttered, and with the weed-puller in your hand, you took a few steps closer.
"Whoa, get away from me with that thing!" he breathed out and looked at you with wide eyes and you rolled your eyes annoyed.
"I need to look at your wound so it doesnt get infected!" you argued and held up your weed-puller, "this is just for my own protection."
"And who is that thing supposed to protect you from?" He asked while looking at you like you’ve became insane for even pointing with it at him.
"You. I dont know you." you answered defensively and crossed your arms in front of your chest. He didnt respond, only looked at you with slightly widened and confused eyes.
"What?"
"You dont know me?" He asked carefully and his eyes told you everything you needed to know. He doesnt believe you.
"Should I?" Sarcasm dripped in your voice and gestured at him to lift up his shirt. But he didnt move, his eyes still sceptically on you and you had the feeling you'll loose all your nerves with this man in front of you.
„Do I have to know you to see your wound?“ The annoyance inside you was clearly on the table now and to your dismay, an amusing glint appeared in his dark eyes.
„Demanding little thing, aren‘t you?“
Your eyes shined with anger and wordlessly you held up your weed-puller and even if it’s just for the joke or if he’s really scared you‘ll stab him with it, he sighed and lifted his shirt up.
„Well, thank you“ you sighed and let the weed-puller fall down on the floor while your eyes examined the neat line of stitches. You did a pretty well job for such a big gash and it didn’t seemed to be infected. At least one good thing that worked today.
„I‘ll make you a compress with some plants that will help the healing“ you mumured and made your way to your little kitchen sink. „That way you‘ll heal faster“ And with that leave faster.
You pretended to didn’t notice the way his eyes stare at the back of your head or how they wandered through the room. You tried to focus on making the compress until a question from him made you freeze.
„Whats your name?“
„I‘ll tell you mine if you tell me yours“ you said without thinking much and almost immediately cursed yourself out internally. You didn’t want to know him. And you certainly don’t want him to know your name.
Maybe it was the starved omega in you that made you behave like that. You made a note for yourself to drink a fresh tea of cyperus leaves later to suppress your omega needs again. The cyperus plant was a lifesaver to you. It help you with your heat, suppressing it until you almost had no problems with it at all, but it seemed the presence of the alpha brings everything down to zero.
Another reason why he needs to leave as soon as possible.
„I don’t think that’s a fair deal“ he only muttered and laid his head back against the wall.
„Are you a wanted criminal or something like that?“ You asked with a scoff.
He hummed tiredly and just shook his head. „Worse.“
You turned your head around and looked at him, truly looked at him for a few seconds. His dark eyes shined in a devastating sadness as he stared up the wall and the empathy in you screamed to help him.
That’s also a trait from your mother like the saying that you‘ll need to help someone who truly needs it.
And this man almost screamed quietly for help.
You blame your dead mother for your next words.
„You can call me Daisy.“
It wasn’t your real name but it was not nothing. His eyes immediately went back to yours and a glitter of peace appeared in them.
„Thank your for saving me, Daisy.“
The nickname on his tongue made you shiver and before he could notice you quickly turned around again, finishing up the compress. You just wanted to turn around to attach it to him, when his voice mumured again in your little hut.
„Seungcheol.“
„Huh?“ You looked at him confused.
„Call me Seungcheol.“
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
Seungcheol went through a lot in his not so long life. Being the only heir of the empire of Noxtus was one thing filled with countless duties, endless expectations and the constant pressure to become a king that is worth to rule its kingdom.
It wasn't necessarily hard for him. He had his loving parents and with that the perfect example how a kingdom should be ruled. He had his closest friends, always having his back and besides their mischieves in their younger days they've all become respecatble men and Seungcheol could see the bright future of him and his loved ones living happily in Noxtus.
Until Lunaria striked at them.
Seungcheol was incredibly lucky that he happened to be training with Mingyu at the time of the ambush. This allowed him to use his sword to take out a considerable number of charging soldiers—and he was truly naive enough to think that they would all make it out unscathed and put the enemy to flight.
That was seconds before he went up to the castle wall to see actually how many soldiers were attacking his kingdom. Before he saw how his father fought bravely against the intruders and failed. Before he saw how the head of his father rolled across the stone and the eyes of his murderer locked onto Seungcheols.
Lee Sinyoung. New King of Lunaria, previously a significant ally of Noxtus.
A fucking traitor.
Everything happened fast after that. He felt hands tugging at him and he saw the frantic eyes of Joshua while voices screamed at him to flee.
Seungcheol was never more confused in his life. How could he flee? How could he leave his people behind - his responsibility?
His friends were lucky that he was still in shock seeing his beheaded father because in no world he would allow them to seat himself onto his horse and force him to flee. He would rather die defending his country than flee like a coward.
"Seungcheol, listen!" Jeonghans hissed and the screams of dying soldiers bleeded in Seungcheols ears. He had to force himself to listen to one of his best friends.
"You are going to die if you stay here.", Jeonghan argued and looked over his shoulders. Joshua and Seungkwan stood before the two of them, guarding them so no one would intervene.
"You all will be dead if I leave" Seungcheol argued back and the damn screams of pain didnt stop-
Jeonghan shook his head and Seungcheol wondered if the day has come that his best friend truly had lost his mind. "We'll be hiding. All of us. You know they wont find us."
A pained expression filled Seungcheols face and Jeonghan smiled up to him while patting the back of Salute, Seungcheols loyal horse. "We'll be fine. Hide and we'll make a plan to get your kingdom back."
"Jeonghan-"
"Go!" His friend screamed at him as new invaders reached them and his friends immediatly striked against them. Seungcheol had to force himself to look away and what was even more important, to not look back as he made the decision to flee. He never hated himself more.
Fate, too, seemed to have something against his decision; for just as he reached the forests of Fyndor, two soldiers from Lunaria emerged, men who had evidently taken up the pursuit.
So, right here, Seungcheol had another chance to prove himself. After all, he was now the King of Noxtus—whether he was within his kingdom or not. He would be damned if two mere foot soldiers from Lunaria were to be the reason he ended up dying.
He chose to fight and the years of training with Mingyu and Hansol by his side had paid off. They were hardly worthy opponents for him, two Alphas who repeatedly attempted with sloppy movements to inflict the greatest possible damage upon him. They didn't fight with their heads; they didn't think the way Seungcheol did.
Minutes later, they laid half-dead on the ground before him, and Seungcheol trembled with barely contained rage. With a swift motion of his hand, he wiped his opponent’s blood from his cheek; then, with powerful hands, he took the helm of the shirt of the man before him and dragged him closer.
"What is he planning?" Seungcheol didn't even have to utter a name before the dying man spat out blood with a grin.
"King Sinyoung spoke of the great empire of Lunaria—and he mentioned you spineless wimps from Noxtus. You aren't worthy of leading an entire nation."
Satisfaction played out in the eyes of the man before him, and Seungcheol couldn't help but scoff, gritting the words through his teeth: "Your king will die. I don't care how long I have to hunt him down. He will pay for what he did to my people."
The man before him seemed as if he could not possibly be any more satisfied. He let out a raspy laugh, even as blood continued to trickle from his mouth. His teeth no longer appeared white; with a bloody grin, the man looked up at Seungcheol and simply whispered, "For that, you’ll have to survive today first."
Seungcheol had no time to react to the words, for a searing pain coursed through his right side. He immediately released the man, who tumbled to the ground laughing, and Seungcheol spun around just as a third soldier withdrew his sword from Seungcheol’s side, the blade glowing red with his blood.
"Does a king bleed any differently than we soldiers do, your highness?", the beta asked with a grin and wielded his sword against Seungcheol again. They both tripped into the direction of Salute and the poor horse was cut from the blade of the men before it turned away and ran into the woods, leaving his owner alone fighting for his life.
Seungcheol hoisted his own sword just in time with the attacks of the enemy, clutching his bleeding right side the whole time. He had to ignore the pain and then somehow stop the bleeding immediately. But first, he had to get rid of this runt.
He must have been guided by some higher power. Seungcheol truly could not explain otherwise how he was able to fight with such a wound and withstand the strong blows of his opponent.
But Seungcheol had always been good at enduring. Discipline had been a virtue of his father—one he had always placed great value upon.
"A king does not simply give up, Seungcheol," he reminded himself of his father's words. "He stands tall and defends his people. For they are our entire pride."
So Seungcheol stood tall, even with a life-threatening wound. His efforts were rewarded by fate, it seemed. In a moment of carelessness of the beta Seungcheol managed to slash his blade across his throat. Gasping for breath, the beta collapsed onto the forest floor and wasted his final words with false hopes: "Long live King Sinyoung."
Seungcheol stared at the three dead men laying before his feet and he swore by the sun, the moon, and the stars that he would unleash hell on earth upon everyone who had taken everything from him today.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
Seungcheol leaned unconsciously against the wall, sitting uncomfortably in the chair, and for exactly one second, you wondered whether you should go though the trouble of somehow dragging him into your only bed. A glance at his wound, however, settled the matter relatively quickly. You had absolutely no desire for it to reopen in any way—his stumbling around earlier had been risky enough as it was.
It was no wonder at all that he had fallen back asleep almost immediately after your conversation. He must have been in unbearable pain, and his body now needed a period of recovery. The thought of how long that might take troubled you immensely.
You wanted him to leave. You didn't need a wounded Alpha here in your little hideout. That would only bring you the kind of trouble you had steadily managed to avoid for the past two years. But you wouldn't kick an injured person out the door and leave them to fend for themselves. And apparently, he was all alone, with those dark, sad eyes of his, and that damn desperate look from before just wouldn't leave your mind.
So you made the decision to get him back on his feet as quickly as possible. Every hour, you changed the compresses on his right side and kept the tea—steeped with basil, chamomile, and thyme—warm so that he could drink it the moment he woke up. You knew that healing required time and patience—qualities you didn't exactly possess. As far as you were concerned, he could drink two liters in one go if there was even a chance that doing so would make him disappear just as quickly as he had arrived.
The sun was just setting, and you stood in the kitchen, gently stirring your mushroom soup, when a pained groan sounded from behind you. You slowly turned your head towards Seungcheol, who was slowly propping himself up a little, grimacing as he slowly rotated his head to work out the stiffness caused by his uncomfortable position. Your hand immediately reached for a warm cup of the tea you had brewed for him before you strode quickly to stand before him, in your other hand the weed puller, which still served as your safe anchor against this stranger. "Here. Drink this," you commanded, holding the steaming cup up to his face.
His eyes drifted from the weed puller to the cup in your hand and with raised eyebrows. He looked up at you clearing his throat and then carefully took the cup from you. You gave it to him in such way that your hands definitely wouldn't touch, and the stupid Omega inside you growled angrily because of that. It was already hard enough for you when you were changing these damn compresses, his skin burning under your finger tips and you had to stop a few times because it was just too much. You hadn't touched another soul in two years and now this.
Another mental note to drink an extra portion of your cyperus tea. You've already drank one a few hours ago but your omega just wont shut up.
Seungcheol took a cautious sip of the tea, and just as you turned around to continue stirring the soup, he immediately spat out the tea you had brewed yourself.
"Hey! I spent hours brewing that specifically for you, you moron!" you cried out indignantly, glaring furiously at him as he stared at the tea with a look of utter disgust.
"What is this?" he asked, coughing, and you shook your head disdainfully. "Herbs to help you recover faster. Drink it—now."
Only after he had completely drained the cup and took a deep breath, you nod in satisfaction and took the cup back from him. "Dinner is almost ready," you murmured, turning back around—now acutely aware of just how small your cabin actually was. For one person, it was perfect; but for two? Where was he even supposed to sleep? He was injured; naturally you would give him the bed. That meant several nights for you in your reading armchair, which stood in the back corner of the room. Great.
Seungcheol too seemed to be hyperaware of the situation he is in, as he stayed quiet and said nothing to you while you were preparing dinner.
A few minutes later, you set the soup down on the small table and sat down across from him, letting the weed puller drop beside your plate. Seungcheol’s eyes immediately locked onto it, and this time, you could clearly make out the amusement on his face.
"Don't you think I would have attacked you long ago if that were my intention?" he asked in a raspy voice; you merely shrugged, your cold eyes fixed on him.
"Better safe than sorry." You began to eat, but he simply continued to stare at you, not even glancing down at his soup. Letting out an annoyed sigh, you turned your gaze back to him. "Do I fascinate you so much that your brain has stopped working? Eat. You need to get well." You nodded toward the soup sitting in front of him.
"You haven't spoken to anyone in a long time, have you?" he asked suddenly, and, caught off guard, you narrowed your eyes.
"How would you know that?" you retorted defiantly, tilting your head. "Maybe I get visitors every week."
"You only have one proper plate." Seungcheol nodded toward his own plate, where his soup remained untouched, and then his eyes shifted to your mug. "You're eating soup out of a large mug, and I watched you spend nearly three minutes searching for a second spoon."
Caught red-handed, you pressed your lips together, then shrugged. "Okay, you've got me. But why should you care?"
"I want to know who the person is who saved my life today." His dark eyes fixed upon you, and were you not so stubborn, you would flee into another room right now and simply barricade yourself in. But this was your house. Your right to defend yourself—to protect yourself.
"There is nothing you need to know about me," was all you replied, taking another spoonful of your soup.
Seungcheol scoffed. "You really know how to hold an conversation." Sarcasm dripped in his voice. "Isn't there always something interesting to know about other people?"
"Not in my case." Your voice was colder than you intended, and you felt a strong urge to change the subject.
"Maybe you could tell me something about the person whose life I saved today." A shadow crossed his eyes, and you smiled at him triumphantly. He wanted to talk about himself just as little as you wanted to talk about yourself.
His teeth bit his lower lip for a few seconds, and your gaze flickered towards it before you swiftly looked away and finished your soup.
"So you don't get many visitors. I guess I'm the first. How long have you been living here?" Seungcheol tried again and finally began to eat his soup. You poured him another cup of tea, pondering whether or not you should answer him. After all, he would be staying here for some time, and apparently, he truly had no intention of attacking you, nor did he have any idea who you were. That was something you could work with.
It didn’t help that you were curious about his situation, too. How did he even got his wound? And who exactly is the man who is sitting here and now in your safe little hut?
"A question for a question," you proposed, setting the fresh cup of tea down beside his plate. Seungcheol nodded, and you gave him the answer to his first question: "Two years."
He nodded thoughtfully and continued eating. You sank back into the chair opposite him. "Who inflicted that wound on you?" You gestured toward his right side.
"Enemy soldiers," was his reply, and you studied him thoughtfully. That could mean many things. Nothing about him suggested any connection to a kingdom. He wore no armor, and nowhere was an emblem to be seen and the sword that he carried with him (and you hid) also showed no belonging to a specifical kingdom.
"Are they dead?" you asked with a quiet voice and Seungcheol's eyes landed on you again.
"Yes."
You nodded, relief flooded your veins. "Good."
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
Seungcheol couldn't figure you out. To begin with, there was your scent. You smelled of nothing. The Alpha within him was extremely restless, practically commanding him to find out what was wrong with you—why he couldn't classify what you were.
Then there was your manner. You looked after him, regularly changed his compresses, and refilled his tea every minute. But as soon as he spoke to you, your only responses were short and cold.
Seungcheol wouldn't exactly describe himself as charming, but he wasn't actually bad at dealing with new people. After all, he was a prince—now a king—so he had to be good at getting along with strangers. But with you, there was a towering wall, and he could practically feel you shutting him out. He just didn't understand why.
You could have simply let him die. But you didn't. And now he was bound to you in this hut, and he had to write a secret letter to find out how his kingdom was doing, how his friends were doing. Had everyone escaped? Had everyone truly managed to hide? Is Salute alright? These thoughts nearly drove him mad.
The only distraction available is a conversation with you—and that turned out to be more impossible than expected.
One question in exchange for another had been enough for you; you likely didn't want to know anything more from him, for you changed his compress once again, your body rigid with extreme tension, without even meeting his eyes.
The Alpha within Seungcheol stirred restlessly, and Seungcheol wondered what the hell was going on.
At least one thing was clear to Seungcheol: You didn't have the faintest clue who he was. If you had even the slightest inkling, you never would have allowed him to stay in your cabin for so long, not with how guarded and cautious you were.
So he simply had to remain quiet about his true identity, wait until he was healthy again, and then return to Noxtus as quickly as possible.
Once you were finished, you threw away the bloody compress and nodded towards another room.
"Lie down and sleep. You won't recover if you sit in that chair the whole time."
His eyes followed yours and confused he asked, "And where will you sleep?" He couldn't take a woman's only bed away from her.
"You don't have to worry about that," you merely murmured—and Seungcheol had never encountered a person as stubborn as you. And that was really saying something; after all he had often debated fight strategies with Minghao, and that too was anything but easy.
"I can just stay here-"
"Seungcheol." The sound of his name on your tongue made the blood freeze in his veins, and his Alpha stirred restlessly within him, as if he couldn't quite gauge whether he wanted to hear his name from your lips once more, or would rather never hear it again. Confusion coursed through Seungcheol as he tried to focus on your words.
"Please just go to bed now and sleep. You look like you're about to collapse again, and rest is what your body needs most right now." you argued with what almost seemed like a soft voice and the unspoken words filled the room. I dont need your worry. I can fend for myself.
Even though he found it difficult, Seungcheol knew when a battle was over and when not to push things too far. He saw the exhaustion on your face; after all, you had spent the entire day looking after him. That only made him feel more guilty about taking your bed now.
"One night", he croaked out and cleared his throat. "I'm not taking it longer than needed."
He saw how your nod and then gathered all his strength to rise carefully to his feet. It took him a moment to find his balance before he began walking slowly and cautiously towards the other room. Pain racked his entire right side, and beads of sweat were already glistening on his forehead once again, when suddenly the weight on his left side was slightly lifted and it became easier to walk. He looked down at you in astonishment, saw that you were now supporting him with your delicate hands, your gaze fixed intently straight ahead.
Wherever your skin touched his, his flesh seemed to burn and for at least a brief moment, the searing pain from his wound was somehow forgotten. Seungcheol’s alpha perked up with curiosity, and his entire attention focused on the places where your skin touched, as if it would leave visible marks.
All of this made absolutely no sense at all, why his alpha, or furthermore he, reacted that way considering he didn't even know what you were. An Omega hiding behind a massive protective wall? An Alpha freely asserting her dominance? Or perhaps a Beta who simply wanted to live in peace and solitude in her cabin?
Yet Seungcheol recalled that his inner alpha had never been so curious about another person before; and a few minutes later, as he laid in your bed, completely enveloped by your sweet lingering scent, peaceful sleep finally claimed him for the first time since the attack.
(While he laid in bed, sleeping peacefully, you rushed to your small, hidden drawer in the kitchen and quickly brewed yourself a fresh tea made with Cyperus leaves; and even though it was still scalding hot, you downed it in a flash—hoping that the screaming Omega within you would finally fall silent.)
Seungcheol woke up the next morning feeling much better than he had the day before. Apparently, you had already changed his compress; a glance at his bandaged wound told him everything he needed to know. Carefully, he sat up and, with soft steps, left the room, only to find the cabin empty. His gaze swept searchingly across the windows, and there you were, standing in the backyard, harvesting some vegetables.
It didn't take long before you noticed him. You regarded him with an appraising look, then nodded back toward the cabin. "Freshen up. I'll make us some breakfast in a moment."
Then you turned back around; apparently, your resolve not to speak to Seungcheol remained unchanged.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
"Is there a village nearby?" Seungcheols voice cut through the quietness of your garden as you tended to your herbs and plants while he sat on a chair, enjoying a few minutes of fresh air before you would tell him to lay down again.
That was your established routine the last week. Eat with him, change his compress, force him to drink the tea and them command him to sleep. You could feel his restless energy but the first signs of improvement were already becoming apparent.
He was now able to stay awake for much longer, and short walks no longer took a toll on him. Bad for you, because he started seeking conversation with you much more often.
"Yeah, about half a mile to the west," you murmured back. Perhaps this was finally the first sign that he wanted to leave. Although his wound was already improving, his general condition still gave you cause for concern at times—especially when he tossed and turned in your bed while sleeping, constantly murmuring various names. Nightmares plagued him day in and day out; and even if it seemed as though he was slowly but surely recovering physically, the same could not be said for his state of mind.
By now, you had started giving him tea with special herbs in the evenings to help him get a better night's sleep. It worked only moderately well.
"I would like to go there. I have to write an important letter."
Your piercing eyes bored into him. "To whom?"
"Why do you need to know?" He asked calmly.
"Because I don't need anyone to come here," you shot back, turning back to your plants.
Seungcheol remained silent for a few seconds before his quiet voice once again broke the silence. "No one will come. I just want to let someone know that I'm alive."
Feelings of guilt stirred deep within you, and with a sigh, you closed your eyes for a few moments. You would do anything to preserve your own safety, but Seungcheol had just barely escaped death. He had the right to let someone know. You couldn't take that away from him.
Your eyes turned back to him, and for the first time in days, you allowed yourself to truly look at him. And he looked broken. Dark circles ringed his handsome face, his dark hair fell into his brown eyes, and everything inside you screamed that an Alpha—any Alpha—should not look like this. Most likely, it was your hormone-driven Omega screaming this at you but you allowed yourself to listen to it for the first time. Helping, that is something you could do.
So you muttered softly to him: "Give yourself enough time to rest and then I'll show you the village."
And apparently, that was enough for Seungcheol, for a deep sense of calm now radiated from him.
He joined you more and more in the garden. Three days after your conversation about the village you found yourself planting new herbs to your collection and a shadow laid itself over you. You felt his eyes watching you and while you tried to ignore his presence behind you it became harder and harder to do exactly that.
You sat back and looked up to him from the ground. His eyes didnt leave the herbs and he nodded to your bed full of your goods. "I also had many beds at home but none of them looked even close like yours."
"Is that an compliment or an insult?" you asked with a scoff and continued to look up to him.
A mischivious glint appeared in his eyes. "It depends how confindent you are in your doings."
"Then its clearly a compliment."
Seungcheol huffed amused and then, to your suprise, he slowly lets himself down beside you in the grass. You pressed your lips lightly together and before you could even think what the hell you were doing, you took the herb you just wanted to plant in in your hands and rambled: "This is vervain. It has fever-reducing and antispasmodic effects."
When Seungcheol responded nothing a red veil of shame settled on your cheek. What the hell? Where did that come from now?
But Seungcheol nodded encouragingly with a faint smile, then gestured with his chin toward the herb in your hand. "Does it have a meaning?"
"Good fortune," you murmured, and you were just about to plant it when the question burning on your tongue already escaped your lips: "Do you want to give it a try?"
Seungcheol looked at you with feigned surprise. "I don't want my wound to reopen.", a sarcastic undertone laid on his words and you rolled your eyes amused.
"I'll get a medal for you if you manage to do"
Seungcheol grinned in amusement, then carefully took the herb from your hand and looked somewhat helplessly down at the garden bed below him. "I've never done anything like this before…" he confessed hesitantly.
With raised eyebrows, you looked at him with amusement. "Just set it in the hole, pile some soil around it so it stands firm, and then pat the earth down. It's not magic."
"You say so. It always looks so easy when you do it," he remarked as he carefully placed the Vervain in the ground. You watched every of slightest movement, letting his words race through your mind. Had he been watching you plant every single time he sat outside recently? And why did that thought alone make you shy and restless? Gardening was your element. You knew how to handle your plants, and just because someone was watching you that shouldnt throw you off balance.
Seungcheol asked you a question that snapped you out of your thoughts in an instant. Caught off guard, you stared at him, tilting your head slightly in a questioning manner. Seungcheol nodded toward the planted vervain and repeated his question: "Is this okay?"
You looked down at it, and an amused scoff escaped your lips. "You buried it a little too deep." Carefully, you shoveled some soil aside to set the herb a bit higher.
Seungcheol snorted and leaned back again. "Well, seems like I'm a lost case."
"Now you’re exaggerating," you replied with amusement, gazing at the plant with a smile. "Gardening isn't about right or wrong. It’s about effort, patience, and gentleness." You gestured toward the many blooming flowers all around you. "It’s a give-and-take."
He followed your gaze and surveyed all your flowers, herbs, and vegetables.
"Except for the weeds," he remarked then with a knowing grin, and a laugh escaped your lips; grinning, you nodded. "Except for the weeds, yes."
He continued to watch you as you planted the remaining plants, before asking softly: "And Daisys?"
"What about them?" you asked back without looking at him.
"Whats their meaning?"
You froze for a few seconds before continuing and then you muttered softly: "Purity. Innocence."
You hoped that he wouldn't pick up on the sadness in your voic, but that was likely a lost cause. Especially given the pensive look Seungcheol cast your way when you murmured, "New beginnings."
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
The days passed, and Seungcheol’s physical condition steadily improved. He moved around significantly more and even helped you carry soil a few times—though each time, you scolded him to be careful about his wound.
He even started arguing with you that you should sleep in your own bed again and he would take the armchair, something you immediately refused, and it was only when you threatened him once more with the weed puller that he finally let it rest.
That really should have reassured you. The sooner he got back on his feet physically, the sooner you would have your peace and quiet back—though, in truth, you had to admit that a comfortable rhythm had slowly but surely crept into your daily routine. Apparently, after two years of solitude, it took only a few weeks to get used to having another person around again; and your Omega was happier than ever.
Usually, you never felt its presence due to the suppression caused by the Pyperus herbs; yet here, while the Alpha lived in your home and recovered, the herbs seemed to be only half-effective. It practically purred beneath your skin all day long, and whenever he was even just in your vicinity, your Omega would be happier than it had ever been before, much to your dislike.
While his body steadily recovered, his mind remained stagnant. You could clearly tell that normal, everyday conversations helped distract him from whatever was weighing on him. But whenever the two of you weren't talking—and you merely cast him brief, furtive glances—you would find him either lost deep in thought, wearing an expression so sad and desperate that it took your breath away, or watching you, as if trying to suppress the very thoughts that were driving him to the brink of madness.
One day, in particular, seemed to weigh heavily on him. He barely spoke a word, drinking the bitter tea without so much as a grimace, and slowly you found yourself teetering on the brink of despair because his gaze was so damn empty. You didn't know how to handle it, and you cursed yourself for being unable to simply ignore that damn worry gnawing inside you. You were responsible for the well-being of his body—not his soul.
But your mother’s words played like a steady melody through your mind, and you couldn't shake the thought that healing is a holistic process—and that, unfortunately, the psyche is an inseparable part of it.
It was evening, and you were just clearing away the dishes when you broke one of your own rules.
"Do you want to talk?"
His dark eyes slowly turned toward you, and you stood uncertainly in the room, unable to take back the offer now.
"I mean…" you struggled for words, then sighed in frustration. "You're having nightmares. I hear you murmuring names at night," you confessed softly.
His cold eyes shifted back to the floor. "Sorry to disturb your sleep."
"No!" you argued immediately, grimacing. God—what was wrong with you? "I just mean… if you want to talk. About the people. Then I can listen," you tried again, and this time, Seungcheol apparently understood your intention.
He was silent for a few minutes, long enough that you thought he was going to turn down your offer. Which was fine, too. If you knew nothing about him, he couldn't expect to learn anything about you.
"My father was killed right before my eyes, shortly before I ended up here with you."
Your heart stopped for a few seconds and sorry filled you, as you slowly approached the table and you sank down on the chair on the opposite of him.
"I don't know if my mother is still alive," he murmured, "or if my friends managed to escape."
„Was your village attacked?“ you asked carefully and Seungcheol nodded after a few seconds.
„Something like that.“
You pressed your lips together troubled in loss of words. Because there were none. Expect only a few.
„I’m sorry, Seungcheol. I can’t imagine the pain of not knowing if they‘re alright or not“
His eyes shined while he looked at you and maybe it was this screwed situation or that damn omega inside you that the next words flooded out of your mouth.
„I‘ve lost my mother too some time ago“, a sad smile appeared on your lips and you shrugged helplessly with your shoulders.
„I thought I‘ll die right there and now but I’ve survived it. I had to. The thought of continuing to live and to be a daughter she would be proud of helps me going on“
That was the whole reason why you allowed Seungcheol to stay with you. It puts you at risk but it would have made your mother proud.
„When did she die?“ he asked with a low voice.
„Almost three years ago“
You saw how he did the math in his head. That you disappeared into the woods after almost a year after your mother died.
"What about your father?" he suddenly asked and dread filled your whole body und you needed to remind yourself to breath, to remind you that he isn't here. That youre safe.
If Seungcheol noticed any trace of fear within you, he didn't mention it. So you gave him a strained smile and shrugged your shoulders with feigned nonchalance. "He's an asshole."
For your own sake, you had to quickly change the subject again, so that your thoughts wouldn't get caught in a spiral of panic once more. You already shared too much informations.
„Do you want to tell me about your friends?“ you asked carefully. „How are they like?“
Relief flooded you when you saw a smile form on Seungcheols lip at the thought of his friends and just the sight of him smiling again was enough for you.
Then he started talking. Started with a men called Jeonghan and went through them one by one. He told you about the mischiefs in their younger days and how the thirteen of them had an incredible strong bond. Even of Chan, whom he hadn't seen in a very long time, he spoke with deep affection, telling you how proud he was, as a friend, to see what respectful and kind-hearted men his friends had become.
You listened to him the entire time. Laughed with him and smiled with him when he remembered.
That evening, Seungcheol left the room with a smile to go to bed.
The nightmares returned a night later.
You were shifting back and forth in the armchair, trying to find a damn comfortable position, when you heard his pained moan. Almost immediately, you freeze mid-movement, waiting with a pounding heart for another sound, because perhaps you only imagined it?
But then it came again—sounds filled with pain and despair—and you didn't hesitate for a moment. You couldn't; you could still vividly see his sorrowful eyes, or that empty gaze of his, staring into the void right before you. You didn't hesitate. With cautious steps you walked into your bedroom, only to find that while Seungcheol was indeed still asleep, he was visibly tormented by nightmares. Nightmares that made beads of sweat break out on his skin and caused his head to jerk slightly back and forth.
You bit your lower lip uncertainly as worry filled your heart, nearly strangling the air from your lungs. Seungcheol murmured countless names—names that now seemed all too familiar to you. The thought of his friends, of his mother and father, gave him no peace, and you had to wake him before some frantic movement of his would cause him to reopen his wound. That would have meant the entire last weeks would had been for nothing.
"Seungcheol," you called out cautiously, taking slow steps toward the bed. He didn't react. So you tried again, softly calling his name over and over; and when he still didn't wake up, you took the plunge and gently touched his shoulder to give him a soft shake.
Not a second later, strong hands seized you, and the air was forced from your lungs as you were slammed against the mattress with crushing force, with Seungcheol looming over you, his hands pressed firmly against your shoulders.
You didn't even have enough time to utter a single sound and, breathless, with panic in your heart and eyes wide open, you stared at the man who was pressing you firmly against the mattress and who was likely still trapped in a nightmare.
While you were just fearing for your life, your Omega purred contentedly—and you wondered if life was really trying to screw with you, because of course he slept without a shirt. But right now, you couldn't focus on his well-built torso, not when his fingers were digging painfully into you.
"Seungcheol," you said in a harsh voice, letting out a slight whimper as his fingers dug into your shoulder, leaving behind a faint, stinging pain from the pressure. You had to get him out of this damn nightmare; he had no idea what he was doing right now.
Okay, harsh words apparently aren't getting anywhere. An idea crossed your mind—one that went completely against everything you stood for, and the mere thought of it made shame bubble up inside you—but perhaps now was the right moment to listen to your instincts? Your Omega was obviously feeling at ease, so perhaps his Alpha was present as well? Maybe you shouldn't speak to Seungcheol, but rather to the being slumbering deep within him.
So you allow yourself to close your eyes for exactly one second, before opening them again and murmuring in a trembling voice, "You're hurting me."
His grip on your shoulders loosened slightly, yet Seungcheol’s eyes remained glassy, and his gaze did not focus on you; instead, he continued to stare into the void, simply right through you.
"I know it hurts," you continued in a trembling voice. "I know what it’s like to lose someone—someone you thought would be by your side for a long, long time." You took a deep breath. "But you aren't alone." You looked deep into his eyes, and when you noticed a faint flicker—barely visible—it gave you the confidence to keep speaking.
"You are here. Safe. And soon you can go back and see all your friends again, but please, come back to me first." Your voice was still trembling, and summoning all your courage, you placed a hand on one of his arms. "I'm here."
A second later, Seungcheol stood upright a few steps away from the bed, breathing heavily as he braced himself against the wall.
You were still lying on the bed, your Omega disappointed that the sudden skin-to-skin contact had now been interrupted once again, and trembling, you exhaled one last time before slowly sitting up and staring uncertainly over at Seungcheol, who closed his eyes in pain and clenched his hands into fists only to open them again.
You stood up carefully, but instead of going to him, you went into the kitchen and leaned exhaustedly against the counter. You allowed yourself five seconds to close your eyes and catch your breath, giving your pounding pulse a chance to settle, before preparing a tea with soothing herbs.
The tea warmed your hands as you slowly walked back into the bedroom with two cups, where you saw Seungcheol sitting exhaustedly on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. As you entered the room, his tired eyes lifted to meet yours, and he opened his mouth but before he could say a word, you shook your head. "Just forget it," you whispered to him, your expression tense, and handed him his tea.
Doubting eyes sought yours, and when he finally took the teacup, you carefully, maintaining a respectful distance, sat down cross-legged on the floor beside the bed and took a sip from your own cup as well. You needed that calming tea at least just as much as he did.
You leaned cautiously against the bed, and—finding you really couldn't think of anything better to break the silence—you asked in a tentative voice: "A question for a question?"
It sounded like an amused snort coming from Seungcheol, though you could have been mistaken. Then he hummed in agreement, and you looked up at him seriously. "But only trivial questions."
"And what would those be?" he mumured with raised eyebrows, the cup of tea still undrunk in his hands.
"What's your favorite color?", you suggested and when he didn't answer for a few seconds you turned around slightly to look up to him, "Dont you have a favourite color?"
"Who doesn't have a favourite color?" he asked back and you shook your head confused.
"Youre the one who's not answering the question."
"Because you could ask anything and you chose to ask about my favourite color" he scoffed back.
"It says alot about a person!" you argued and placed your mug down on the floor.
Seungcheol only looked at you with raised eyebrows, as if he can't believe about the topic you both are arguing about. But then he gave up.
"Black."
"Thats not a color", you immediatly replied and shook your head and he closed his eyes and sighed excessively loud, but you saw the suspicious forming of an amused smile on his lips.
"And why is that not a color?" he asked as he repositioned himself in bed, now leaning against the headboard. And you had to grudgingly admit that you once again had a perfect view of his bare torso. Seungcheol certainly noticed this as well—but even so, it didn't seem to bother him in the slightest.
You quickly averted your gaze again and took a sip of your tea—which was still far too hot—and choked so violently that you had to cough several times, bringing tears to your eyes.
You looked at him again and saw only his amused gaze as he watched you, and you quickly cleared your throat. "Because black is merely the absence of light. And I asked you for your favorite color, not whether you prefer dark or light."
"What's your favorite color then, smart-ass?" he asked with a hint of a smile and a challenging gaze settled in his dark eyes.
You couldn't help but grin up to him. "White."
Whether it was the sheer absurdity of the situation or something else, you both burst out laughing at the exact same moment. Seungcheol closed his eyes with a grin on his face and leaned his head back against the rest. "You're really one of a kind, Daisy."
A smile spread across your lips, and you were glad he didn't notice your cheek turn slightly red as you held up your tea mug and took another sip.
You spent the next few hours asking trivial questions. You learned about his favorite animal, his most embarrassing moment, and countless other things that didn't reveal too much about either of you.
Eventually, however, fatigue caught up with you once again, and it was only a matter of time before you drifted off to sleep on the floor, leaning against the bed.
You were already deep in the realm of dreams when Seungcheol slowly and carefully climbed out of your bed, gently lifted you up with his strong hands, and laid you down in your bed.
One might think that a whispered "Thank you, Daisy" still reached you through your dreams—though that was something you would no longer remember.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
After that night, something visibly changed between you and Seungcheol—and if Seungcheol was honest, he liked this side of you much more.
You talked to him much more now, no longer giving answers that consisted of just a single word. You shared countless facts with him about your various flowers, and Seungcheol quickly realized that he enjoyed listening to you. He liked it when your eyes lit up with enthusiasm, or when you bit your lip in concentration while working in your garden or experimenting with herbs in the kitchen.
Seungcheol would let you explain which specific herbs were good for what, and one time, you even let him create his own tea blend from scratch. It tasted absolutely dreadful—and you tried your best to convince him that it wasn't actually that bad for a first attempt—but in the end, you both spat it out after taking just one more sip. You both laughed so hard that you had to steady yourself against the kitchen counter, while Seungcheol had to be careful not to strain his throbbing wound.
These were the moments Seungcheol liked the most.
But it wasn't just your behavior and state of mind that had changed; Seungcheol, too, was now sleeping much better and finding more peace. The reason for this was—once again—you; the words spoken that night sometimes played on a continuous loop in his mind.
Come back to me first. I'm here.
The words had a grounding effect on him and his thoughts; yet, apparently, they had also burrowed deep into the needs of his Alpha. The latter, it seemed, was taking an ever-growing interest in you, throbbing brazenly within him. By now, he felt an increasingly intense urge to discover what you truly were—even though Seungcheol was astute enough to surmise that there was likely a good reason why you kept it hidden. To his Alpha, however, that didn't seem to matter much at all.
But Seungcheol said nothing, nor did he ask any questions. The days passed in peaceful tranquility, and he wanted to preserve that calm. By now, the two of you took turns, one sleeping in the bed at night, the other spending the night in the armchair.
It was a sunny day and Seungcheol had just freshened up when a sweet yet panicky scent forced him to stop, and the alpha within him howled demandingly. Seungcheol's eyes turned to your figure, which frantically opened all the cupboards and drawers in the kitchen, searching for something but apparently finding nothing.
And then, finally, he caught your scent.
Finally smelled what you truly were.
An Omega - a sweet scented Omega had saved his life and helped nurse him back to health.
Seungcheol forced himself to hold his breath for a few seconds and rein in the demanding Alpha within him, but everything inside him screamed at him to help you, to dispel the panic coursing through your limbs and clinging to your scent.
You let out a sound of sheer desperation, leaning against the kitchen counter as you let your head hang, then ran your hand over your face.
That sound nearly brought Seungcheol to his knees, while his alpha pleaded him to help you shake off your despair—to take care of his sweet little Omega.
But he forced himself to pull himself together and carefully cleared his throat. "Daisy?"
You spun around to face him, leaning your back against the counter as if you wanted to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.
Seungcheol’s heart gave a slight pang, and he tried to ignore the hurt—but he wasn’t your Alpha. He had no right to feel offended.
Then you cleared your throat, and the look of desperation vanished from your face so quickly that Seungcheol’s concern only deepened. "M-Morning!" you chirped in an overly cheerful voice, turning back around to reach with trembling hands for whatever random herbs you could find to make tea.
But this time, Seungcheol wouldn’t let it go. Not when he could still clearly see how you were shaking. "Daisy, what’s wrong?" he asked in a firm voice, taking a cautious step toward you.
"N-Nothing!" you replied quickly, nodding toward the table. "Go ahead and sit down; I'll bring you some tea in a moment and change your compress!" You turned back around, and Seungcheol furrowed his brows.
Something was terribly wrong.
This time his alpha won. He stood before you with quick steps and gently grasped your shoulders, quite unlike the night you rescued him from the nightmare. He carefully turned you around to face him, and with wide eyes you looked up at him, tensing up and seemingly not breathing.
"Let me help you" he breathed softly and your lips trembled. "Tell me what's wrong and we'll find a solution."
He didn't take his eyes off you for the few seconds you were thinking before you quietly said: "My Pyperus herbs are nearly finished and I thought I still had some in here but I can't find them."
Seungcheol looked around the kitchen, which looked like utter chaos, before nodding. "Do you urgently need the herbs?"
"I have some today and tomorrow, but then they'll all be gone." You pressed your lips together, and Seungcheol didn't ask what kind of herbs they were or why you needed them so badly. He nodded and released your shoulders, but remained standing in front of you. "Do you think we can get some from the village? I think I have enough strength again to cover longer distances."
After a few seconds, you nodded weakly, and Seungcheol brushed a loose strand of your hair away from your face and murmured, "Lie down again, rest. I'll clean up here."
You offered no resistance, and the Alpha within Seungcheol purred at your obedience, before Seungcheol once again ignored it, watching as you left the room and closed the door behind you.
And so, here he was; with his Alpha, who seemed to have fixated on an Omega who wanted anything but companionship.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
Tears welled in your eyes as you laid in bed, reflecting on the situation that had just unfolded in the kitchen.
You had taken such great care to ensure you had a massive stockpile, spending days gathering these very herbs back then, long before a gravely injured Seungcheol had landed on your doorstep. Precisely so you would never again face the problem that was now slowly rearing its head once more.
You had known the moment you opened your eyes this morning that your Omega instincts were more restless than usual. Far too restless. Your pulse had quickened the instant you rose from bed; you had hurried to the kitchen with rapid strides, feeling such immense relief that Seungcheol wasn't in the room at that moment, thinking you could simply down your tea laced with the suppressant herbs, and then everything would be fine again.
Until you saw that you had only two left. Two. Which was far too few.
You racked your brain, trying to figure out how the hell you could have failed to notice that your supply was running low. After all, didn't you take the herbs every single day? Had Seungcheol used some when he first tried his hand at brewing tea? Had you been so utterly consumed by life these past few days—so distracted by the joy and inner peace you felt—that you had lost the ability to think logically and simply repressed the fact that your damn stockpile was nearly depleted?
And now he knew what you were, exactly what you had been trying to avoid from the very beginning. You squeezed your eyes shut in desperation, trying to drown out your father’s words; words that had been relentlessly swirling through your mind ever since earlier.
"Be a good girl and do what Omegas do—obey him. You will ensure that your stepmother and I can live a good life; isn't that what you want? Be a good Omega, Y/N."
Angrily, you bit down on your lower lip, and when you tasted the metallic tang of blood, you buried your face even deeper into the pillow. By now, it smelled far too strongly of Seungcheol—a scent that worked in direct opposition to the effects of the herb. Your Omega refused to be still. Refused to be suppressed. She wanted him. Her Alpha.
It’s a shame that you would never allow things to go that far, no matter how much you might suffer in the process.
⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
The next day, the two of you set off for the village.
Early this morning, you used up your very last leaf and drank your tea with trembling hands. You constantly evaded Seungcheol’s gaze, ceaselessly fighting against your hammering pulse and surging blood.
Seungcheol had no idea how to help, what to say to make you feel at least a little bit better, or which words would help you calm down.
So he said nothing and walked silently beside you through the forest.
You had pulled up the hood of your jacket, and the closer you drew to the village, the more tense you—and he—became. What if Sinyoung soldiers were there and recognized him? How should he protect himself with this wound and more imporant, how should he protect you in that process?
His gaze drifted toward you.
You, too, apparently wanted to avoid being recognized at all costs—though Seungcheol did not know the reason why. But it wasn't his place to know, anyway.
They each had but a single objective: you were to buy your herbs, and he was to write his letter.
Just before you stepped out of the forest, you nodded in a specific direction. "Keep to the right at the marketplace and go into the pink building. You can write your letter there."
Seungcheol followed your gaze and nodded in agreement before turning his eyes back to you. "Where will I find you?"
You pointed toward the center of the marketplace, where a massive tree provided shade for the market. "I'll be waiting for you under the tree. It shouldn't take long with the herbs." You adjusted your basket on your arm once more.
Then you looked up at him with a sad smile, and Seungcheol’s heart skipped a beat at your next words. "I know how important your letter is to you, but…" you hesitated, then looked at him pleadingly, "please don't mention my home, okay?"
Seungcheol nodded and murmured, „I'll just write that I'm alive."
"Promise?" you asked with a soft whisper and Seungcheols heart clenched.
"Promise."
You nodded in relief and then set off toward the herbs. Seungcheol watched you go for a few seconds, his heart already heavy with the weight of the promise, and then made his own way to the post station.
He did not address the letter by name. He knew exactly what he had to write, or to whom he had to address it, to ensure it reached his friends.
Seungcheol stood facing the wall, penning his letter in rapid strokes. He wrote that he was alive; he asked if everyone was well and if they had all managed to find a hiding place. He asked if they had heard anything from Chan. He wrote that he wanted to return soon, but that they needed a plan, and—
Seungcheol squeezed his eyes shut in despair. He was a king. He had a kingdom to save from this tyrant, yet he had also made a promise to you. And your eyes—god, your pleading eyes when you begged him not to mention anything about your home—how could he possibly do that to you?
But he did not know if his mother was still alive. He did not know if his friends were safe.
He remembered the screames from the day they were attacked; the blood filling the ground and the lifeless eyes staring up to the sky. The head of his father, rolling across the floor.
"A king does not simply give up, Seungcheol. He stands tall and defends his people. For they are our entire pride."
The words of his father ringed and his ear and Seungcheol made a decision.
He had to face his responsibility as a king. Even if it meant letting you down.
He wrote one final sentence and then handed in the letter.
pairing: f1 driver! husband! father! yoon jeonghan x wife! mother! fem! reader
genre & warnings: angst, lots of fluff, childbirth
desc: it's eight months after revealing your pregnancy to your husband, and you've gone into labour...whilst jeonghan is on the track in japan..
wc: 2.1k
note: ahh i'm so in love with hannie :3 really tempted to just write a full-length yjh f1 au at this point lol...ᯓ𝄞 anyone else but you by the moldy peaches & i've never met anyone i thought i could really love (until i met you) by westside cowboy
Pregnancy is hard, harder than most things life throws at you, harder than anything you could’ve possibly imagined.
It’s difficult to remember every single supplement in the morning, especially when you’ve spent most of the night over the toilet bowl. It’s difficult to fit your trainers on your swollen feet at week thirty. It’s especially difficult to wave Jeonghan onto a jet and watch him speed at almost two hundred miles per hour on your TV screen.
Watching the jet door suction shut, the click too familiar now as you sat in your car on the runway, waving innocently to Jeonghan whose eyes didn’t leave your distant figure until you reversed and drove off.
It was always common knowledge that your pregnancy with Jeonghan wasn’t going to be easy. Especially when you refused to let him skip a season.
‘You above everything else, baby, that’s what I said in Italy when we slid these rings on our fingers!’ Jeonghan’s voice was raised, not quite shouting, but he held his left hand up, exaggeratedly pointing at his wedding band.
You sighed, a long one. You were twenty-six weeks pregnant now, and the new season was rolling around rapidly — and with that, Jeonghan’s hesitation to leave his pregnant wife’s side.
But you insisted.
You refused to let him stop now, not when the momentum was so strong, his placing on podium last season setting him up for the perfect pole this season.
‘Jeonghan,’ your bump was particularly visible now, sticking out of your slightly cropped tee as you leaned against the island in the kitchen. ‘Don’t let yourself give this up right now, please.’
He was ready to refuse, shake his head almost violently until your glassy eyes met his. You knew how important racing was for him; being here every day would drive him insane. You knew he needed to be out there. ‘Please.’
After days of talks between the two of you, he agreed on many conditions. He would not race leading up to your due date. Ferrari could cope without him for one race. If he, god forbid, were involved in any sort of collision, he would step back for the rest of the season, and the moment you needed him, he would drop everything. He wouldn’t hesitate.
So whilst he lapped around Sazuka, your due date comfortably two weeks away, you were on the way to the hospital, your best friend Seungcheol behind the wheel.
Jeonghan had thought of every scenario of your labour. Including this. One late night, when you’d found your husband pacing your vast conservatory, face etched with stress, he explained the plan in detail.
If, or when, you were to go into labour whilst he was away, Seungcheol was to call him immediately. In the rare, or not so rare, chance that he was on the track when it happened, Seungcheol was to ring Minghao immediately.
From there, Minghao was to alert your husband. And Jeonghan would stop, get his car off the track and go straight to the landing strip to fly straight to you.
‘Simple as that.’ He finished, his hands holding yours tightly as you nodded, agreeing, knowing that he needed this more for his mental health than anything.
Breathing in heavily and exhaling with a painful huff. Sweat slipped down your head like you were in a shower. Your thighs were wet, but you were in too much pain to even think about Cheol’s expensive Audi seats.
Through the pitching pain, you could hear Cheol’s voice beside you, his engine roaring as he weaved through the busy Seoul streets.
‘Hao,’ He said, voice slightly shaky as he looked at you, tears running down your face as your contractions overtook your body.
‘Fuck, it’s time?’ The man’s voice bled through the car speakers, the instant shuffle of commotion caught by the microphone.
In the humid Japanese climate, Minghao ran across the pit lane. Seungcheol’s one word was enough to spring Jeonghan’s well-rehearsed plan into action.
The heat stuck to everyone, the blinding track lights making everyone look particularly sickly right now. The CEO couldn’t decide if he felt sick or if everyone around him looked unwell. Gripping his headset, he nodded to the race engineer in silent understanding.
Letting out a big breath, he let himself be heard by the Ferrari driver, who was on lap thirty-five of fifty-three.
‘Jeonghan,’ Minghao spoke with deadly calm, despite his horrific nerves. ‘She’s gone into labour, it’s time.’
On the track, it felt like the entire world had slowed; his brain was speeding as the surroundings blurred, your husband was processing the information as fast as his car was moving. The cheering of the crowd and the roaring of the engine were deafened as Jeonghan only thought about you, across the East Sea, breathing heavily, your child hours away from being born.
Back in Seoul, Seungcheol was helping you out of the car, your pants and grunts loud and alerting as he pulled in front of the rather fancy private hospital Jeonghan insisted you attend.
Seungcheol wasn’t just Jeonghan’s best friend — he was the best man at your wedding, he was there the day you met, the pair of you young and immature as you leaned over the railing in Baku, a microphone in your hand, Jeonghan in a trance as he looked up at you above him.
He’d drop everything for both of you, his absolute best friends, and it’s how he landed the job of being your makeshift number one in this situation.
‘Fuck Cheol,’ you tried to bark out a laugh, that turned into a teeth-clenching roar of pain.
Jeonghan was pulling into the vast landing strip, the jet he’d paid to be prepared at every location so far, ready just as he had anticipated. His mind was racing as he sped, rather illegally, through the streets, wondering how you could be in labour two weeks early when everything was going perfectly.
Without a second thought, he ditched the sports car, chucking the keys to the designated staff before practically sprinting onto the plane, his phone held to his ear.
‘Choi, this better be going exactly as I planned.’ He tried to joke, but he was tense, strapping himself into the seat as he gripped the phone as if it could ground him.
‘She’s in,’ His best friend sounded stressed, a heavy sigh escaping with the words. ‘She’s in pain, but the nurses have said everything is healthy.’
‘Do-do we have an estimate on timings?’ Jeonghan felt himself beginning to well up, the pressure and anxiety of him missing the birth of your child sitting on his shoulders like the heaviest weight he’d ever felt.
No race, championship or season had rattled him like this. No amount of looming pre-race anxiety or adrenaline could even begin to compare to what was pumping through his veins at the moment.
‘Nurses said anywhere between three and five hours.’ Seungcheol reassured your stressed husband. ‘Fly safe, Han, I’ll see you soon.’
When Jeonghan arrived at the hospital, everything seemed to move in slow motion around him. Seungcheol stood at the door, a scowl on his face, before he enveloped Jeonghan in a hug, an arm around his shoulder as he guided Jeonghan through the endless corridors.
He listened intently to his best friend’s words but couldn’t escape the ringing that persisted until the door to your suite opened, and like a vacuum seal breaking, sound and movement burst into his periphery. Your husband didn't hesitate; he was at your side instantly, your skin coated with sweat as your hair stuck to your face.
‘Baby,’ you gritted out, taking in his dishevelled appearance as you turned your head to him, your gorgeous eyes even glowing right now.
‘My angel,’ he replied, instantly smoothing your hair off your face and kissing the top of your head.
For the hours to come, Jeonghan didn’t leave your side; he swore he wouldn’t leave your side ever again. He was there, the force of your hand squeezing his harder than any g-force he’d ever felt. He was there, a hand running through your wet hair to attempt to soothe you as you arched back into the pillow. He was there, dabbing your head with a cool towel as your child was born.
Love swelled out of him that day, blooming into something so beautiful that no feeling came close to the love he felt for you and your child. Tears streaming freely as you held the baby in your arms, Jeonghan’s arm around both of you, his smile wider than any grin he’d ever mustered.
⏱︎ NINE Months Later
The sun beat down on the vast English countryside, Silverstone shining within the greenery. The cool breeze wisped Jeonghan’s hair as he stood in the paddock, his fire suit tied on his hips.
Engineers held tablets up to him, pointing out statistics and discussing manoeuvres. It all dulled as you appeared through the paddock door, pushing a stroller with a neat parasol looming over it.
The pair of you spent the first five months of your son’s life cocooned away in your house on the outskirts of Seoul. Spending sleepless nights together, cooing at the small being as he babbled in your expansive garden and nestling him to bed wrapped in both of your arms.
However, as always, another season rolled around, and as a compromise, you agreed to come along, baby and wife at each and every race. Little ear defenders on his son’s ears as soon as his father’s booming engine powered up.
Jeonghan’s changing room in the motorhome became home to a cot, a fridge full of milk and a nappy bin. And, even on the hardest days, he knew he’d have it no other way.
Without hesitation, Jeonghan stepped away from the fuss, nodding absentmindedly at his crew, and he beelined to you. A large and enthusiastic grin on his lips at your wave, his arm pulling you into him, his lips landing on yours like they were magnets.
The scary and rather sassy driver became a muddle of coos as he leaned down to see his son in the stroller. The little being began to giggle and kick at the sight of his father’s smiley face.
‘Hey little one,’ he said softly, your arm rubbing his back as you swooned for your husband and son, both of the boys in your life bringing such intense and immense joy.
Jeonghan picked his son up, ever so cautiously and cradled him in his arms, letting you park the stroller out of the way as the crew became enchanted with the sight of their fiercest driver becoming a mush of cuteness with his son in his arms.
‘Mother of the year,’ Minghao greeted you, pulling you into a hug.
‘Minghao,’ you replied happily, letting him sling his arm around you as you both observed Jeonghan softly. Your husband was introducing the baby to everyone, letting your son grip the finger of the pr manager — who, despite all the shit you’d both put her through, would do it again in a heartbeat.
‘How is it going?’ He questioned as you both leaned over the small balcony.
‘Good,’ you say, Jeonghan turning to you with a smile that was reserved just for you, your gaze catching his milky chocolate eyes across the paddock as he winked at you. ‘Great, in fact.’
Minghao ruffled your hair, letting a sweet sigh leave his mouth. ‘It’s so lovely to have you here, he seems more…’ the man breathed out, pondering on his next words, ‘calm, when you’re both close by.’
For the first time in a long while, you felt truly relaxed, truly at home. It didn’t matter that it was the paddock, surrounded by commotion or disarray, because Jeonghan was here, stealing loving glances at you, your son was here, healthy and gabbling away and stealing the attention of one of F1’s most prestigious teams, your family, each and every person in this paddock was here, caring for you and your husband with such tenderness at times it felt unbelievable.
As Jeonghan pulled up to the start line today, he glanced up to the balcony, catching your figure, your smile noticeable through the hordes of people, your son bouncing on your hip, his ear protection almost flooding his head as you pointed at his father’s car.
Now he had two people to win for. There was always the team and the fans. But his wife and his son trumped everyone else a million times over. He forced himself to look away and towards the start line, his race engineer speaking over the headset.
the last thing you expected when you volunteered at your city’s local animal shelter is to meet the hottest cat person in the world. now if only he’d just adopt one of them so you’d stop ogling him every time he drops by.
★ FEATURING; wonwoo x reader
★ WORD COUNT; 25.4k words
★ TAGS; meet cute, strangers to lovers, pining, discourse abt being an idol as a career, mild angst, smut
★ NOTES; it's finally done!! and it turned out to be the longest oneshot i've written ever T T i reaaally didn't mean it to become this long but i got overly self-indulgent so here we are :3c also psa that this story features a handful of other characters from the series, so if you find them familiar that's totally on purpose HEH
this is part of the doting on you! series.
★ SMUT TAGS; unprotected sex, service top wonwoo, praise kink, voice kink, first time together, fingering, creampie, ofc they're grossly in love
P.S. i reserve the right to refuse to add you to my taglist if you don't have any age indicators in your profile :^)
There are a handful of things that a college student can do with their free time. Studying, hanging out with friends, and maybe even picking up a hobby of sorts. You, on the other hand, use up all the hours you’re not spending on your undergrad thesis or sleeping the day away at an animal shelter just a few minutes away from your apartment.
Your friends constantly wonder how you’re still able to maintain a remarkable GPA with a part-time job that’s starting to look full-time, but you just laugh their questions off for the most part—saying that other people have got it worse than you, but can still perform leagues better academically.
You also tell them that most of your motivation comes from all the unadopted animals from the shelter. You started as a volunteer just to kill time on weekends when you’re free, but even if you knew better than to get attached to all those adorable faces, you eventually found yourself on the employee roster anyways.
Now you’re rushing to finish your degree so you can get a neat sugar mommy job that’ll let you afford to adopt everyone that’s been stuck in the shelter for nearly a year or more.
Okay, maybe not everyone because you’re no fool with a savior complex. But just enough to give a few furry friends a new home, right?
“Don’t look now,” your coworker, Mina whispers conspiratorially while you’re in the middle of snacking in the break room, “but that cutie you’ve been crushing on just walked inside. He’s checking out the cats out in the playroom as usual.”
Right. Apart from your altruistic dream of adopting as many animals as your financial capabilities can allow, there’s another reason you’re always looking forward to your shifts at the shelter. A reason that you’re a bit too embarrassed to let your friends know about.
You nearly choke on a potato chip when Mina informs you of the news and she immediately breaks into a fit of laughter. Glaring at her, you compose yourself with a long gulp of water before saying, “I do not have a crush on him.”
“Sure,” she plays along. “If you consider making googly eyes at the guy every time he drops by as ‘not having a crush on him’, then I’ll concur.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t, sweetheart. Now get out there and sweet talk him into taking one of the kittens home! Pretty sure he wants one if he’s been showing up as much as he did for the last two months.”
While you would’ve argued that the so-called cutie you’ve been crushing on could just like seeing the cats play around in his free time, you don’t really have much energy to play mental gymnastics with Mina. You’ve had a long day of revisions and other nonsense materials you have to submit for your majors, so you’ll let this one slide.
Your workplace is as bleak as every other shelter you’ve seen a few times in your life. Gray walls, concrete floors, and steel cages stacked on top of each other. It looks more like a prison than anything, really, but it’s the staff and those kind-hearted souls who rehome animals that have long been abandoned that give the entire place some life.
While Mister Cutie That You’ve Been Quote-Unquote Crushing On doesn’t exactly fall into either of those categories, you like to think he still leaves the building just a touch more colorful once he walks out of the front door.
Speaking of color, he’s wearing a loose, dark green shirt that falls just below his elbows. Cutie—as you’ve deigned to call him not because you think he’s cute but because you’re yet to get his name—has one palm flattened across the viewing glass of the playroom. He’s wearing his usual black face mask today, but from the way his eyes glint behind his glasses, you’re just going to assume he’s having a good time just by watching the cats frolic inside.
“You’re here pretty late,” you state nonchalantly before standing a few feet away from him.
“Is that so strange?” he murmurs with a chuckle, surprisingly not startled with your sudden entrance before glancing your way. “I always show up here at this hour, don’t I?”
God. No matter how many times you hear his voice, you just can’t get over how deep it is. But before any of your thoughts could show on your face, you get talking.
“True. You’ve sparked a debate among the volunteers about your line of work, actually.” Not exactly. You’re not sure if any of the volunteers have even seen this guy, since they mostly work day shifts. “Anyway, are you just here to check ‘em out or am I finally going to hand you the adoption papers?”
His eyes crinkle a bit before he shifts his gaze towards the playroom again. Most of the older cats have already been put back in their respective cages. All that’s left inside are the kittens with way too much energy to spare. The director, A.K.A., your boss, believes that it’s best to tire them out first before settling them into individual enclosures for the night. Keeps the place nice and quiet for the evening shift fellows like yourself.
“Not yet, sadly,” Cutie says with a sigh before pointing at a small black kitten huddled up in a corner. “That one’s new, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve seen him around before.”
“Her,” you correct. “Her name’s Hani. She’s a stray that someone from the university I’m attending brought in last week. It was pretty ugly, actually. Poor thing got into an accident and was bleeding everywhere. Good thing our usual vet was paying a visit when they came here.”
“Oh? That’s a relief then. No wonder she’s got a little limp every time she walks around,” he observes with a saddened tone. “But I digress. You mentioned you were attending university?”
…Okay, why’d the topic of interest suddenly shift to you?
But since it’s a harmless enough question, you reply with, “Yeah. The one that’s just a few blocks away. It’s kinda why the person who found Hani brought her here instead of a vet clinic. The nearest one’s like half an hour away.”
“Good call, good call.” He nods with a look of understanding. “I hope someone comes and adopts her. She deserves all the love she can get. Well, everyone here does of course.”
You flash him a conniving smile, raising your brows a few times. “You could give that to her.”
Cutie shakes his head with another low-pitched laugh. “As much as I’d love to, my…living conditions won’t be suitable for her at all. Or any of the other animals for the matter.”
“Hm?” You stare at him curiously. “Your landlord doesn’t allow pets or something?”
“Mmm… Not exactly.”
The conversation pretty much ends there. Cutie excuses himself—saying that someone is waiting for him at home. You don’t know why your heart deflates a little at the very real possibility that he has a significant other. Then again, if you’re this whipped when you haven’t even seen his face, you could only imagine how easy it would be for him to settle down with someone who has.
Either way, it’s none of your business. And correction: you’re not whipped. Just…hyper aware of his presence every time he stops by.
Despite the fact that you’re dead-set on filing this strange fascination you have for the guy, however…
“Wait!”
Cutie turns around to face you with an inquisitive look. “Yes?”
You swallow thickly, deciding to just bite the bullet before your nerves get the best of you. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Cu—I mean, Glasses Guy in my head whenever you pay us a visit.”
He blinks for a few seconds, obviously nonplussed by your forwardness but you don’t think your pride can take it anymore if you had to refer to him as—
“You can call me Woo,” he says warmly and you can almost see the smile that stretches behind that black face mask.
Shit. Did your heart just stutter?
“Mister Woo—”
“Just Woo is fine.”
“Okay, Woo,” you start, kind of liking the way that something that’s obviously a nickname rolls off the tongue, “just let me know if you ever want to take Hani home. We’re open twenty four-seven, as you already know.”
He nods. “Sure thing. Is it okay if I can get your number for that?”
Now you have to fight the urge to scowl at him after he’s been so nice to you all night—and every other night he’s dropped by.
This guy isn’t flirting with you. He said it himself—someone’s waiting for him at home. Plus, he’s expressed consistent interest in adopting a kitten for himself a handful of times before. Maybe he just connected with Hani on a level that’s above the others. Enough to ask for your number since the possibility of him bringing one of these angels home is becoming more and more real.
Yeah, that’s definitely the reason!
So you give it to him—hastily scrawled behind an old flier gathering dust in one of the drawers on the front desk. It’s way too big to write just yours and the shelter’s contact details on, but the other calling cards are nowhere in sight. You’ll have to ask Mina if she’s seen them once—
“Thanks. I’ll keep in touch,” Woo tells you while folding the sheet of paper into a sleek black Louis Vuitton wallet.
Wait a minute.
Before you can even seriously ponder about what job he’s got to be able to afford that, Woo is already out of the door—heading into the evening streets without once looking back.
“Gosh, I swear that guy’s an idol in disguise or something.”
That’s the first thing that Mina tells you when you find her doing a few rounds among the sleeping dogs in the far back. You haven’t even spoken a single word about your most recent exchange.
“What makes you think that?”
“He just exudes idol vibes, y’know? Shows up here when the place is deserted. Always acts subtle and inconspicuous. Oh and not to mention how hot he looks even with a face mask on! He could be that one idol your little sister is crazy about.”
You roll your eyes at her odd ways of deduction. “Mina, I’ve seen enough of Haewon’s Mingyu merch to last a lifetime and Woo definitely does not look like him.”
“Oh?” Your coworker perks up with a mischievous smile. “You finally got his name, huh?”
God. This is going to be a long shift.
The next time you see Woo is, surprisingly, not at an ungodly hour in the shelter.
Well, it’s still at an ungodly hour, but the change in venue is a little baffling. You were up all night studying (read: cramming) for a major exam that you’ll take at eight in the morning the next day. When you were finally at your wit’s end, you decidedly hauled yourself away from your laptop and fluttered off to the only twenty four-hour coffee shop in the neighborhood.
You don’t usually frequent this place because you’ve tasted their shitty americanos firsthand, but you’re not in the mood to grind some beans yourself and you’re much too stubborn to drink anything instant—convinced the powdered concoction would only make you sleepier.
So here you are, in line for an espresso because you’ve decided to give them the benefit of the doubt that maybe not everything on the menu tastes less than it’s worth. With how many other students are pulling all-nighters here, that should be testament enough that they tolerate the place’s drinks enough to linger.
But, to your horror, when you’re right in front of the graveyard shift barista, he informs you that wireless payments have been temporarily disabled and that they’re only accepting cash up front. You make a show of patting down the pockets of your hoodie to check for your wallet even if you know damn well that you left it back at your apartment on purpose. Just when you’re about to resign yourself to buying shitty instant coffee at a Seven Eleven instead, the person behind you in line clears his throat.
“Uh, I can pay for her drink.”
You don’t think you’ve ever whipped your head around to check for a person’s identity faster than you did at that moment. It’s not that you’re particularly obsessed with the low timber of his voice or anything, but you’d recognize the way the shelter’s late night regular speaks in a goddamn heartbeat.
“Woo?” you scowl as he maneuvers himself to the front of the line, bringing out that same Louis Vuitton wallet you were ogling the last time you saw him.
He pulls out a few banknotes and places them on top of the counter with what you think is a smile behind his mask. “Couple that with four iced americanos please.”
You purposely hold your tongue about your personal vendetta against that particular drink as the barista nods, punching in Woo’s order and asking for a name. Just when you thought he’d say the same one he’d given when you’d asked, however—
“Soonyoung. Oh, and I’ll get those drinks to go, please.”
Your gaze is on him the entire time as the two of you shuffle to the end of the counter to wait for your drinks. Woo is doing a pretty okay job at playing it cool despite the fact that he lied about the names on his orders. Or maybe he lied when he told you his name was Woo.
Either way, does it matter? It’s not strange for people to make up fake names for baristas to write on their coffees—Mina does it all the time. But something about the idea that the man standing in front of you doesn’t look like a Soonyoung bothers you more than it should. It makes you wonder what his actual name is and if it’s weird to ask when he already gave you one to address him with—
“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he suddenly says and you nearly have a heart attack.
“Uh,” you start somewhat dumbly, before finally getting a hold of your brain. “I live around the area. Thought I could use a drink if I didn’t want to sleep through my lecture notes.”
He lets out a low chuckle and at that moment, you let yourself observe him a little more closely. His hair is hidden behind a black beanie which he expertly paired with an equally black parka that’s zipped up all the way. He’s wearing a different pair of glasses today—one with thick, black frames—and you’re starting to get an idea of what his favorite color might be.
“Is that why I haven’t seen you at the shelter these days?” he wonders. “Every time I dropped by last week, you weren’t on shift.”
Oh. Shit, he’s been visiting still? And he was looking for you?
“Yup, I needed to take a few days off because if I wanna graduate, I’ve got to keep myself from failing any of my majors,” you explain as briefly as you can—not wanting to go into detail about GPA requirements and your thesis. “How about you? Why’re you out and about at this hour, Soonyoung?”
It’s kind of adorable, how the tips of his ears flush pink at your words. “Soonyoung’s one of my friends. I actually went out tonight because I lost a bet and had to buy four of us coffee.”
You’re not sure how and why you feel a wave of relief wash over you, so instead, you brush the feeling aside before leaning against the counter. “Lost a bet about what, pray tell?”
Woo is quiet for a while, as if contemplating if he should unveil his losses to someone who’s virtually still a stranger before letting out a defeated sigh.
“Mario Kart.”
The snort you let out draws a few curious stares from other customers sitting near the counter and you force out an apology that’s underscored with a hiccup of laughter. Woo doesn’t seem at all offended by your reaction though. In fact, he seems even amused by it.
Not ten seconds later, the barista calls out his—rather, Soonyoung’s name and he hands you your drink while he carries a takeout package in his other hand. You try not to think too much about the way his fingers brush against yours when he gives it to you, thanking him despite the obvious redness settling across your cheeks.
“I actually meant to text you last week but I didn’t know if you were comfortable with it,” Woo admits as he opens the door to the coffee shop for you—thanking him as you step out of the air conditioned space and into the humid evening air. “I wanted to ask about the adoption requirements at the shelter.”
Part of you is a little skeptical about his explanation because… If he’s been dropping by your workplace as often as he claimed last week, then he could’ve just asked the other staff about the details. Why wait until he meets you again to bring it up?
But of course, you’re way too polite to ask that to his face.
“I don’t mind you texting me about that or…anything, really,” you say, turning up the flap on the lid of your espresso before taking a small sip. Bearable. “It’s not like I’m too busy to respond to you. Well, I kinda am, but I can spare a few minutes.”
Woo nods with a soft laugh. “Okay. I’ll just get into detail via text later. I gotta bring these coffees back or they’ll chew me out for the rest of the night for being late. Oh, but do you need someone to walk home with you?”
The idea of having your not-work crush escorting you home flusters you more than it should and when you take another sip of your drink, it nearly goes down the wrong hole. Woo pats your back in comforting fashion when you sputter from your coffee, tears stinging your eyes as you attempt to breathe like a normal person. Fuck, you must look so fucking weird right now.
“I-I, um, sorry about that.” You cough into your fist, laughing uneasily as you grip your drink a little too tightly. “No, it’s fine. I only live a few blocks away.”
Now that you mention it, does that mean Woo is the same? If he’s out here in this specific neighborhood at this specific hour, that would only mean he lives in the area, or is at least staying for the meantime, right? But before you could get swept up by your own curiosity, you immediately sweep any and all ideas under the rug.
“Oh, that’s—that’s good to know.”
He sounds disappointed. Why does he sound disappointed?
“So I guess this is goodbye? ” you start.
Woo nods briskly. “Yup. I’ll keep in touch.”
You chuckle. “That’s what you said last time.”
Whoa. Were you propositioning him or something? Sometimes, it baffles you how one minute, you’re choking on a cup of coffee—several shades embarrassed—and the next, you’re practically daring him to text you like he said he would.
“And I’ll make good on that as soon as time permits.” Woo shakes his head with a laugh. “It was nice seeing you again, though. Good luck with your exams.”
You can’t help the way your cheeks heat up yet again at the thought of him having remembered that you mentioned your exams. “Thanks. I think I need all the luck I can get.”
When Woo turns to look at you through those thick-rimmed glasses, you almost wish you could see the smile that’s undoubtedly spreading behind that pesky mask of his.
“I’ll be happy to give it to you every time then.”
Today was probably the shittiest day of the week.
Not only did you spectacularly flunk the exam you took this morning whilst running on less than two hours of sleep, but your thesis adviser emailed you about several concerns regarding the latest version of your manuscript. Needless to say, you spent a good chunk of your day holed up in the university library, consulting new reference materials to back up your data since the ones you used were much too outdated for your adviser’s liking.
It should’ve been something you’d consider a walk in the park, given the many revisions that have preceded this one, but it just so happens that you’ve got three more exams to worry about for the remainder of the week. Meaning, you had to squeeze in a few minutes of studying in between editing your newest draft and telling yourself that maybe it wouldn’t be too bad if you got held back for one semester before graduating.
You’ve been so caught up with your piling academic responsibilities that you’ve barely looked at your phone. You only deigned to dig it out of the deepest pit of your backpack when you got a little hungry and wondered if they still let food delivery guys past the school gates. To your surprise, you’re greeted with a few text messages that you immediately feel horrible for not replying to the moment they were delivered.
Unknown Number [10:45]: So about those adoption requirements…
Unknown Number [11:33]: Oh. Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. It’s Woo.
Ignoring the fact that you’re obviously famished, you hastily type in a response after marking down Woo’s number with a black cat emoji right next to his name. It takes a moment because you’re so shaky, you end up suffering from a few typos here and there.
Me [13:10]: hey! sorry i was a bit busy and i just saw these…
Me [13:10]: what do you wanna know? i’m on a self-imposed lunch break rn
Woo 🐈⬛ [13:15]: No worries, I figured you got a long day ahead. Hope lunch is good at least.
Me [13:16]: actually, i haven’t ordered anything yet ‘cause time got away from me but Anyways
Me [13:16]: you wanted details abt the adoption process?
Woo 🐈⬛ [13:18]: What? You haven't eaten yet?
Me [13:18]: yeah, but it’s no big deal. i could just have some food delivered.
Woo 🐈⬛ [13:19]: Well, I’m out right now. I could just buy some food for you and drop it off.
Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets when you read each word of Woo’s text message. Is he being serious right now? The guy just paid for your coffee last night—a coffee that you forgot to pay back because of how surprising the circumstances were. Now he’s offering to buy you lunch?
Me [13:20]: you really don’t have to, i swear!! i’ve still got a few discount vouchers in baenim
Woo 🐈⬛ [13:22]: I insist. I’ve got my bike with me anyway.
Me [13:22]: bike? like, a bicycle?
Woo 🐈⬛ [13:23]: Mmm. Close. Anyway, what food do you want?
Now what the hell does that mean?
Part of you feels like you should be freaked out with how…kind he’s being to you. The world is full of weirdos who play the nice guy just to do something despicable to you in the end. Yet another part of you—a less reasonable one, admittedly—insists that Woo is nothing like that, despite the fact that you barely know the guy.
Then again, you’re tired, stressed out, and barely slept a wink last night. If the hot guy you’ve been quote-unquote crushing on is offering to buy you food, where’s the harm in accepting?
Me [13:25]: fine. i could use some yangnyeom chicken and tteokbokki.
Woo 🐈⬛ [13:26]: Nice. I know a good place.
Woo 🐈⬛ [13:27]: I’ll head out in a few, so just text me the address.
Right after sending your university’s pin location to Woo, you start to consider the chance of him being some sort of serial stalker. Could he be biding his time, trying to let your guard down and easing personal information out of you so he could do something nefarious when he gets you alone? Fuck. Maybe it’s a good idea you didn’t let him walk you home yesterday…
But despite the very real possibility of Woo being someone with bad intentions regardless of how nice he is, you see no problem in meeting him at the school gates when he arrives with your food. In fact, you don’t even feel apprehensive of him in spite of all the ideas you conjured in your head over the past hour.
Me [14:15]: where are you?
Woo 🐈⬛ [14:16]: Parked by the curb in front of a bookstore. You can’t miss me.
Me [14:16]: i don’t even know what you Look like today, genius
Woo 🐈⬛ [14:17]: I told you, I’ve got my bike with me. I don’t see anyone else looking the same way within a twenty meter radius.
You have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. For someone you deemed as ‘nice’, he can get pretty mouthy if he wants to.
You head to the general direction of the bookstore that Woo was talking about as you try to ignore your growling stomach. Given that the lunch rush is more or less over, the usual crowd of pedestrians has considerably thinned out and it makes it easier for you to scan the vicinity for any bike-wielding impromptu delivery guys.
However, the only person that does stand out to you is some dude wearing a black leather jacket, chilling next to an expensive looking motorcycle as he taps away on his phone with a matching pair of leather gloves and everything. His face is obscured by a black helmet and you would’ve let your gaze go past him had it not been for a sudden realization that hits you right there.
Bike? Like, a bicycle?
Mmm. Close.
“Woo!”
Of course the leather jacket-clad, expensive motorcycle-wielding man looks up at the sound of his name being called from across the street. The visor of his helmet is drawn all the way up and you could see that he isn’t wearing his glasses for good reason. He seems to perk up at the sight of you before grabbing something from the trunk of his motorcycle and jogging to meet you where you stood.
You’ve seen him sporting a spectrum of comfortable outfits during his late night visits, but this is the first time you’ve witnessed Woo looking as dapper as he is now.
“Late lunch delivery?”
You don’t even try to hide the way you roll your eyes as you accept the paper bag he hands to you. “Thanks. How much do I owe you now? You already got me coffee and now lunch.”
He shakes his head and you find it a little ridiculous, considering he’s still wearing that huge helmet of his. “It’s on me. It’s the least I could do to repay you for being so accommodating.”
“Woo, I haven’t done shit for you ‘cause you’re yet to properly talk to me about the adoption process. What on earth are you talking about?”
“But you will do shit for me when we do talk about it. I’m just repaying the favor in advance,” he rebuts cheekily before pulling back the sleeve of his jacket to check for the time. “Though as much as I want to do that now, I need to catch a flight in a few hours.”
That makes your expression morph into disbelief. “You need to catch a what?”
“A flight. Gotta head to Japan for a few days,” Woo tells you nonchalantly, as if heading to Japan for a few days is something people do on a regular basis. “Can you make sure no one else takes Hani home before I can settle everything on my end?”
You tell yourself that you’ve got time to mull over what this guy does for a living some other time. Clearing your throat, you manage an awkward smile. “Um, yeah, sure thing. You’re really attached to her, aren’t you?”
“You can say that again,” he laughs softly. “She kinda reminds me of myself from a long time ago… But anyway, I’ve gotta go. Tell me what you think about the chicken when you’re done with it?”
You nod. “I’ll be as brutally honest with my review as possible.”
“Just the way I like it,” Woo replies, eyes crinkling with amusement.
When you head back to the library, the person you were sharing a table with looked after your stuff for you while you were gone. You thank her profusely before settling back into your seat, grabbing the takeout packages from the paper bag that Woo personally delivered to you.
Before you can start wolfing down the delectable-smelling chicken he brought, however, you notice a cute sticky note plastered on the lid—a doodle of a cat with glasses and a speech bubble that says you can do it~ scribbled on the corner.
Don’t overwork yourself. It’s been ages since my last exam, but I know how hard it can be. Make sure to eat properly so you can absorb all the info you need.
When your head bangs against one of the many wooden tables in the library, the person seated at the far end stares at you with a concerned look. You can’t muster the energy to assure her that everything’s alright, though because…
That quote-unquote crush of yours?
It’s starting to become a little too real.
You’re in the middle of throwing out old files from the back room archive when Mina peeks her head into the doorway and says, “You’ve got a visitor again.”
One glance at the old wall clock hung above the steel cabinets tells you that it’s midnight, but you know for one that this mystery visitor isn’t Woo this time around.
You’ve been keeping in touch with him through Kakao, since you can’t exactly afford to send international text messages to Japan and your new friend(?) has been keeping you posted about his shenanigans for the past week. He hasn’t replied to your last message from over three hours ago and you’re not so delusional to think he got on a plane back to Korea and is suddenly here to surprise you.
When you see who it is, though, your heart warms just a little.
“Why haven’t you been texting me back?” Haewon, your sister who’s two years younger, gets up from the seats lined up across the walls of the lobby. “I missed you!”
You shake your head before pulling her into a hug. “I missed you, she says. But you’re really just looking for someone to show you around the city again, aren’t you?”
“Hey, missing you and needing a chaperone aren’t mutually exclusive,” she huffs and you notice that she’s in full fangirl gear again—a lightstick hanging off a strap slung across her shoulder, a windbreaker with her favorite boyband’s logo sewn on the front pocket, and of course, a photocard of Mingyu dangling from her little handbag.
Despite the fact that she’s also in college, Haewon chose to stay in your hometown in Jeju to pursue her studies there instead. The first few months since you left were the hardest—so unused to not having your little sister go on and on and on about how much she loves SEVENTEEN. But you’ve also come to appreciate the peace and quiet that living alone in Seoul affords you.
Besides, with how much money she’s raised for being one of the more well-known event organizers in her fandom, Haewon can pretty much come visit you in Seoul whenever she feels like it.
“I’m guessing your thirteen boyfriends have a thing going on?” you ask before glancing over at the playroom to make sure there aren’t any kittens left inside.
Haewon nods enthusiastically. “Yup, they’re having a mini fanmeet outside their company building in a few days—”
“In a few days?” you parrot before gesturing for her to follow you in the break room so you can get changed. “What’re you doing out here all dressed up then?”
Your little sister rolls her eyes. “Unnie, I’m not some weirdo who wears their merch on a regular night for no reason. I came from this little cupsleeve event for Wonwoo’s birthday. Things ran a little late because we had to help clean up at the café.”
While you’re not well-versed in fandom jargon, you have learned a few terms from Haewon here and there. Plus, she already took you to a cupsleeve event for another member’s birthday once. You’re not really sure who it was because the only one you do consistently remember is Mingyu—your sister’s ultimate bias, apparently.
“What made you stop by then?” you wonder as you exchanged your work uniform for a loose shirt. “You didn’t tell me you were coming in advance. I could’ve fetched you from the airport.”
“I did tell you in advance.” She pouts. “But you said you were busy working on your manuscript when I did, so it must’ve slipped your mind.”
Oh. Okay, now you feel bad. “Sorry. I’ll make it up to you this weekend with dinner?”
Haewon whines. “Unnie, their fanmeet is on Saturday and I leave on Sunday.”
“So? How long is that going to be anyway?”
“Uh, all day?”
You sigh. “Fine. How about you crash in my place tonight and we can rewatch Hometown Cha Cha Cha while stuffing our faces with ramen?”
“Deal.”
After timing out for the evening, you say goodbye to Mina, who’s just waiting up for your other coworkers who’ll cover the next shift. Haewon talks your ear off about what happened in the event she attended as you both walked back to your apartment and, while only some of the things she’s saying makes sense to you, it’s nice to be in your little sister’s company again.
“Oh, by the way, here.”
You stare at her curiously as she rummages through her bag, handing you a photocard enclosed in a dainty-looking toploader.
“What’s this for?” you ask.
“You told me back then that Wonwoo was your type,” Haewon explains with a grin. “So I did my best in one of the parlor games and won that extremely in-demand photocard just for you.”
You scan the piece of idol merchandise in your hands for a few minutes more—staring at Wonwoo’s face as if waiting for him to speak. You never really understood the appeal of collecting photocards. As long as it makes Haewon happy, you won’t bat an eyelash.
But now she’s giving you one to keep for yourself and the more you stare at the idol printed on the sturdy paper, the more you think that you’ve seen him somewhere.
Then again, Haewon has been talking about these boys since they debuted years ago. The familiarity must’ve stemmed from those numerous fancams and music show performances that she forced you to sit down and watch with her.
“You better take care of him, okay?” Haewon pouts. “If I see him suddenly being sold for a high price, I’m never going to let you live it down.”
“I barely know how the market for this works, so you don’t have to worry about that,” you chuckle before carefully sliding the toploader inside your own bag. “So what ramen are we eating? Shin Ramyun or something else?”
Me [21:17]: btw, when are you coming back again?
Me [21:20]: someone was asking about hani earlier and i feel like you’ve gotta come back here to assert your dominance.
Woo 🐈⬛ [02:35]: Shit, sorry. I forgot about the time.
Woo 🐈⬛ [02:35]: My friends and I had a birthday celebration at the izakaya near our hotel. It’s been a while since we got to unwind like this.
Woo 🐈⬛ [02:36]: Anyway, who’s the funny guy who thought he could have my cat?
Me [02:38]: wow. YOUR cat? 🤨🤨🤨
Woo 🐈⬛ [02:40]: You’re still awake?
Me [02:40]: yeah, my little sister is in seoul and we’re binging our favorite drama
Me [02:41]: how about you? why are You still awake?
Woo 🐈⬛ [02:45]: Taking care of drunk friends. Remember Soonyoung?
Me [02:45]: what about him?
Woo 🐈⬛ [02:47]: Pleading for forgiveness in the toilet while he retches his guts out.
Me [02:47]: huh. some birthday party. who’s the celebrant anyway?
Woo 🐈⬛ [02:47]: Me.
“Whoa. You okay?” Haewon asks when you suddenly lurch forward on the couch, choking on the ramen you were in the middle of slurping.
You thank your sister when she offers you a glass of water and you gulp it down to soothe the burning sensation in your throat. “It’s fine. I just received a surprising text is all.”
“From a boyfriend?” she teases.
You scowl. “No. From a friend. Just a friend.”
“Boo. But you’ll tell me once you land yourself your very own Hong Dusik, right?”
The look on your face only worsens at the reference she’s made to the drama that’s still playing on screen. “I’d actually rather die than have someone like Dusik as a boyfriend. If the whole enemies to lovers thing works with Hyejin, it really won't with me.”
“True, you’ve always been a mellow lover,” Haewon agrees and you roll your eyes. “That’s why Wonwoo would be perfect for you~”
“I think me landing a Hong Dusik-esque boyfriend is more likely than me getting together with a world famous idol but okay.”
You’re momentarily distracted from your conversation when your phone vibrates in your lap again, and— Fuck.
You forgot to reply to Woo.
Woo 🐈⬛ [02:55]: Fell asleep on me already?
Me [02:56]: no, no. sorry. my sister was just talking to me.
Me [02:56]: anyway, it’s your BIRTHDAY?
Woo 🐈⬛ [02:57]: Hahaha, yes. It’s been a while since I could sit down and actually celebrate it with my friends.
Me [02:58]: is that why you went all the way to japan? for a little birthday getaway?
Woo 🐈⬛ [02:58]: Hm… something like that
Me [03:00]: i’ll give you hani’s adoption papers as a gift
Me [03:01]: that or you let ME treat YOU to something nice for a change
Woo 🐈⬛ [03:05]: Well, I’ll be back in Korea this Saturday, but won’t be free until late at night.
Me [03:05]: back to regular programming, huh?
Me [03:06]: we can celebrate later if you’re busy, you know.
Woo 🐈⬛ [03:07]: It’s okay. I wanted to spend time with you anyways.
“You sure that’s just a friend you’re talking to?” Haewon asks with an unimpressed stare as you choke on your instant noodles for the second time. “The only way I’d react like that to a text is if my friend told me one of our professors is fucking his TA despite being married. If that’s the case, you gotta let me in on the juicy details.”
You make a face at her. “Isn’t that way too specific?”
“Isn’t that way too specific?” Haewon mocks. “Whatever you’ve got going on with this friend of yours, promise I’ll be the first to know once you make it official?”
“Haewon!”
For the sake of your own sanity, you only reply to Woo’s message once you’re tucked in bed and Haewon is comfortably dozing on the couch in the living room. She’s a heavy sleeper that passes out quickly after a long day, so you don’t feel particularly worried about your little sister barging into your room when you type out a response.
Me [03:43]: gotcha. just meet me at the shelter after your thing.
Me [03:45]: happy birthday, woo.
You don’t wait for him to type out a reply anymore—eyes drooping into slumber as you let the screen of your phone fade into sleep mode.
Unbeknownst to you, a man who just finished putting his intoxicated friends to bed an ocean away stares at your chat history with a fond smile, heart racing just a few beats faster at the prospect of what awaits him at home.
You’re just about done cleaning up the big dog kennels when Woo drops by on a bright Saturday morning.
The sound of his deep ‘hello’ nearly made you drop all the cleaning utensils you were about to put away. When you turn around to confirm that the shelter’s nighttime regular has indeed switched things up and decided to visit during daylight hours, you’re too busy scowling at him to mind the fact that you’re all gross and sweaty from all the hard labor.
Sure, you texted him about taking up a day shift today, but you definitely didn’t expect him to visit when he just got back to Korea a few hours ago.
Surprisingly, Woo isn’t donned in all black this time around. He’s wearing a gray pullover with some muddled text you can’t quite read with the hood pulled all the way up, concealing the white cap resting on top of his head. Of course, his signature face mask is still in between you and his no doubt handsome countenance, but you’ll take what you can get.
“What’re you doing here?” you ask, a bit breathless before you notice that takeout bag he’s setting down on one of the empty tables. “I thought you’re not gonna be free until tonight.”
“Thought you could use another lunch fix,” he says nonchalantly. “Well that and I wanted to personally give you some cool trinkets from Japan.”
The sentiment makes your heart stir a little, but you end up voicing out a dry laugh before stuffing the shelter’s cleaning paraphernalia inside the broom closet. “Keep doing all these nice things and I’ll start thinking you’re in love with me.”
Woo laughs but does absolutely nothing to deny the allegations.
“Here.” Your brows arch a little when he fishes something from the pocket of his hoodie, handing it to you. “I wasn’t sure which one you’d like so I just got all of them.”
You’re a bit reluctant to receive his gift in your current state—dirty hands, dirty clothes, dirty everything—but Woo doesn’t seem to mind when he drops a small plastic package full of…
“Kitties!” You coo out loud at the assortment of colorful enamel pins inside before gawking at him. “Seriously, Woo, you’re way too nice to me. I’m starting to feel indebted.”
He shakes his head with an adorable laugh. “It’s nothing. I swear. They just reminded me of you when my friends and I passed this one booth at a festival.”
Shit. They reminded him of you?
“So are you finally going to sit down and talk to me about adopting Hani or are you gonna keep skirting around again, mister?” You place a hand on your hip, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction as you tuck his gift safely in the back pocket of your jeans.
“Surprise, I actually came here to do just that. I still have an hour free before I have to go to work,” Woo admits and him mentioning work taps in on your innate curiosity about what he does for a living. “But your coworker said something about rounding up the dogs and putting them back in the kennel?”
Oh. Shit.
As if on cue, Mina—along with a few on shift volunteers—emerge down the hall, all of their hands gripping several leashes as an army of dogs fills the hallway with excited and agitated barking alike.
“Are we good to go?” Mina yells over the noise.
Trying not to look too disappointed that your time with Woo has been cut short, you give Mina a thumbs up before striding off to meet them halfway. You take it upon yourself to take a few of the dogs off one of the volunteers’ hands and he looks at you with withering relief when you do.
“Yep. Everything’s as fresh as a daisy now,” you inform them. “Hope these guys didn’t make too big of a mess up in the front though. That would mean Kino’s turn for cleaning duty came a little early.”
“Hey!” The volunteer in question complains. “I’ve got a date later, noona. Don’t go saying weird stuff like that.”
You’re just about to tease him a little more but you suddenly feel the force of a couple of former strays tugging you forward disappear. That’s when you notice that Woo made his way to your side, guiding the dogs silently as he helps lead the first of them to the kennel.
“Oh, you don’t have to,” you insist but your friend(?) merely shakes his head.
“It’s no big deal,” Woo reassures.
It doesn’t help that this particular hallway is a little cramped. You’re practically standing arm to arm as you all make it to the end. You can practically smell the expensive cologne wafting from his clothes amidst the scent of dog fur that’s starting to permeate the air. When Woo lets out another soft laugh when one of the dogs he has on a leash licks his hand, you know it’s over for you.
It takes about half an hour to settle all fifteen big dogs into their respective cages and by the time it’s over, you’re convinced that you need a shower now more than ever. As Mina and the rest of the volunteers head back to the reception room, you decide to take a break and help yourself to the takeout that Woo personally delivered yet again.
“Thanks for your help. Cleaning day is really one of the toughest days of the month. Especially when we have to clean up the big dog kennels,” you sigh before plopping into an empty seat in the break room.
“Don’t mention it,” he says and you find yourself imagining a smile behind his mask yet again. “I actually have a dog at home, too, so I would now. But she’s definitely more tame than these guys.”
That makes you pause. “Is that why you’re beating around the bush so much about adopting Hani? You think she won’t get along with your dog?”
He hums a little before stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “That’s one of the reasons, yes.”
“Well, you won’t know unless you try,” you huff as you unseal the takeout package—the delectable scent of yangnyeom chicken pervading your senses. “Anyway, you’re going to sign the papers this time, right? Right?”
You have a feeling that you’ve finally got him cornered, but before Woo can even formulate a response, a ringtone that definitely isn’t yours starts going off inside the break room.
Your friend(????) answers it with a wistful sigh.
It’s so quiet that you can vaguely make out the voice at the other end of the line saying, “Hyung. Everyone’s looking for you. Where are you?”
You try not to stare at Woo as he takes the call out of pure decency—distracting yourself with your food. But you can’t help but listen in when their conversation is the only thing you can hear at the moment.
“Yeah, I’ll be there soon. Tell everyone I’m sorry for the hold up, Mingyu.”
The moment that name leaves Woo’s mouth, you freeze mid-chew. Did he say Mingyu? Like…the idol that Haewon is downright obsessed with? No… It was probably just someone with the same name. It is pretty common, after all.
When he ends the call, you flash him a tight-lipped smile that manages to conceal your momentary surprise. “Rain check?”
“Rain check,” Woo sighs in agreement.
You nod. “It’s okay. The more you keep delaying Hani’s adoption, the more presents I get from you.”
“And you’re absolutely right about that,” he humors you before reaching out to ruffle your hair. You haven’t even recovered from that little gesture he just did when he asks, “Hope our plans for later are still up though?”
Woo must’ve caught the look on your face with the way he retracts the hand that was just on top of your head to snicker into his palm. “Don’t tell me you forgot. We were supposed to celebrate my birthday, remember?”
Curse you and your habit of making plans at ass o’clock in the morning. You always forget them!
“Uh, it kinda slipped my mind?” you admit sheepishly as you pick at your food. “I ended up going for a day shift ‘cause I have to see my sister off at the airport tomorrow.”
He nods in earnest and it kind of makes you feel bad about your short term memory. “It’s alright. I’ll just drop by some other time to get the paperwork over with. I’ve disturbed you enough as it is.”
“No, it’s fine!”
Your sudden outburst makes Woo look up at you with a confused stare. “Hm?”
“I-I can still meet up with you later,” you stammer and you have to force yourself not to bury your face in your hands out of sheer embarrassment. Pull yourself together, damn. “If you’re not too tired from your plans for the day, of course.”
He mentioned something about having to go to work, and while you can’t imagine what sort of work has to be urgently done on a Saturday, you’ll still respect his time.
Woo blinks for a few seconds, as if still digesting what you just said before his eyes disappear behind his glasses with a soft chuckle. Your brows cinch together, not getting what’s so funny.
“Noted. I’ll come pick you up here later, still? If you’re not comfortable with sharing your address with me yet.”
He’s so thoughtful, you might actually give him all your personal details at this point. But at the end of the day you’re actually a person with a head full of common sense, so you answer him with, “Sure thing. Thanks for going out of your way to come hang out despite how busy you are.”
“No, thank you for always putting up with me,” Woo insists with a shake of his head. “I swear I’m not hassling you with this whole adoption thing on purpose. There’s just…a lot of things to consider on my end. I hope you understand.”
You wave away his concerns with a laugh. “Just keep getting me more of this chicken and we’ll call it quits.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
When Woo sees himself out of the break room, you fumble for the plastic package in the back of your jeans—taking one of the adorable black cat enamels before pinning it in the front pocket of your uniform. You can’t help the smile that creeps up your face when you see your reflection on the small mirror sitting on the table.
How could you be this down bad for someone whose entire face you’ve never even seen before?
Haewon 🪷 [17:20]: Are you suuure you don’t wanna come to the fan meet?
Haewon 🪷 [17:21]: I’ve still got a few extra passes :3c you’d get to see wonwoo in the flesh!
Me [17:30]: why do you want to set me up with wonwoo so badly
Haewon 🪷 [17:31]: Bc we’re sisters? And it’d be cool if we stanned MinWon together?
Me [17:32]: …not even gonna ask you to elaborate on that
Haewon 🪷 [18:00]: Unnie ㅠㅠ
Me [18:00]: why? what’s wrong, hae?
Haewon 🪷[ 18:05]: Mingyu looks sooooo much better than I remember
Haewon 🪷[18:06]: The girlfriend allegations must be true
Haewon 🪷 [18:06]: Only a man in love can smile like that!
Me [18:07]: or: a man who relies on fanservice to get paid?
Haewon 🪷[ 18:08]: RUDE!!!!
Haewon 🪷 [18:08]: Here’s a pic of Wonwoo to shut you up
Haewon 🪷 [18:09]: [Sent an attachment]
Me [18:10]: idk if i should find the fact that you think some kpop guy affects me in any capacity amusing or concerning
Haewon 🪷 [18:11]: !!!! Take that back wtf?? Wonwoo isn’t just ‘some kpop guy’?????
Me [18:10]: sure he isn’t.
Haewon 🪷 [19:45]: Good news!!
Me [19:45]: you’re finally going to get off my back about the whole wonwoo thing?
Haewon 🪷 [19:46]: No ^_^ My Monday final got canceled so I can stay in Seoul for a day more!
Haewon 🪷 [19:46]: Aka you don’t have to wake up early to drag your ass to the airport w me
Me [19:47]: oh. that’s cool. what’re your plans for tomorrow then?
Haewon 🪷 [19:48]: Gonna attend the pre-recording for a music show :3
Me [19:50]: …Haewon i swear to god if you ask me to do what you’re about to ask me to do
Haewon 🪷 [19:50]: Come with me pretty pleaaaase?
Haewon 🪷 [19:51]: I’m using my adorable dongsaeng powers to get you to agree
Me [19:55]: there’s no talking my way out of this, is there?
Haewon 🪷 [19:55]: Nope <3
Me [19:56]: fine. just text me the details. i need to go out soon.
Haewon 🪷 [19:56]: HEHE have fun !!
You weren’t lying when you texted Haewon that you had to go out soon. You agreed that you’d meet up with Woo for his post-birthday celebration at 9 P.M. Hell, you even called a local bakery to have a personalized cake made for pick-up before you head over to the rendezvous point. Everything was already set right from the start.
But then you ended up falling asleep while scrolling through Twitter and now the clock reads 10:45 P.M., and you’re rushing to pull on a ratty sweater instead of the cute outfit you planned for the night as you rush out of your apartment.
Me [10:47]: FUCK IM SORRY
Me [10:47]: i was SUPPOSED to take a five minute nap but i didn’t realize how tired i was
Me [10:48]: are you still up to hang out? i totally get it if not though.
You immediately stuff your phone in the pocket of your jeans—not even bothering to glance at Woo’s reply when it vibrates with a text notification. Your conscience is much too guild-ridden to read any sort of reassurance he’d undoubtedly give to you despite how long you’ve made him wait.
Two hours, jeez. You’d be furious if someone was that late on you.
When you arrive at the shelter after doing a couple of quick detours, you’re panting like you just won first place in a marathon. Needless to say, it’s a pitiful sight to behold when Woo is leaning across his motorcycle—looking much too attractive in that stupid leather jacket of his.
“Is this what the kids call fashionably late these days?” he chuckles.
If you weren’t so apologetic, you would’ve rolled your eyes so instead, you give him a crumpled paper bag with a smile that borders on overcompensating.
“Happy birthday?”
Woo looks like he was just about to say something until a quiet mewl interrupts him midway. You gaze at him with a puzzled look until he stifles a soft laugh, pulling the lapel of his jacket open to reveal—
“Hani?” You scowl.
The black kitten is tucked away snugly in the inner pocket of Woo’s jacket—nearly blending in with the leather. It’s almost as if two pairs of big yellow eyes are staring at you from a void.
“Finally got the papers over with when you fell asleep on me,” Woo chuckles before scratching behind her ears. “So I guess it wasn’t so bad that you made me wait for two hours.”
“Hey, I said I was sorry!”
“Yes, and I heard you,” he insists before peering inside the paper bag you gave him. “What’s this?”
“No peeking until we get to your good old thinking spot,” you scold, smacking his hand away.
A hand that you just noticed is also clad in a leather glove.
He shakes his head playfully before putting his arms up in surrender. “For someone who’s two hours late, you’re pretty demanding.”
“Woo!”
During his last few days in Japan, Woo told you about his favorite thinking spot that’s specifically located beneath Hannam Bridge. There’s an old watchtower that was built before the bridge even existed. I go there when I want to clear my head.
When he said he wanted to bring you there for his belated birthday bash, the ghastly possibility of him turning out to be a serial killer luring you to your doom crossed your mind for half a second before you ended up agreeing anyway.
Now here you are, drowning in the musk of his cologne as you press your cheek against the fabric of his jacket. He’s definitely going past the speed limit with how sharply the wind sings in your ears, but instead of complaining about it, you tighten your arms around his torso—letting the warmth of his body seep into yours.
“It’s not so scary if you don’t think about it too much,” you hear him shout from the front. “Look to your right! This is why I’ve always liked doing late night rides!”
Easy for him to say. He’s brave enough to harbor a kitten inside his jacket and a person who’s never ridden a motorcycle before at a hundred kilometers per hour! But despite how terrified you are of falling off his bike, you do as he says anyways.
When you tilt your gaze in the direction of the Han River, you’re immediately greeted by the dazzling lights that glimmer across the water. You haven’t been to the districts on the other side of the river, but you think you’re content with getting to see them from afar.
With the roar of an engine ringing in your ears. With the summer evening breeze whipping past your face.
With your arms around someone who’s slowly but surely leaving his mark in your life.
“Are you sure this is legal?”
Your companion glances behind him as he makes his way to the aforementioned watch tower—a knapsack full of god-knows-what slung around his shoulder while he carries the paper bag with your “gift” in his free hand. “I’ve never seen a single ‘No Trespassing' sign since I’ve started going here ages ago, so probably.”
“Probably?” you parrot and Hani, who you’ve deigned to carry in your arms after that grueling motorcycle ride, meows as if she’s just as incredulous as you are. “So it’s still possible for us to get arrested?”
“Yeah, but what’s life without a little risk?”
Unbelievable.
Yet, despite the common sense you were oh-so proud of this morning, you still follow him up the winding steps of the watchtower, which is hardly even a watchtower given that it’s a few meters beneath the widest bridge in the city. Woo wasn’t lying about his strange description of it after all.
“Well, here we are,” he announces when the two of you reach the platform on the very top. The edges are lined with metal rails that are beginning to rust with age, but seem sturdy enough to grant you some sense of security—no matter how sparse. “I’ll just set this up. You can go enjoy the view if you want.”
Woo doesn’t even let you get a word in before he unzips his bag and brings out a checkered picnic blanket. He gently lays it across the dusty concrete, smoothing out the fabric before fishing some more stuff inside his gym-bag-turned-picnic-basket. You keep yourself from making any snide comments about his choice of venue because despite the unorthodox location, you actually get why he’d find it peaceful here.
It’s far enough from the freeway that the sound of vehicles rushing through the night can barely reach your ears. If you listen closely enough, you can even hear the water flowing below much more clearly. You close your eyes to get a better feel of the place—imagining a six-foot something guy leaning across the rusty railings as he watches the city lights sparkle across the Han River.
“There we go.”
You startle when you feel Woo’s warm, leather-clad hand on your shoulder—prompting you to turn around and see his handiwork. In the middle of the picnic blanket is something that looks suspiciously like a portable emergency light. How he got his hands on something like that, you’re not entirely sure, so you decide to focus on the other details instead.
Like the two unopened bottles of soju right next to a take-out package of your favorite yangnyeom chicken.
“Didn’t we agree that I was treating you to something this time around?” you grumble as you absentmindedly stroke Hani’s fur.
“We did, but then you overslept and—”
“Okay, fine! Point taken!”
Woo snickers as he hands you the paper bag you brought for the trip. It looks even worse than it was when you ran all the way to the shelter and you can only hope the package inside isn’t completely ruined.
You decide to let Hani down inside the gym bag that Woo left unzipped. Surprisingly, the newly adopted kitten makes a home out of it quickly—curling up into a ball as her tail swishes every now and again. Cute.
“Don’t judge, okay?” You breathe out nervously as you take the plastic container out of the bag. “I had a legit cake custom-made and everything but…yeah. Overslept.”
When Woo doesn’t respond a second too long, your gaze nervously rivets to his face to parse for a reaction. Was he disappointed? Should you have gotten a different design?
The moment you see the dazzled look in his eyes, however, you realize that isn’t the case.
He receives the little cupcake with open arms when you give it to him. It’s chocolate topped with bad fondant icing art, but you didn’t really have a choice. When you spotted it in the convenience store earlier, you grabbed the one that looked most like a kitten and dipped. It’s nice to know that he might actually like it after all.
“Oh and uh, sorry, but I couldn’t bring any candles for you to blow,” you add sheepishly. “You can just make a wish and pretend.”
Woo’s gaze drifts to you for a moment before his eyes crinkle with laughter. “I don’t really have to do that though. My wish has already come true.”
Huh?
To your chagrin, he doesn’t elaborate. Instead, Woo invites you to sit on the picnic blanket—carefully removing his boots so he wouldn’t track dirt all over the food and you follow suit.
You fill the silence with your goings-on for the rest of the day and how exactly you ended up dozing off and he’s kind enough to listen to every word. However, when you ask if he wants to do a toast, he shakes his head.
“I need to drive you back, remember?”
You shoot him a dirty look. “So you took me all the way out here just so I can have two bottles of soju all to myself while you sit there and listen to me talk about my day?”
“...Yes?”
Men are so fucking infuriating sometimes, you can hardly believe it.
“Nope.” You firmly shake your head—plucking the bottle opener he set down on the blanket to pop the caps off. “You’re drinking with me. Just quit driving past the speed limit so we won’t die in a freak accident.”
You immediately notice the stiffness in his shoulders as you shove the bottle of soju in his hands and part of you feels kind of bad for being pushy. For a moment, you allow yourself to scrutinize him for a bit longer. What could possibly be deterring him from drinking after going out of his way to do all this?
That’s when you realize he still has his mask on.
Does he…have issues about people seeing his face?
That would definitely explain why he hasn’t once taken it off in all the times you’ve met him so far. With that in mind, you promptly decide to tell him that okay, he doesn’t have to if he really doesn’t want to, but then Woo is already reaching up to peel the blasted face mask off.
Your chest seizes with panic, hands flying in front of you to keep him from doing something against his will. But the effort is futile because it only takes a second for him to remove and…
Fuck.
Cue the choir of angels because goddamn does this man look like heaven.
Woo shifts somewhat uncomfortably under your stare, as if he’s waiting for you to blow up all over his face or something. But you’re much too mesmerized by too many things to form any sort of response right away.
The sharp cut of his jaw. The gentle curve of his Cupid’s bow. The tinge of red spreading across his cheeks.
“I can’t believe you’ve been gatekeeping yourself from me all this time,” you whisper with a strained laugh—purposely peeling your gaze away for the sake of your own sanity. “I knew you were hot, but…God. I hate you.”
“You…don’t recognize me?”
The question brings you out of your feelings for a moment, making you glance at him with a questioning stare. “Am I supposed to?”
Woo gapes at the question like he didn’t expect that to be your response before shaking his head vigorously.
“N-No. Anyway, you said I was hot but you hate me?”
You narrow your eyes at him before taking your first swig of soju. “Don’t start getting all cocky with me, mister! I’ve got eyes and I can’t help that you’re objectively attractive. Just stating facts here.”
When Woo smiles for the first time without the figurative cockblock that is his signature black face mask and honestly? If you died right now, you’d die happily.
The night presses on in a haze of soju, spicy chicken, and the occasional visit from Hani who uses either of your laps as her personal bed for about five minutes before switching to the other person.
This is the longest you’ve been with Woo and you’re starting to realize that he isn’t much of a talker, which you completely understand. You can’t imagine someone who’s hell-bent on keeping what he looks like a secret for so long being a chatterbox.
“Oh, but you mentioned something to me at the shelter one time,” you pipe up before scooping a forkful of chicken into your mouth.
“Yeah? What is it?” Woo asks softly as he pets Hani’s back.
Feeling just a little bit tipsy from the alcohol, you try not to stare too hard at his handsome face or the way his lip curls at the edges with a tiny smile when Hani purrs from his touch.
“You said Hani reminded you of yourself from before,” you whisper as your gaze drifts to his leather-gloved hands. “Is it okay to ask what you meant by that?”
The sound of the river flowing beneath the watchtower fills your ears as you bask in the silence. It’s a pretty personal question. You’d totally get it if he decides not to answer, but you’re much too curious to keep yourself from asking.
“Well, I wasn’t a stray or anything, but there was a time in my life that I felt so…aimless. I lost someone near and dear to me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it for a very long time.”
Hearing the earnest ring of Woo’s voice, you force yourself to snap out of your subtle inebriation—scooting a little bit closer to him on the blanket to make sure you catch every word.
“I didn’t get into a life-threatening accident like this one did either, but…” He trails off for a moment, stroking the scar that you know runs along Hani’s sternum but has long healed with his fingers.
“I managed to get back on track when the people around me showed me their support. They didn’t leave even if all I wanted was to be left alone. If it weren’t for them, it might’ve taken me even longer to move past what happened. Worse, I might not have moved past it at all.
“When I saw Hani that day, she looked scared of all the other cats. Like she wasn’t ready to let anyone get close to her just yet.” Woo breathes deeply before taking a small sip from his bottle. “I guess I was the same way, too. Healing isn’t linear. Sometimes, when I think I’m all better, one day, I just spiral back to where I started in the next one. That’s…kind of where you fit into the picture, actually.”
The brief pause in his story makes you blink at him, surprised. “Me?”
He nods. “You used to feed the strays in your neighborhood, right? You even had a schedule and everything.”
“That was months ago,” you mutter. “You mean you already knew me back then? Because of that?”
“I…actually live in that area, too.” He clears his throat, that familiar blush settling across his cheeks once again. “I often saw you feeding the strays because that’s usually the time I got back from the cemetery. One day, things got a bit too much and I kind of…broke down in the park instead of just doing that at home.”
He says it like he’s embarrassed and now that he mentioned it, you vaguely remember consoling a stranger during your days before volunteering at the shelter. You don’t recall much of it though—just the memory of awkwardly patting his back before sending him off feeling just a bit better because you saw him smile a little.
Other than that, you’re drawing blanks.
“How exactly did I help you, though? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I wouldn’t say you helped me or anything, but…” Woo pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose while slyly avoiding your eyes. “I distinctly remember you saying something like—”
Hey, it’s just a bad day. Or a bad week. Or a bad month. I don’t know. But it’s not a bad life. It’ll get better soon. I promise.
Fuck. Maybe you do remember.
“It didn’t really mean much to me at the time. Honestly, it kind of pissed me off at first,” Woo admits with a guilty chuckle before taking another sip. “But you were right. Sometimes, things got worse. Other times, it got better. But one day, I realized that I got to a point where it doesn’t hurt as much anymore.
“I’m not usually this open about my problems, but I learned overtime that talking about them makes them less taxing to deal with. Almost like I’m just talking about the weather, you know?” He smiles softly and you swear your heart melts at the sight of it. “And…I also don’t want to be closed off from others anymore. Back then, I mostly just kept everything to myself—bottling it all up until it was just unbearable.”
“Now you’re here spilling your guts out to some random college senior,” you snicker before taking another swig of your soju. You pout when you realize the bottle’s all empty before placing it back on the picnic blanket. “That’s some character development.”
“It really is.”
The silence sets once more and your eyes wander off to the city so close yet so far away. The lights from the skyscrapers glimmer like stars across the calm waters of the Han River and you like to think it compensates for the fact that the sky is blocked out by the bridge stretched far and wide above you.
This isn’t how you imagined your first stargazing date would be like, but it’s a good start.
Although, the moment the idea crosses your mind, you’re quick to jolt at your own thoughts.
This isn’t a date. You’re just celebrating his birthday together. Alone. On a picnic blanket. With one of the loveliest sceneries you’ve laid your eyes on. In a place where he claims that he never once showed to anyone else.
“Hey, is this—”
Your breath hitches in your throat when you turn to look at Woo—only to find his face mere inches from yours.
“What?” he whispers and despite the fact that you’re wearing a sweater, you feel goosebumps rise across the skin of your shoulders.
“Uh.” Fuck. “Is this a date?”
His mouth curves into a smile that you can’t quite get a read on. “It can be what you want it to be.”
“Okay,” you breathe out, suddenly feeling hot all over as his eyes flicker to your lips. “Just so you know, I don’t kiss on the first date.”
When Woo laughs again, it’s a deep-seated noise that makes your insides tingle with an indescribable feeling. You don’t really want to give it a name.
“Okay,” he repeats before pressing his forehead against yours. “We can have our first date next time then.”
Of course the sly fucker dives in for a kiss anyway.
“H-Hey,” you whisper in between, trying not to get too distracted with how plump his lips are as you keep holding him still by his broad shoulders. “You’re going to end up crushing Hani if you d-don’t cut it out!”
Woo sighs against your lips before pulling away regretfully. For a moment, he stares at the sleepy kitten on his lap, gazing around cluelessly after being roused from slumber. His expression softens for a moment as he scoops her up with both hands, settling her down in the comfort of his gym bag. She lets out a satisfied mewl before curling into a ball once more.
“Better?”
You’re not sure if he’s asking you or the cat, but…
“Better,” you whisper before fisting the lapels of his jacket and crushing your lips with his.
You don’t know where you’re pulling all this pent-up frustration from. During the very brief period that you’ve gotten closer to Woo, your general opinion about him never really deviated from he’s cute and he’s hot. Nothing more, nothing less.
Yet here you are, gasping into his mouth as he flattens his tongue against yours. A strong arm hooks around your waist, pressing your bodies infinitesimally closer and your skin is slowly hitting a fever pitch beneath your clothes. Something wild and all-consuming burns in your veins and you channel it into a moan that makes his grip on you grow tighter.
You don’t know how exactly you wound up on top of his lap—knees planted on either side of his hips as he continues devouring you with no intention of leaving anything behind. You can feel the expensive material of his leather gloves when his fingers graze along the hem of your sweater. Your skin tingles like every nerve ending has been set alight and if you weren’t already rendered dizzy by his intoxicating cologne, you’re in for a ride with each second his touch hikes further up your torso.
Woo sighs against your lips before pulling away momentarily—eyes aflame before he removes his fogged up glasses with one hand, tossing them somewhat carelessly on the picnic blanket.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Why was that so hot?
You’re too stunned to even draw a breath as he stares you down without the constant partition of his glasses. Has his gaze always been this sharp? Have those eyes always been transfixed on you?
“This…This wasn’t part of the plan, if you’re wondering.” Woo croons out the words huskily. Like an afterthought he only considered out of concern for you. Cute. “I swear I didn’t have any ulterior motives when—”
You giggle, before pressing a kiss on his nose. Woo’s eyes widen just a fraction.
“What made you cave then?”
The way his Adam’s apple bobs has no right to be that alluring, but it pulls you in anyway. “You looked really cute tonight.”
“Is that all?”
“Um, I thought it was sweet that you still got me a cupcake after you overslept?”
You groan, forehead bumping into the crook of his neck. Jesus Christ, he smells so fucking good. “How long are you going to hold that over my head for?”
You feel the vibrations of his laughter humming against your connected chests and your heart swells as Woo wraps his arms around your frame—pulling you into a firm embrace as the heat that engulfed the both of you slowly simmered into the cool evening air. You can feel him tracing idle shapes along your shoulder blades and the small of your back, and it does nothing to keep you from melting into his touch.
It’s so strange how easily you gave into him. You’ve formally known Woo for about three months and became legitimate friends(?) for less than three weeks. If you told Haewon about this whirlwind romance of yours, she’d hit you upside the head and tell you you’re being way too hasty for a man.
But if it’s a man with a black kitten taking a nap in his gym bag while he kisses you senseless underneath one of Seoul’s busiest freeways, you suppose you can make an exception.
“We should go,” Woo murmurs softly. “You’ve still got to accompany your sister to the airport right?”
“Mmm. Nope. She’s staying a day longer,” you inform him with the same quiet tone, letting your fingers trail up to his hair so you can toy with the strands in your fingertips. “But I do have some more edits to get over with in my final manuscript, so…yeah. We should go.”
Despite wanting nothing but to stay there in Woo’s little safe haven, the two of you manage to miraculously peel yourselves away from each other. Your face is hot the entire time you helped clean up his little picnic setup. When he shuts off the portable emergency light, you squint as you parse your way through the darkness.
You kind of end up tripping on air like a complete idiot, but before you can tumble off the rails and into the river, Woo catches you by the waist—not so different from how he held you ten minutes prior.
“Careful,” he mutters as he lets you go and you can’t help but silently mourn the loss of his touch again. “I don’t want to be accused of being a murderer.”
You snicker as he gently scoops Hani out of the gym bag and back into the spacious compartment in the lapel of his leather jacket. For a sleepy kitten, she’s surprisingly compliant. “I actually thought all this time you were some sort of serial killer trying to lure me to my doom.”
“You thought that but you came with me anyway?”
“Why not? You’re hot.”
That night, you let Woo drive you back home now that he’s more or less beaten the serial killer allegations. You tell him that he doesn’t have to walk you to your apartment, but he insists—saying that he can afford to leave Hani on his bike for a few minutes.
Of course, it ends up with another heated makeout session against your front door. This time, those stupid leather-clad fingers hike high enough on your back to toy with the clasp of your bra while his other hand remains tangled in your hair to pull you impossibly closer.
“I have to go,” he rasps before swiping his tongue along his bottom lip—giving you a sudden itch to sink your teeth into it. “But you’re making it really hard to leave.”
He’s making it really hard to tell him to go home, too, but as much as you want to kiss the night away, you still have some of your wits about you.
You chuckle as you reluctantly extract his wandering hands away from your body. Woo sighs in surrender with a nearly inaudible laugh.
“You already bent my I don’t kiss on the first date rule, genius,” you remind him breathlessly. “Don’t push your luck just yet until we’ve had that so-called first date next time.”
He grins. “So there’s going to be a next time?”
Deciding to keep him on his toes, you bat your eyelashes coquettishly at him. “Only if you want to.”
Woo leans in to press his lips against the corner of your mouth—trying his best to suppress the grin on his face.
“I’ll hold you to it then.”
Despite having lived in Seoul for four years and having a hardcore fangirl for a sister, today’s the first time you’ll be attending the pre-recording session for a music show.
Needless to say, you feel like an outsider amongst the fans armed with all sorts of idol merchandise and dressed in the prettiest outfits. Haewon managed to mooch a lightstick off one of her friends for you to use, but despite the fact that you know not a single soul would give two shits about you here, the alienating sensation remains.
“Hey, don’t be too nervous,” your little sister chortles as the marshals usher the crowd into the studio. “All you gotta do is wave that lightstick to the beat. You’ll blend right in, I promise.”
You crack her a nervous smile. Oh, the things you do to make Haewon happy.
It’s a little bit of a blur from there. You squeeze past the throng of fans while simultaneously trying not to lose your sister in the crowd. Some of the staff are handing out photocards that you hear are exclusively given away at this specific broadcast and were worth hundreds of thousands of won. You’re not sure which member Haewon got for you, but knowing your little sister, she must’ve snagged one of Wonwoo’s.
When the two of you are settled in your seats, you take the time to admire the set. You never imagined idol music show stages being this massive in person. In fact, you never really spared an active thought about them. Most of the info you do know about these kinds of things are secondhand accounts from Haewon from all the times she’s been to several broadcasting studios across the city.
“Did you bring the PC I got you last time?” she asks before taking out the broadcast ones out of their plastic package.
You shake your head. “Sorry. That Wonwoo’s sitting in a different bag.”
“Well, at least you haven’t sold him,” your little sister laughs before handing you one of the cards in her hands. “I told the staff to give us Mingyu and Wonwoo, but they gave me Hoshi and Wonwoo. It’s okay though, ‘cause Hoshi’s my bias wrecker anyway.”
Ah. More fandom jargon that you’re just now hearing about.
Just as the staff is starting to do the final preparations on stage, you decide to check out the broadcast PC that Haewon just gave to you. When your eyes land on Wonwoo’s face, however, you suddenly feel your blood freeze in your veins.
You…don’t recognize me?
One of the staff members announces that the boys will be out shortly to begin the pre-recording session but the words are all but muted in your ears.
Because how the hell can you focus on anything else when the face of the man who drove you back home last night—the man who kissed you until you were lightheaded—is plastered on a photocard that could be exchanged for an entire fortune?
This can’t be right, you muse with a scowl—fishing your phone out of your bag as your trembling fingers make haste to open your messaging app. He can’t be the same guy.
Woo 🐈⬛ [09:35]: Good morning, I hope you got enough rest!
Woo 🐈⬛ [09:36]: I have a schedule later this morning so I might be MIA
Me [09:40]: it’s cool. i just woke up actually hahaha
Me [09:40]: i also don’t mind! i’m heading out with my sister in a while too
Me [09:41]: have fun at work(?)
Woo 🐈⬛ [09:45]: Haha I will :) Have fun with your sister!
With a deep breath, you lock your phone just as the lights start to dim and the crowd cheers their hearts out. Haewon urges you to turn on your lightstick and the part of the studio that’s filled to the brim with an audience is lit up with hundreds of dazzling lights.
You would’ve appreciated the sight if only a certain someone didn’t play you for a fucking fool.
Just as promised, the boys that your little sister has been crazy about since their debut all fill the stage gradually. Some of them greet the fans with wide grins and silly little gestures. The others are a little more reserved with their greetings—all shy smiles and reserved movements.
Like Wonwoo, for example.
After several years of only knowing Mingyu thanks to Haewon, this is the first time you were able to pick out another one of them on stage with ease. Why wouldn’t you be able to recognize him?
He had you pressed up against your front door only a few hours ago.
It all made sense now. The affinity for keeping a face mask on. The late night visits. The fact that he seems to make an exorbitant amount of money from a job he doesn’t want to disclose.
Woo is Wonwoo from SEVENTEEN.
And he somehow forgot to let you know over the course of your time together.
You try to keep down the frustration that burns in your throat, making you feel like the roof of your mouth is stuffed with cotton. It’s much easier to mask your feelings once the performers all get into position and the music starts. The loud beat blaring from the speakers coupled with the well-practiced fanchants from the audience easily overpower the sound of your hitched breathing. Even Haewon was too engrossed with the performance to notice your distress.
Still, there’s not much you can do about it now. Especially when Wonwoo’s the one who starts up the first verse of their newest song.
He looks so…different from the gentle giant you’ve come to know over the past few weeks. There’s a dangerous look in his eyes that you know is all for show, but it makes your spine tingle at the sight of it nonetheless. The words to the song are raspily sung into the mic and if you weren’t convinced that he and Woo aren’t the same person, you most certainly are now.
After all, it’s his fucking voice that got you so down bad in the first place.
Once his part is done, Wonwoo quickly heads over to the next formation—a complete professional by heart. He belts out each dance move with such perfect precision and you wouldn’t expect any less from an idol who’s spent years honing his talents. But despite how awe-struck you are to see this side of him in person, it just wasn’t enough to completely erase the feeling that you’ve been betrayed.
It stings even more when the song ends and the studio is filled with deafening screams from the audience yet again. For once, Wonwoo’s stoic expression cracks with a handsome grin as he and the rest of his bandmates huddle together and exchange high fives.
That person on stage is both the man you caught feelings for and a stranger at the same time. He easily smiles at the fans the same way he would smile at you, but the difference between Woo and Wonwoo is that only one of them is willing to show this part of his life to the rest of the world.
Did he not trust you enough? Did he think you’d act like some crazy fan if he told you the truth?
You love Haewon. You love your little sister more than anything in the world, but you can’t pretend that things are okay when the man who kept you in the dark is standing right in front of you, clueless of the revelation that occurred to you just now.
“Where are you going?” Haewon calls out when you make your way out of the rows of seats—earning yourself a collection of glares from the other fans in the vicinity. “Unnie, hey!”
The last thing you want to do is ditch her for something you promised you’d see through until the end but you’re just so fucking done. You don’t want to see Wonwoo right now. Or hear him and his stupidly perfect voice through the studio’s sound system.
Right now, you just…want to be alone.
About two weeks after you stormed out of the first and last music show pre-recording you’ll ever attend in your life, things have more or less mellowed out. Sort of.
You’ve been taking fewer and fewer shifts at the shelter as graduation draws ever-so near. But aside from wanting to focus on getting your academic backlogs over with, you also wanted to stay away from the one place that Woo—or should you say Wonwoo—can easily find you and subsequently corner you to talk. Because you don’t want to talk to someone who’s basically been lying to your face the entire time you’ve been friends.
Well, you suppose if you really don’t want to hear even a peep out of him, you should’ve blocked his number altogether. But that’s not really the case.
Your phone buzzes while you’re in the middle of signing off adoption papers to a couple who wanted to adopt one of the shelter cats. You thought it was pretty adorable of them to make that decision since having a pet together is almost as good as having a kid together after all.
Thinking it was from your adviser, you snuck a glance towards the notifications in your homescreen. But when you see a familiar emoji plastered on the sender’s nickname, you’re quick to put it face down on the wooden desk.
Woo 🐈⬛ [09:35]: Good morning. Are you at the shelter today? Can I speak to you?
How he has it in him to keep texting you as if you haven’t given him nothing but radio silence for the past two weeks, you’re not sure. Wonwoo must’ve sensed that something was amiss the moment you stopped replying to him altogether, but he never tried to pester you about what was wrong. Instead, he simply continued sending all those messages to check in on you despite the fact that it’s almost as if he’s talking to a wall.
Well, it’s not like you have time to entertain him now anyways.
“Are you sure she doesn’t have a name yet?” One of your clients—the boyfriend—asks as he smooths down his newly adopted Maine Coon’s fur.
The girlfriend rolls her eyes. “You heard the nice shelter lady, Vern. This one just wouldn’t respond to any name they tried to give her.”
You agree with a half-hearted laugh, trying your best to ignore the guilt that’s perpetually swelling in your heart the longer you ignore Wonwoo’s pleas. “Yup. Our director said she’s got a bit of an attitude, but I think she just has high standards.”
Vern the Boyfriend makes a funny face at that. “So you’re saying that she doesn’t like the names she’s been given so far?”
“Mhmm. We tried Cupcake, Winter, Princess, and Lily, but she liked none of those. Try naming her something fancy. ”
“Chairman Meow?”
“Vern.”
“What? You gotta admit it’s funny, Sohee.”
Sohee the Girlfriend rolls her eyes. “Yes, but it’s an overused pun now! Think of something else.”
“Hmm. How about…Milana?”
“Is that because Seokmin wouldn’t shut up about his trip to Milan?”
“Ugh, yeah. Two months later and he still won’t stop talking about—”
“The gorgonzola he had for dinner the night before he flew back to Korea. I know. You won’t stop talking about it either.”
“Hey, Seokmin-hyung pays great attention to detail when it comes to food. You can’t help but want it, too.”
As you observe the friendly banter between the couple, you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. You don’t come across two people who complement each other as well as they do, and from the curious glint in their newly adopted cat’s eyes, you think she likes being in their company as well.
“Fine, let’s test it out first,” Sohee huffs before scratching behind the Maine Coon’s ears. “We’re going to call you Milana. Does that sound good to you?”
When the cat nuzzles her hand with a pleased meow, Sohee and Vern turn to glance at each other at the same time—two matching smiles plastered on their faces.
God. You can only wish to have what they do.
Once the rest of the documents have been finalized, you and Mina—who just got back from updating the vaccination records for all the animals in the shelter—see your most recent clients off. Vern the Boyfriend, Sohee the Girlfriend, and Milana the Child are off to the streets to start the next chapter of their lives or whatever.
When the door to the front entrance clicks shut, you let out the longest, deepest sigh known to mankind. Your coworker stifles a laugh.
“Looks like someone’s jealous,” Mina comments.
You whine. “How could I not be jealous of that? They’re so in love, it’s sickening. They even got a kid together!”
“You know, you could easily have that too if you just stopped avoiding—”
“Oh, look at the time!” You interrupt her a little too theatrically, stomping off to the direction of the break room. “Gotta go meet my thesis adviser. Kino and the other volunteers should show up in the next hour, though!”
You don’t catch the frustrated look on Mina’s face as you make a hasty retreat, but it doesn’t make you any less guilty about trying to skirt around the topic every chance you get. Mina’s always had your back during these past two weeks. Though you never told her why you’re avoiding your not-so-quote-unquote crush like the plague, she’d always come up with excuses and alibis to throw him off your trail.
Which, coincidentally, happens again just as you’re changing out of your uniform.
“I don’t suppose you’re looking for a sibling for Hani?” you hear Mina sigh from outside.
The person she’s talking to laughs softly. “No. I think you know why I’m here again.”
God. That fucking voice.
“Well, again, she’s not here,” your coworker bluffs. “And uh, word of advice, I get that you’re hot shit and all, but if you keep trying to bother my friend who, for some reason, doesn’t want anything to do with you, I might have to call the authorities.”
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second.
That’s a little too different from the typical ‘oh I’m sure she’ll come around one of these days’ spiel that Mina always feeds to Wonwoo every time he visits. Sure, you’re not yet ready to face him yet after everything that’s happened, but it’s not like you want him thrown in jail—
“Uh, right. I get it,” he says awkwardly, clearing his throat in the process. “It’s just that she hasn’t spoken to me in days and I’m a little worried—”
“That’s clearly a sign for you to back off, buddy.” You can almost see Mina with her arms crossed, rolling her eyes. “I’ve been keeping myself from saying anything about it, but I’ve always found it strange how often you visit a goddamn animal shelter. And now that she’s clearly avoiding you, you’re still trying to corner her? Are you a stalker or something?”
Fuck. This isn’t how the conversation is supposed to go!
Mina’s job is to just politely drive Wonwoo away so you can slip out of the building without having to talk to him. But your coworker must’ve misinterpreted your persistent reluctance to meet him as genuine fear and…while you’re glad you have a friend who looks out for you like that, she’s going about all of this the wrong way!
Wonwoo doesn’t speak for a long time and your heart squeezes at the notion that he’s been called all those harsh words when all he wanted to do was talk to you. You didn’t even give him any reasons as to why you suddenly decided to cut him off. But instead of marching out there to face him and clear the air yourself…
You stay hidden in the break room like a fucking coward.
“I understand why you’d assume that, but I don’t have any ill intentions—”
“That's exactly what a guy with ill intentions would say,” Mina scoffs. “Do both of us a favor and just leave, yeah? And stop trying to contact her when she obviously wants nothing to do with you anymore.”
The silence hangs thick from outside and despite being in the break room, you swear you can almost choke on it yourself.
You’re not sure what expression Wonwoo is wearing. Actually, you don’t even know him well enough to know those kinds of things. The most you’ve seen of his face was during that quiet night you spent together two weeks ago and you’ve severed contact with him all because of something that he probably could have explained if only you gave him the chance to.
“Okay,” he whispers so softly, you almost don’t catch it. “Thanks for your time.”
Fortunately, Mina doesn’t try to add any more fuel to the fire. All you hear is the sound of retreating footsteps and the sound of the front door clicking shut.
It’s only when your coworker pokes her head inside the break room that you realize you’ve been holding your breath.
“He’s gone now,” she murmurs with a comforting smile. “And if he doesn’t stop bothering you even after that, I’ll raise the complaint to the director himself. I’m sure he can pull some legal strings to keep that guy out of the area for good.”
You find it kind of ironic that a few minutes ago, Mina was teasing you about him and now things have escalated into restraining order territory. But you can’t really blame her for it.
Especially when you’ve done nothing to clear up the misunderstanding.
“Right. Thanks, Mina.” You manage a thin smile, fingers absentmindedly drifting to the black cat enamel you still pinned to your uniform’s chest pocket.
“I really appreciate it.”
Haewon 🪷 [10:30]: Unnie hiii
Haewon 🪷 [10:33]: Can you call me as soon as you read this? Xoxo
You get to check Haewon’s message three hours late because finally, finally you’ve managed to defend your thesis after innumerable sleepless nights and neverending changes to your manuscript draft. Your panelists and advisers had nothing but praises to sing about your work—even going as far as to promise that your paper will definitely be published in the next volume of the academic journal you’d been secretly hoping it’ll get selected for.
It’s still surreal that the only thing you’ve got left on your university to-do list is to attend the commencement rites scheduled in three weeks’ time. Four grueling years have really just gone by in a flash.
After enjoying one of your last lunch breaks in the quad with some old classmates who’ve also conquered the figurative beast that is their undergrad thesis, you excuse yourself for a while to give your little sister a ring. Haewon picks up on the second ring.
“About time you called,” she huffs. “I thought you were sleeping in the day again.”
You shake your head with a laugh despite the fact that she can’t see the gesture. “No more sleeping in the day for me ‘cause I’m graduating.”
Haewon gasps—loud enough to create static across the line. “Really? Oh my god. That’s good news then! Mom and dad were actually getting worried about you, you know? You’ve been throwing yourself into that stupid thesis of yours for a month now.”
It takes a while for you to formulate a response, something akin to guilt creeping into your heart at the prospect of worrying your parents sick. But then again, what’s done is done. You can catch up on the several hours of sleep and countless brain cells you’ve lost trying to make your final manuscript actually make sense.
“It’s all good now,” you reassure. “All you guys have to do now is fly over to Seoul for my graduation and I can pack my bags and go back to the countryside as soon as I can.”
You half-expect Haewon to laugh off your haste to travel back to your hometown and say something about how you’re better off in the city than this old dump.
But you’re met with silence instead.
“Um,” she starts nervously after a few moments. “I know most of the stuff that’s been stressing you out is gone now, but… Are you sure you’re okay?”
The question makes you swallow thickly. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Unnie, I’m your sister,” Haewon says a-matter-of-factly and you can almost picture her scowling at you. “We both know you’ve been acting really weird ever since the pre-recording. I couldn’t pester you about it ‘cause I had to go back home the next day. And I didn’t want to bother you while you were finishing up your thesis.
“So now that all those obstacles are out of the way, do you mind telling me what’s wrong?”
The sound of the other students milling around the quad rings in your ears as you process Haewon’s words. When you take a deep breath, the exhale is accompanied by defeated laughter.
You’re an idiot to think you could ever escape your little sister’s scrutiny.
“I know you’re going to give me shit if I say it’s nothing you should worry about—”
“You’re right,” she interjects. “I will give you shit.”
“—but it really is nothing you should worry about,” you continue anyway, toying with the hem of your sweater with a wistful sigh. “Long story short, it’s…boy problems. Boy problems that I’ve ignored long enough that they just went away all on their own.”
At the other line, Haewon makes a strangled noise as if that’s not the answer she was expecting. “Come again?”
“Yeah, Hae. Your big sister actually has boy problems,” you chortle. “Weird, right?”
“Yes and you didn’t even bother telling me about it at all?!” She crows angrily. “You have to give me the gist or I’m hanging up and booking the next flight to Seoul.”
For a moment, you hesitate and give yourself a moment to think about what you can and can’t tell Haewon over a phone call when she’s a whole plane ride away from you.
She absolutely cannot know that the boy in question is Wonwoo. You’ll probably spend more time trying to convince her that what you’re saying is true than avoiding a pity party. So instead, you tell her:
“Well, this boy and I had…something good going for us, I think. I like him, you know—really, really like him. But then one day, I found out that he’s been keeping this important thing about himself from me.” A sigh. “Like, I know some stuff is none of my business, but it’s so easy for him to let others know about that…that thing, yet somehow he never bothered to tell me. I couldn’t help but feel like he didn’t trust me enough.”
Surprisingly, Haewon lets out a hum of understanding. “Yeah, that’s kind of a dick move on his part. Did you confront him about it?”
You find yourself tongue-tied for a moment—a bit embarrassed to admit to your little sister that you chose the coward’s way out of this.
“Um, that’s the thing. I kind of ghosted him when I found out,” you tell her sheepishly. “I don’t think he knows the reason why I suddenly just dipped to this day. Haven’t spoken to him in…two months.”
“Uh-huh. So all this time, you’ve been burying your guilt in schoolwork. Is that it?”
The straightforward tone catches you off guard for a second. “That’s not—”
“Unnie,” Haewon calls out firmly, making you close your mouth. “Again, I’m your sister. I know things about you that others don’t—things that you don’t either, probably. And trust me when I say this, but you are not the confrontational type. Don’t worry though because it’s perfectly fine to avoid the things you don’t want to deal with. Especially if you’re dealing with a person that’s more trouble than they’re worth.
“But…you said that you really, really like him. Present tense.” She pauses briefly, as if letting you digest what she’s saying a little better. “If the circumstances were even slightly different, I would’ve cheered you on for ghosting someone who hasn’t been one hundred percent honest with you because, duh? Deserved. But from the way you’ve been coping with what happened, I can’t help but think that avoiding him like this isn’t what you wanted to do at all.”
Haewon’s words flow from the speaker and lance straight through your heart, and you start to wonder when she started sounding so reliable. You’re used to looking out for her even with the distance separating you. But ironically, it’s in your last year of college that your sister effortlessly dissected the dilemma that’s been plaguing you for weeks.
“Look, I think you’ll feel much better about all this if you just talk to him,” she continues when you don’t utter a word in response. “Not that I’m siding with some semi-lying jerk, but maybe he had his reasons for hiding…whatever he was hiding from you? If he gives you a bullshit excuse, then at least the ghosting will finally be justified, right?”
Her frankness makes you snort. “I guess.”
“Good. Now hang up and call him now.”
“...What?”
“You heard me.”
“Haewon, I can’t just call him out of nowhere after ignoring him for so long.”
“Pfft. Of course you can! If he doesn’t answer, then that still justifies the ghosting because he obviously doesn’t want you enough. Men like that don’t deserve you, unnie.”
“...Fine. Point taken.”
You end the call after Haewon makes you swear to keep her posted about the situation and your love life in general from now on. Sighing, you reluctantly scroll through your messaging app—finding a conversation that’s long been buried by more recent texts from other people after he sent his final messages to you.
Woo 🐈⬛ [02:35]: It’s been three weeks since you last replied. Hope you’re doing okay.
Woo 🐈⬛ [02:36]: Mina told me that you wanted nothing to do with me anymore but I really don’t understand why because…aren’t we good? Didn’t we have something back there? Or was I just reading you wrong the whole time?
Woo 🐈⬛ [02:55]: Either way, she was right about one thing at least. I’ve probably made you uncomfortable with my texts. Kind of pathetic now that I think about it.
Woo 🐈⬛ [03:01]: I’m sorry for constantly bothering you like this. It’s just that…I want to know what went wrong.
Woo 🐈⬛ [03:05]: It’s getting harder for me to sleep at night knowing I fucked up something that could’ve been the start of something nice. I was already planning our first date, you know?
Woo 🐈⬛ [03:10]: Fuck. Now it just sounds like I’m gaslighting haha.
Woo 🐈⬛ [03:17]: Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not. I don’t even know anymore.
Woo 🐈⬛ [04:25]: What I do know is that I miss you. So much.
Woo 🐈⬛ [10:05]: Uh. Sorry about all of that. I had a few drinks and…you know how it goes.
Woo 🐈⬛ [10:12]: I’ll stop texting you for real now.
Woo 🐈⬛ [10:15]: I hope your studies go well. Thank you for being part of my life, no matter how short our time together was.
Fuck.
This is going to be much more difficult than you thought.
You don’t really blame yourself when it takes you a few days to decide whether or not you should call Wonwoo. The choice has been weighing on you like a cloud above your head and you had to decline several invites to go out from your friends because you simply cannot sit still, knowing that you have to do something about…whatever’s going on with the two of you.
Part of you insists on just leaving it as it is. Wonwoo is an idol that’s almost a decade into his career and you’re much too certain that he’s met enough people in his life to deem the loss of your company specifically a big deal. He has his members, his fans, and anything else a person could ever want.
So what if some college senior he doesn’t even know that well just ghosted him out of nowhere?
But even with that logic, you still end up holding your breath before pressing the call button one Tuesday afternoon.
There are a total of five attempts made and all five lead you straight to voicemail—each instance making your heart grow heavier and heavier once the prerecorded message comes to an end. You secretly fear that he must’ve blocked your number altogether. Why wouldn’t he after you’ve wasted his time as much as you did?
Others would’ve considered this as a sign to just give up. The universe is basically telling you that the brief time you shared together would yield nothing more. Wonwoo has his own career to worry about and as do you, now that you’re finally going to be ejected from university and into the life of an unemployed fresh grad. You’re better off not chasing after the things you’ve purposely run away from in the first place.
So why on earth are you looking up the exact address of his company building, making the long commute for the slim chance of running into him against all odds?
The security around the area might look lax but you can spot the assortment of security guards stationed both inside and outside of the company building pretty easily. Given the nature of the business they’re running, it would make sense that they’d put up all possible countermeasures against people who might try to inconvenience their artists in any way.
Not wanting to be branded as a crazed fan, you decide to keep your distance—purposely lingering outside the shopping center just across the street as you brainstorm how exactly you’re going to meet up with Wonwoo.
But as the minutes ticked past, your sense of reason is starting to overpower your desire to clear things up with him. For one, you don’t even know what his schedule looks like. How can you be so sure that he’ll even be there today? Worse, would Wonwoo even want to speak with you after everything? Despite having kept the fact that he’s an idol a secret to you all this time, he has all the right to refuse speaking with you when you never even gave him a chance to explain himself.
The noise of the busy district fades in the background as your eyes fall to Wonwoo’s final text message. You haven’t even thought of texting him since you considered reaching out. But with the fact that your earlier phone calls didn’t go through, you don’t think you can bear seeing your apologetic messages get denied in the very real chance that he’s blacklisted your number altogether.
God. You feel so pathetic.
“Hey, it’s you!”
You immediately blanche at the feeling of someone placing a hand on your shoulder—turning around to see who it is only to be met with the sight of two familiar faces.
“Oh,” you voice out somewhat dumbly. “Miss…Sohee? And Vern?”
The couple who adopted a cat from the shelter flashes you pretty smiles, the two of them carrying grocery bags in each arm. Sohee perks up when you recognize them. “Yup! I didn’t expect to see the nice shelter lady around these parts. What brings you here?”
“Just…stuff.” The laugh you spare them is a little too forced, but if they notice, they don’t comment on it. “How about you guys? How has Milana been?”
“Feels right at home in either of our apartments,” Vern chuckles. “You were right about her having high standards. We always end up doing our grocery shopping here instead of the supermarket near my place ‘cause Lana refuses to eat any of the cheap cat food being sold there.”
Sohee sighs in agreement. “Mhmm. You wouldn’t even think she was a rescue with how high maintenance she is, but we’re idiots that dote on her all the time. It’s just a good thing we work right across the street from here.”
Feeling endeared with how much they spoil their new child aside, the latter part of Sohee’s statement catches your attention for a moment. “Sorry? You work right across the street?”
The moment the words leave your lips, the charming smiles on their faces falter before the couple before you share a look. A brief moment of telepathic communication must’ve occurred between the both of them, as if wordlessly discussing whether they should respond, but in the end Sohee relents.
“Yeah. Vern and I work at HYBE,” she chuckles. “I’m actually surprised you don’t recognize him, since he’s—”
“A very loyal employee that the nice shelter lady can’t possibly recognize,” Vern interjects with a cough into his fist and the immediate reaction makes it easier to put two and two together.
He’s an idol. One hundred percent an idol.
Deciding to play along, you offer up a nod in understanding. “I see. Guess you guys are heading back for the day?”
“Yep. We had one of the other members—uh, I mean, one of our friends look after Milana while we had our grocery run,” Vern explains not-so-smoothly.
“As much as we’d like to stay and chat for a while longer, our baby kind of needs us,” Sohee tells you with an apologetic look. “I hope things at the shelter are running smoothly! We’ve seen how dedicated you guys are to taking care of those poor animals.”
You nod. “Of course. I’ll see you guys around?”
“Anytime!”
You and the beautiful couple exchange quaint bows in farewell before the two of them start walking away. But with each footstep that they take further and further away from you, the itch to run after them and ask what you’ve been dying to when they said they both worked at HYBE grows all the more unbearable.
Cut it out, you mentally hiss at yourself. You can’t bother other people about your issues with Wonwoo. That’s just a whole new low.
You should’ve just gone the opposite direction when the conversation ended. You should’ve just directed yourself to the nearest bus stop back to your apartment—buried all of this in the past where it belongs.
But it’s as if your body has a mind of its own. The next thing you know, you’re sprinting towards Sohee and Vern before they could cross the next intersection—surprising the couple with your sudden re-entry.
“Did you need something?” Sohee asks, accommodating and confused all at once.
Now or never.
“Yes, actually,” you dole out breathlessly, pursing your lips before adding:
“Do you guys know where Wonwoo is?”
Out of all the ways you thought this day could turn out, you never would’ve imagined being in the backseat of one of HYBE’s music producers—breezing through the city’s freeway as she interrogates you about just how exactly you know Jeon Wonwoo.
“So you’re the reason he’s being so off lately,” Sohee chuckles before switching lanes. “Wonwoo’s always been the quiet type, but sometimes you can just tell when there’s a lot on his mind. Isn’t that right, Vernon?”
Vernon, who you come to realize is part of the same group as Wonwoo, glances at you from the rearview mirror with a shake of his head. “I can vouch. Wonwoo-hyung’s been working on sharing stuff with us, but of course there’s still some things he’d like to keep to himself.”
I also don’t want to be closed off from others anymore. Back then, I mostly just kept everything to myself—bottling it all up until it was just unbearable.
Great. Now you feel twice as horrible.
“Honestly, I was kind of scared that you guys would think I’m a sasaeng,” you admit with a dry laugh before settling further into the car’s plush upholstery.
“While we have no reason not to think that with all the weirdos popping up these days,” Sohee starts before her lips curve into a smile, “it just so happens that Soonyoung also can’t keep his mouth shut about Wonwoo’s little crush.”
That makes your face heat up a little. “Soonyoung like…Wonwoo’s friend?”
“You might know him better as Hoshi,” Vernon explains.
Hoshi, Hoshi, Hoshi…
You snap your fingers once you figure it out. “Yeah. He’s my sister’s bias wrecker.”
“Now we learn that your sister is a fan, too? Huh. Small world.”
“Anyway,” Sohee interjects. “The reason why we believed your explanation was because Soonyoung described Wonwoo’s crush as an animal lover. He’s not so much of a blabbermouth that he gave us more details aside from that, but Vernon here told me about how Wonwoo always comes late to their unit meetings because he keeps making all these detours first.”
Vernon stifles a laugh. “I actually found out about the shelter because Coups-hyung insisted that we follow him around to figure out where he’s been going. It didn’t occur to me at the time that his animal lover crush and the nice shelter lady could be the same person.”
At this point, you can honestly get used to being called a nice shelter lady. But that aside, you can’t help but flush even further at all the things being revealed to you right now.
It’s…a lot to unpack.
First, Wonwoo has a crush on you? A complete nobody? Then again, from how often he’s been seeking you out before things went to shit, you could infer that he’s at least a little bit interested from how he kept going out of his way to see you. He’s even late to meetings because of his little visits. This so-called crush was quite obvious, you just don’t like how flustered hearing it out loud makes you feel.
“But then Wonwoo-hyung just started showing up on time to our meetings during our comeback promotions,” Vernon continues. “We were glad we didn’t have to keep waiting for him to start, but…we also noticed that he’s been kind of down lately. The first time it happened, I assumed it was just an off day for him, though now that we met you like this, that’s definitely not the case.”
Wonwoo’s been feeling down? Because of you?
If the roles were reversed, you can say that you’d feel the same if he just stopped talking to you when you thought you were already growing closer. It doesn’t help that the last time you were together, you shared far too many kisses that mere friends should indulge each other with.
You sigh, leaning your head against the headrest.
You’re such an idiot. A selfish, inconsiderate—
“Well, here we are.”
When the car pulls over, you don’t even realize that Sohee already left the freeway and drove into one of the roads overlooking the Han River. You can barely keep yourself from choking on your own breath when you spot a very familiar motorcycle parked in front of the vehicle. It doesn’t help that Sohee pulled over a certain spot underneath the elevated highway that you’re very much certain you’ve already been to once before.
“Hyung doesn’t know that we know about this place. He never brings anyone else here,” Vernon informs you with a small smile. “From the look on your face, we can assume that he’s already brought you here though, right?”
You can’t even deny it at this point. “Yeah…”
Sohee moves to unlock the doors before glancing behind the driver’s seat with an encouraging look. “Well, how about you clear things upso we can start going on double dates and stuff.”
“Sohee,” her boyfriend groans.
“What? I think it’d be a great idea.” She pouts. “We can even rope Nari and Mingyu into tagging along. Then it’ll be a triple date.”
“What she means to say is,” Vernon cuts in before Sohee can get another word out. “No pressure. You go sort out the stuff you need to with Wonwoo-hyung. I’m sure the two of you can make the best decision for each other once you get to talk properly.”
The best decision, huh…
Your new friends watch you with wordless encouragement as you open the door to your left, letting out a long-winded breath so you wouldn’t be too psyched out by the circumstances. You thank them both with a subtle nod as you gather enough courage to see the person you’ve been longing to meet again for a while now.
Now or never, you repeat to yourself before finally stepping out of the car.
Wonwoo’s thinking spot looks much different in the day than it does at night.
You had a pretty hard time navigating the short terrain from the road to the old, weathered steps of the watchtower because of the lack of proper illumination. If it weren’t for Wonwoo guiding you the entire time, you would’ve face planted into the pebbled pathway on the first few steps.
The sun is already setting when you make it to your destination—red orange rays splintering through the high rise buildings on the other side of the river bank. It’s not difficult to spot Wonwoo’s tall figure leaning across the rusty railing of the watchtower, a gentle smile gracing his handsome face as he plays with the growing kitten in his arms.
He doesn’t notice you at the foot of the concrete steps right away, too engrossed with playing with Hani to take in the rest of his surroundings. But the longer you watch them from afar, the more your chest twists with guilt.
All this time, you never really thought about how Wonwoo must’ve been faring since you ghosted him. You merely assumed that he’d still be living his best life despite what happened between the two of you. The thought that he’ll still be better off without you in his life spurred you on to solely focus on the things you’ve got going on your end. You didn’t consider just how your actions would affect him. Not even once.
But now, despite having such an adorable cat to keep him company, it isn’t hard to tell that he’s not in the most stellar of moods.
It’s not like you’ve seen Wonwoo smile a lot when you still knew him as Woo—no thanks to his silly little face masks. But you always liked how his eyes crinkled behind his glasses whenever you said something he finds funny or amusing. The easygoing body language he always seemed to have around you.
There’s none of that now.
“Wonwoo.”
He visibly stiffens at the sound of someone calling his name. Cautiously, Wonwoo tucks Hani closer to his chest—glancing around for anyone who could have infiltrated his safe haven.
When his eyes land on you, you can almost hear his breath hitch from where you’re standing.
Seeing no indication that he doesn’t want you here, you swallow the lump in your throat before climbing up the stairs. Each step you take is familiar yet foreign at the same time and you can hear your heart pounding in your ears the closer you get to him. The startled expression on Wonwoo’s face doesn’t falter even when you’re mere feet in front of him on top of the watchtower—like he’s having a hard time grasping your existence.
Hani, however, doesn’t seem all that fazed. The black kitten mewls in delight at the sight of you, squirming around in Wonwoo’s arms, which seems to snap her owner out of his stupor.
His throat bobs. “You know my name.”
You laugh softly. “It isn’t hard to figure it out when you’re as famous as you are.”
Silence permeates the air by the riverside as Wonwoo processes the words you just told him. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, hands absentmindedly running across Hani’s fur.
“So that’s why,” he chuckles with a shake of his head. “I should’ve known…”
You mirror the gesture somewhat vigorously, your throat closing up from all the things you want to say. He doesn’t deserve to be left hanging all because of that stupid reason alone. He doesn’t deserve those hurtful words from Mina.
Most of all, he doesn’t deserve to feel this shitty all because you were too much of a coward to communicate with him.
“I’m sorry.”
He startles at your apology—obviously not expecting that to be the first thing you say to him after two months of radio silence. “W-Why are you sorry? I should be—”
“It was unfair of me to just ghost you like that when you haven’t explained yourself,” you murmur, tucking your hands behind your back as you stare down at your shoes in shame. “I’m sure you had your reasons for not telling me right away, but… I selfishly thought you didn’t trust me enough to let me know.”
“No,” he quickly clarifies. “It’s not like that at all. I trust you—so much.”
“I know,” you sigh. “It took me a while, but I realized that along the way. The last time we were here, you entrusted me with the story of how you coped with losing someone. You entrusted me with your thoughts, your feelings, your secrets. And I took all that for granted because you didn’t tell me you were an idol.”
Wonwoo falls silent for only a moment as if considering what words to say next. Hani seems to sense his distress, cuddling up to his chest in an attempt to soothe him. He notices what she’s doing right away and Wonwoo scratches behind her ears with a breathless chuckle.
“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t plan on hiding it forever. I knew you would find out eventually—just not as soon as you did,” he murmurs. “It was also unfair of me to take advantage of the fact that you didn’t know me as Wonwoo. But…I wanted to keep my career out of the equation first because it’s nice being treated like a normal person. You never put me on a pedestal or looked at me like I was some sort of god.
“You treated me like I was human.”
This time, you’re the one who’s at a loss for words.
Having Haewon as a sister, you have this preconceived notion about idols where they have the world in the palm of their hands. You thought for the longest time that all they had to do was go up the stage to sing and dance and look beautiful and the rest will follow.
Hearing Wonwoo tell you this easily subverted all those assumptions.
You’ve never been good at telling people the things they need to hear. That’s Haewon’s area of expertise, not yours. So instead of offering up any words of comfort, you quickly close the distance that’s been keeping you apart to throw your arms around his broad shoulders.
Wonwoo freezes up when you pull him into a hug and he loathes the fact that he can’t even reciprocate it given that he has his hands full. It’s kind of adorable how careful you’re being to make sure you don’t accidentally squish Hani between your bodies.
Suddenly, all that heaviness that’s been lingering in his heart for weeks dissipates in a flash. Wonwoo relishes in the feeling of your warmth seeping into his, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he holds back his emotions.
“Can we start over again?” you murmur. “We still haven’t had our first date, right?”
When you feel the sound of his laughter rumbling in his chest, you can’t help the goosebumps that rise across your skin. “Wow. I didn’t expect you to forgive me that fast.”
Pulling away for a moment, you shoot him a dirty look. “Jeon Wonwoo, are you saying I’m easy?”
“Not at all.” Wonwoo grins and you can barely look at him without recoiling at how good he looks.
His hair has grown much longer than you remember and seeing the smile that oh-so easily hooked you in deeper than you already were, you already know that you can’t ever hope to put up a fight.
Not when he’s so love-of-your-life-shaped.
“Since we’re at the point of catching up, I’m actually graduating in three weeks.”
Wonwoo sharply turns to look at you with a scowl as he puts Hani in a little cat backpack he got for her. “Three weeks? Shit… I think we’re going to have a concert at that time.”
You wave away his concern with a smile. “I didn’t mean I was expecting you to show up at the venue, doofus. Can’t have any weird rumors about you going around by attending my graduation.”
“Rumors about what?” he challenges.
“You know.”
“I actually don’t.”
“We just made up ten minutes ago, Do you really want me to bail on you again?”
“Hey, I just thought that if you ever want to spark some dating rumors, we can make it happen any time.”
“We’re not even dating!”
“Not yet.”
“What?”
“It’s just like you said—I still owe you that first date, don’t I?”
“...Have I told you that you’re insufferable?”
“I’m actually surprised you didn’t start calling me that when I kept visiting the shelter too often to be considered normal.”
“That reminds me, why were you visiting the shelter so much?”
When Wonwoo hands you Hani’s cat backpack, you take it as an invitation to hitch a ride on his motorcycle. After all, it would be uncomfortable to have it sitting between the two of you. However, he takes you completely by surprise by answering you with:
“I like you. That’s why.”
It takes you about five whole seconds to recover from what he just said but it’s five seconds too late because Wonwoo is already chuckling to himself as if he deserves to have the last laugh.
“You’re lucky that I like you too,” you mumble as you carefully hop on his ride—sitting comfortably behind him while making sure Hani is strapped securely behind you. “If I didn’t, Mina would’ve made our boss file a restraining order against you.”
Wonwoo hands you a spare helmet before putting on his own, laughing again as he clicks the lock in place. “Dating rumors and stalking rumors? Being with you sounds like such a big hassle now.”
“Are we going on that first date or not?!”
Two months after graduating and four weeks into officially dating Jeon Wonwoo, you find out the real reason he was taking so damn long to make up his mind about adopting Hani.
The landlord doesn’t prohibit pets—he loves them, actually.
His dog, Seol, is a little shy, but she gets along with Hani just fine.
But then his old roommate, Mingyu, dropped by to visit Wonwoo’s apartment one day, sneezing all over the place like it’s pollen season. Except the pollen in question is cat fur and it just so happens that he didn’t bring any of his allergy meds for the trip.
“As much as I want to cuddle on the couch catching up on the Marvel Cinematic Universe with you guys, I gotta go,” Mingyu explains while blowing his nose into a tissue. “I’ll die if I spend even a second longer here.”
Wonwoo throws a piece of popcorn at him. “Didn’t you say that you’re going on a date with Nari?”
“Oh. That, too.”
“If she finds out that you just remembered as an afterthought, she’s going to kill you,” you tease while shoving a handful of your movie snacks into your mouth. “At least, that’s what I’d do if Wonwoo did the same thing.”
“Oh, she will. That’s why neither of you are going to tattle on me,” the beefy idol huffs before tossing the soiled tissue in the trash bin. “Anyway, Wonwoo-hyung, you should totally keep in touch with this pet sitter that Seungcheol-hyung discovered recently. A bunch of other artists leave their pets with her whenever they have tight schedules.”
Your boyfriend merely looks at him with an unimpressed look. “Are you saying that just so I can leave Hani there when you come over to play video games with me?”
“Yes.”
Mingyu leaves shortly after receiving a phone call from his girlfriend, Nari, who sounded nothing short of furious when she asked where on earth he is and why he’s late for their date again. Wonwoo tells you that his best friend has a thing for pissing off Nari just so he has an excuse to do grand gestures for her without his girlfriend complaining about it. You tell him that he should start doing the same too.
“By the way, you’re flying back to Jeju for a while, right?” Wonwoo asks once the credits start rolling in the film playing on his TV—the loose grip he has around your waist tightening ever-so slightly.
You shift your weight on the couch to cuddle closer to him. “Yeah. I haven’t seen my parents and Haewon since I graduated. Plus, I don’t have to start working until next month, so I can afford a last-minute getaway.”
He nods. “I still think it’s funny you haven’t told your sister about me. Are you ashamed of me or something?”
“Quit saying weird stuff, Jeon Wonwoo,” you huff before hitting him in the chest. Damn those firm pecs. “I just want to see the look on her face when she finds out I’m dating the person she ships with Mingyu for fun.”
“And I still can’t believe my future sister-in-law is a Gyuldaengie.”
You try not to think about how he said Haewon is his future in-law. You really do.
Once the last of the end credits pans on-screen, the bonus scene at the end of every Marvel movie starts playing and you can’t help but snort when Eddy gets snapped back to his own universe before he can even pay off his tab to the bartender. Just when you’re about to ask Wonwoo if he wants to watch the next movie, you realize he’s had his eyes on you the entire time.
“What?” you laugh.
“Nothing,” he whispers. “I just thought you were really pretty.”
“Wonwoo, you tell me that every thirty minutes. Don’t you get tired of it?”
You yelp when he abruptly pulls you onto his lap, steadying you by the hips so you wouldn’t accidentally topple to the floor. He flashes you a lazy grin as he traces circles along the curve of your thighs and you can barely suppress a groan when you look down at him.
He might look like some otherworldly creature every time he kills it on stage, but you love this Wonwoo just the same—dressed down with his glasses sitting all crooked on the bridge of his nose, hair falling across his eyes.
“Never,” he says simply.
There’s something oddly sensual about the way he says it and at that moment, you catch on to the half-lidded look in his eyes. You gulp, gaze instinctively wandering around his apartment to look for Hani and Seol, who you spot dozing next to each other in the kitchen.
Now that you’re sure none of the kids are watching, you let out a defeated sigh before lacing your arms around his neck and leaning down to kiss him.
Wonwoo is a guy you caved and kissed before the first date, so it’s pretty natural for the two of you to fall into this degree of intimacy every now and again. His effect on you is especially lethal whenever you spend several days apart because of the nature of his career.
But even if you’re yet to cross that line with your boyfriend, the possibility of it finally coming into fruition becomes more and more real every time his hot tongue slides against yours.
“Won…woo—” you gasp when you feel his cold fingers sneak up your shirt, hands firmly grabbing your waist to keep you in place.
Your boyfriend chuckles and the low vibrations that come from his chest shoot straight to your core. “I know tonight was supposed to be movie night, but you’re making it really hard to keep my hands off of you.”
“That’s what you say all the time,” you groan as he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs. Fuck. “Always blaming me for your lack of self-control.”
“I can’t help it when you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips before tugging you back down for another heated kiss.
You’ve fooled around with Wonwoo a handful of times and during said times, you’ve gotten an idea of how…into it he gets when pleasuring you. It’s almost as if he delights in seeing you come undone for him even if it’s just with his mouth and fingers.
It’s during those moments that you can’t help but imagine how he would be once the two of you finally take things all the way. But for all your teasing about how he has questionable self-control, Wonwoo has done nothing but respect the boundaries you’ve clearly set when you started dating.
“Fuck,” he rasps when he pulls away briefly, resting his head against the cushions of the sofa as he closes his eyes. “Baby, we’ve gotta stop or else I might just cave and fuck you.”
You simper. “You’re the one who started this.”
“Yeah, and that’s why I’m putting a stop to it before I end up doing something you don’t like!”
You shift around on his lap for a moment and Wonwoo is convinced that you’ll give him some reprieve and get off of him before he loses his mind. But then he realizes you’re grinding your hips against the hard-on he’s sporting in his sweats.
Chuckling to yourself, you pull him by the front of his shirt—pressing a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth before leaning into his ear to whisper:
“What if I want you to fuck me, Woo?”
The deep growl that resonates in his throat sounds so fucking hot, you can feel a gush of slick surge between your thighs. He doesn’t say a word—merely opting to keep his hard stare on yours as he wraps your legs around his waist. You immediately get the gist and hold on tight to him as he carries you out of the living room and into his bedroom.
“I’m giving you a chance to back out again, sweetheart,” he sighs as he kicks the door shut behind him. “Think you can handle it when I get serious about fucking you until you can’t walk?”
The mental image he conjures in your head has you mewling in his arms, prompting you to pepper his neck with sloppy kisses as he gropes your ass like it’s always belonged to him.
“Think you can actually make good on that though?” you challenge with a soft chuckle, grazing your teeth just below his collarbone. You won’t bite—knowing that his stylists will give him hell for it if he shows up to work with hickeys. “We both know you like to talk big sometimes.”
Wonwoo breathes out a condescending chuckle before gently easing you on top of the mattress. You didn’t think it was possible, but you swear you get even wetter when he takes off his glasses and licks his lips at the sight of you.
“Oh, baby, you’re in for a fucking ride.”
That’s how you find yourself with your back pressed against Wonwoo’s insanely sculpted chest—both your mouth and pussy stuffed with his thick fingers as he works you open enough to take his cock. He slides those thick digits in and out of your wet channel, making sure you get used to the stretch all while he muffles your noises at the same time.
Normally, he likes hearing you get whiney and desperate for him, but there’s a charm to seeing you slobber all over his fingers as you clench up around the ones buried in your pussy.
“Fuck, baby. So goddamn tight for me,” he whispers huskily in your ear and the sound of his rough voice layered with the lewd squelch of your cunt makes your insides tingle. “Been thinking about having this pretty pussy all to myself for a while now. You gonna let me have it now, baby? Let me wreck you on my cock?”
Wonwoo easily has the hottest voice you’ve ever heard in your entire life. While you often think about how you can fall asleep happily just listening to him talk about anything under the sun, it’s an entirely different story when he’s spouting all this filth into your ear as he prepares you for an overdue dicking down.
“Yes, please—” You sob pathetically when he takes his fingers out of your mouth, curling your arm behind you so you can blindly grab his hair and mend your lips into a messy kiss. “Wonwoo, I need you so bad.”
“Desperate little thing,” your boyfriend chuckles before withdrawing his fingers from your needy hole. The loss has you writhing in his lap, one hand shooting out to keep him where you want him but Wonwoo coos into your ear as if to pacify you. “Shhh, baby, I need you to come first before I fuck you. You’ll be good for me and let me make you come, right?”
Shit. Who are you to refuse when he propositions you like that?
“I need an answer, sweetheart.”
“I’ll be good,” you gasp almost immediately as your boyfriend starts parting your pussy lips with the hand that was muffling your cute noises. “I’ll be so good for you, please just—”
“Just what, baby?” Wonwoo teases and you nearly cry.
“M-Make me come on your fingers…”
He hums, slick fingers gliding along your slit. “Not if you don’t say—”
“Please,” you whimper before grinding your pussy against his hand. “Wonwoo, I wanna come. Wanna come so bad. Want you to stuff me full of your cock. Want you to—”
It’s almost like he tapped in on every single nerve ending in your body when his dexterous fingers find your clit—rubbing the puffy bud in fast, tight circles as you start twitching in his arms. Wonwoo lets out another evil laugh as he forcibly pries your legs apart. The firmness of his grip leaves you no choice but to thrash around as he builds your orgasm from the ground up, trailing wet kisses along the column of your throat as he teases an orgasm out of you with the sound of his voice coupled with his sinful ministrations.
“So wet and ready for me. Have you thought about taking me inside this sweet little pussy? Do you think you can even fit me when you’re this tight?” he breathes into your ear and you don’t even have the dignity to bite down your moans anymore. “You’re so close, sweetheart. Let yourself go and I’ll give you what you want. I’ll blow your pretty back out over and over until you’re sick of me.”
Never, you want to tell him. I’ll never get sick of you, stupid Wonwoo.
Funnily enough, that silent jab at him is quickly followed by a mind-numbing release. It washes over you like a storm surging into a calm shore—overloading every cell in your body with pleasure until the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a broken rendition of your lover’s name.
Wonwoo talks you through your high because he knows you’ve got a thing for his voice. Knows just how much tighter you get when he whispers filthy words with a sultry sweet tone.
And when he growls, “Good fucking girl,” into your ear, you’re convinced he just made you come again while still riding the waves of your first orgasm.
For all his vigor, Wonwoo is surprisingly patient with you as you recover from what he just put you through. He plants brief kisses all over your neck and face until your breathing finally evens out and you stop seeing stars in the seams of your vision. Your boyfriend offers up a gentle smile when you finally come to—leaning in to kiss your nose.
“You still want more?” he whispers, exercising enough restraint to be revered despite the fact that you can feel his hard, leaking cock pressed against the small of your back.
A soft, somewhat weak laugh makes its way past your lips as you turn around to peck his lips. Wonwoo smiles against your mouth and you can’t help but do the same.
Then, you issue another challenge.
“Do your worst.”
You’re grateful now more than ever that Wonwoo is the easiest person to talk to in the entire world. You can practically count the things that he wouldn’t want to discuss with you on one hand alone.
In other words, you’ve already had the necessary conversations about sex, should you ever have it with him in the future (A.K.A., right now). Wonwoo knows you’ve been on birth control ever since you moved to Seoul all those years ago. He knows that you get yourself tested at least once every month if you can and assures you that he does the same.
On the other hand, you’re well aware that your boyfriend has a thing for coming inside, and now that you’ve gone this far with him, you’ll gladly let Wonwoo make his fantasies a reality.
He only agreed to it once you promised to tell him whenever you feel like he’s going too far or if he’s doing something you don’t like. You swear you would’ve married him on the spot, if it weren’t for that tiny voice in your head that suspiciously sounds like Haewon telling you off for losing it over a man who’s doing the bare minimum.
With those measures in place, you feel safe enough to let Wonwoo press your face down onto the mattress as his free hand grips your ass—fucking into your tight cunt as he tries (and fails) to keep himself from being too rough with you.
He really, really wanted to be gentle, considering it’s your first time to lie together like this. But your unfiltered reactions do nothing but test both his patience and self-control in more ways than one. All his plans on making love to you in good old missionary have been tossed out of the window now that you’ve given him the green light to actually fuck you until you can’t walk.
“Wonwoo,” you moan, fists curling into the sheets as he cants his hips deeper and deeper—the head of his cock hitting spots your own fingers could never hope to reach. “S-So fucking good…”
“Yeah?” he breathes raspily before leaning down to press his chest against your back, wanting to engulf you in the heat of his body until it’s all you’ll ever know. “My pretty baby loves my cock that much? You want me to fuck you all the time now?”
“Uh huh.” You nod before letting out a high pitched keen when he amps up the speed of his thrusts—slamming his hips harder against your ass.
Wonwoo thinks he could really get used to the sight of your pretty pussy sucking him in like this. You’re so greedy—clamping down on him as tightly as you do as you moan his name like it’s the only word in your vocabulary. But how could you not when each vein that runs along the underside of his perfect cock drags so deliciously across your velvet walls? When his balls—hot and heavy and full of enough cum to fill you to the brim—keep clapping against your pussy with each powerful thrust?
It’s the first time that you got to get a taste of what your boyfriend is capable of in bed and you can only imagine every instance that will follow once all’s said and done.
When he feels your walls start to spasm around his length every now and again, Wonwoo presses a sloppy kiss across the cut of your jaw—a hand sliding between your thighs so he can find that little bundle of nerves that made you fall apart only several minutes ago. Your reaction is immediate—crying and squirming below him even when you’re helpless against his massive frame pressing you down into the bed.
“I’m so close, baby,” he groans into your ear, holding out for as long as he can just so he can feel the sensation of you coming around his cock. “You’re almost there, too, aren’t you? My good girl—taking my dick like it’s always been yours. Can you come with me? You can do that for me, right, sweetheart?”
The fondness in his voice strings you even further apart and you’re nothing but a mess of pleasure and delirium as Wonwoo continues his assault on your poor, abused clit. He knows just the right amount of pressure to use and manages to time his thrusts with each delicious pass on that oversensitive bud.
It’s all over before you know it.
You let out a long-winded moan that will definitely earn him a couple of noise complaints from the neighbors but Wonwoo doesn’t have it in him to fucking care at the moment. Not when your walls are clamping down so tightly around his cock—making each stroke all the more tantalizing as your pussy milks him for everything he’s got to give you.
You mindlessly babble a string of I love yous against the sheets, a trail of drool dripping onto the mattress as Wonwoo fucks into you with heightened ferocity. He catches every single word you say and he tilts your head to the side so he can kiss you. Your boyfriend forces your tongue into a dance with his own until his hips stutter and stop—white hot emission surging into your cunt in thick spurts that he hopes would stay inside you for days if he can help himself.
You’re a mess—face painted with a fucked out expression as your pussy leaks with a mixture of yours and Wonwoo’s cum. The mere sight of it is almost enough to make him hard again, but he tells himself that he can take you up on marathon sex next time.
For now, he just wants to clean you up and tuck you back into bed.
“Woo?”
He turns to face you with a questioning look. Your boyfriend just finished with your mandatory aftercare session and is in the middle of making the bed comfortable enough for some post-sex cuddles. “Hmm?”
“You’re still free next week right?” you ask, drawing silly shapes on his chest with your finger once he finally lays down next to you.
“Yeah. I don’t have any major schedules until…” He pauses before conjuring up an imaginary calendar in his mind. “Next month. Why?”
Despite all the debauchery you’ve subjected each other to in a single night, your face still flushes as you consider what you’re about to ask him. Wonwoo smiles at that. Cute.
“How do you feel about flying to Jeju with me so I can introduce you to my family?” you ask shyly, gulping with a nervous laugh. “I totally get it if your management won’t allow it though. It’s hard to keep the media off your back when you’re so famous and—”
He doesn’t do this often, but Wonwoo shuts you up with a firm kiss.
“What are you talking about?” he murmurs, caressing your face tenderly. “Of course I want to meet them.”
When your eyes light up at his confirmation, Wonwoo swears that he couldn’t be more in love.
Me [11:23]: hae, i’ve got good news~
Haewon 🪷 [11:24]: You’re bringing Mingyu with you to Jeju so we can get married?
Me [11:26]: very funny
Me [11:26]: not to spoil your delusions or anything but i’m bringing my boyfriend
Haewon 🪷 [11:30]: Omg…
Haewon 🪷 [11:30]: Rudeness aside, is it the same guy from before?
Me [11:31]: yep
Haewon 🪷 [11:32]: AAAAAAAAA
Haewon 🪷 [11:32]: I can’t wait to meet him!
Haewon 🪷 [11:34]: He better be treating you right or I’ll drop kick him off Jusangjeollidae
Me [11:40]: you’ve already met him though~
Haewon 🪷 [11:41]: ?
Haewon 🪷 [11:45]: Unnie, what do you mean…
Haewon 🪷 [12:32]: Hey!!!!
⟢ end notes: if you've made it til the end, congrats! this is the last of the doting on you! series (for now~) and i really hope you enjoyed reading through it as much as i enjoyed writing it!! special thanks to all the friends that read through this for me T T i wouldn't have done it without any of you ueueue
and to everyone that has been patiently waiting for me to put up the last installment for the series, thank you for waiting <3 i hope you guys continue to support me with my future work as well!
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