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don’t threaten me with a good read!

[woonhakfeet]

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-> and more to come!

[yjaeswrld]

by arrangement 

11.4k | series | non idol!dohoon x reader

6 WAYS TO APPROACH LOVE SERIES (INFO + CATALOGUE)

𝙎𝙔𝙉𝙊𝙋𝙎𝙄𝙎 A date, a ring, and a man who had equally no choice as you. What will happen when a year into your marriage, the line between your perfectly curated performance and the strange limbo that both of you are stuck in has finally started to blur?

𝘼𝙐𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙍'𝙎 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀 The series is back!! I loved writing this one SO MUCH so hope you all enjoy as much as I did 💗

Reply to join the taglist (specify perm or series only)!

© yjaeswrld 2026

You knew from the start that this wasn’t going to be some beautiful, whimsical arrangement. That was never a part of the agreement. 

Fictional stories, dramas, classic romcoms that you were always secretly obsessed with existed only where love was deliberate, overwhelmingly genuine, and above all intentional. None of which you had the luxury to experience. Instead, yours was forged into existence purely due to obligation with not a single ounce of choice. 

But it wasn’t like you ever had that chance to begin with. Your world has always been one of practicality, through the lens of strategy and profitability. Relationships weren’t exempt from that kind of attitude, and especially not yours. For over two decades, your family and Kim Dohoon’s had built an empire side by side. Your names were tied together across industries, across markets, across every joint venture, merger, expansion, and major headline. 

So the possibility of marriage had always been on the table, even if it wasn’t exactly guaranteed. When the proposal finally surfaced, it wasn’t presented as a matter of desire, but rather a strategic move to further strengthen your families’ ties. It was a reinforcement of power and a statement to the industry. You were never presented with an option, never asked whether or not you wanted to marry him, but instead, when it was planned to happen. 

You were furious. Not upset, disappointed, or dejected, like any other of the other times where you had to give in for the sake of your family name. No. This time, you remember so clearly how you stood in your father’s office, surrounded by the double-lined, tinted floor-to-ceiling windows, with your hands clenched so tightly in pure fury that your perfectly manicured nails left imprints in your palms for hours afterward. 

“Do you even hear yourselves?” you demanded. “You’re literally just using me for company gains.”

“Honey, you don’t understand right now. You just need to give it time,” your mother tried to reassure. 

You laughed shortly, though none of the situation was amusing to you in the slightest. 

“Have you forgotten that he can’t stand me? And didn’t you even think to consider how I would feel? How could you force me into a relationship with someone I don’t want to be with?”

Your father sighed, finally looking up from the documents spread across his table so that he could stare at you as if you were the one being difficult. 

“Look, this isn’t about personal feelings. It’s what’s best for all of us.”

You and Dohoon had never gotten along, not once. Even as children, it was obvious to you that he disliked you. You still remember one particular gala from years ago, one of the endless business gatherings your parents had dragged you to growing up. In fact, it’s practically etched forever in your memories. 

The adults were engaged in conversations about the latest mergers and investment deals as they floated about in expensive suits while children were expected to stand quietly and behave like miniature versions of their parents. 

You were maybe five, and Dohoon, seven. Your mothers had insisted the two of you stay together while they made their way around the venue. As if that had ever worked out successfully. 

But still, you were never one to give up. You remember walking over to him near the dessert table. You even smoothed down the front of your dress before approaching him, in nervousness, really, though you would never actually admit that for the sake of your pride. 

“Do you want to go outside?” you asked. “The garden is really pretty.”

Dohoon had glanced at you briefly before looking away again. 

“No.”

One thing about you that’s stayed true even today is that you never took no for an answer. 

“But it’s so boring in here,” you whined. “You’d rather stay here and stare at nothing except for the old people than do something else?”

“At least old people are quiet,” he replied flatly. 

You scrunched your face immediately. Dohoon gave you a very pointed look. 

“I am!” you gasped, offended, even though you knew very clearly that you were anything but quiet.

“You’ve been talking ever since you got here.”

“Well, you haven’t said anything at all,” you shot back. “That’s even weirder.”

He just looked away, clearly done with the conversation. But you were stubborn, even then, and after another short moment of silence, you reached out and tugged lightly on the sleeve of his blazer. 

“Come onnn” you insisted. “Just for a little bit.”

He frowned at where your tiny hand gripped his sleeve. 

“No. You’re annoying.”

Your hand dropped immediately. 

“Fine,” you muttered, trying your best to sound unaffected even as redness crept hot onto your cheeks in embarrassment. “I’ll go by myself then.”

Dohoon didn’t answer, so you turned on your heel and marched away with all the wounded pride a child could possibly possess. The ballroom doors were heavy, but eventually, you managed to shove one open just enough to squeeze through to the gardens outside. 

The cold night air hit your face instantly as you beamed at the sight. At first, you were perfectly content on your own. The garden really was pretty, as the exterior remained lined with glowing lights and trimmed hedges and a giant fountain in the center. What struck your attention the most were these statue swans that perched at the edges of the fountain. You wandered along the stone path, skipping and jumping around to admire the roses and peonies and lilacs. 

Then you realized something; you didn’t actually know how to get back inside. The doors you’d exited through had shut completely behind you, and when you tried pushing them open again, they wouldn’t budge. Little you had obviously not realized the possibility of self-locking doors. 

Your chest tightened. You walked along the side of the building searching for another entrance, but every row of hedges started to look exactly identical to one another. The music from the ballroom started to grow quieter, and so did the adults’ voices. Suddenly, the garden didn’t feel pretty anymore. 

Your eyes began to sting. No one would hear you out here. No one would even bother to come out to this area of the venue anyway. You were going to be left here forever to die. 

You were crouched near one of the swans atop the fountain with tears running silently down your cheeks as you tried very hard to not cry too loudly because that would just be even more embarrassing for you. Out of the corner of your eye, you suddenly notice Dohoon, who stopped short when he saw you. He stared for a second before his expression twisted into one of irritation. 

“What are you doing?”

“I got lost!” you snapped, eyes still watery. 

“Well why would you even wander off by yourself?” he said. “Are you dumb?”

Your lip trembled harder. Overwhelmed by relief and annoyance, you would have definitely strangled him if you were physically capable of that.

“You’re so mean!” you burst out. 

“You’re the one who left!” he retorted, as if that justified anything.

“You told me I was annoying!”

“You are annoying!”

You sobbed harder out of anger and annoyance, and Dohoon’s eyes widened. 

“Why are you crying that much?”

You only cried harder at the question as a mix of adrenaline and relief continued to course through your veins. 

“I didn’t mean – ”

He cut himself off as he looked around, hoping that an adult would magically appear and fix the situation. Then he groaned quietly and sat down awkwardly beside you on the edge of the fountain.

Neither of you spoke. You were still mad that he wasn’t minding his business and decided to bother you when you were already in a bad mood. After another sniffle escaped you, he shoved something into your hands without looking directly at you.

A small juice box that was probably stolen from the dessert table. You stared at it quietly and looked at him. 

“You’re being loud,” he muttered. “Drink it or something.”

And because you were still upset with him, you made sure to sniff dramatically as you poked the straw through the opening at the top. Dohoon rolled his eyes, but he stayed until the frantic voices of both of your parents echoed through the garden. 

“There they are!” 

Your mother rushed over first and immediately pulled you into her arms as the other parents began speaking over one another out of pure relief. 

“You can’t run off like that,” your dad scolded sternly. 

Even though Dohoon was annoyed that he was also getting reprimanded by his parents, he still waited until he saw you leave safely with your parents before finally tearing his gaze away. 

You put up a fit and complained and whined and did all that you could. But nothing worked. Your parents wouldn’t budge in their decision at all. This was the world you were raised for. There was no room for consideration of your personal feelings when it was your obligation to act in the best interests of the company first before your own. 

Your parents had built Seorin Group from the ground up and carved their name into the industry for themselves. As early as you could remember, the expectation placed upon you was that your future had already been decided for you. Corporate life was all you had ever known. You weren’t ever asked what you wanted to become because the answer was already clear. Your weekends were sacrificed to networking events. Entire summers were replaced with internships your peers would’ve considered impossibly demanding. The pressure became so normalized in your upbringing that it eventually stopped feeling significant. 

Fortunately for everyone involved, you’re qualified. More than qualified, actually. As Chief Compliance Officer, your reputation precedes you. Sharp-minded and relentlessly meticulous, you were formidable. People tend to underestimate you. You’re young, though you’re competent. There’s an elegance to the way you carry yourself that makes people mistake you for a much softer personality, but they learned quickly because beneath the refinement holds someone frighteningly capable. Employees deeply respect you, and competitors are constantly wary of you. Board members regard you as an inevitable successor. 

Dohoon is no different. Finance prodigy, they call him. As Chief Financial Officer, he has sharp instincts and an unshakable composure that many opposing businesses often find annoying simply because he’s always right. Equally reliable, he remains untouchable in his own way. His family founded Junseong Corporation, and your union ineludibly fortified the two companies’ relations.

—

The wedding ceremony was nothing short of grand. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling in cascades of iridescent droplets. Gold-trimmed walls framed the exterior of the venue. The polished floors gleamed beneath your steps. Every detail was deliberate. Every arrangement, every step, every camera angle capturing what looked like perfection, at least on the outside. It looked like something straight out of the fairytales you used to believe in. 

Ironic that you had everything you once imagined – the grand venue, the ivory wedding dress, the glamour – everything except the one thing that mattered: a person who you truly loved and one who truly loved you. 

It ended after days and days of ceremonies and formalities. You returned to the penthouse prepared for you and Dohoon together, with towering ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city below. Everything about the design was immaculate and clearly carefully curated to reflect your wealth and status rather than anything that remotely resembled comfort and homeliness. 

The two of you stood awkwardly near opposite ends of your shared bedroom, though the feeling stretching between you felt strangely unfamiliar despite knowing each other for nearly your entire lives. You glanced briefly at Dohoon as he loosened the collar of his dress shirt, and his expression was unreadable as always. It would’ve been easy to hate him. At the very least, you hated what existed between the two of you: years of irritation, petty remarks, dislike that hardened and cemented itself as years passed. 

Still, a small part of you had wondered whether this could be different. Obviously, you weren’t seeking a romantic relationship. You weren’t that childish. But something that was amicable. You had hoped that marriage would force some kind of reset between you both. That stripped away from family expectations and public performances, perhaps you could learn how to coexist as actual adults instead of two children trapped in a decades-long clash that shouldn’t even matter anymore.  

So maybe you were naive, because instead, Dohoon simply walked toward his side of the bed without a word. You swallowed whatever pathetic flicker of hope that had surfaced and moved to the opposite side. Neither of you spoke while getting ready for bed, and when the lights finally went out, Dohoon’s back remained turned toward yours. That was the beginning. 

—

Your marriage is functional. More accurately, it’s an easy agreement to present to other people. 

Dohoon is polite and a natural gentleman. He remembers important dates without the need for reminders and attends events beside you and fulfills every expectation placed upon him. He never embarrasses you, and he never oversteps. He opens doors for you and walks slightly slower when he notices that you’re wearing heels. Small things that almost feel thoughtful, but you know better than to think of it that way. 

The two of you coexist comfortably, though “comfortable” may not even be the right word. Familiar, maybe. Careful. There are no late-night conversations that stretch past midnight, no shared routines, traditions, no effortless intimacy when you’re together. You don’t spend weekends together unless circumstances require it. More often than not, you’re buried in work at the office just as Dohoon is too. 

Still, you think sometimes you would’ve preferred fighting. At least hostility would serve as an indication that there was something alive between the two of you. Instead, neither of you are willing to bridge the distance between what you are now and what you could be. 

Knowing Dohoon has always felt oddly limited. Every version of him you’ve ever encountered was born in formal settings. Even now, most of your interactions happen in places where people are always watching. There’s very little of him that feels personal to you. And perhaps even less of you that feels personal to him. 

Your mornings rarely overlap. You’re usually already dressed for work with your laptop open at the kitchen counter as you sort through the flood of emails that surfaced overnight with a cup of coffee growing cold beside you by the time Dohoon wakes up. 

Sometimes you cross paths briefly in the kitchen. 

“Morning,” he would say quietly. 

And you would return the same.

In the office, you’re decisive and command attention without demanding it upfront. Legal reviews close faster when your name is attached at the front. Across the company, Dohoon carries a similar reputation. People trust his judgement because he rarely leaves any room for mistakes. 

And when work overlaps, no one questions the dynamic between you. Why would they? Sitting across from each other at long conference tables and discussing contracts and projections with effortless professionalism, the two of you appear perfectly aligned.  

If anything, people probably envy it. A marriage between two successful heirs; a stable and mature unification. No one sees how little exists outside of that performance. 

By the time you both return home, often separately, the sky has already turned a deep hue of indigo. The house greets you with silence, which remains even once Dohoon arrives home. You’re usually already in your home office, and he makes his way to his. Two separate worlds that simply coexist under the same roof. 

Your dinner isn’t even planned together. Sometimes, the only time you ever see him in a day is when it's already over, when you’re already in bed and getting ready to fall asleep. And just like that, the day ends the same way it began: together, but somehow still apart.

—

The charity gala is being held in one of the newer hotels overlooking the river, one that your company naturally has close ties with. You stand beside Dohoon near one of the banquet tables while a business executive from overseas drones on about market expansion. Or rather, Dohoon is the one listening attentively. You have long since perfected the art of looking attentive while actually mentally drifting elsewhere. Your fingers tightly grasp the stem of your champagne flute as you make sure to nod at appropriate intervals. 

“Excuse me,” a familiar voice calls out toward you. 

You turn to see a man approaching with an easy smile you recognized only after a second. 

“Minhyuk?” you exclaimed in surprise. From LM Partners, a fairly newer investment company in comparison to Seorin and Junseong, and one that he had built essentially from scratch right after he graduated. 

“(Name)! It’s been a while,” he beams. 

You know him from university. You never really stayed in touch, but you were close enough at some point to have worked on projects together, shared meals after class, and exchanged complaints about professors over coffee. He’d been charming back then too, annoyingly so. Perhaps you drifted apart shortly after you rejected his confession back then. The two of you never crossed paths since. 

“You disappeared after graduation,” he continues. “I was starting to think that working for your parents swallowed you whole.”

You just chuckle amusingly. 

“You know, I’m still offended that you rejected my offer to work on LM together after uni,” Minhyuk jokes.

“Oh please,” you say. “That was ages ago. At the time, I did seriously consider it, but I don’t think I could have turned down working at Seorin. I mean, for the longest time, that’s what I assumed I’d be doing for the rest of my life.”

Beside you, you notice Dohoon bidding the business executive goodbye before turning his full attention to you. You also notice how he quieted suddenly, perhaps because after all these years, you’d become strangely attuned to his silences. He stares at Minhyuk as if he’s aware of your past history with him liking you and all that, even though you’re certain there’s no way he actually knows. 

“You never mentioned that,” he comments. 

You glance at him. 

“It was a long time ago, and it just never came up.”

Minhyuk glances toward him politely, finally noticing Dohoon. 

“A belated congratulations on your marriage,” he exclaims. “You must be Kim Dohoon.”

“Thank you,” Dohoon answers smoothly. 

“I have to admit,” Minhyuk says, “you two aren’t what I expected.”

He looks between the two of you, intrigued.

“What do you mean?” you ask, tilting your head. 

“I don’t know,” he smiles widely. “You’re both just so formal with each other. Honestly, if I didn’t know you were married, I’d assume you were just coworkers.”

You just smile stiffly. Then suddenly, you feel warmth pressed lightly against your lower back. You nearly turn your head, startled. Dohoon rests his hand there naturally, his fingers splayed against the fabric of your dress as though it belonged there without question. 

“You’d be surprised,” Dohoon says calmly. 

His thumb brushed once against your waist as he spoke. Your entire body goes rigid, but you work hard to mask it. 

Minhyuk’s eyebrows lift slightly. Dohoon continues before either of you can speak. 

“She gets enough of me at home already, I would say,” he remarks, the faintest trace of dry humor evident in his voice. 

Minhyuk laughs. 

“Right, my mistake.”

But even after you wish him well and move on after saying your goodbyes, Dohoon doesn’t move his hand. You’re painfully aware of how close he’s standing and the scent of his cologne. This is probably the longest he’d touched you voluntarily since your wedding. 

“What are you doing?” you murmur quietly once you’re alone again. 

Dohoon’s eyes remain fixed ahead toward the ballroom crowd. 

“Nothing.”

“You’re being strange.”

“That man was flirting with you,” he states. 

The bluntness of his statement startles a laugh out of you before you can stop it. 

“Are you jealous?” you exclaim. 

“No,” he says quickly. 

Then, without another word, he guides you gently closer against his side as another group approaches to greet the two of you. You’re still smiling in satisfaction as you slip into conversation. 

And for the rest of the evening, he never let go. The elevator ride down to the parking garage feels suffocatingly quiet after both of you had left the gala. Dohoon had removed his hand the second the ballroom disappeared behind you. You hate that you noticed immediately. In the car, you stare out the window as you replayed the evening in your head despite yourself. The way his hand had felt against your back and the ease in his voice. More critically, the brief crack in his composure when you’d asked if he was jealous. 

Beside you, Dohoon adjusts the cuff of his sleeve for the third time in ten minutes. A habit that you’d long ago realized meant he was unsettled. You want to say something, but you don’t know exactly what you would have said. Ideally, something that would dissolve the tension before it swallows the car whole, but nothing comes to mind. Instead, Dohoon speaks first. 

“That man from university.”

You turn your head towards him. 

“What about him?” you ask, keeping your voice casual. 

“He seemed interested in you.”

His tone remains neutral as his eyes stay fixed ahead on the road. 

“Minhyuk flirts with everyone.”

Dohoon hums in acknowledgement. And that was it. Neither of you bring up what Dohoon had done when meeting Minhyuk. 

When the two of you arrive home, the familiar silence of the house greets you instantly. You slip off your heels near the entrance and head to your office without another word. But you don’t even make it twenty minutes before you realize you’ve reread the same three paragraphs in your contract review six times already. 

With an irritated sigh, you push your chair back and stand up. Coffee is probably the only way you’re getting through the rest of the night. As usual, the hallway outside is dimly lit when you step out, but halfway to the kitchen, you stop short. Dohoon’s already there. He’s already changed into a hoodie and sweatpants, and he’s not in the middle of working or scrolling on his phone. Rather, he’s just standing silently near the counter with a glass of water in his hand. 

His eyes notice you as you walk in. You look away first and move toward the coffee machine. Suddenly, you’re hyperaware of every tiny sound in the kitchen. Behind you, Dohoon says nothing. You can still feel his presence anyway as he watches you prepare your drink. You stare at the slow stream of coffee pouring into your cup. The very reason as to why you haven’t left and escaped the awkward tension just yet. 

From the corner of your eye, you watch Dohoon finish the last of his water. His head tips back slightly as he drinks, his throat moving once, twice. Then he lowers the glass slowly as his fingers remain wrapped around it loosely. For a moment, he just stands there and stares at the counter like he’s thinking about something. 

It’s ridiculous that this is the closest the two of you have stood together when alone in weeks without laptops open between you. The coffee machine continues humming softly. Dohoon sets the empty glass down in the sink before straightening up again. You expect him to leave immediately. Instead, he glances toward you briefly, and the second your eyes meet, you look back toward your coffee. 

The machine finally beeps softly. You reach for the mug too quickly and feel the sudden spike of heat shooting through your hand. The ceramic, still too hot from brewing, emanates heat, and the temperature makes you flinch slightly. 

A second later, Dohoon turns and walks out of the kitchen without a word, and his footsteps fade into the hallway until the house falls silent again. You stand there alone for another moment as you stare down at the coffee in your hands before returning back to staring at mundane contracts in an attempt to block out your neverending thoughts about the evening’s events. 

—

There’s a new potential acquisition in the company, which means you’re working overtime every day, morning and night. It’s more rare for you to have to deal with acquisitions, but they’ve happened a few times in your career with Seorin. It drags into its third week before you finally start to feel the effects of it. 

At first, you barely notice. Long hours are normal for you. Missed meals are normal for you. Functioning on caffeine and four hours of sleep has practically become muscle memory after years in corporate law. You just ignore the exhaustion and keep going. 

Minju, your secretary, begins leaving protein bars in your office when you start forgetting to eat actual meals. She’s been with you long enough to know your bad habits once work becomes more demanding. 

By the fourth consecutive night at the office past midnight, you finally feel the ache in your shoulders and back from tension. The dense texts on legal revisions sitting side by side on your screen blurs into a muddled mess in front of the inky black sky in the background. You rub your eyes tiredly, but your fingers keep typing. 

Someone knocks against your office door. You don’t look up immediately. 

“Come in.”

You expect another dedicated associate who ended up also working overtime. Instead, Dohoon steps inside. Your fingers pause their typing and curl against your keyboard. 

“You’re still here?” you let out. 

“So are you,” he replies. 

Fair enough. 

You lean back in your chair as you direct your attention to him. 

“Did you need something?”

Dohoon’s eyes glance around your office instead of answering. His gaze sweeps through the untouched protein bars abandoned at the corner of your desk and the stack of drafts spilling across the table beside you. Cold coffee sits dangerously close to your laptop. 

“You haven’t gone home in two days.”

Four, you mentally correct, but that’s besides the point. 

“I went home yesterday,” you say. 

“You showered and came back.”

You’re surprised that he knows this. Not sure what to say, you glance at your calendar instead. 

“The acquisition is set to close this Friday.”

“And?”

“And I’m busy.”

Dohoon walks further into your office before stopping near the edge of your desk. 

“You look exhausted.” 

It comes out bluntly. Hearing it from him irritates you instantly, probably because he’s right. You choose not to respond instead of saying something you know will sound unnecessarily harsh. The sound of his ringtone cuts through the momentary silence, and Dohoon leaves to take the call. 

It continues for longer than he anticipates, and by the time he returns, your head is laying flat against your desk, clearly fast asleep. You wake to his gentle touch on your shoulder, shaking you awake. 

“You’re done for tonight,” you hear him assert. 

“I still have revisions to finish,” you reply, sitting up immediately and turning on your laptop.

“They can wait until morning.”

“No they can’t.”

“Yes they can.”

You open your mouth to argue again, but you promptly lose to your own exhaustion when a yawn interrupts you mid-breath. Dohoon stares at you. You stare back, deeply offended by the betrayal of your own body. Then, the corner of his mouth twitches upward slightly. It’s not a full smile, but it’s more than you’ve seen in weeks. Finally, you shut your laptop in surrender.

By the time you reach the parking garage, the cold air rushes against your skin, waking you up instantly. You immediately regret not bringing a heavier coat. You barely make it three steps away from the elevator before you feel a warmth settle over your shoulders. 

You stop. His jacket hangs around you, the sleeves still warm from his body. You look up in surprise. Dohoon is already walking ahead toward the car like he didn’t do anything at all. You smell his cologne again as the warm sandalwood scent envelops you. It’s silly how you have to stop yourself from sighing in satisfaction. Get it together. 

—

After weeks of negotiations, revisions, emergency meetings, and enough legal paperwork for a lifetime, the final signatures are completed just past seven in the evening. Everyone around you celebrates immediately. You should probably feel accomplished. And you do, just a bit, but you mostly just feel tired. Eventually, you slip out before anyone on your team can drag you to a celebratory dinner and drinks. 

Your house is dark except for the ambient lighting that automatically lights up at night. You barely have enough energy to shower. Warm water loosens the tightness locked painfully into your muscles, but it also makes your exhaustion more prominent. By the time you finish your skincare and pull on one of your oversized sleep shirts, you’re ready to go directly to bed without working for at least a little bit in your office. You climb into bed before Dohoon gets home, and you can recall drifting off just as you hear the front door open. 

Sometime later, your eyes flutter open blearily. The room is still dark, and for a second, you don’t understand why something feels different. Then you realize. You’re on the wrong side of the bed. Or rather, halfway across it. Somehow, you must have shifted closer unconsciously as you slept so that one arm now lies near Dohoon’s side. 

Mortification floods through you as you wake up instantly. You’re about to pull back before you realize that Dohoon seems to be awake. He must have just tucked himself into the blankets. Very carefully, you start shifting back toward your side. You try to keep your movements slow and cautious as your face burns despite the darkness of the room. 

Then Dohoon speaks quietly. 

“You can stay there.”

You freeze.

“What?” 

“You don’t have to move.”

“It must have happened in my sleep,” you explain apologetically.

“I noticed,” he replies.

You can smell his shampoo and feel his warmth radiating through the blankets. 

“Sorry.”

Your voice comes out quieter than intended. 

“For what?” he asks. 

For crossing a line that technically should have never existed? For wanting to stay where you are now that he’s pointed it out?

You say nothing, and neither does he. Dohoon exhales tiredly beside you. And before you know it, you’re already drifting asleep again. 

—

A particularly important executive meeting is running far longer than you anticipated. Nearly every senior executive is currently packed into one of the larger conference rooms on the thirty-second floor. Spreadsheets and projections stretch endlessly across the big screen. 

You’ve already spoken twice about a necessary legal procedure, but both times, you were largely brushed aside. You keep your expression neutral anyway. At this point in your career, you’re far aware that sometimes, persistence is key when you’re stuck in rooms filled with people convinced that their voices are the most important ones there. 

“The liability clause needs to be revised before we move forward with negotiations with our client,” you explain clearly. “If the indemnification language remains this vague, we’ll run into issues once external counsel reviews the – ”

“We can circle back to that later.”

Someone cuts you before you can finish. Hajun, strategic director. He continues speaking while he flips to the next slide, redirecting the conversation toward something about the operational timeline instead. It’s impressive that he holds the confidence required to interrupt you in your own specialty while being completely wrong. Beside you, Minju is glancing sideways to assess your reaction. She’s known you long enough that she can probably pinpoint your exact thoughts in the moment. 

“As I was saying,” you continue calmly, “if this clause isn’t finalized now, we risk running into complications later when coordinating with our client. It’s way more efficient to address it before – ”

“Yes, but operations need to be confirmed first,” Hajun interrupts again for the second time. “We can’t spend the entire meeting debating hypotheticals.”

You recognize the smile on his face as one where he thinks he’s doing you a favor by directing you to something you apparently don’t know, because, of course, he’s the accommodating one here. 

Unfortunately for him, you have neither the time nor the temperament to tolerate his behavior for long. Across the table, Dohoon catches your eye. His jaw tightens slightly in a way that’s imperceptible to others, but you notice immediately. His expression remains otherwise unreadable, but after years of knowing him, you know better. Anyone would feel unpleasant being on the receiving end of the gaze he’s fixing on Hajun at this very moment. Hajun pauses for a millisecond when he notices. Then he keeps talking anyway. 

You lean back in your chair and let him continue for exactly two more sentences before finally speaking again. 

“Hajun. The reason legal reviews exist prior to moving on the execution logistics is specifically to prevent operational delays later,” you state clearly. 

Your eyes flicker to his nameplate before returning his gaze. 

You continue, “As a strategic director, I’m sure you’re aware of that. If you’d like to explain to the board why we entered negotiations with incomplete liability confirmations, you’re welcome to do that. Otherwise, I suggest you let me finish.”

Beside you, Minju lowers her eyes quickly toward her notes to hide what is very likely satisfaction. Dohoon says nothing across from you, but you catch a hint of restrained amusement. 

Hajun clears his throat awkwardly and leans back in his chair in surrender. 

“Right. Go ahead.”

You resume after that, and the rest of the meeting proceeds without any further issues. Eventually, executives filter out after gathering their documents when the meeting adjourns. You remain seated as Minju briefs you about forwarding updated revisions and notes later tonight. Only once the room begins emptying do you finally glance up. 

Dohoon’s suit jacket hangs over the back of his chair while he slides several folders neatly into his bag. Sensing your gaze, he lifts his head slightly so that your eyes meet. Immediately, you remember the look on his face earlier. Something uncomfortable twists in your chest, and you look away first so that you’re instead focusing a little too intently on the papers sitting in front of you. 

You don’t know what to do with the fact that he looked angry on your behalf, except for concluding that it isn’t actually anything special that he looked that way; anyone would be annoyed watching someone get talked over like that. 

But you don’t have time to dwell on anything. There’s now been a last-minute change in your schedule, and now you and Dohoon are expected at a private launch reception tonight for a joint luxury development project between Seorin, Junseong, and several overseas investors. The event was originally scheduled for next week, but a few of the foreign stakeholders couldn’t make it anymore at that time, so of course, to accommodate, the situation forced the entire event forward with less than a day’s notice. 

You glance once at the updated schedule Minju forwarded to your tablet before shutting it off again. Apparently, nobody in this industry values sleep. You simply nod once toward the door.  

“Our car will be here in five minutes. We should hurry.”

Then, you push open the conference room doors and step out. You don’t even have time to think about what to wear. The reception now has to fit between existing obligations, which means you’ll probably end up working well past midnight afterward just to recover lost time.

As you walk into your bedroom, you’re in the middle of loosening the clasp of your watch when you stop. A dress has been laid carefully across the bed still wrapped in plastic. It’s made of a sleek black fabric and sleeveless with thick straps and a high neckline, the material gathered and twisted at the waist to sharpen the silhouette while still maintaining a classy yet alluring appearance. A matching black blazer lies underneath it. Beside the bed sits a new pair of heels in matching satin, along with jewelry arranged neatly atop a small velvet cushion. Everything was clearly coordinated perfectly. 

You assume immediately that Minju had it arranged. It’s not unusual for these things to be planned ahead of time when schedules become chaotic like this, so you don’t question it. 

It’s already fully nighttime by the time you arrive at the venue with Dohoon beside you. The reception is being held at a rooftop venue overlooking the Han River below. As you step further inside, you can’t help but notice the distance between you and Dohoon. Other couples naturally arrive with their hands intertwined and bodies instinctively angled toward each other. Even the more reserved executives maintain some visible closeness. Meanwhile, you and Dohoon walk side by side with perfect professionalism. 

“Unnie!”

You look up instantly at the familiar voice and clicking heels signalling someone’s approaching. 

Noh Yunah appears beside you moments later, her appearance elegant as always as she adorns a deep maroon dress. Her eyes light up the second she sees you. 

“Well,” she says dramatically as her gaze sweeps over you from head to toe. “You look unfairly good tonight.”

A laugh slips from you. 

“Hello to you too.”

She steps closer immediately as she inspects the dress with open approval. 

“No seriously,” Yunah insists. “This is probably the best thing I’ve ever seen you wear.”

Then, after a second, she glances toward Dohoon. 

“You look fine too, I suppose,” she adds teasingly. 

You’re about to open your mouth to thank her, but Dohoon beats you to it. 

“Thank you, Yunah,” he replies smoothly. “I picked it out.”

You blink. Beside you, Yunah’s brows lift instantly. That reaction alone mirrors your inner thoughts. Because Yunah knows you too well. Having known each other since birth, she’s spent years listening to you explain your complicated relationship with Dohoon, about your marriage and about the strange emotional limbo that the two of you just can’t seem to escape. So the idea of Dohoon personally selecting your dress, of all things, is baffling.

“You did?” she asks, her eyes flicking between the two of you with obvious interest. 

Dohoon nods. 

“I thought it would suit her.”

“Oh,” she says slowly as she visibly tries not to smile too hard. 

Dohoon merely offers a polite smile in response. Meanwhile, your brain is still caught on the fact that it was him who picked the dress. Personally. Without telling you. And apparently, he knew your size and your style well enough to get everything exactly right. 

Yunah glances over her shoulder and grimaces. 

“Unfortunately, my father is heading this way, which means I’m about to get introduced to investors that I absolutely do not care about.”

She sighs dramatically, and you snort quietly in amusement. Yunah squeezes your arm once and leans closer toward you. 

“We are absolutely discussing this later,” she says under her breath before stepping away again. 

Then, she disappears back into the crowd. For the rest of the evening, you can’t help but notice the strange harmony of your interactions, as if you suddenly became a married couple that’s truly accustomed to each other both in public and in private. Like the way Dohoon leans in when you speak to hear you better and the way his fingers brush yours when passing you a glass of champagne. It’s worse because you know these moments probably don’t matter and aren’t anything special. But lately, it’s unsettling that moments like these are actually beginning to feel natural to you.  

Sometime in the middle of the event, you excuse yourself to use the restroom. As you’re making your way back out, you stop just before the end of the corridor as laughter spills out from the lounge around the corner. 

“Dude, she’s gorgeous. You’re so lucky to have her,” a voice says. 

“My parents keep urging me to get married. Sometimes I just wish they could pick out someone for me. Save me from all the hassle,” another explains. 

A chorus of laughter follows. 

You recognize the voices as Dohoon’s best friends. Shinyu, Youngjae, Hanjin, Jihoon, and Kyungmin.

“Well, it’s not all that great either” someone replies. 

You recognize his voice as Dohoon’s. 

“Come on,” Youngjae scoffs. “Don’t try to make the rest of us feel better by lying.”

Jihoon adds, “Seriously. If that’s what an arranged marriage looks like, I’ll take it.” 

There’s a brief moment of silence before Dohoon speaks again. 

“Well, you basically have no choice in the matter. There’s no real relationship, and we barely interact outside of work. We don’t go on any dates. It’s just efficient. Probably better this way.”

Your hands tighten slightly around your clutch as you stare ahead blankly at the hallway wall. 

“Efficient?” Shinyu repeats. 

Dohoon sighs. 

“It works better this way, I guess.”

The worst part is he isn’t wrong. You’ve always known that this marriage was never about love. But hearing him say it so matter-of-factly irritates you anyway. Lately, he’s the one blurring the lines first. He’s the one who’s somehow turning up with new dresses and initiating physical contact. Only for him to reduce everything to “efficiency” when someone asks. That annoys you more than outright rejection would have. Because what exactly is he trying to imply? That the distance between you simply appeared on its own? That he had no part in it?

Well, if it bothers you so much, why don’t you do something about it? you think to yourself, annoyed. You turn around before you can hear anything else, exiting through the longer route back. Their voices fade out of earshot. 

Back inside, Dohoon remains leaning slightly against the wall while the others continue staring at him. 

Kyungmin asks, “So you’re seriously saying there’s nothing there at all? Not even a little bit?”

Dohoon stays silent. 

“Yeah, okay,” Hanjin laughs. “He definitely does. Just look at him.”

“It’s so obvious,” Youngjae adds. 

“No, you’re overanalyzing,” Dohoon defends, but it comes out weak. 

“Stop lying to yourself,” Shinyu says. “We’ve known you for so long. You know, I genuinely think you’ve liked her for years.”

“I just – I don’t even know where to start. We’ve been like this for too long already. We’re already stuck in this routine. If I suddenly started acting differently now, it would just feel even weirder. Like I’m forcing it,” Dohoon admits.  

“Or you could just try and be honest,” Jihoon suggests. 

“Okay. Yeah. Maybe I could,” Dohoon replies. 

By the time you return to the ballroom, your expression is perfectly composed again. You step back beside Dohoon smoothly like you hadn’t just disappeared for nearly fifteen minutes and overheard their conversation. Dohoon glances toward you immediately, and while normally you’d have looked back by now, tonight, you deliberately make sure that you don’t. Instead, your posture remains straight as you focus intently on the investor currently speaking to you. 

Dohoon notices instantly. Somehow, without understanding why, it suddenly feels like you’ve distanced yourself farther away from him again. 

—

The next morning, Dohoon wakes up to an empty space next to him on the bed. That isn’t unusual, at least. The sheets on your side are already cool, and faint creases where you’d been lying were now barely there. 

But the kitchen is too quiet. Usually, even if you are up before him, there are traces you’ve yet to clean up, like a cup left by the sink or your tablet resting on the counter because you still haven’t left the house yet. 

Today, there’s nothing. Everything is spotless. His gaze shifts toward the entryway. Your shoes are gone, and so is your work bag. You’ve already left, this time earlier than usual. 

At the company, though he doesn’t always see you around, he realizes he’s rarely seen you all day. From early morning to night, you locked yourself in your office, burying yourself in work. 

Even Minju mentions it in passing after Dohoon asks her when he runs into her in the break room. 

“She’s been in her office all day,” she had said. “She didn’t even come out for lunch.”

By the time he gets home, the house is dark with every light off. Dinner is already prepared by the chef and set neatly on the table. Though he usually eats dinner alone too, the dining room feels larger than usual today when he sits down alone. The long table stretches across the space, every empty chair adding to the isolation, save for the sound of utensils against porcelain. 

Only when he’s tucked in nicely beneath the covers does he hear the sound of your front door and your shoes taken off at the entrance. Footsteps follow softly. He holds his breath, but they pass the bedroom and keep going further down the hall until you reach your office. 

So he waits. Thirty minutes pass. Maybe you’re just setting your stuff down and wrapping up some last minute tasks. Then an hour. Maybe you forgot something needed to be finished and was working on it because it couldn’t wait. Then two. Dohoon shifts his position for what may be the five-hundredth time tonight, staring at the ceiling and forcing himself to stay awake just a little longer. Just until you come up. Just until…

Sleep eventually overtakes him. You never come. 

The next morning, Dohoon wakes up alone again. But this time, the bed is untouched. Your side, smooth and unwrinkled, makes it clear you were never there at all. A sinking feeling rises in his chest.  Disappointed, Dohoon makes his way to your office, cold and empty with no sign of you. On his way back to the kitchen, he notices one of the guest rooms’ doors left ajar. He takes a few careful steps before pushing the door open further. The bed is freshly-made, but a bottle of water now sits on the nightstand with your lip balm beside it. Proof that you spent the night here.

For the first time since your marriage a year ago, he thought maybe he could try. He thought that maybe, something could change. Now all he’s left with is distance. And he only has himself to blame. 

—

A week doesn’t pass so much as it erodes you. You leave before the sun fully rises, and you return long after midnight. Some nights, you close yourself into the guest room. Other nights, your office light stays on until it burns into the morning. 

At work, you’re worse. Meetings stack back to back at your discretion. Your calendar becomes a wall you hide behind. You don’t take breaks. You don’t stop. 

Minju notices immediately. She starts hovering by your desk around lunch and whenever she can catch you in between meetings. She sets offerings of snacks down that you never touch. You don’t ever look up from your laptop. 

“I’m fine,” you say every time. 

Dohoon notices too. But unlike Minju, he can’t reach you; you’re always just out of grasp. You leave before he wakes, and you return when he’s already asleep. So he settles for what he can. He resorts to texting you reminders to eat and sleep, but you’re so consumed by your work that you usually don’t see them until hours later. 

By the end of the week, it catches up to you. You’re walking to a meeting with your heels clicking against the tile floor when the world as you see it begins to blur. The hallway you’re walking on stretches too long, and voices around you melt together incoherently. You blink hard once, twice, trying to force clarity in your vision. It doesn’t work. Your steps falter, and before you know it, everything tilts until it all turns black. 

When you open your eyes again, you’re greeted with the sharp scent of antiseptic and bleach and an unfamiliar ceiling of a sterile white hue that makes your eyes ache if you stare at it for too long. There’s a warm, steady weight on your hand. You turn your head slowly to see Dohoon. He’s still in his work clothes, though his tie is loosened like he tugged at it one too many times, and his sleeves are pushed up, exposing the palpable tension in his forearms. His fingers are wrapped around yours like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go. His posture is rigidly straight like he hasn’t moved in hours. 

“You’re awake,” he says, his voice steady yet filled with relief. 

You try to sit up instinctively, but his hand tightens around yours immediately. 

“No – hey… easy.”

He’s already leaning forward and guiding you back down carefully. 

You wince at the dull ache throbbing in your head as you take in your surroundings at the emergency room.

“How long have I been here?” you ask quietly. 

“Three hours,” Dohoon replies. 

Your eyes widen. 

“Minju called me right when it happened, and I brought you here,” he explains, leaning over to press the assistance button near your bed, his other hand still holding onto yours. “I just called for someone to check on you.”

“It’s just exhaustion,” you say, looking away as you try to brush it off.

“You literally fainted,” Dohoon says, and you can hear the exasperation in his tone.

Before he can say more, a nurse steps in. She asks a few basic questions and instructs ample rest, proper meals, and a significantly reduced workload. 

The drive home is quiet, and not the comfortable kind. He glances at you more than once, but you pretend you don’t notice, keeping your gaze fixed out the window. 

“Bedroom,” he says the moment you step inside. “You’re not working tonight.”

There’s no room to argue, not that you have the energy to.  

“Come on,” he says, the softness in his voice catching you off guard. He brings you to the bedroom instead of the guest room. The mattress dips beneath your weight. Dohoon walks around to the other side of the room so that he can draw back the curtains. He dims the lights and leaves briefly only to come back with a glass of warm water on the nightstand. 

“I’m assuming you didn’t eat anything today. How many hours have you been sleeping?” he asks suddenly. 

You look away before holding up a weak three fingers. 

He runs a hand through his hair as frustration flickers through his expression for just a second. 

“You can’t keep doing this. You can’t just work until you collapse and skip meals.”

You swallow and look back at him. 

“It doesn’t affect you.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you regret them because his expression falls instantly.

“That’s not true,” he says without hesitation. 

You don’t reply. He’s shifted closer now, sitting at the edge of the bed next to you. It feels like the distance between the two of you is about to give, all the things left unsaid sitting right there between you. 

“Why?” you ask quietly. 

“I..” 

Because I love you. I always have. 

It sits just on the tip of his tongue. 

But instead, he says, 

“I.. I care about you.”

Your expression drops for a second before you mask it, pursing your lips together in feign neutrality. 

Care. Of course. Not love, not want, not anything but superficial care simply out of obligation from being tied to each other for the rest of your lives. 

You nod and look away before he can sense the falter threatening to seep through your expression. 

“Okay,” you reply. 

He watches you pull the blanket slightly closer around yourself, retreating into your own thoughts before he can even try to express how he truly feels. Panic flickers through him as he watches you slowly withdraw right in front of his eyes. For once, he tried to make a genuine move, but in the end, it wasn’t conveyed. 

“You should rest,” he says, but he doesn’t leave. 

Instead, he just sits there next to you as you close your eyes, the confession still trapped inside his chest. 

—

Technically, you’re supposed to still be resting. Instead, you’re sitting on the couch with your laptop open and several printed contracts spread across the coffee table when the doorbell rings. 

“It’s open!” you call out, thinking that it’s just Dohoon returning from his errands. 

“You’re unbelievable.”

Yunah steps inside carrying two shopping bags and immediately narrows her eyes at the sight in front of her. 

“You literally collapsed and you’re still working?”

“Relax. I’m resting right now,” you reply, gesturing casually around you. 

She reaches over and closes your laptop without a word. You sigh dramatically and lean back against the couch cushions while she settles beside you. 

“You look awful,” Yunah deadpans. 

“Thanks,” you reply. “So what did you get me?”

You eye the bags that she had set onto the floor in front of you. 

“Snacks can wait,” Yunah asserts, her hands moving the bags away from your line of sight. “First, tell me everything.”

“What do you mean?” you say, feigning innocence. 

“You know what I mean. What’s going on with you and Dohoon?”

You purse your lips. 

“It’s not important.”

“Right. Because deciding to self-destruct by throwing yourself into your work is something you happen to do recreationally,” Yunah points out. 

You bring your hands to your face and let them rest at the side of your neck. 

“I just misunderstood something.”

“What something?”

“Well, there was a reception last week, right? You were there too.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Yunah replies. 

“I overheard him talking with his friends,” you admit. 

Yunah straightens up slightly. 

“And?”

“He said our marriage was just something efficient and that there’s no real relationship between us. How we barely interact outside of work and stuff. But that wasn’t the part that bothered me, because obviously, I’m just as aware as he is about our relationship.”

Yunah nods in agreement. 

“Maybe I’m just being petty, but he made it seem like the distance just magically appeared on his own and how nothing’s going to change when at the same time, he’s the one who keeps confusing me lately.”

You pause before continuing. 

“Do you remember the dress I wore that day? How he said he was the one who picked it out? If you asked me a few weeks ago whether or not I’d believe that something like that happened, I would have laughed in your face. But now I’m not so sure. He’s acting differently and he looks at me differently. But the second someone asks him about us, all he’s saying is that we’re just following an arrangement.”

“Well do you think he’s only trying because you collapsed?” Yunah asks. 

“See… I’m not so sure either. I swear I’m trying so hard to not be delusional, but sometimes I feel like he wants things to change. Yet the second I start believing that, he pulls away again. And now he says he cares about me.”

“Obviously I could totally be wrong,” Yunah starts, “but I really do think he likes you. Just based on what I’ve seen, I think he may very well have feelings for you.”

You stay silent as you process her words. 

“I still remember that one time when we were kids. You and I were just around seven years old, and he was like nine. Your mom got so mad at you because you didn’t do well on one of your math tests, and you cried to me for like days after that at school.”

“Yeah, how could I forget?” you laugh. Back then it seemed like that was the biggest crisis you’d ever had in life. 

“Do you also remember how suddenly, three days later, your mom seemed like she changed her mind and became somewhat more encouraging?”

“Yeah… I do,” you recall. It was strange back then because usually you’d just get over it and study harder next time, but that day, your mom had even brought home cookies out of the blue.

“Dohoon was the one who convinced your mother to do that. She ran into him sometime before she bought the cookies, and he was the one who told her about how hard you’d studied and how bad you felt at school.”

Shocked, you sit up, blinking. What?

“How do you know this?”

“I saw it happen. And he told me afterward too, when you were smiling so cheerfully all of a sudden the next day,” Yunah explains. 

You look down at your hands. 

“He’s a good person,” you murmur. “He’d take care of anyone he was tied to.”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she studies you with growing disbelief. Because from where she’s standing, this situation looks extremely obvious.

“You genuinely believe that?” she asks. 

“What do you mean?”

Yunah leans back against the couch. 

“I think you and your husband are maybe the two stupidest and most emotionally repressed people I’ve ever met.”

You run your fingers through your hair. 

“No, seriously,” she continues, putting a hand on your arm. “You’re over here acting like this man was ordered to buy you a custom dress when he did it because it reminded him of you. He stayed in the hospital for hours holding your hand. He practically looks ill every time that you’ve been ignoring him lately.”

“It just means he feels obligated,” you say quietly. “Anyways, enough about him. What have you been up to lately?”

Knowing better than to push any further, Yunah simply complies and lets you change the topic. 

—

A few days later, Dohoon is still at the office when his phone vibrates, signaling an incoming call. He barely glances away from the financial projections spread across his screen and answers. 

“Hello?”

“You’re an idiot.”

Dohoon brings the phone away from his ear to see the caller's name. 

“Hello to you too, Yunah.”

“I’m serious,” she continues. “What exactly is wrong with you?”

“I feel like I missed several steps in this conversation,” Dohoon replies. 

“You told her that your marriage was just efficient?”

His stomach drops instantly. The silence on his end says enough. 

“Oh my god. You did.”

Dohoon sits up straighter now. 

“Wait, she heard that?” he asks, confused. 

“Yes.”

“When?”

“At the reception.”

He closes his eyes briefly. Everything immediately clicks into place. The way you suddenly withdrew and became so much colder within the span of a week. 

“Wait,” Dohoon starts. “Didn’t she hear the rest?”

“What?” Yunah asks. 

“The part where my friends started calling me out and I admitted that I would try to change?”

“You did? Yeah I don’t think she heard that,” she replies. “At least based on what she told me, I don’t think she caught that part.”

“Oh.”

“Unbelievable,” Yunah mutters. “Both of you are genuinely painful to watch.”

Dohoon’s barely listening because now all he can think about is you overhearing that conversation while already standing on uncertain ground when it comes to this relationship. Especially after all those mixed signals. No wonder you did what you did. 

“She thinks you’re only trying now because she collapsed. She thinks you feel obligated,” Yunah explains, her voice cutting through your thoughts. “For the record, I think you’re both hopeless.”

“Thanks.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go fix it!”

Then the line disconnects. 

Dohoon decides to leave work early. His assistant looks up in confusion as he closes his laptop and stands. 

“Sir, the review later today – ”

“Can you reschedule it?”

He’s already walking out before he can respond. For the first time in what seems like forever, he doesn’t stay until the building is nearly empty. He doesn’t wait until the last light on in the building is his own before leaving. 

At home, he finds you asleep on the couch. Documents are still fanned across the coffee table as you sit upright with your head tilted slightly to the side. Even here, you couldn’t stop working.  

Dohoon lowers himself slowly onto the edge of the couch carefully so as not to disturb you. His hand reaches out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. 

Then, quietly, he says your name. 

“Dohoon?” 

Your voice is soft and slightly hoarse from sleep. 

He should start explaining immediately; that’s why he came home early. He had sentences prepared, a rough plan mapped out in his head. 

Instead, he blurts out, “I left work early.”

You blink the sleep away from your eyes as you stretch your neck absentmindedly.

“That’s new.”

“I know.”

He pauses before continuing. 

“I know you overheard me. At the private launch.”

Now that wakes you up completely. 

“I see,” you say quietly. 

You’re panicking internally, unsure what this means. 

“But I don’t think you heard all of it,” Dohoon continues. “At least… I’m assuming. Based on what you said afterward.”

“What do you mean?”

There’s no easy way to do this, he realizes. 

“You didn’t hear me say that I like you,” he admits. “I’ve liked you for years. I don’t know why I’m only saying it now. I’m sorry it took this long.”

“You do?”

The shock in your voice is so genuine. Like the possibility had never once occurred to you. Like you’d spent all this time in the same rooms, looking at the same walls, working on the same projects, and somehow never noticed a thing. 

“I didn’t know how to say it,” he explains. “When we were kids, I was too young to understand what I was even feeling. And then by the time I did, it just felt like too much time had already passed.”

You nod slowly, and he knows you understand. 

“I want to try, I really do. But I don't want to get this wrong and lose what we already have.” 

He watches the small movements of your expression, frowning in concentration as you process everything. 

“Me too,” you finally say. “That’s – me too.”

“Really.”

“Yeah.”

He takes a breath. You’re waiting, and you swear the suspense is killing you. 

“Can we make this real?” he asks. “Our relationship, I mean. Not arranged. Just us. Together. Because we want this, and because we’re choosing each other.”

The corner of your mouth lifts upwards. 

“Okay,” you agree. “I’m okay with that.”

“Wait,” he says, putting a hand up. “I’m not asleep right now, right?”

Your laugh comes out unguarded. He can’t stop smiling at you either. His eyes linger like they’re memorizing this moment. You shift on the couch so that you’re fully facing him, and his eyes follow the movement. His gaze drops to your lips for just a moment before he catches himself. You don’t move away. He doesn’t either. 

So you lean in. 

Dohoon goes completely still, and his whole body has forgotten how to work because you’re actually kissing him.  

It only lasts a brief second. He can still feel the ghost of your kiss on his lips. 

His hand lifts and rests gently at your jaw. And then his lips are on yours. You kiss him back properly this time, and his hesitation fully dissolves at once. His grip steadies on the side of your face, grounding you. 

When he finally pulls back, his voice comes out low. 

“I thought I was imagining this,” he says.

“I’ve been waiting,” you whisper. “For a while now.”

“You have?”

“I just never thought you would too.”

And then he kisses you again like he should have done from the start many years ago. Like it’s all he ever wanted to do, and he has absolutely no intention of stopping now. 

—

Having both of your families together isn’t unusual at all. Especially if it’s a casual get-together. This time, the dinner was your mother’s idea. 

That night, you had asked Dohoon about what should happen next with the arrangement and with your families. Ultimately, both of you settled on just taking it normally and letting everything flow naturally. 

The moment Dohoon took your coat from your hands at the entrance and hung it up neatly on the rack without you having to say anything, your mother’s eyes watched sharply, a pleased expression on her face as she noticed the entire series of actions unfold. 

Dinner proceeds normally for approximately twenty minutes. His father asks about the latest quarterly report, and your father responds. His mother asks about yours, and you answer. You try not to think about how Dohoon’s shoulder is warm against yours as he sits right beside you. 

“You seem different,” your mom points out as she looks between the two of you. 

“We seem the same,” you say immediately. 

“Mm.” She picks up her chopsticks again and smiles at nothing in particular. “Never mind.”

His mother is watching the two of you as well. 

“You’re sitting closer together,” his mother observes.

“We’re all sitting close together,” Dohoon says. 

Your father smiles quietly at the exchange. 

“Alright, alright. Let them eat.”

So the conversation moves on, and you start to think that both of you are finally in the clear. 

That is, until his father sets down his glass, clearly about to say something. You wait nervously in anticipation. 

“Is this a real marriage now? Or still pretend?”

“Real,” Dohoon answers instantly. 

A pleased smile stretches across your face.

“So,” his mother says casually. “Have you talked about children?”

“Mom!” Dohoon says exasperatedly. 

You nearly choke on your forkfull of food. 

“Well?” she adds. “It’s not like you two are getting any younger.”

“Oh please,” your mom says, waving a hand. “Let them settle first.”

Then she looks at you both again, her bright eyes shining with unmistakable approval. 

“But still, I don’t see why we should wait too long.”

Dohoon turns away as he coughs, the tips of his ears turning red. You purse your lips awkwardly, but a small smile appears when you notice how he can’t seem to hide his throughout the rest of the dinner. 

—

The photo ends up in a frame by the side of your bed. Dohoon is turned slightly toward you, clearly in the middle of saying something, and you’re laughing with your whole face. His eyes are practically swimming in content. It lives next to the latest novel that you’ve been meaning to finish for the past six months and a small ceramic swan he bought on a work trip because he thought it would make you smile, and of course, bring back good old memories. 

Your mother called it a miracle. His mother claimed it was inevitable. But what you know is this: it’s an ordinary Wednesday afternoon, and Dohoon is searching up how to make creamy seafood udon because he saw it on your feed while you were scrolling on social media in bed three days ago. You’re sitting at the dining table with your laptop open in front of you, trying to review a contract while periodically glancing up to watch him struggle.

“I think you’re supposed to saute that first.”

“I know.”

“You sure about that?” you tease before returning your attention to your screen. 

A few moments later, you glance up after noticing how suspiciously silent it’s gotten in the kitchen. 

“What happened?”

“It says medium heat,” Dohoon starts. 

“Yes.”

“How do you do that on the stove?”

You stare at him in amusement. 

“Dohoon. You literally run a multinational corporation.”

“No, I don’t run it. I just hold a relatively important position.”

“Same thing,” you shrug. 

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He walks over, abandoning the stove entirely. 

“Your udon is going to burn.”

“It won’t.”

“Are you almost done?” he asks. 

“With work?”

“Mm.”

“Ten minutes.”

“Good. Because dinner will be done in fifteen.”

You glance toward the kitchen. 

“You’re very confident for someone who just asked me how to turn the stove to medium heat.”

He just leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head before heading back toward the kitchen. 

You hear him curse mere seconds later.

“You burned it, didn’t you?” you call out.

“Maybe.”

“Order takeout?” you offer. 

“Yeah,” he replies. 

A random Wednesday. A ruined dinner. Nothing could be more normal than this. 

[ihanzzn]

bnd as tropes in a dating sim — as perceived by me and my friend LOLL

✮ — we came up with this in the car and i wanted to post it purely for my enjoyment heh so if it’s bad then oops sorry!! (dividers by @uzmacchiato)

fluff ; high school au, comedy, not rlly proofread lol wc : ~ .6k per member — 3.5k total

sungho — the smart one

- you definitely meet bc there’s a project you need pairs for and you end up paired with sungho

- he stares at you and says “just put your name on the document, i’ll do it..” because he’s already expecting you to be lazy. he has a standard for his work that no one else meets, so why would you be any different?

- except, when he sees you’re actually willing to work with him and get a good grade as a pair, he lights up and is happy that you have a brain. it’s like your minds are synced because he understands your thought process and is seeing things he never would’ve seen without you.

- after you get an amazing grade, he’s started to gravitate towards you when it comes to group work and refuses to try working with anyone else. but only because he knows you’re a hard worker, nothing else!

- sungho doesn’t realize his feelings developing over time until he’s just a second too late and someone else tries pairing up with you :

you’re sitting there organizing your things and prepping your documents for this assignment. it was suggested to work in groups as to get the work done faster, and you already know who will be showing up at your desk. but when you look up, there’s an unexpected face staring at you instead; taehyun. he’s another classmate of yours and a good student. “hey, if you’re not busy i was hoping we could work on this together? yknow split the work up a bit?” you’re about to reply when a familiar voice rings in your ears. “oh im sorry, was i interrupting? i was just trying to get my partner so we can work together.” of course it’s sungho. he’s not even sure how he got here so quickly. all he remembers is a weird feeling swirling in his gut. why is he with you. doesn’t everyone know sungho only works with you? you’re so smart and kind, always working with his ideas and adding your own thoughts. taehyun doesn’t even know the face you make when you’re focused, so why does he think he can just walk up to you like he doesn’t exist?? taehyun flashes a quick apologetic smile, completely unaware of the battle sungho is fighting in his head. “partner? sorry dude i had no idea you guys were dating, my bad!” his eyes go wide and almost immediately his ears burn a bright red. “WHAT—?! no not my partner, she’s my class partner! like we’re paired for the project!!” his eyes flash over to you, wildly gesturing with his hands. “we’re not dating no- i mean, i’m not saying i wouldn’t date you.. you’re amazing— L-LIKE in a ‘you’re super smart and hardworking’ way, you know? but i- im not trying to ask you out now, i’d have more class than that! i’d take you out somewhere nice and ask you properly— NOT THAT I’VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT BEFORE!!” he’s beet red and out of breath by the time he’s done over explaining himself. taehyun takes his leave awkwardly and you’re stuck staring at him with a bewildered expression. “sungho. get to the fucking table already.”

- he’s speechless after that, completely confused as to what made him act out like that. he seemingly can’t comprehend why it made him so… upset to see you being someone else’s partner.

- and that word, partner, is what makes the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. he might like you a lot more than just a classmate….

- sungho is traumatized. by himself. and vows he’ll never do something that embarrassing again. therefore, he now has to confess to you properly and keep his word of asking you out after a nice dinner!

riwoo — the cutie

- you and riwoo met in elementary school, bonding over having the same pencil case and liking the same music. but him moving away after the fourth grade unfortunately had you forgetting about him. well, until now.

- of course you’re happy to see him after all these years and can’t wait to catch him up on your middle school horror stories. but he’s not just some school gossip, he’s a man now! a man ready to confess what he couldn’t all those years ago.

- his confidence has always been what pushes him forward and there’s no denying that now with how much prettier and interesting you’ve gotten. but with everyone else seemingly fighting for you..? what if he stands no chance…

- no, he can’t think like that. he knows he can trust in his cute charm, so he’s not worried about his “competition” since there’s really no better choice than him!!

- besides, there was no going back for him once he’s heard you’re going to the same high school now. he needs to make up for lost time :

“ah- riwoo?” he’s snapped out of his thoughts and turns his head to the sound of your voice. there you are. just as pretty as he could’ve imagined. your hairstyle suits you, he thinks, it frames your face in a way that brings out your eyes. and your smile— wait. respond, riwoo don’t just go silent! “yn! it’s so nice to see you, how have you been? i know it’s been a while,” does he hug? handshake? a simple nod?? god, when has he ever been this nervous.. after you go in for a hug, you pull away and hum, “cute glasses,” and he swears he feels light headed. you almost immediately start talking afterwards and for that he’s glad. there’s no awkward transitional phase where you’re silent, it’s like you’re just resuming a conversation. he smiles to himself because you still talk the same. just as animated and excited when recreating stories with the same habit of talking with your hands. it’s like you’ve actually known each other all these years. oh but now he’s overthinking it.. what if this is too casual. are you this comfortable because you just see him as a close friend? what is he thinking, you’ve been talking for 2 minutes not 2 months! there’s no way you could— “..riwoo?” his gaze shoots up to yours, “i said, what about you? i’d love to know how you’ve been doing.” and his nerves calm because the beam of your smile is all the reassurance he needs.

- however, no matter how many years have passed or how he’s grown into his features, riwoo is still scared that you’ll always see him as the friend you had on the playground.

- he also might have a bit of an unacknowledged one sided beef going on with these other guys because they don’t see him as a threat..

- but that’s not gonna stop him from winning your heart, he’s technically known you years longer than anyone else here! plus, he’s charismatically handsome and a lot funnier so why wouldn’t you choose him?

jaehyun — the overachiever

- jaehyun juggles the many tasks of being the class president, captain of the boys soccer team, and is now trying to be the schools genius. however you’re a pretty tough candidate to beat.

- you’d assume he would come for your spot in being top of your class but he actually really admires you for it! he starts making an effort to get on your good side because in his head, you’d be an unstoppable duo.

- it’s during a study session for a group math competition that the warmth in his chest becomes unavoidable and he comes to terms with the fact that being just the top students isn’t all that he wants.

- at first, he tries winning you over with expensive gifts and elaborate plans to take you out. he thinks he can win you over by just impressing you. but you’re just not falling for him yet.. so he almost gives up

- but he realizes that you actually enjoy nerding out and appreciate when someone really listens. you light up with an animated expression when you talk about your interests, he caught the look in your eyes during your conversation with the “weird fish guy” and couldn’t get it out of his head.

- he starts paying more attention to what you’re really passionate about instead of going off of the surface level things he sees :

the sun begins to dip under the horizon as you finish your last assignment for the week. you don’t even notice jaehyun walking up until he’s sitting across from you at the table. he’s still a little sweaty from practice but changed into a fresh pair of clothes. you notice he’s acting weird, normally starting the conversation with a loud greeting or a laugh. but he looks… nervous. not making eye contact, unusually quiet, and playing with the strap of his backpack awkwardly. “are you.. okay? you’re acting really weird.” you laugh it off but concern is laced in your tone. “i got you something,” his voice is weaker and even a little embarrassed, like he’s not sure if he’s saying the right thing. “myung jaehyun, i told you to stop getting me things! you’ve spent way too much money and i don’t—” your throat goes dry when he turns his phone over to you. the screen reads YOU GOT EM! with a recent picture of your favorite idol group that’s just announced their tour. your eyes trail down and are caught on the subtext. meet and greet. jaehyun’s heart pounds against his chest in anticipation, he can’t read your expression. did he go too far? what if he got the group wrong. what if you can’t even go that day? what if— you launch out of your seat and practically tackle him, “OH MY GOD. YOU DIDNT- HOW DID YOU EVEN—? THEY’RE SO EXPENSIVE WHAT??” you’re spewing out thank you’s and your face is so close that all he can muster is a “are they okay..?” you pull back with a huge grin, “OKAY?? jaehyun this is PERFECT! thank you, oh i LOVE YOU FOR THIS!” and his brain short circuits.

- now that he knows the true way to your heart, jaehyun takes the time to assure you he’ll support every interest you talk about. the expensive gifts don’t stop, instead becoming more thoughtful and relevant to what you’d actually love.

- he listens to your advice of slowing down and stop trying to get ahead of his future, focusing on you is his main priority and he can only hope he isn’t too late.

taesan — the quiet one

- you’ve heard of taesan before, some calling him the rude emo that makes garage band music.. but the guy has been no where to be seen as of late.

- an awkward interaction with one of your love interests leads you to take refuge in a music room you had wrongfully assumed to be empty. unfortunately, no one takes your schools band seriously so the practice rooms are usually unused and left unlocked to whoever wants to make an attempt at making music.

- you’re giving yourself a pep talk on how to not be so awkward when the most monotone voice scares the living daylights out of you

- “..are you done?” and that’s where you meet him!!

- you magically start noticing him around your campus a lot more and he soon starts waving back when you say hi.

- he eventually catches himself enjoying your company and once he opens up, you realize he’s not the “gothy grump” everyone makes him out to be.

- it isn’t until the festival that’s coming up that taesan realizes he might have to confront his feelings sooner than he’d like. he overhears jaehyun saying he’s gonna confess to you during the fireworks and he can’t have you wasting your time on that “tryhard” :

just before you finish getting ready to leave the house and meet jaehyun, a message pops up on your phone from taesan asking you to meet at your usual spot because it’s urgent. you rush over because he’s never texted with such…emotion before. except when you get there, he’s calm as ever saying he needs your help with his equipment and writing lyrics. “taesan- i don’t have time for this.. the festival starts soon and i had promised jaehyun I'd—” “hold this,” he cuts you off and hands you his electric bass as if to distract you. you freeze. taesan has said how this is like his prized possession. how he saved his paychecks from his job at the dead end music shop to pay for it. and he’s just handing it to you so naturally. “you know how to play a chord?” his hands ghost over yours, cold and much larger than yours as they position your fingers in the correct spot. he teaches you the beginning melody of a song he’s working on and it gets stuck in your head. you can almost catch a glimpse of his notebook with the lyrics. lines are scratched out and others are penciled in messily, and you swear a scribble at the top resembles your name but you don’t get the chance to read any of it before he swipes it from the desk and turns his attention back to you. you end up talking a lot in that room, the night feeling endless as time goes on. your heart sinks when you hear the fireworks cracking outside, realizing you’d broken your promise to jaehyun. taesan tries bringing your attention back to him but is too late before you’re grabbing your bag and running out the door. there’s a twinge of guilt in his chest but it’s ultimately drowned out by the ache in his heart when the warmth of your hand lingers on his palm.

- the music room becomes your safe space when things get too overwhelming and you know taesan will be the silence you need

- he likes your company as he works on his music, watching your face as he plays the backtracks of “your song” without explicitly saying it’s for you just to see if you like it

- he hates how distracted you are with all these other losers so he can only hope his music gets stuck in your head and into your heart.

leehan — your nerdy friend

- you’re not entirely sure how or when you had become so close to leehan. all you remember is asking him to help you get a bag of chips out of the vending machine because they were stuck and he was the only one around. he kinda just assumed you were friends now and has lingered around ever since.

- hanging out with him is a nice change of pace though, like a person you really can be yourself around. you take turns info dumping about things you’re into and get equally as excited with each other.

- he’s always super sweet, walking you to class and waiting for you outside before it finishes. he’ll even hold your bag despite your protests of being fully capable to hold it yourself.

- even on your hangouts to the aquarium or a museum he’s a saint. if you want pictures taken then he’ll turn into your personal photographer and smiles when he sees himself tagged under your instagram post.

- ever since the new year has started, leehan has noticed you’ve been around him less. he’s always been very observant like that, so of course he’s aware of the time you don’t spend with him.

- he gets a little sulky, sure, but he only suspects that to be normal because of all the new friends you’re making :

leehan hasn’t had a reason to doubt your closeness anyway. you have matching keychains and go out with other around the town basically every week. you always have something (and someone) new to talk about so he doesn’t see much of a problem because you’re so happy when you talk. but today he’s heard some news that’s seemed to have reached everyone but you considering how calm you are about it. “i heard from riwoo that you’re going out on a.. date pretty soon.” there’s a lilt in his tone that isn’t necessarily insecure, but more so curious as to what you’ll reply. “oh yeah that’s right! he said there’s this super cute pastry shop downtown that we should go to!” he’s not a fan of the way you perk up. “you’re actually going??” you almost flinch at his change of tone; accusatory and almost offended. “well.. yeah? riwoo’s nice and i mean no one else has really stepped up to take me out so i don’t see why it’s so bad to go out with him.” confusion is written all over your face because why would he care? you’ve barely mentioned any of the other guys you’ve met to him. he scoffs, pouting and breaking eye contact with a huff, “and you didn’t bother to tell me?” “it never came up! besides, why do i need to tell you everything? it’s not like we’re dating.” it goes silent. “….we’re not?” you stare at him for a long time before breaking the silence, “why would we?? you haven’t asked me out or called me your girlfriend— we don’t even see each other everyday!” “i just thought.. we were really secure…”

- turns out, all leehan needs in a relationship is attention, a great listener, and an aquarium buddy. but now he thinks he can do better than that..

- these other guys don’t even know you! he’s the only one who recognizes the video game character you have as your profile picture and the music you listen to while you study.

- so after a few awkward explanations, leehan is determined to prove to you and everyone else why he should reclaim his spot as your official boyfriend.

woonhak — the eager one

- you didn’t necessarily have a choice in being in woonhak’s life, it was more like he chose you to be in his.

- he begged you to tutor him in biology and hasn’t really left your side since. he kinda claimed you as his friend and now you have no say in the matter.

- he’s always coincidentally at the same places you are. he’ll walk by your class and wave at you through the window or offer to buy you lunch since your schedules surprisingly match up.

- but despite how..random he is, woonhak always manages to put a smile on your face every time you're around him. whether it be a dumb joke or his clumsy mistakes, he's always managed to get you out of a bad mood.

- traces of you are left all around him now; your notes and doodles in the margins of his notebook, random stickers left on his water bottle, even some of your pens that he stole borrowed from you. while other people have gained suspicion, you both only see it as a ‘really good friendship’…

- one day, you go out grocery shopping with your mom and stop dead in your tracks when you make eye contact in the cereal aisle :

he’s immediately on his best behavior to make a good impression on your mom and of course she loves him. he has that boyish charm that wins her over and makes your stomach do a weird flip. you excuse yourself to grab a carton of eggs and a breather. it’d be silly to overthink this, it’s a grocery store not a manhunt, so why would it be crazy to see him here?? either way. your mom taking such a liking to him wasn’t exactly on your bucket list. of course you’re questioned on the way home and asked about who he is but there’s not many answers to give. later that night, you hear a knock at your door right before dinner is almost done. but you’re completely dumbfounded when woonhak is standing at your doorstep with a cheesy smile and a bouquet of flowers. “your mom will like these, right? i wasn’t sure if she was more of a lilies or peonies type of person, but she suits both!” your own mother plotted your demise while you were grabbing eggs. and worst of all? you’re in your home outfit. a well loved band tshirt, sleep shorts that have seen better days, and your hair sticking every which way. but woonhak’s smile almost melts like he finds it endearing, and that just makes this all worse!! he’s invited in by your mom and you rush to change into something more presentable before setting the table. you completely expect the table to be awkwardly silent or for someone to end up embarrassing you but it’s surprisingly pleasant. woonhak compliments your moms cooking and gets into an entertaining conversation with your dad about baseball. he fits in all too well and, without either of you realizing, it makes you both a little nervous.

- he definitely will help with the dishes after and your mom will insist he comes over more often. she’ll even bring him up like “that woonhak boy is so sweet, you should bring him over more!” and you don’t know what kind of spell he’s cast over her.

- since he’s a little younger than you, woonhak is just trying his hardest to prove himself to you and the universe is working in his favor every time.

so, who would you choose?

like what you see? check my masterlist for more!! feel free to join my taglist if you’d like to be notified!! ↳ @xionvlog

≡ yes these are all so cliche and very rushed but i had fun writing these lol i actually loved yapping about this guys lmk if you’d wanna see more… bc ill probably write more….

[woonhakfeet]

boo! I got your toes! | chapter 4

pairing: cortis x ghost!reader

synopsis: you’re a ghost who’s been wandering around with no purpose. you don’t remember your past life or anything for that matter. you’re always bored and find ways to entertain yourself—observing humans, flickering lights, sending objects tumbling off shelves, and the occasional toe grab through the blanket. so imagine your surprise when you phase through the walls of a random building, ready to terrorise a group of teen dudes, only for them to end up pointing at you and screaming their heads off before you could even do anything. your eyes widen at the realisation. they can see you.

genre: crack, fluff, all the good stuff

word count: 3.1k (it’s not. it’s 3080, but if I say it’s 3.1k then it’s 3.1k, right guys?!)

other parts: chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3

a/n: pop-pop it’s show time! (show time!) show time (show time!) guess who’s back againnn!

“Sean, stop glaring at the ghost. We’ve already established she’s harmless.”

Martin sighs in defeat watching a hunched over Seonghyeon staring holes through your face whilst sipping on his smoothie.

“Hey! She has a name, ain’t that right [name]?” comes Keonho’s strangely honeyed voice. You’re still not entirely used to it. He’s leaning towards you on the shared table, face in hands, elbows propping him up, shooting you a painfully obvious lovestricken look.

You give a wry smile.

“Can someone pass me the salt?” Juhoon comments like nothing is happening.

“Is it to try and get rid of her again?” Pips James as he chews on his burger. He talks as if you’re not right next to him, and at your unimpressed look he sends you a small “sorry”.

“No.” Juhoon blandly replies with no further explanation to why he needs the salt, and Seonghyeon is left sitting like a goblin, suspicious eyes still stuck on the side of your face.

“Am I the only sane one left?” He says to himself, but Martin, who’s sitting next to him, ends up hearing him anyway.

“Dude, it’s been like two weeks. Let it go.” He’s chomping on his fries with little care, round eyes barely settling on Seonghyeon’s face.

“And she’s pretty.” Adds Keonho, and Martin only nods fervently whilst high-fiving him like he just discovered the meaning of life. “Right?! Totally my type.” 

“I’m right here you know.” You utter, and the boys only spare you half a glance before giving you a thumbs up and diving right back into the food.

As Martin informed, it had been weeks since you’ve met the guys. Officially two weeks since they’ve stopped trying to murder you. Though ‘Sean’ seems to still harbour some unresolved feelings towards you.

You shift a little where you’re standing.

James flinches the littlest bit at your movements.

You deadpan.

Oh, yeah.

And it seems like James is still a little jumpy around you, despite his non-ending declarations of him saying he’s “Not scared of no ghost”, verbatim.

You were out having dinner at the new New York inspired diner that opened up not too far from the dorm. 

The boys had specifically requested for a seating arrangement for 6. 

Surprisingly, they wouldn’t budge until a space for 6 opened up. And by ‘they’ you mean everyone but Sean. You’re starting to think that that’s just his comportment when he’s hungry, because he’s not usually as prickly towards you at home. You’re relatively calm, so he honestly forgets you’re there, for the most part. 

Safe for the times you ‘accidentally’ end up phasing through his room to remind him you, in fact, still exist.

You’re never going to stop tickling his toes when he falls asleep. No matter how many times he gives you the stink eye.

It’s your love language <3

Anyway, a spot for 6 people opened up eventually, which only led the waiters to think that perhaps a new addition would show up. But it’s officially been over 40 minutes, and no new person has come through the restaurant doors. 

So it’s safe to say they got nagged at by a bunch of teenagers for absolutely no apparent reason.

Which is why they’ve been staring at your table like hawks. 

All that fuss about having to have 6 seats….just for 5 boys to be ravaging at their meals.

They may not be able to see it, but the sixth person has been very much present from the start. And since the boys could see you, all seats were technically occupied. 

To them, it doesn’t matter what others can’t see. 

What matters is that they see you.  

So long as you’re included, by their standard, it’s all smooth sailing.

Burgers, fries, pizza, and the most delicious combination of ‘unhealthy’ one could ever imagine adorns the table like a bestowed title. 

You almost can’t help the small drool at your lips. Blinking owlishly, you pat your tummy, your hand going through it and coming out empty at the other end. Your lids lower in slight annoyance.

Juhoon, ever the observant type, notices your conduct almost immediately, but remains unsure of how to approach the situation.

But not to worry, because a mysteriously small plate loaded with the generous amount of three measly fries comes sliding in front of you from somewhere across the table.

For a moment, you stare at it. Nothing behind your gaze.

Your eyes lift to briefly catch the same brown eyes that were practically glued to the side of your face earlier. The eye contact doesn’t even hold past a millisecond, he breaks it like he was never looking at you in the first place. 

Pfft, what is he, a tsundere?

You purse your lips, trying to swallow down your small smile. You end up deciding on addressing him lightly.

“Hey, Sean,” you throw him a pair of friendly finger guns whilst winking. 

“Love the gesture. Really, I do. But uh—it’s just…I can’t exactly—” you spread your arms wide, then close them back in to have them hover near your tummy. “…eat…right now.” 

Seonghyeon’s eyes flit up to look at you again, going wide for a split second at the realisation of his useless consideration. 

His ears go red, his cheeks warming up to a comforting shade of pink. 

You unknowingly lean closer to him, unable to hide the small tug to your lips this time.

How cute.

“I…I knew that. I was teasing you.” He says very slowly. 

You hum, nodding gently.

“I’m sure you were. I feel very teased right now.”

Keonho, seeing all this, starts to cackle at the male’s failed advances, but the ridicule doesn’t last long because he ends up choking on a fry in the process. 

Coughing up a storm, he’s almost at Heaven’s door when Martinie’s humongous palm comes crashing against his back.

A few hits just about does it, and the stubborn fry comes flying out. It splats out on the table, coated with fresh saliva.

Every single one of you grimaces in disgust.

“Ugh, dude!”

“My eyes! MY EYES—”

Keonho tries to shut you all up, but it’s an unwinnable battle. 

James starts emoting. Martin starts gagging. Seonghyeon screeches his chair as far away from the table as possible, and Juhoon…

Actually, where is Juhoon?

As if summoned, the pretty male emerges from some random corner. 

You raise a brow. The commotion around you still blazing strong. “Where were you?”

“Toilet. What did I miss?” 

One look around the table and his eyelids drop in defeat.

“You know what? Never mind, I don’t want to know—WHO THE HELL ATE MY STEAK!”

It wasn’t even a question, at this point. He full on shouted that…

It’s probably the loudest you’ve ever heard him.

You attempt to cover your ears, because you know this scene all too well. It’s happened at the dorms much too many times. Chaos over food. Fights over tastes. Survival instigated from culinary theft. 

These are the times that you’re happy to be a ghost.

“Bro, I just took a small bite, chill man.” 

James, fork in hand. The last, pitiful cube of steak stabbed through and nearing his open mouth. 

You can see the fire in Juhoon’s eyes light up in real time, and even Martin and Sean have to forget about bullying Keonho to put it out.

Keonho doesn’t even know what’s going on.

Bless him.

You deadpan at the circus in front of you.

Not one moment of peace.

As the sounds around you grow, your eyes keep up with the ruckus. A tender smile makes its way to your lips.

Guess you don’t mind it though. 

Juhoon ended up getting another steak, by the way. So the problem is partially solved. 

You say partially because Juhoon is still drilling his orbs through James’ skull.

You sigh.

“James?” Your voice comes light, airy, and James turns to face you with ease. He nudges his jaw at you, a naivety in his glassy eyes.

“Wassup?”

“Could please apologise to Juhoon? I know you’re extremely kind, so it comes naturally to you.” You offer sweetly, coaxing him with flattery. 

James snickers at the compliment, the tactics behind your words going entirely over his head.

Nodding, his shoulders rise in mild pride as he shoots you a pearly white grin. “Yeah, of course! Kindness totally comes naturally to me! I’m the kindest guy I know.” 

Your eyes crinkle as you give a slightly exaggerated smile, something you don’t think too much about. But the way James’ breath hitches makes you question if you’ve done something wrong. 

Slowly, your smile turns into a confused one.

He’s staring, eyes trained on the way your orbs bend with glee. His gaze flickers briefly to catch the curve of your lips. 

They linger there for too long.

Until Keonho is jumping across the table to reach for the older male.

“Hey! I saw that! You ain’t slick buddy!” 

“What do you mean? I was just trying to apologise—”

Martin joins in.

“By staring at her face with those pretty diamond eyes of yours?! You sly fox! You’Re TRYING TO GET A HEAD START!” 

Oh no.

Just when things were starting to calm down, they started up again.

You have a mind to look for help from Sean, but even he’s lightly glaring at the oldest male.

He feels the intense stare of your eyes, momentarily turning to make eye contact with you.

It’s quiet, and surprisingly warm. Almost like you’re not allowed to look away. 

The sweet moment drags for but two seconds before Juhoon’s cup of water comes crashing down with a little more force than necessary.

“It’s okay, hyung. I accept your apology.”

His eyes are on Seonghyeon.

James sputters in bewilderment, head turning in all sorts of directions before landing on Juhoon again.

“But… I haven’t even apologised yet?” It’s not even a statement. It’s a genuine declaration of confusion.

“No, really,” Juhoon calmly takes a sip of his water, his eyes quickly leave Seonghyeon’s only to land on you. 

They stay there for a fleeting beat, then slide over to his half eaten steak. “It’s okay. I’m not mad anymore.”

O..kay then?

You blink your eyes like an owl, assessing the way everyone has been looking at you lately.

With the obviousness of it all, one would question if you’re dumb, or if you’re just really good at pretending that you are.

Either way, the boys are the ones getting the short end of the stick.

You think about what could alleviate the atmosphere when your brain strikes an unrejectable offer.

Clapping your hands together, which just end up phasing through themselves, you smile ever so brightly.

The boys swear they can see a halo above your head, but they’d rather not accept that. That would mean you’d leave eventually. And they don’t like that.

Cackling like a witch, something they’ve learned is your actual laugh, you chip in excitedly. “How about some ice cream?” 

Quiet ensues for a minute straight.

Then chaos.

“Ice cream? I love ice cream!”

“It’s like she read my mind. I knew she was wifey material as soon as I laid my eyes on her—”

“—Liar. You passed out when you first saw her.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, raising his index finger as if his sayings are a matter of fact. “I passed out from her beauty.”

“Are we getting it from the convenience store then?”

“Oh, man. The nearby one doesn’t have the ones I like.”

“I don’t care.”

“Hyung!”

“Has anyone seen my AirPods?” 

“How did I get gravy on my shirt? We didn’t order anything with gravy, did we?”

“Can you shut up for one second?” 

“WE’D LIKE THE BILL PLEASE!”

A tired waitress comes over with a small customer-service smile. Her shoulders remain tight as she approaches the member with their hand up.

The boys pay for the bill with the company card. A perk they’ve grown to appreciate like life itself.

Soon after, the night draws in and the breeze hangs low. There’s a slight coldness to the weather as they begin their walk to the nearby convenience store. 

Half of them, namely Keonho and Martin, are still bickering. The rest of the three walk in an appreciated calm. 

The leaves sway with ease, rustling gently. A blanket of comfort to the already tranquil atmosphere.

Seonghyeon yawns.

“Man, I feel like I haven’t eaten that much in ages.”

Keonho snorts, halting his argument with Martin to respond. 

“You literally ate two large pizzas yesterday.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did!”

James pops his head over Martin’s shoulder, “I swear it was three.”

“Three large pizzas? Dawg… you’re a fiend.” 

“Why are you all ganging up on me? I didn’t even order pizza yesterday!”  

Martin kisses his teeth in disappointment. “Using the company card for your gluttonous pleasures.”

Seonghyeon is left absolutely gobsmacked. He scoffs. “Do you even know how much you alone ate today? The total price was practically doubled because of you! You greedy bas—”

A sneeze cuts him off.

Juhoon is rubbing his shoulders, a rosy tint to his nose. “Can we just hurry up and get the ice cream? I wanna sleep.”

All the members look at him plainly.

“Well, since our cute little princess wants his beauty sleep—”

Juhoon’s eyes slide over to Martin with a small glare. The tall male puts his hands up in surrender, finishing his sentence.

“Then I guess we can skip the ice cream for today.” 

Keonho gasps so loud that it startles James next to him. 

“Dude! No way! I want my ice cream!”

“It’s getting late anyway, we need to watch out for our figures too. We have a comeback next mo—”

“But we promised we were getting ice cream…”

Martin’s eyebrows rise, a small knot forming between them. 

“Didn’t you say they don’t have the ones you like, though?”

“Pssh, doesn’t mean I don’t want any.”

“Let’s just get the ice cream.” Seonghyeon butts in, a small sigh to his lips.

The bickering dies down and nothing but the soft sound of nature and shoes on gravel takes over. 

The members are quiet, walking side by side, until Juhoon’s dark eyes scan the area around them.

“Hey,” his footsteps stop abruptly. The rest of the boys gradually follow, gazing over their shoulders to lazily quirk a brow at him.

For a moment, he simply looks around. His head turning side to side, then he starts to look around with his full body.

James watches on, completely and utterly lost.

“Did you lose something?”

Juhoon’s eyes flit to meet his, a small sense of hesitance.

“Hyung… where is she?”

The question hangs in the air for a short time.

James’ eyes widen, his stomach drops.

Not another beat passes before the others diligently join in on the search. Their moves are frantic, eyes out of focus, breaths short. Keonho even resorts to jogging over to the corner they just emerged from. 

Nothing.

During the whole thing, not a word is uttered. 

It’s when all hope is about to be lost, the boys coming together to form a circle of distress, that your aloof voice chimes in.

“What are we looking for?”

All heads immediately turn to you like meerkats.

You flinch at the intensity of their stares.

Their chests rise up and down, eyes blown wide, a visible sense of relief in them.

You give a dry chuckle, unsure of what’s happening. 

“So like, am I meant to do something… is this an improv or..?” 

Seonghyeon’s hand twitches first, but Keonho is the one to initiate the move. 

He runs over, coming to a stop just in front of you. The corners of his mouth pull up in the most adorable way. You find it in you to not voice your thoughts aloud, though.

He breathes out heavily. 

His hands, unsure of how to approach you, try to go for a hug, then immediately retreat and opt to stay firmly on his side.

“I thought we lost you.” 

You raise a brow.

Lost you…?

What are you, a dog?

Martin joins his side not long after. His eyes run over you with solace, finally stopping to meet your confused orbs. 

You present a wobbly smile in return. 

He laughs softly.

“Gosh, I got more scared than the first time you showed up in our dorm.”

“Told you you were scared!” Comes a voice from behind him.

He ignores it.

James gives you a thumbs up from where he’s standing, a glad grin on his face. 

Juhoon, ever the quiet one, looks on with repose. His eyes don’t fail to relax as he stares at you interacting with the others from afar. 

“Idiot.” It’s spoken under his breath, a relieved lilt to his low voice. 

Seonghyeon walks over to you, saying nothing at first. 

“Where were you?”

He says it with no emotion in particular, but the worry still clutches to his tone. 

Your lips draw into a thin line before erupting in a smirk. You teasingly wiggle your brows at him. 

“Was little ol’ Sean worried about me?”

“No.” He says too quickly, and you chuckle at him trying to keep an indifferent expression.

He clears his throat in a shy manner, waiting for your answer.

“I was right there, you just walked through me… which is weird.” You hadn’t really meant to say that last part out loud.

You were so sure they could all physically interact with you at all times, but it turns out that isn’t the case.

You even tried to call out to them a couple of times when they walked past you.

Is this the divide between the living and the dead?

You shake your head.

“You guys were just too busy chatting up a storm that you basically forgot about me.” You opt to say instead. A dead look to your eyes.

The boys guiltily giggle, scratching their heads in unison and avoiding your gaze.

“Well, whatever. Are we getting ice cream or not?” Comes James.

“I’m telling you. No one is sleeping until I get my ice cream.” Keonho joins in seriously.

You nod, a fond beam to your lips.

And the boys can’t help but marvel at it a little. 

Just a tiny bit. 

Because for once, they’ve all unanimously agreed on something that doesn’t even need to be said aloud.

The desire to protect that innocent smile, at all costs.

a/n: idk how to tell u this… but the next chapter is the penultimate one—

[taestulipss]

there she goes (racing through my brain)

school council prez riwoo x deliquent f! reader

for tomie @beomtomie

syn: the school council president's pursuit of taming the resident troublemaker, wildcard, and/or personal headache. i.e. you. genre: fluff/comedy, highschool setting wc: 3.3k a/n: hahahhahaha HAAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY MINI ME AND FAVOURITE RIU STAN EVER TOMIE 🐣💛 @beomtomie. had to make sure that my comeback to this blog after more than 2 months would be a good one hehe and what better than the deliquent x stuco president trope suggested by you of course! this is a silly one but i hope you like it,, and i also hope u like reading yet another charecterisation of riwoo that im obsessed with oh god.

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One. 

He's okay. He's fine. A minor bump in the road, that's all this is. 

Two.

Riwoo takes a deep breath, sharp and heavy—one that makes him look a lot like a dragon trying to retract fire back into its nose before oxygen floods into his system, cools his curdling lungs.

Three—

“Oops.” You present him with an awkward grin, palms facing front in the air like a four year old on a sugar high who’d just been caught dipping her hands into a bucket of paint. 

Wait. Not like. You were exactly that. 

“Listen—” you start, looking around for help but finding no one to back you up. Riwoo hears you mutter a curse under your breath at how Kim Woonhak and Han Taesan were backstabbing baboons who would be dealt with once you got out of this tight spot. Then you meet Riwoo’s eyes once more, putting on your most innocent, lovely smile. “You see, the principal’s been wanting to renovate this wing anyways. I was lending a hand—literally, haha.” You add jazz-hands for flair, hoping it’s at least entertaining enough to warrant a giggle.

However, Riwoo remains unimpressed. His brows meet in the middle of his frown, lips a thin, straight line, the muscle in his cheek twitching in annoyance. Or exhaustion—whichever you plagued him with first. 

“You finger painted…hand painted?—graffiti on the new student council room… My room.”

“Yep!” You nod, flashing all your teeth at him, happy to have helped. “It looks so much more vibrant like this, see—” You gesture towards the mural that looks like a unicorn shat rainbows all over it (with your chin, since your hand is in no state to be moved around freely, not when it's dripping pink and purple onto the ground). “Before I came in, this was all gray. Like concrete, ew. But I fixed it!”

“Fixed it…” Riwoo repeats, every nerve in his body fighting the urge to catch fire and explode like a cartoonic grenade. 

You nod again, wilder this time, getting your hair in your mouth but continuing to speak in spite of it. “Gotta make sure the stuco prez has a nice view.”

The sixth lash from the right on Riwoo's left eye twitches madly. His fists are balled up in the crooks of his elbows, arms crossed over his chest lest they decide to grow an impulse and slam themselves into his own skull. Not that he doesn't deserve it—he probably does—given this was all his fault for letting you get away with your delinquency all this time. 

“Vandalism,” he punctuates, gritting the word between his front teeth, “is against the school rules.”

You aren't convinced, rolling your eyes in easy dismissal. “It's called artistic freedom, look it up.” 

“I did. In the handbook. That I was asked to edit and enforce.”

“Dude, you need to chill out and like, dip your feet in a waterfall or something,” you continue, still too casual for Riwoo’s liking, like his position and power are simply dirt under your fingernails—or paint, in this case—to ignore. “Chase a dragonfly, like your vice president does sometimes.”

Riwoo’s patience is thinning, but he says, “Leehan is a special case. He gets distracted easily, that's all.”

“And that’s why he doesn't look constipated half the time and you do.”

That’s it. He's done being a doormat; he is going to put his foot down and make sure to whip your personality into shape if it's the last thing he does. 

He is so sick of your inability to sit still and follow rules for once. There's always something for him to clean up after: the busted pipes in the girl's bathroom from when you wanted to orchestrate a school-wide water fight for ‘team building’, the time he found out you were selling bootleg DVDs under the table (quite literally) for cash, the time he almost slipped and died from the loose papers you'd left scattered on the floor in a hurry to run to the toilets, because, apparently, peeing yourself is more of an emergency than preventing his potential funeral. 

Not anymore. 

You will respect him, and you will pay for your sins. 

“5 PM, after school. You're fixing this mess or I’m giving you another demerit.”

“But…” Your eyes widen, hands slowly dropping to your sides and getting colourful stains on your uniform. “That means suspension.”

“Good, so you have read the handbook.”

“No, you recite it every time you put me in detention,” you correct, and then regret it immediately. “Uhhhh…. I mean… Can't I just paint your face up there and call it a day?”

“Are you bribing me…?” Riwoo is offended if not confused, blinking an unnatural number of times at your audacity. “You're bribing me…with my own face?”

“Yeah! Is it working?” Not even the tiniest bit of guilt slips out your mouth when you speak, just hope. 

“... No.” Riwoo remains stern, despite the Herculean effort it takes to not give into your foolish smile. He straightens his spine, meets you head-on when he says—“5 PM. Or you find a new school midway through the year.”

And then, before you can get a word in, he speed-walks out of there without looking back, ignoring every single word of protest that makes its way out your mouth and echoes through the wooden door, until he's far away enough to give his heart, and brain, a rest.

The pen scratches against the paper in a smooth tempo, the spine of the ledger occasionally thumping against the desk when Riwoo presses the tip with a little too much force. Sunset orange spills through the murky glass and onto his visage, dappling amber through strands of his hair, his lashes, the raise of his cheek, through the lens of the glasses on his nose-bridge. 

Serene. That's what he feels. 

At least until—

“This is so harddddd. Let me go home!!”

Your whines are met with feigned oblivion and a glide of the page as he prepares to look over this week’s club accounts. Budgeting is a beast, and he's the only person capable enough to make sure no one goes over the limit and plunges the school into a debt they certainly cannot pay off. The principal has already threatened to cut funds and force them into begging on the streets if they were to keep splurging on puppy therapy days and useless visits to the aquarium like three times a year. (This is Leehan's fault, not his.)

(Well…it is his fault for not saying no to the vice president’s whims. But in Riwoo’s defense, he was way too preoccupied with attempting to wrangle you into line.)

“Prez. Yo, prez. Prez!?” you keep repeating petulantly, marching over to wave your scrub-cloth in front of his downturned eyes, failing to snap him out of his work. “Lee Riwoo, I can't do this anymore!”

“Less whining, more cleaning,” he says simply, not looking up for even a second. 

You pout, grumbling at how the paint is too stuck into the surface to come off without boiling hot water and a bone-breaking amount of scrubbing. You'd already struggled to fill and carry a heavy bucket all the way here, then almost collapsed from the level of effort required to reset the wall back into its original state. 

Riwoo hasn't moved an inch from the teacher's desk in the past one hour, no matter how much you attempted to strike up small-talk or huffed or sighed very loudly. He just sat there, writing. Doing math was certainly better than talking to you. 

He thinks you've given up on it after trying and failing too many times than he's bothered to count. Riwoo is swallowed up by tiny numbers floating above the blue lines, by mental additions and subtractions and estimations running across his mind as he mutters quietly under his breath, careful not to lose track of his place. He thinks you've already gone back to cleaning when—

When something soft and feather-like brushes across his cheek, and a looming shadow falls over him. He sucks in a sharp breath, feels goosebumps prickle up on his neck, feels something eerie crawl through his abdomen as he slowly turns his head to check…

“HOLY SHIT—!” he yelps as he jumps out of his skin—and off the chair, straight onto his butt on the floor. 

You blink down at him in confusion. “What? I was just curious about what you were so focused on.” And without regard for his privacy or the fact that he's still flat on his ass, you lean in to poke your head into his ledger, your face getting more impressed as you read down the page. “Damn, you run this place like it's the military,” you note, nodding. “Wait, do you take suggestions?”

“Huh?”

“The athletes get all the funds and us arts kids get morsels. Can't you update the instruments in the music room at least this year?”

“That is not my jurisdiction,” Riwoo says as he finally gets up, brushing the dust off his pants and straightening his tie, pushing back his rimmed glasses. “Also, weren't you the one that busted up a hole through the drumkit?”

You have the shame to look sheepish, flickering your eyes away from his pointed stare. “Uh… Yeah, maybe?”

“Right.”

You pout again. “I had too much sugar, okay? Sometimes I can't control my energy, and sometimes my drums suffer because of it.” 

Riwoo can sense a migraine strutting its way to him; he’ll have to do breathing exercises again if you keep threatening his health like this, and there are not enough ways to inhale and exhale in the world for him to recover from the damage you do. So he pulls himself together, climbs back into his spot at the table, and lets you move to meet his eyes properly. 

“If I say I’ll think about it, will you get back to cleaning the wall?” he asks, drumming the back of his pen on the wood in impatience. 

“Mayhaps,” you reply, but you're smiling when you do it, suddenly in raised spirits. “Will you actually talk back to me and not let me die of boredom all alone over there?” 

Riwoo chews on the thought—considers the pros and cons of saying yes to your request. 

Pros: you do your job, he doesn't have to nag. He doesn't get in trouble by the faculty for enabling your terrible habits. 

Cons: you…you talk a lot. Non-stop. 

“My wrists are sore. I had carpal tunnel once and that was the worst time ever. Swore I'll never get it again, and now look at me.”

And when Riwoo doesn't respond with the empathy you expect him to, you go, “Does the student council also cover medical bills?”

“No.”

“You swore you'd keep me company.”

“I am,” he tosses back. “I'm breathing very loudly so you can use it as white noise while you scrub. Now go on.” 

You huff and puff, but still return to squeezing water into the bucket. Then five minutes after—

“Hmm… I should've used more red on the cherries. Maybe glitter too… Shame that you're making me wipe all of it off…” Then—

“Prez, Prez, why do you wear glasses half the size of your face? Does it not hurt…? But you look nice though, so it's not all that bad.” 

And—

“Have you ever wondered what would happen if babies came in adult sizes? Like, imagine a giant baby in your house, just crawling around,” you're rambling as you lay on your back on the floor, cloth abandoned somewhere to the side, hair coming loose out of your ponytail and fingers stretched to the ceiling as though any further and you could touch it. Evidently, you have made no actual progress. “You’d need a giant cradle. And a giant milk bottle. Oh! And giant diapers, woah…”

Riwoo’s pulse has been climbing with every word you say, effectively building up into a mini explosion in his brain. It's been a slow tick of time while you talked yourself through nonsense, getting distracted with the task at hand with every pressing minute. He tried to reel you back in with his tuts and coughs, but it took a simple turn of his head away from you for you to give up and dramatically throw yourself onto the ground.

It's like he's taken away your life's purpose—of breaking every rule in the book and dragging him through mud along with it.

Also, turns out—and he should have expected this, really—you suck at sticking to a chore. So much so in fact that you do anything not to do what you were told to. 

It's leaking shadows into the room, sun well below the horizon, when you trudge back from your momentary break with a mop in tow. 

He presses his cheek into his palm when he asks, even though he knows without needing to. “What are you doing now?”

“Floor’s all dirty. I'm mopping.”

Of course you are. “You didn't finish the walls yet.”

“I'll get to it after the floors, duh.”

You don't. In fact, you don't even finish the moping before you've moved onto your next activity. First it's brushing cobwebs out of the dusty corners of the window, then you try to budge the window-panes open with no luck before giving up entirely, then you sit there with a pair of scissors you'd found from god-knows-where, snipping up old test papers out of your backpack for no reason at all other than wasting time. Once you've run out of things to cut up, Riwoo sees the way you eye his ledger and has to lunge to move it out of your dangerous reach. 

He's beginning to wonder if the duties of a school council president involved babysitting too…

And right when he thinks you've given up, when you're trailing the minute hand on the clock while wringing out the washcloth, while he's marking up the last bit of his work, while he's distracted just the slightest…

You pounce for your bag and book it for the hills out the door.

…

Riwoo doesn't know what's just happened. You were here at first, and then you're gone with the wind, like some metahuman speedster keyed up on high-functioning steroids, you've just…

Vanished. 

He picks up his pen off the desk first, then his mind off the floor, before realising that he should follow you and drag you back before you’ve completely evaded the responsibility he's placed upon your shoulders. 

Riwoo sighs deeply before sprinting after the direction you left, trying to not let the creepy hallways scare him into cowering, discreetly muttering consolations to himself when the broken lightbulb blinks once before dying, somehow trudging through a hellish field of weeds until he sees a figure throwing something over the back fence of the school’s perimeter.

A ghost, he thinks at first, but then he hears the signature jangle of the keyrings on your book-bag clattering to the ground and he knows it's no ghost.

It's just the devil incarnate, apparently.

“Y/N! Get back in there now!” he shouts through cupped hands, lungs burning from the run. But you're already stepping on top of one of the empty flower pots and trying to reach for the tall fence, determined to jump over. Riwoo acts fast, albeit exhausted, scurrying through dirt and moss until he's looking right up at you.

“Just a little more—” You're muttering to yourself, elbows propped up on the ledge as you try to push higher. But you make the mistake of looking down and almost die from the shock. 

Your grip loosens, and down you come tumbling, straight into Riwoo's arms.

Or at least you would have…

Had it not been for his terrible reflexes and weariness from having overworked himself the whole week. His hands are just too stiff to reach out, okay? Maybe that's why he's fallen onto his back, in a terrible imitation of the mishap from before in the classroom, and you're there, caging him with both your arms on either sides of his neck, hair a curtain around his face.

And Riwoo—he processes it slowly, eyes flickering from your widened eyes, then to the slope of your nose, and then to your parted lips, a millimetre away…

Badump. 

“I—” you begin, and he gulps just for the sake of needing something to do. This is weird—but not bad weird. Just…so new. 

Okay, that's a lie. He knows the way his heart jumps out of his ribs is not dissimilar to all the times when you've invaded his personal space with zero account for his well-being—for the heat on his neck and the butterflies in his stomach. For the way he’s always on high alert when you're near, an inbuilt radar in his brain for your misbehaviours. 

You are so close. And he is so doomed. 

“Y/N…” he says, mouth moving on its own accord, the badump badump badump growing wings in his chest, threatening to take flight and melt into the pulse between the two of you, in the slowly thinning gap between your lips. 

His fingers twitch where they lay stuck between your bodies, but he doubts he could have reached out even if it weren't. Because the way you look at him, moonlight reflected in the pools of your eyes, the tip of your nose almost grazing his own skin. And then—

You reach out first, gaze going from surprised to crinkled warmth, a hand lightly brushing over the plane of his cheek. He feels it move to place his glasses back onto his nose—and only now does he realises that it had come sliding off when he'd stumbled on his feet before. 

“There,” you whisper, and he's never heard you speak anywhere close to this softly. “It’s perfect again now.”

He is an idiot and his mouth is a traitor, because it goes on to ask, in an undeniably gentle voice— “Perfect?” 

“Hmm… Wait, not quite.” Then you adjust them so that it's not skewed to the right anymore, brushing back the strands that fall over his forehead and scorching every exposed part of him in bright red. And before he can count to ten and calm himself down, you dip lower and something plush meets his skin. 

Your lips. Soft and lovely and pressed against his cheek, right below the mole under his eye. 

The heat is gone as soon as it comes, when you lean back to take your weight off of him and stand up, so quickly he barely registers or remembers anything that's happened in the past 24 hours. There was a wall involved, he thinks. 

He's still splayed out on the dirty ground, dazed out of his mind, when he sees you shoot a dazzling smile of victory down and him before jumping up to grasp the fence-ledge again, calculating momentum—this time, successful in leaping over the boundary. 

It happens in slo-mo in Riwoo’s vision, a blinding halo around your silhouette, a choir of cherubs singing down from the suddenly sunny skies. He thinks he sees rose petals cascading down, and also a pair of wings on your back. 

Either you were a real-life angel—or he'd hit his head a little too hard during that fall.

Or…

Or he was simply beyond the point of going back on these feelings starting to sprout inside him when he looks at you. 

It's only after he hears your feet landing on a crunch of dried leaves that he manages to regain balance and sanity.

“That's a demerit!” he manages to squeak out in a yell—but both you and him know that he's not going to get you in trouble. 

Not when his cheek is still singed with the burn of your kiss. And certainly not when he’s considering keeping the mural up just to have an excuse to get you alone again.

Riwoo is so doomed.

a/n: again again happy birthday to my unofficial official child, i hope you have an awesome day ahead!!! everyone go wish the coolest 14 year old alive and give them all the love at @beomtomie !!!!

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inbox always open!

div cr: @saradika-graphics

[supi-wupi]

Meow or Never - Junhui

pairing: Jun x reader synopsis: Jun adopts a cat who turns out to be a cursed human. You’re the only other person who knows the secret—and Jun might be falling for both the cat (platonically) and you (romantically). wc: 6.9k genre: Fluff, Romance, Magic?, Found Family, Neighbours, warnings: Cat was cursed… a/n: happy birthday to junnie!!! This isn’t apart of the academia series like other members will be, bc HE STARTED THE SERIES!!! I highhhlyyyyy recommend reading Kiss Me, Its for Science or any other ones from the series! it was so so sooo fun to write any junnie fic!! Though i must say, while reading this fic, please ignore ALL logic and just accept whatever i have written regarding the cat…

The first time you meet the cat, it is sitting in the middle of the apartment hallway like it pays rent.

You nearly trip over it on your way home from work.

One second you're balancing a grocery bag against your hip while fumbling for your keys, and the next you're staring down at an orange-and-white cat sitting directly in front of your door with the kind of confidence usually reserved for landlords and people who cut queues without apologising.

The cat stares back. You stare back. The cat blinks. You blink.

"Hello?"

The cat's ears twitch.

Then, with all the dignity of a tiny king inspecting his territory, it stands up, walks directly over your shoes, and begins rubbing against your ankles.

"Oh," you say, immediately folding. "You're friendly."

The cat lets out a short meow.

It sounds less like a greeting and more like a sigh.

You crouch down carefully, setting your groceries on the floor, and reach out a hand. The cat sniffs your fingers before accepting a scratch beneath its chin, closing its eyes briefly as if granting approval.

"Do you belong to someone?"

The cat opens one eye. You swear it looks offended. Before you can investigate further, the sound of hurried footsteps echoes down the hallway. A moment later, a man rounds the corner.

A very tall man.

A very tall man who looks as though he's been running through the entire apartment complex for the last twenty minutes. His dark hair is sticking up in several directions, his hoodie is half-zipped, and he looks simultaneously exhausted and relieved when he spots the cat.

"There you are!"

The cat immediately walks behind your legs. The man stops. The cat stops. You glance between them. The cat presses itself against your ankle. The man sighs. The cat somehow manages to look smug.

"...I'm guessing this is yours?"

"Unfortunately," the man says.

The cat meows loudly.

"See? This is exactly what I mean."

You laugh before you can stop yourself. The stranger's expression brightens instantly, as if he hadn't expected anyone to find this situation amusing.

"I'm Jun," he says, holding out a hand. "From 8B."

You shake it. The cat bites his shoelace. Jun doesn't even look surprised.

"I'm Y/N."

"Nice to meet you."

The cat bites harder. Jun pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Please stop embarrassing me in front of my neighbours."

The cat releases the shoelace only to immediately sit on top of it. You laugh again. Jun looks delighted by this reaction. The cat looks annoyed by both of you. 

And that, unfortunately, is how it starts.

—

Three days later, the cat escapes again. 

Five days after that, it somehow ends up outside the building entirely.

A week later, you discover it sitting inside the communal laundry room watching a washing machine spin with the concentration of someone studying advanced physics.

At this point, you and Jun have exchanged numbers entirely for cat-related emergencies. Your conversation history consists primarily of photographs. Most of them are from Jun. Most of them are evidence.

[JUN] Found him inside my kitchen cabinet.

[JUN] *image attached*

[JUN] How did he get there?

[YOU] You own the cabinet.

[JUN] That's not the point.

[JUN] I was using that cabinet.

[YOU] Clearly he disagreed.

The responses usually arrive immediately. Jun, you discover, texts exactly the way he talks—enthusiastically, slightly randomly, and with enough exclamation marks to suggest every thought is exciting. 

You also discover that he is alarmingly easy to like.

Not because he's famous, although you'd recognised him eventually after spending an embarrassing amount of time wondering why he looked familiar. Not because he's handsome, although that certainly doesn't help.

Mostly it's because Jun is kind. He remembers things. The name of your favourite convenience store drink. The fact that you hate mornings. The bakery near your office that sells those strawberry pastries you mentioned once in passing.

Small details seem to stick in his mind as naturally as breathing. Unfortunately, he applies this same energy to the cat. The cat, meanwhile, seems determined to make his life difficult.

—

You are in the middle of watering your plants when your phone rings. 

Jun. 

You answer immediately.

"Hello?"

"He's gone."

You glance at the clock. It's eight in the morning.

"Good morning to you too."

"He's gone."

"Have you checked under the couch?"

"Yes."

"The bed?"

"Yes."

"The cabinets?"

"Every cabinet."

You hear rustling.

Then silence.

Then a muffled curse.

"Jun?"

"He was in the laundry basket."

You pause.

"...Was?"

"He escaped again."

You close your eyes.

"How does one cat keep defeating you?"

"That's what I've been asking."

The answer arrives ten minutes later when a scratching sound comes from outside your apartment. You open the door. The cat strolls inside. Not into the hallway. Into your apartment. Like it lives there.

"You have got to be kidding me.”

The cat jumps onto your sofa. You call Jun.

"I found him."

The groan that follows sounds deeply personal.

—

The cat's official name is Dumpling. The cat hates this name. You know this because every time Jun says it, the animal visibly reacts. Not dramatically. Just enough. A flick of an ear. A narrowed stare. An expression that somehow communicates disappointment.

"You know," you tell Jun one evening, "I don't think he likes his name."

Jun looks scandalised.

"Dumpling is adorable."

The cat turns its back on him. You point.

"See?"

"He's being dramatic."

The cat knocks a pen off the coffee table. Jun gasps. The cat knocks another one down.

"I raised you better than this."

You nearly choke on your tea.

"You've had him for three weeks."

"That's enough time to learn manners."

The cat jumps onto the back of the sofa. Jun sighs heavily.

"Maybe he's entering his rebellious phase."

"Maybe?"

The cat stares directly at him while deliberately pushing a coaster off the edge of the table.

The silence that follows is incredible.

"Okay," Jun admits. "Maybe definitely."

—

You spend more time in Jun's apartment than you mean to. It starts innocently enough. A movie recommendation. An extra portion of dinner.

Help assembling a cat tree after Jun accidentally orders one with instructions written entirely in a language neither of you can read.

The cat supervises from the couch. Correction. The cat judges from the couch.

"Pass me the screwdriver?"

You hand it over. Jun smiles. The expression catches you off guard every single time.

Warm. Open. The kind of smile that makes a room feel brighter.

You look away before he notices.

Across the room, the cat watches the interaction with unsettling focus.

"Why is he staring at us like that?" you ask.

Jun glances over.

"Dumpling?"

The cat doesn't move.

"Yeah."

"He always does that."

"That's concerning."

"I think he's just curious."

The cat continues staring. You are unconvinced.

—

The strange thing is that the cat almost feels human sometimes. Not in a creepy way.

Just...

Odd.

He understands too much. Not commands. Not tricks. Conversations.

You mention a specific toy once and find him playing with it the next day.

You complain about a difficult coworker and the cat appears beside you with suspiciously good timing.

Sometimes it feels as though he's listening. Actually listening. When you mention this to Jun, he beams.

"I know."

"That wasn't supposed to be a positive observation."

"He's smart."

The cat puffs up proudly. You point immediately.

"See? That. Why did he react to that?"

Jun follows your gaze. The cat instantly stops. The three of you stare at one another.

No one says anything.

Eventually Jun shrugs.

"Dumpling is just special."

The cat looks pleased. You look concerned.

—

The moment everything changes happens on a rainy Thursday evening. You aren't supposed to be at Jun's apartment. That's important.

You're only there because he'd left his umbrella at your place after movie night and you happened to notice the weather getting worse.

The walk takes less than thirty seconds. You knock once. No answer. You knock again.

Still nothing.

Maybe he's showering. You try the handle. The door opens.

"Jun?"

You step inside. The apartment is quiet. Rain taps softly against the windows. Somewhere deeper inside, you hear movement.

"Jun?"

A voice answers. But not Jun's.

"Wait."

You freeze. The voice sounds unfamiliar. Young. Panicked.

"Don't come in here."

Your stomach drops.

There is a stranger in Jun's apartment. You move toward the kitchen anyway. The stranger appears around the corner at exactly the same moment.

Orange hair. Wide eyes. An oversized hoodie. For one impossible second, they stare at you. Then their expression shifts from surprise to absolute horror.

"You weren't supposed to see that."

"What?"

The stranger points at you.

"No, no, no, no—"

You blink. The stranger vanishes. Not runs. Not ducks away. Vanishes.

A flash of movement. A burst of orange and white. And suddenly, sitting in the exact same spot on the kitchen floor—

—is Dumpling.

The cat stares up at you. You stare down at the cat. Neither of you moves. Then, very slowly, the cat closes its eyes.

As if already accepting its fate. And somewhere in the distance, you hear Jun's voice calling from the hallway outside.

"Y/N? Are you here?"

—

The first thing you do is scream. Not loudly, and definitely not dramatically (it was only a cutesy scream, you swear.)

More like the sound a person makes when their brain has completely stopped functioning and is desperately trying to restart itself.

The cat flinches. You point. The cat stares back. You continue pointing. The cat continues staring.

The front door opens.

"Y/N?" Jun calls. "Sorry, I had to grab a package from downstairs—"

The cat launches itself across the kitchen floor. You have never seen something move that fast in your life. One moment it's sitting in front of you. The next it has disappeared beneath the dining table. Jun rounds the corner.

"There you are."

You whip around. Jun pauses.

"You look pale."

You look at Jun. Then the table. Then Jun again. The cat remains hidden. You wonder if this is what having a breakdown feels like.

"Y/N?"

The cat's tail appears briefly from beneath a chair. Then disappears. 

You inhale. Exhale. Inhale again.

"Everything okay?" Jun asks.

No. Nothing is okay. Five minutes ago you watched his cat become a person.

"Yeah."

Jun blinks.

"Really?"

"No."

"Okay."

You appreciate the honesty.

Unfortunately, you cannot explain the situation because explaining the situation would involve saying, Jun, your cat is a human being and I watched him transform in your kitchen.

You are fairly certain that conversation would not go well.

"Work stress," you blurt.

Jun immediately looks concerned. The guilt nearly kills you.

"Do you want tea?"

You almost laugh. Because of course that's his solution. Tea. The world could literally be ending and Jun would probably offer snacks.

"Sure."

While Jun busies himself making tea, you slowly lower your gaze toward the underside of the table. Two golden eyes stare back. The cat has the audacity to look embarrassed.

—

You leave twenty minutes later. Not because you want to. Because if you remain in that apartment for one more second, you might accidentally start asking questions.

Such as:

Why is your cat human?

Why was your cat wearing clothes?

Where did the clothes come from?

And perhaps most importantly:

Why did your cat seem more worried about being caught than transforming itself?

The answers arrive at eleven thirty-seven that night.

In the form of scratching.

You stare at your apartment door. The scratching continues. Three scratches. Pause. Three more scratches. Pause. Three more.

"That is either a cat or a serial killer."

The scratching grows more impatient. You open the door. The cat immediately walks inside. Not unusual.

What is unusual is the folded piece of paper tied around his collar. You stare. The cat stares.

Slowly, you remove the note. There are four words written on it. WE NEED TO TALK. You look down. The cat nods. Actually nods. You close the door.

"This is somehow worse."

—

Half an hour later, you are sitting cross-legged on your living room floor while the cat sits opposite you.

Neither of you speaks. Mostly because one of you physically cannot. The cat seems annoyed by this limitation. Eventually he hops onto your coffee table. A notebook slides toward you. You blink. The cat taps it with one paw. Then taps the pen.

"Oh."

The cat taps again.

"Right."

You open the notebook. The cat immediately begins writing.

His handwriting is surprisingly neat. 

YOU SAW THAT.

You stare.

"Unfortunately."

The cat writes again.

I CAN EXPLAIN.

"I would love that."

A pause. The cat writes:

IT SOUNDS STUPID.

"Try me."

Another pause. Then:

I AM CURSED.

You stare at the words. The words stare back. The cat waits.

"...That's it?"

The cat narrows his eyes.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT'S IT.

"I mean," you say carefully, "if someone had asked me yesterday what explanation I'd expect for a human turning into a cat, curse would've been pretty high on the list."

The cat seems genuinely offended by this.

—

The explanation takes nearly an hour. Partly because writing everything down is slow. Partly because the cat keeps stopping to glare whenever you laugh.

Apparently, several years ago, he had been travelling through a small village and accidentally destroyed an elderly woman's herb garden. Not maliciously. Just catastrophically. 

There had been a bicycle. A slope. A misunderstanding. Several chickens.

The story somehow becomes less believable every time he tells it. The woman, who may or may not have been a witch, cursed him. Since then, he has spent most of his life stuck as a cat.

Sometimes he transforms back. Sometimes he doesn't. Strong emotions tend to trigger changes. Unfortunately, emotions happen constantly.

Which means so do transformations.

"And Jun doesn't know?"

The cat writes:

ABSOLUTELY NOT.

"Why?"

The answer appears immediately.

WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY.

You consider this. Fair point.

"How long have you been living with him?"

THREE MONTHS.

"Three months?"

The cat nods.

"He just found you?"

Another nod.

"That's insane."

The cat points at himself. Exactly.

—

The following week becomes a disaster. Not because of the curse. Because now you're involved.

Monday afternoon, Jun texts you.

[JUN] Question.

[YOU] That depends.

[JUN] Can cats learn how to unlock doors?

You immediately sit upright.

[YOU] Why?

Three dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.

[JUN] No reason.

[JUN] Hypothetically.

[JUN] If my cat opened the bathroom door while I was showering.

[YOU] HE WHAT.

[JUN] Hypothetically.

You receive a photograph. The cat is sitting outside a bathroom door. Looking entirely too pleased with himself. You put your phone down.

The cat, currently sleeping on your couch, opens one eye.

"You need to stop doing crimes."

The cat closes his eye again.

—

Tuesday is worse. You stop by Jun's apartment after work. The door opens.

Jun smiles immediately when he sees you. Something warm settles in your chest.

Dangerous. Very dangerous.

"Perfect timing."

You blink.

"Why?"

"Dumpling's hiding."

You look down. The cat, currently in human form, is standing behind the kitchen counter.

His eyes widen. Your eyes widen. Neither of you says anything.

Jun continues.

"I haven't seen him for an hour."

The human-cat begins gesturing wildly.

"That's weird."

"Right?"

The gestures become increasingly desperate.

You cough. Loudly.

The human-cat dives beneath the counter. A second later, an orange tail appears. Jun notices instantly.

"There he is!"

The cat emerges. Now fully feline. You do not ask questions. For the sake of your own sanity.

—

The problem is that keeping secrets creates opportunities for friendship. You hadn't intended to become friends with the cat.

It simply happened. Mostly because he's surprisingly easy to talk to. When he isn't stealing food.

Or causing problems. Or nearly exposing supernatural secrets.

One evening he appears on your windowsill carrying another notebook. You let him inside.

"What happened now?"

The notebook opens.

JUN BOUGHT ME A SWEATER.

You laugh.

The cat looks deeply unhappy.

HE HAS ONE TOO.

"That's adorable."

I LOOK RIDICULOUS.

"You look adorable."

The cat glares. You continue smiling. The cat eventually writes:

YOU ARE BOTH IMPOSSIBLE.

—

The truly unfortunate part is that the more time you spend around Jun, the harder everything becomes.

Because he's thoughtful. Because he's funny. Because he still texts you photographs every day. Because he always seems happy to see you.

And because your life has somehow become intertwined with his in ways neither of you planned.

Movie nights become routine. Shared dinners become normal. Sometimes you'll realise hours have passed without either of you noticing.

The cat notices. Unfortunately.

One evening you're sitting on Jun's couch watching a movie when his head slowly drops onto your shoulder.

At first you think it's accidental. Then you hear his breathing deepen. He's asleep.

Your entire body freezes. The room suddenly feels very warm. Across from you, the cat sits on the armchair.

Watching. Judging. Witnessing.

You glare. The cat stares back.

Slowly, he picks up a notebook from the side table. Writes something. Then turns it around.

OH YOU HAVE IT BADDDD.

You nearly throw a cushion at him. The cat looks delighted.

—

Later that night, after you've returned home and the apartment has fallen quiet, a folded note appears beneath your door.

You already know who it's from. The handwriting confirms it.

THANK YOU.

You smile despite yourself. Then flip the paper over. Additional text has been squeezed into the corner.

PLEASE DON'T TELL JUN.

You shake your head. A second line sits beneath it.

HE WOULD WORRY.

And somehow, more than the magic, more than the curse, more than the impossible situation you've found yourself trapped in—

That is the thing that makes your chest ache.

Because he's right. Jun would worry. About everyone. About everything. And maybe that's exactly why neither of you can bring yourselves to tell him. Not yet. Not when he smiles every time he sees the two of you waiting for him at home.

—

The first member to meet the cat is Soonyoung. This is unfortunate for everyone involved. 

Especially the cat.

"HE LOOKS LIKE A TIGER."

The declaration arrives less than ten seconds after Soonyoung steps through Jun's front door. The cat, currently loafing on the sofa, visibly flinches.

You witness it. The cat witnesses it. Unfortunately, Soonyoung witnesses absolutely nothing. Jun lights up immediately.

"I told you he was cute."

"Cute?" Soonyoung repeats. "Jun, this isn't a cat."

The cat narrows his eyes. Soonyoung points dramatically.

"That is a tiger trapped in a smaller body."

The cat turns away.

"You hurt his feelings," you say.

"I spoke the truth."

"You compared him to a completely different species."

"So?" Soonyoung asks. "I'd be honoured."

The cat appears unconvinced.

—

The second problem is that Jun has started inviting you over so frequently that you've stopped knocking. At some point during the past month, the line between neighbour and friend had quietly disappeared.

You have your own mug in his kitchen. You know where he keeps spare blankets. You can navigate his apartment in the dark. Nobody ever discusses it.

It simply becomes normal. Dangerously normal.

The cat notices immediately. You know this because every time you arrive, he watches the interaction with increasingly concerning levels of interest.

Not judgment. Observation. Like he's conducting research. Like he's documenting evidence.

One afternoon, you arrive carrying takeout and find the cat sitting on the kitchen counter beside a notebook. The notebook is open. Several pages are filled with writing.

The moment he notices you looking, he slams it shut. You narrow your eyes. The cat narrows his eyes back.

"What are you writing?"

NOTHING.

"You're literally writing."

NOTHING IMPORTANT.

"You realise I can read."

The cat hugs the notebook against his chest.

You immediately become suspicious.

—

The situation worsens when the rest of Jun's friends begin appearing. Joshua arrives first. Then Minghao. Then Seungkwan. 

The apartment somehow doubles in volume.

You are halfway through helping Jun prepare snacks when voices spill in from the hallway.

"Oh, Y/N's already here."

Your stomach performs an embarrassing little flip. Not because of Seungkwan. Because of the way Jun smiles. 

Bright. Immediate. Unconsciously happy.

"Yeah," Jun says. "They got here earlier."

The cat, perched on the back of the sofa, immediately looks between both of you. You pretend not to notice. The cat continues noticing.

—

The evening begins normally.

Or as normally as possible when several members are crammed into one apartment arguing over board game rules.

The problems start approximately thirty minutes later. Specifically when Seungkwan begins paying attention.

"Wait."

Everybody ignores him.

"Wait."

Joshua continues setting up the game.

"Wait."

Minghao sighs.

"What?"

Seungkwan points.

At the cat. The cat freezes.

"That cat is weird."

The room falls silent. You nearly choke. The cat stops breathing. Jun blinks.

"Dumpling?"

"Yeah."

"What about him?"

Seungkwan squints. The cat squints back.

"He's looking at me."

Jun laughs.

"That's what cats do."

"No."

Seungkwan points harder.

"He's looking at me like he knows my tax information."

The cat immediately looks away. You cover your mouth. Minghao's shoulders start shaking. Joshua physically leaves the room because he's laughing too hard.

"See?" Seungkwan says triumphantly. "THAT."

"What?"

"That guilty look."

The cat leaps off the sofa and disappears into the bedroom. Seungkwan gasps.

"HE KNOWS."

—

The cat spends the next week avoiding Seungkwan. This only makes things worse. Apparently, if a person believes a cat is suspicious, the correct response is not to act suspicious.

Unfortunately, nobody explains this to the cat. The result is catastrophic. Every time Seungkwan enters a room, the cat leaves. Every time Seungkwan sits down, the cat relocates. Every time Seungkwan tries to pet him, the cat stares into the distance like he's remembering a war.

"It's personal," Seungkwan concludes.

"It's not personal," Jun says.

"It feels personal."

The cat immediately jumps off the couch. Seungkwan points.

"SEE?"

—

Minghao notices first. Not the curse. Not the transformations.

You.

Specifically, the way Jun looks at you. Which is significantly worse. The discovery occurs during movie night.

The apartment is quiet. The lights are dim. Everybody is focused on the screen except Minghao.

Minghao is focused on Jun. Jun is focused on you. The cat is focused on everyone. Minghao slowly turns toward Joshua.

Joshua follows his gaze. Then pauses. Then smiles.

"Oh."

The cat immediately notices. His eyes widen. Minghao notices the cat noticing. Now three people are aware of something.

You remain blissfully ignorant. Jun remains even more oblivious.

—

A group chat appears two days later. You discover its existence entirely by accident. Specifically because Jun leaves his phone unlocked while helping carry groceries. A notification appears.

[seungkwan] he smiled again

[minghao] i know

[joshua] it's getting embarrassing

[seungkwan] should we tell them

[joshua] absolutely not

[minghao] this is free entertainment

You immediately lock the screen.

Your face feels approximately one thousand degrees. Across the kitchen, the cat watches everything.

Slowly. Deliberately.

He gives you a thumbs up.

You nearly drop the groceries.

—

The truly alarming thing is that Jun keeps getting more comfortable around you.

Not intentionally. Not consciously.

It happens in small moments.

He hands you the first portion of food automatically. Saves your favourite seat. Texts you whenever something funny happens. Includes you in plans before asking if you're free.

As though your presence has become expected. As though you're already part of his life.

One evening you arrive after a particularly exhausting day. You don't even have time to say hello before Jun notices.

"Tough day?"

You blink.

"How did you know?"

"You look tired."

The answer is simple. Casual. Immediate. Something in your chest aches.

"Work was awful."

Jun frowns. The expression looks genuinely offended on your behalf.

"Want dinner?"

"That's your solution to everything."

"Dinner helps."

"It really doesn't."

Jun considers this.

"Okay."

A pause.

"Dinner and dessert?"

You laugh despite yourself. Across the room, the cat quietly writes something down.

—

The disaster happens on a Friday. Naturally. Disasters always happen on Fridays. 

You arrive at Jun's apartment carrying coffee.

The door is unlocked. You let yourself inside.

"Jun?"

No response. The apartment appears empty. You walk toward the kitchen. Then stop. Human.

The cat is human. Very human.

Very surprised. Very standing in the middle of the kitchen holding a spoon.

The spoon falls. Neither of you moves. The cat closes his eyes.

"Oh no."

The front door opens.

"Oh no," the cat repeats.

Jun's voice echoes from the hallway.

"Y/N?"

Panic erupts instantly. The cat grabs your shoulders. You grab his shoulders. Neither of you has a plan.

"Hide."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

"Helpful."

Footsteps approach. The cat spins in a circle. You spin with him. Somewhere in the distance, Jun gets closer.

"Guys?"

"Window?"

"We're on the eighth floor."

"Right."

The cat gestures wildly. You gesture back. Neither of you contributes anything useful.

Finally, the cat dives behind the kitchen island. A second later, orange fur replaces human limbs.

You stare. The transformation still feels impossible.

Jun enters. The cat immediately appears from behind the counter.

Looking innocent. Looking normal. Looking completely unbothered.

Jun smiles.

"There you are."

The cat meows. You stare. The cat stares back.

Slowly. Very slowly. A tiny smirk appears.

The little menace is enjoying this.

—

That night, a folded page appears beneath your apartment door. You already know what it is. You unfold it. The familiar handwriting fills the page.

—

[CASE NOTES]

Current Threat Assessment:

Seungkwan suspicious.

Minghao observant.

Joshua entertained.

Jun oblivious.

Additional Notes:

Y/N and Jun spent thirty-two minutes talking in the kitchen today.

Neither realised everyone else had already left.

Concerning.

—

A final line has been squeezed into the bottom corner. At first glance, the handwriting appears rushed. Almost hesitant.

I think Jun likes you.

You stare at the sentence. Then immediately flip the page over. Nothing else is written there.

When you look back, the words haven't changed. The cat's handwriting remains stubbornly visible.

I think Jun likes you.

For some reason, that possibility feels far more terrifying than any curse.

—

The cat begins sabotaging your love life on a Tuesday. Unfortunately, he begins by sabotaging Jun's.

You don't realise this immediately. Mostly because the disaster starts small.

A missing shirt. A mysteriously hidden wallet. A phone that somehow ends up inside the linen cupboard.

Individually, none of these events are particularly suspicious. Together, however, they create a pattern.

Specifically, the pattern of a cat committing crimes.

"Have you seen my jacket?"

Jun is standing in the middle of his apartment looking genuinely confused. You glance up from the sofa.

"No?"

"I left it right here."

The cat, sitting three feet away, immediately looks out the window. You narrow your eyes. The cat narrows his eyes back.

Jun continues searching. The cat continues pretending to be innocent. Nobody is convinced.

—

The explanation arrives later that evening. Specifically after you corner the cat in your apartment and refuse to let him leave until he talks.

Human form this time. Mostly because he can actually explain himself.

"You're hiding things."

"I'm not hiding things."

"You hid his phone inside a cereal box."

The cat looks offended.

"It was a strategic location."

"You are impossible."

"So I've been told."

He drops onto your couch dramatically. You wait. The cat waits. Eventually, he sighs.

"It's because of the date."

You blink.

"What date?"

The look he gives you suggests you're the stupidest person alive.

"The blind date."

Oh. Right.

A few days earlier, one of Jun's friends had apparently decided he needed help finding romance. The resulting blind date had been arranged for this weekend.

Jun had agreed.

Mostly because he was too nice to refuse. The cat had hated the idea immediately.

Apparently.

"You've been sabotaging a blind date?"

"I've been delaying a blind date."

"That's worse."

"It's different."

"It isn't."

The cat folds his arms. You stare at each other. Eventually, he looks away first. And suddenly, for the first time since you've met him, he looks genuinely upset.

Not annoyed. Not dramatic. Just... sad. The change catches you off guard.

"What is it?"

The cat doesn't answer immediately. His gaze settles somewhere near the window. The city lights glow softly beyond the glass. For a long moment, the apartment feels strangely quiet.

Then—

"If the curse breaks, I'll leave."

The words land heavily between you. You freeze. The cat continues staring outside.

"I was always supposed to leave."

You don't know what to say. Because the thing is—

You've never actually thought about it. Not really. The curse has become part of daily life. 

The transformations. The notes. The absurdity. The cat himself.

Somewhere along the way, he'd stopped feeling temporary. Stopped feeling like a problem that needed solving. Instead, he'd become...

Family.

The realisation hits harder than expected.

"I don't want to leave."

His voice is quiet.

"So don't."

The cat laughs. Not happily.

"You think curses work like rental agreements?"

"You're being dramatic."

"I learned from Jun."

You can't even argue with that.

—

The problem is that the conversation stays with you.

For days. Long after the cat leaves. Long after movie night. Long after Jun walks you home and lingers outside your apartment door for a few seconds longer than necessary.

The thought keeps returning. If the curse breaks. If the curse ends.

Then what? The cat leaves. Life changes. Everything changes. The idea feels wrong.

Uncomfortable.

Like imagining a missing piece in a picture you've grown used to. And perhaps that's why, a week later, you finally ask the question that's been bothering you.

"What actually breaks the curse?"

The cat pauses. He'd been halfway through stealing food from your kitchen. Now he simply stares.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I know what the old woman said."

"Which was?"

The cat sighs.

"'You'll return to yourself when you're accepted as yourself.'"

You blink.

"That's it?"

"That's literally it."

"That's incredibly vague."

"I KNOW."

The frustration in his voice sounds years old.

—

The answer arrives from somewhere completely unexpected. Seungkwan. Because, apparently, life enjoys irony.

It happens during one of the increasingly common group dinners at Jun's apartment.

Everyone is present. Food covers every available surface. Conversations overlap. The cat is currently asleep on Jun's lap. Which would be adorable if you didn't know he was actually a person.

"So," Seungkwan says suddenly.

You immediately become suspicious.

"So?" Jun asks.

"I've solved the mystery."

Nobody likes the way he says that.

"What mystery?" Joshua asks.

Seungkwan points dramatically. At Jun. Then at you. Then at the cat.

"The three of you."

Silence. The cat opens one eye.

"What about us?" you ask carefully.

Seungkwan leans back. Looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"You all act like a family."

The room falls silent. Completely silent. The cat stops moving. Jun blinks. Minghao immediately looks interested. Joshua looks delighted. Seungkwan continues.

"It's weird."

"Thank you?" Jun says.

"No, seriously."

Seungkwan gestures vaguely.

"You."

Pointing at Jun.

"Cook."

Then you.

"You clean."

Then the cat.

"That one commits crimes."

The cat looks offended.

"That's a family."

Nobody says anything. Because somehow—

As ridiculous as the statement is—

It doesn't feel wrong.

—

That night, after everyone leaves, Jun walks you home. The journey takes less than a minute. Neither of you seems particularly eager to end it. The hallway is quiet.

The building mostly asleep. For a while, neither of you speaks. Then Jun laughs softly. You glance over.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Jun."

He smiles. A little sheepish.

"A family, huh?"

Your chest immediately betrays you. The worst part is that he doesn't sound embarrassed. Or uncomfortable. Instead, he sounds...

Happy.

Like the idea itself makes him happy.

"Seungkwan says a lot of things."

"He does."

You reach your apartment door. Neither of you moves. The silence stretches. Comfortable. Dangerous.

The kind that makes you suddenly aware of every little thing. The warmth of the hallway lights. The softness in Jun's expression. The fact that he's standing much closer than usual.

For one impossible second, you think he might say something. Instead, he smiles.

"Goodnight."

The disappointment is immediate. And embarrassing.

"Goodnight."

Jun turns. Walks away. Then pauses.

Just before reaching his own apartment. He glances back. Smiles again. Then disappears inside.

Your heart remains absolutely useless.

—

The next morning, a note appears beneath your door. The handwriting is familiar. You unfold it.

—

[CASE FILE #004]

Subject: Curse Investigation

Status: Ongoing.

Recent Findings:

Jun considers Y/N family.

Y/N considers Jun family.

I consider both idiots.

—

You laugh despite yourself. There is more. The writing below is messier. Less organised.

Like it was added later.

I think I finally understand.

You frown. Understand what?

The final paragraph answers.

For years, I thought breaking the curse meant becoming human again.

Maybe that was never the point.

Maybe the point was finding somewhere I didn't have to hide.

The words hit unexpectedly hard. Because for the first time, they don't feel like notes.

Or reports. Or evidence. They feel like a goodbye. And somehow, deep down, you know something is changing.

The curse is getting weaker. The cat knows it. Maybe even understands it. And for the first time since all this began—

You think he might finally be close to going home. The problem is that home isn't a place anymore.

It's Jun. It's you.

And none of you know what happens when the magic finally lets go.

—

The truth comes out because the cat finally gets tired.

Not physically. Emotionally.

Years of hiding have a way of wearing a person down, and despite all evidence to the contrary, the cat is still a person.

It happens on an ordinary Sunday. Which somehow makes it worse. There is no dramatic thunderstorm. No magical prophecy. No ancient witch appearing out of nowhere to explain things.

Just takeout containers, a half-finished movie, and Jun complaining because someone keeps stealing food off his plate.

"I'm serious," Jun says.

The cat, currently curled beside him on the couch, pointedly avoids eye contact.

"Every time I look away, something disappears."

You nearly choke on your drink. The cat looks offended. Jun narrows his eyes. The cat narrows his eyes back.

And then—

Without warning—

The room fills with golden light. 

Everybody freezes. The cat freezes. You freeze. Jun freezes.

For one impossible moment, the entire apartment falls silent. The light swirls around the cat.

Brighter. Warmer. Familiar.

The same glow you've witnessed dozens of times before.

Except this time it doesn't stop.

"Oh."

The cat's voice returns first. Human. Entirely human.

Sitting where the cat had been seconds earlier. The takeout container slides off his lap.

Nobody reacts. Nobody breathes.

Jun stares. The cat stares back.

And after months of preparation, after endless contingency plans and increasingly ridiculous emergency scenarios, the only thing the cat manages to say is:

"...This isn't ideal."

—

The silence lasts approximately four seconds. Then Jun speaks.

"Oh."

Another pause.

"Oh."

The cat winces. You consider hiding. Jun continues staring. The cat continues existing.

You continue questioning every life decision that led to this moment.

Then, unexpectedly—

Jun stands up. Walks forward. And pokes the cat's forehead. The cat blinks. Jun blinks. The cat blinks again.

"You're real."

The cat stares.

"That is your first question?"

"What was I supposed to ask?"

"I don't know!"

The cat throws his hands into the air.

"Maybe why your pet is secretly a human?"

"That was definitely my second question."

"Jun."

"I'm getting there."

The cat looks ready to scream. You honestly can't blame him. For several long moments, Jun simply stands there processing. Then his expression changes.

Softens. The panic never comes. The anger never comes. Instead—

"You've been dealing with this alone?"

The cat freezes. The question hangs in the air. Everything suddenly feels very quiet. Because out of every possible reaction, somehow that is the one none of you expected. The cat's shoulders slump. Just slightly.

"Yeah."

Jun's expression crumples immediately.

"Oh."

And somehow that single syllable contains more heartbreak than any dramatic speech could.

—

The explanation takes hours. Mostly because Jun keeps interrupting. Not with accusations. Questions. Thousands of questions.

Have you been eating enough?

Where did you sleep before?

Were you scared?

Why didn't you tell me?

Did the veterinarian know?

The answer to that last one is apparently no. Thankfully. 

The cat buries his face in his hands.

"I knew this would happen."

"What?"

"You worrying."

Jun looks genuinely confused.

"Of course I'm worried."

The cat laughs helplessly. And for the first time since you've met him, you realise just how exhausted he's been. How much effort it must have taken to keep carrying this alone.

Jun notices too. Because of course he does.

Without hesitation, he moves beside him on the couch. Close enough that their shoulders touch. Close enough that neither of them has to pretend anymore.

"You idiot."

The words are fond. The cat immediately starts crying.

—

The curse breaks completely three days later.

Not with magic. Not really. Not with fireworks or dramatic declarations. Just certainty.

The cat wakes up human. And stays human.

Morning becomes afternoon. Afternoon becomes evening. Nothing changes.

No tail. No whiskers. No transformation. The curse is gone.

Just like that.

The moment should feel triumphant. Instead, everybody ends up strangely emotional. Including you. Especially Jun. The apartment feels different.

Not empty. Just unfamiliar. Like a favourite song rearranged into a new key. Better.

But still strange. The cat notices immediately.

"You're mourning me."

"No we're not."

"You absolutely are."

"We literally saw you this morning."

"Then stop looking at me like I've died."

Jun points a chopstick at him.

"You used to fit inside a tote bag."

"That's not a normal thing to miss."

"It is for me."

The cat groans. You laugh. For the first time in days, everything feels normal again.

—

The confession happens because Seungkwan finally loses patience. As expected.

Everyone has gathered for dinner. The former cat now occupies an actual chair. A development that continues to disturb Jun. Halfway through dessert, Seungkwan slams both hands on the table.

"ENOUGH."

Everybody jumps.

"What?" Joshua asks.

"No."

Seungkwan points. At Jun. Then at you. Then back at Jun.

"This has gone on long enough."

The room immediately erupts. Minghao starts laughing. Joshua covers his face. The former cat sighs dramatically. Jun looks confused. You look terrified.

"What's happening?"

"You like each other."

Seungkwan says it with the confidence of someone announcing the weather. Silence. Then:

"What?"

Jun and you speak simultaneously. The entire table groans. The former cat drops his forehead onto the table.

"You are unbearable."

"No," Seungkwan says. "I've suffered enough."

"Seungkwan—"

"No."

He points at Jun.

"Do you like Y/N?"

Jun opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks at you. Then looks away. His ears turn red. The entire room explodes.

"Oh my god."

"I KNEW IT."

"Finally."

"THANK YOU."

Jun hides his face. You consider moving countries. The former cat looks seconds away from standing up and applauding.

—

Somehow, eventually, everyone leaves. Except Jun. And you.

The apartment grows quiet. The dishes remain forgotten. The city lights glow beyond the windows. For several moments, neither of you speaks. Then Jun laughs softly. Embarrassed.

"I think they planned that."

"They definitely planned that."

"Yeah."

Silence returns. Not awkward. Just fragile.

The kind where everything important sits between two people waiting to be acknowledged. 

Jun rubs the back of his neck. Looks down. Then up again. And suddenly he looks more nervous than you've ever seen him.

"I do, by the way."

Your breath catches.

"What?"

He smiles. Small. Warm. Entirely sincere.

"I do like you."

The words are simple. Which somehow makes them hit harder. No dramatic speech. No rehearsed confession. Just honesty.

The kind that's impossible to hide from.

"I think I've liked you for a while."

The smile spreads before you can stop it. Jun's eyes soften immediately. The sight nearly destroys you.

"Good."

His voice comes out quiet. Hopeful.

"Good?"

"Because I like you too."

For a second, neither of you moves. Then Jun laughs. The relieved, disbelieving kind. And somehow that's what finally pushes you both forward.

The kiss is gentle. Warm. A little awkward. 

Perfect.

When you pull apart, Jun immediately starts smiling again. Like he physically cannot stop. You suspect you look exactly the same.

—

The next morning, a final note appears beneath your apartment door. The handwriting is instantly familiar. You unfold it.

—

[CASE FILE: CLOSED]

Former Alias: Dumpling.Current Status: Human.Curse Status: Broken.Additional Findings:The old woman was right. Being human again wasn't the solution. Being loved was.

—

Your chest tightens. A final paragraph sits beneath it. Shorter. Messier. Like it wasn't rewritten a hundred times.

Thank you for seeing me. Even when I was a cat.

You stare at the page for a long moment. Then smile. A knock sounds at your door. You already know who it is.

When you open it, Jun stands there holding breakfast. And flowers. And the most hopeful expression you've ever seen.

"Hi."

You laugh immediately.

"Hi."

"Would you maybe want to go on an actual date?"

The flowers shake slightly. Nervous. Endearing. Very Jun. You take them from his hands. His smile brightens instantly.

And just like that, standing in the hallway where all of this began, surrounded by neighbours and ordinary apartment walls and absolutely no magic whatsoever, you realise something.

The curse was never the story. Home was.

And somehow, impossibly, you've all found it.

[woonhakfeet]

the boy from the stars | kim leehan [ 보이넥스트도어 ]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ｡･:*˚:✧｡* . ★ ∵°•ੈ✩‧₊˚ ↶*ೃ✧˚.┊͙✧˖*°࿐*

p a i r i n g . · · childhood! leehan x childhood! reader

g e n r e · . · oneshot, fluff, non-idol au

s y n o p s i s · · . the lost memory of a little boy that resembled the stars, and the crybaby that stargazed him like he was the moon itself.

< w o r d c o u n t > 2.2k

When you were young, you once met a strange boy. 

He had wavy strings for hair and black pearls for eyes. His skin twinkled like the moon and his cheeks were cherries. He also liked fish. Like, really liked fish.

Blinking slowly, you peeped at the boy in front of you. 

You were 6 years old. 

Your mother had brought you to the park to play, but today, you weren’t in the mood for your usual sandpit retreats, nor the regular swing and slide fest. 

Actually, you weren’t in the mood for the park at all. 

Your house had run out of your favourite juice box, your dad yelled at you for using his shaving cream as snow on the carpet floor of the living room and to add fuel to the fire, your all time favourite dump truck broke. 

Your older brother had accidentally stepped on it, and now you were left sitting on your knees, sad and deflated, in the local park sandpit. Shattered, yellow, truck pieces sprawled out in the sand as you dug a deep crevice to start its funeral service. 

It was indeed that serious for you.

A small crunch next to you made you startle. You stopped digging and looked up. 

Why was he still here?

You made an angry face, looked him dead in the eyes, and dug even harder.

This random kid had appeared out of nowhere, crouching a mere few inches away from you in the sandbox. He didn’t say anything, simply continued to stare at your brooding form, and munched on hard candy. 

You didn’t know what he wanted, but his presence was starting to get on your little nerves. 

Standing up abruptly, you huffed impatiently. 

“What do you want?” Your small voice came booming down at him. You stood tall, waiting for his answer. 

Crunch.

“Why are you so sad?” Came his voice. 

“Go away!”

“No.” 

You deadpanned.

Then the boy from the stars started spouting absolute nonsense.

“Did you know that zebra fish hide at the bottom of the tank when they’re sad?”

“No. Now leave me alone!”

“Did you know that some fish blow bubbles to look cool? It’s like what you’re doing now.” 

Munch. 

“You’re trying to act cool, aren’t you?” 

The sound of teeth crunching candy muffled his words.

Your scowl deepened, silently crossing your arms over your little chest, you stared at him with a blank look. 

The boy didn’t seem to get the message though, because he didn’t stop there. 

“You can cry if you’re sad, you know.”

“Did you know that you’re suuuper annoying and I don’t like you?” You finally chirped with unprecedented frustration. Your gaze cold, lips still pulled into a thin line.

The boy went silent. 

And then, he burst out crying. 

You stilled in panic, watching him wail in despair at your dismissive attitude. 

Sensing that you had upset him, you blinked rapidly and took tentative steps closer to him. 

Despite being so young, you were already a few centimetres taller than the boy.

“Sorry,” you awkwardly played with your hands as your voice came out meek and careful. You stole glances at his wet face. 

“I didn’t mean to make you cry…”

Reaching out your tiny hand, you gently patted his back. You were next to him now, feet sinking in the sand, the granules climbing into the crevice of your small shoes. 

Lowering your head to look up at him through his long and dark locks, you hesitantly wiped a tear from his cheek with your miniature, dirty palm.

“I was sad, and because I was sad I made you cry. I’m sorry.” Tears started to well up in your own eyes too. 

“And then,” you sniffled. “And then I made daddy sad too!”  

Now you were bawling. Both of you held each other tightly in an empathetic hug as you just sat there, crying your absolute eyes out. 

A theatrics of tears.

You sniffled, slowly making some space between you but never separating from the hug.

You looked at him.

He had calmed down a little. Evidence of his crying were visibly displayed on his tiny face. Fat streaks of tears, red eyes, puffy cheeks. 

The broken truck was long forgotten as you began to pick yourself up, arms still wrapped around his small body. He followed suit.

“What are you doing?” came his little voice. A hiccup graced the end of his sentence.

You wordlessly blinked at him and continued your rather difficult waddle with him against you.

“Where are we going?” 

“To my secret hideout.” You said in complete seriousness.

Your little hand was now wrapped around his, departing from the hug for efficiency of travel.

The evening hues started to meld together. The sun continued to lower, and you continued your adventure to your top secret base.

…Hmm

Your secret hideout was not very secret.

The two of you made your way to the cave-like space under the slide. 

The air was warm and the ground beneath you remained cooling to the skin. 

You sat him down first, patting the top of his head, then took your seat next to him.

Time passed with the both of you rambling about your favourite cartoons and toys. 

A few quarrels arose. Some over foods, others over who was cooler, for example the Spider-Man vs Barbie argument. After a heated debate, you both agreed that they were awesome in their own fields.

The sounds of birds chirping had diminished and the children around you started to slowly filter out like distilled water.

“I’m sorry.” The boy said. His eyes were stuck on the ground, but he found courage to raise them to meet your big ones. 

You shook your small head. 

“It’s okay! I was really mean to you.” 

The boy only stared at you. 

“What if you say sorry too?” He paused for a moment. “To your dad, I mean.”

The thought itself sent you in an insecure frenzy. “That will never work! He was really angry.”

Grabbing your chubby hands, the boy reassured you with a small smile. A smile that resembled specks of diamonds.

“It will work. My mama said that words have special powers. That’s why she always says to say ‘sorry’, ‘thank you’ and ‘I love you’  all the time.”

You looked at him, a spark of hope in your eyes.

“When you really really mean it, it changes everything!” He exclaimed with confidence. His hands still held yours for shared support.

You blinked at the highly empathetic child before you, amazed by the knowledge he displayed.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better, dummy!” 

Your words projected loudly, yet the small gnawing of hope in your heart was obvious to the naked eye.

He shrugged at you, an ease to him. “You don’t have to trust me if you don’t want to.”

Huffing air into your cheeks, you pouted cutely. 

“Fine, I’ll try it.  But if it doesn’t work, I’m going to bury you next to my yellow truck!”

How sweet.

The sky had darkened by now, still bright enough to commute without worries, but late enough to deem it the end of the day.

Despite the time, the moon had decided to pop out early.

If you squinted your eye and focused hard enough, you were sure you could even catch a hazy glimpse of the stars.

Your two small backs were now sprawled on the floor, both pair of eyes gazing at the sky with deep reverie. 

“You know,” you started. “You look like a star.” 

He listened intently.

“You came out of nowhere, like a star when night time comes.” You turned to him. “And you look really shiny too.”

He stayed quiet, closing his eyes as he took in your innocent voice.

“You act like one too. You’re very annoying,” 

His eyebrow twitched.

“But you stayed with me, just like stars do.”

Stars.

They’re always there.

They wait patiently for someone to look at them. And once they do, no one can stop the wave of the next morning that sweeps them away. 

They disappear to the human eye. Like they were never there in the first place.

Just like he likely will. 

“I know you have to leave soon, but it’s okay—”

“—You talk a lot—”

“—because even if you’re really annoying, you’re cute.”

“You speak like a granny.”

“My mama calls it ‘wisdoom!’” You pipped happily, completely mispronouncing the word. 

Not like the boy would know what that is anyway.

“You’re just making up words to sound smart.”he giggled at you.

“Am not!”

“Are to!”

“Leehan!” Just as you were about to start fighting again, the sound of his mother’s voice drew the both of you quiet. 

Wide brown eyes stared into your glistening ones.

“Leehan! Honey, it’s home time! Where on Earth is he?…”

Oh. Apparently his name was Leehan.

Looking over his shoulder, Leehan watched his mother finally spot him. She approached with that same calmness that he usually exudes. You supposed it ran in the family.

Small Leehan poked his inner cheek with his tongue, not entirely ready to leave the park yet. 

Not ready to leave you alone yet.

He faced you, with a quiet look.

“Do you want me to wait with you?”

Nodding your head yes, then immediately shaking it as a no, you began to push him out of secret hideout.

“Your mama is calling you.”

“But I always have my mama. I don’t always have you!”

“Stop being silly and go,” you continued to push him with all your might, experiencing great difficulty despite you being taller. “Woah, why are you so heavy?” 

He grinned at you, holding up the small packet of hard candy he had.

You made a sound of realisation.

“Leehan?” His mother stood behind him, a knowing smile on her face. “Who’s this pretty cutie?” 

“No one.” Leehan rushed robotically. A shy dust of pink settled on his cheeks.

His mother only hummed. “Well then, No one, it’s nice to meet you.” She reached over to shake your little hand and you giggled at her common joke. 

“We have to go, my sweets.” She ruffled Leehan’s hair, grabbing his hands. 

Exchanging your goodbyes, you watched as the boy you had just met walked away from you.

Oh. 

Never mind.

He was running back.

Quickly making his way back to you as his mother watched nearby, he handed you one small candy—even though he had loads left.

“My name is Leehan. Let’s get married when we’re older!” He landed a sloppy kiss on the back of your palm. Just like in the Princess movies, and ran back to his mother with a blooming smile.

You made a disgusted face, wiping your hand on your frilly shirt. “Ewww, gross!” Having wiped it clean, you began to stare at it, a small seed of longing. 

“He didn’t even ask for my name.” You sulked. 

Not long after, you heard your own mother calling you.

That day, you ended up apologising to your dad and reconciling with your brother as soon as you got home. They accepted your apology with ease and you even got a new truck and your favourite meal for dinner. You didn’t get your juice though, but that was okay.

Because at the end of the day, Leehan’s advice worked.

Years later, you’re all grown up, and at the town’s open market. 

It’s peak afternoon hours. The sun glistens down, sending rays of gold to kiss lightly at your skin.

Vibrant stalls of fresh fruits and veggies. Vintage book sales and farm food galore. 

Walking side by side with your mother, you smile down at a load of freshly laid quail eggs.

“How much for a dozen?” You inquire softly, your kind eyes roam over the produce.

The old woman in front of you names her price. You happily accept.

“How about we check out the smoothie stalls?” Your mother asks excitedly, and you laugh lightly beside her.

“Can’t say I’m in the mood for a smoothie right now,” you start up your stroll again, eyeing the stalls on the right whilst your mother eyed the stalls on the left.

“But they look so refreshing!” 

Just as you’re passing by the smoothie stall, you catch a glimpse of the person working behind it.

Wavy hair, the appearance of soft wool. Eyes shining like the moon. Skin as clear as the ocean waters. And a smile as precious as a pearl.

Your feet slow down without you realising.

You barely get to see his face when he turns around to work on an order. Nevertheless, it’s like something is pulling you to dig deep into your mind. 

Familiarity? Perhaps a memory? 

Maybe you’ve seen him before.

You start to linger behind your mother. Eyes unable to move away from the familiar waves of the stranger’s hair.

Someone near him says something and he turns to the side, grinning like his smile shouldn’t be illegal.

Wow, he’s pretty. 

Your eyes eagerly follow his obscured movements.

He kind of reminds you of the moon.

Moon…

…Could it be…

Star boy?

The thought is quiet. Much too quiet for the atmosphere that you’re surrounded by. Yet there’s a small persistence. Almost like it travelled the galaxies to find you.

“Fine, how about some pastry!” You jump a little at your mother’s voice from up ahead.

Whipping your head back to her, a small smile forms on your lips.

“That’s more like it.” You say cheekily, jogging a little to catch up with her.

“You’re so fussy.” She teases gently and you can only stick your tongue out in retaliation.

With your arms interlinked, you keep walking further and further away from the smoothie stall.

Unknowingly distancing yourself from your destined one.

The boy from the stars.

[woonhakfeet]

this started off as a oneshot no? did you alwas plan to have it as a series? It’s so unique and do you have plans for future cortis works too PLS?????

it was originally a oneshot yeah 😭😂

acc no, I’m legit just improv-ing the whole thing. I mean, now I know what I’m gonna do with the story, but I only made it a series cuz of all the’ support and wishes for part2. I take feedback and comments to heart, and unless I genuinely can’t come up with a following idea or if it truly was made to stay as a oneshot, I usually take up the suggestion. Of course, I also wouldn’t have done it if I truly didn’t want to. So don’t worry. I love the story too.

I have a few things in mind. Maybe closer to the time, I’ll release a poll to see which ones y’all want out first. Granted, I also write for other groups so I pray for ur patience regarding the matter 🙏😊but YEAH, SO MANY NEW IDEAS TO RELEASE U ALL BETTER BE READY (to laugh, cry, and giggle)

[woonhakfeet]

These hoes gassing up my story 😒 I mean im glad your getting the interactions, but just letting it be known;

It’s my story 😐 not y’all’s 😒

Respectfully <33

lmaooo stahp ur going to make the others jealous my luv 😌 you’ve been here since day one ur an og dw about it gng 🫡 who’s ur fave pair rn?

[woonhakfeet]

just a question, do you have a specific date or days when you usually post your stories or you just randomly post it? Just so I know when to come back here on Tumblr for the new updates😁

genuinely, you won’t find anyone with less of a schedule than me T T I’m so sorry. But tbh, I found that I’ve been posting the boo series (if that’s what ur asking about???) on Wednesdays or Thursdays??? I think so anyway— I think it’s because I have less school work on those days. But honestly I wouldn’t count on it, I just post whenever it’s ready 🫠

[woonhakfeet]

I just discovered "boo! I got your toes!" while going through the cortis x reader tag and I'm already obsessed!!! I love the concept and the story has been funny😆 can't wait for more chapters!! kinda wanna see more of her and martin tho👀

tysm for loving it and finding funny! I’m so grateful for the support, and thank you for the feedback! i’ll see what I do for our Martinie in the next one! :P

[woonhakfeet]

boo series is so good! pls make the last two chapters a little longer at leastttttttt

Ahhhh tysm! And I’ll try my best to give u guys the best story that I can possibly give!

[woonhakfeet]

boo! I got your toes! | chapter 4

pairing: cortis x ghost!reader

synopsis: you’re a ghost who’s been wandering around with no purpose. you don’t remember your past life or anything for that matter. you’re always bored and find ways to entertain yourself—observing humans, flickering lights, sending objects tumbling off shelves, and the occasional toe grab through the blanket. so imagine your surprise when you phase through the walls of a random building, ready to terrorise a group of teen dudes, only for them to end up pointing at you and screaming their heads off before you could even do anything. your eyes widen at the realisation. they can see you.

genre: crack, fluff, all the good stuff

word count: 3.1k (it’s not. it’s 3080, but if I say it’s 3.1k then it’s 3.1k, right guys?!)

other parts: chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3

a/n: pop-pop it’s show time! (show time!) show time (show time!) guess who’s back againnn!

“Sean, stop glaring at the ghost. We’ve already established she’s harmless.”

Martin sighs in defeat watching a hunched over Seonghyeon staring holes through your face whilst sipping on his smoothie.

“Hey! She has a name, ain’t that right [name]?” comes Keonho’s strangely honeyed voice. You’re still not entirely used to it. He’s leaning towards you on the shared table, face in hands, elbows propping him up, shooting you a painfully obvious lovestricken look.

You give a wry smile.

“Can someone pass me the salt?” Juhoon comments like nothing is happening.

“Is it to try and get rid of her again?” Pips James as he chews on his burger. He talks as if you’re not right next to him, and at your unimpressed look he sends you a small “sorry”.

“No.” Juhoon blandly replies with no further explanation to why he needs the salt, and Seonghyeon is left sitting like a goblin, suspicious eyes still stuck on the side of your face.

“Am I the only sane one left?” He says to himself, but Martin, who’s sitting next to him, ends up hearing him anyway.

“Dude, it’s been like two weeks. Let it go.” He’s chomping on his fries with little care, round eyes barely settling on Seonghyeon’s face.

“And she’s pretty.” Adds Keonho, and Martin only nods fervently whilst high-fiving him like he just discovered the meaning of life. “Right?! Totally my type.” 

“I’m right here you know.” You utter, and the boys only spare you half a glance before giving you a thumbs up and diving right back into the food.

As Martin informed, it had been weeks since you’ve met the guys. Officially two weeks since they’ve stopped trying to murder you. Though ‘Sean’ seems to still harbour some unresolved feelings towards you.

You shift a little where you’re standing.

James flinches the littlest bit at your movements.

You deadpan.

Oh, yeah.

And it seems like James is still a little jumpy around you, despite his non-ending declarations of him saying he’s “Not scared of no ghost”, verbatim.

You were out having dinner at the new New York inspired diner that opened up not too far from the dorm. 

The boys had specifically requested for a seating arrangement for 6. 

Surprisingly, they wouldn’t budge until a space for 6 opened up. And by ‘they’ you mean everyone but Sean. You’re starting to think that that’s just his comportment when he’s hungry, because he’s not usually as prickly towards you at home. You’re relatively calm, so he honestly forgets you’re there, for the most part. 

Safe for the times you ‘accidentally’ end up phasing through his room to remind him you, in fact, still exist.

You’re never going to stop tickling his toes when he falls asleep. No matter how many times he gives you the stink eye.

It’s your love language <3

Anyway, a spot for 6 people opened up eventually, which only led the waiters to think that perhaps a new addition would show up. But it’s officially been over 40 minutes, and no new person has come through the restaurant doors. 

So it’s safe to say they got nagged at by a bunch of teenagers for absolutely no apparent reason.

Which is why they’ve been staring at your table like hawks. 

All that fuss about having to have 6 seats….just for 5 boys to be ravaging at their meals.

They may not be able to see it, but the sixth person has been very much present from the start. And since the boys could see you, all seats were technically occupied. 

To them, it doesn’t matter what others can’t see. 

What matters is that they see you.  

So long as you’re included, by their standard, it’s all smooth sailing.

Burgers, fries, pizza, and the most delicious combination of ‘unhealthy’ one could ever imagine adorns the table like a bestowed title. 

You almost can’t help the small drool at your lips. Blinking owlishly, you pat your tummy, your hand going through it and coming out empty at the other end. Your lids lower in slight annoyance.

Juhoon, ever the observant type, notices your conduct almost immediately, but remains unsure of how to approach the situation.

But not to worry, because a mysteriously small plate loaded with the generous amount of three measly fries comes sliding in front of you from somewhere across the table.

For a moment, you stare at it. Nothing behind your gaze.

Your eyes lift to briefly catch the same brown eyes that were practically glued to the side of your face earlier. The eye contact doesn’t even hold past a millisecond, he breaks it like he was never looking at you in the first place. 

Pfft, what is he, a tsundere?

You purse your lips, trying to swallow down your small smile. You end up deciding on addressing him lightly.

“Hey, Sean,” you throw him a pair of friendly finger guns whilst winking. 

“Love the gesture. Really, I do. But uh—it’s just…I can’t exactly—” you spread your arms wide, then close them back in to have them hover near your tummy. “…eat…right now.” 

Seonghyeon’s eyes flit up to look at you again, going wide for a split second at the realisation of his useless consideration. 

His ears go red, his cheeks warming up to a comforting shade of pink. 

You unknowingly lean closer to him, unable to hide the small tug to your lips this time.

How cute.

“I…I knew that. I was teasing you.” He says very slowly. 

You hum, nodding gently.

“I’m sure you were. I feel very teased right now.”

Keonho, seeing all this, starts to cackle at the male’s failed advances, but the ridicule doesn’t last long because he ends up choking on a fry in the process. 

Coughing up a storm, he’s almost at Heaven’s door when Martinie’s humongous palm comes crashing against his back.

A few hits just about does it, and the stubborn fry comes flying out. It splats out on the table, coated with fresh saliva.

Every single one of you grimaces in disgust.

“Ugh, dude!”

“My eyes! MY EYES—”

Keonho tries to shut you all up, but it’s an unwinnable battle. 

James starts emoting. Martin starts gagging. Seonghyeon screeches his chair as far away from the table as possible, and Juhoon…

Actually, where is Juhoon?

As if summoned, the pretty male emerges from some random corner. 

You raise a brow. The commotion around you still blazing strong. “Where were you?”

“Toilet. What did I miss?” 

One look around the table and his eyelids drop in defeat.

“You know what? Never mind, I don’t want to know—WHO THE HELL ATE MY STEAK!”

It wasn’t even a question, at this point. He full on shouted that…

It’s probably the loudest you’ve ever heard him.

You attempt to cover your ears, because you know this scene all too well. It’s happened at the dorms much too many times. Chaos over food. Fights over tastes. Survival instigated from culinary theft. 

These are the times that you’re happy to be a ghost.

“Bro, I just took a small bite, chill man.” 

James, fork in hand. The last, pitiful cube of steak stabbed through and nearing his open mouth. 

You can see the fire in Juhoon’s eyes light up in real time, and even Martin and Sean have to forget about bullying Keonho to put it out.

Keonho doesn’t even know what’s going on.

Bless him.

You deadpan at the circus in front of you.

Not one moment of peace.

As the sounds around you grow, your eyes keep up with the ruckus. A tender smile makes its way to your lips.

Guess you don’t mind it though. 

Juhoon ended up getting another steak, by the way. So the problem is partially solved. 

You say partially because Juhoon is still drilling his orbs through James’ skull.

You sigh.

“James?” Your voice comes light, airy, and James turns to face you with ease. He nudges his jaw at you, a naivety in his glassy eyes.

“Wassup?”

“Could please apologise to Juhoon? I know you’re extremely kind, so it comes naturally to you.” You offer sweetly, coaxing him with flattery. 

James snickers at the compliment, the tactics behind your words going entirely over his head.

Nodding, his shoulders rise in mild pride as he shoots you a pearly white grin. “Yeah, of course! Kindness totally comes naturally to me! I’m the kindest guy I know.” 

Your eyes crinkle as you give a slightly exaggerated smile, something you don’t think too much about. But the way James’ breath hitches makes you question if you’ve done something wrong. 

Slowly, your smile turns into a confused one.

He’s staring, eyes trained on the way your orbs bend with glee. His gaze flickers briefly to catch the curve of your lips. 

They linger there for too long.

Until Keonho is jumping across the table to reach for the older male.

“Hey! I saw that! You ain’t slick buddy!” 

“What do you mean? I was just trying to apologise—”

Martin joins in.

“By staring at her face with those pretty diamond eyes of yours?! You sly fox! You’Re TRYING TO GET A HEAD START!” 

Oh no.

Just when things were starting to calm down, they started up again.

You have a mind to look for help from Sean, but even he’s lightly glaring at the oldest male.

He feels the intense stare of your eyes, momentarily turning to make eye contact with you.

It’s quiet, and surprisingly warm. Almost like you’re not allowed to look away. 

The sweet moment drags for but two seconds before Juhoon’s cup of water comes crashing down with a little more force than necessary.

“It’s okay, hyung. I accept your apology.”

His eyes are on Seonghyeon.

James sputters in bewilderment, head turning in all sorts of directions before landing on Juhoon again.

“But… I haven’t even apologised yet?” It’s not even a statement. It’s a genuine declaration of confusion.

“No, really,” Juhoon calmly takes a sip of his water, his eyes quickly leave Seonghyeon’s only to land on you. 

They stay there for a fleeting beat, then slide over to his half eaten steak. “It’s okay. I’m not mad anymore.”

O..kay then?

You blink your eyes like an owl, assessing the way everyone has been looking at you lately.

With the obviousness of it all, one would question if you’re dumb, or if you’re just really good at pretending that you are.

Either way, the boys are the ones getting the short end of the stick.

You think about what could alleviate the atmosphere when your brain strikes an unrejectable offer.

Clapping your hands together, which just end up phasing through themselves, you smile ever so brightly.

The boys swear they can see a halo above your head, but they’d rather not accept that. That would mean you’d leave eventually. And they don’t like that.

Cackling like a witch, something they’ve learned is your actual laugh, you chip in excitedly. “How about some ice cream?” 

Quiet ensues for a minute straight.

Then chaos.

“Ice cream? I love ice cream!”

“It’s like she read my mind. I knew she was wifey material as soon as I laid my eyes on her—”

“—Liar. You passed out when you first saw her.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, raising his index finger as if his sayings are a matter of fact. “I passed out from her beauty.”

“Are we getting it from the convenience store then?”

“Oh, man. The nearby one doesn’t have the ones I like.”

“I don’t care.”

“Hyung!”

“Has anyone seen my AirPods?” 

“How did I get gravy on my shirt? We didn’t order anything with gravy, did we?”

“Can you shut up for one second?” 

“WE’D LIKE THE BILL PLEASE!”

A tired waitress comes over with a small customer-service smile. Her shoulders remain tight as she approaches the member with their hand up.

The boys pay for the bill with the company card. A perk they’ve grown to appreciate like life itself.

Soon after, the night draws in and the breeze hangs low. There’s a slight coldness to the weather as they begin their walk to the nearby convenience store. 

Half of them, namely Keonho and Martin, are still bickering. The rest of the three walk in an appreciated calm. 

The leaves sway with ease, rustling gently. A blanket of comfort to the already tranquil atmosphere.

Seonghyeon yawns.

“Man, I feel like I haven’t eaten that much in ages.”

Keonho snorts, halting his argument with Martin to respond. 

“You literally ate two large pizzas yesterday.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did!”

James pops his head over Martin’s shoulder, “I swear it was three.”

“Three large pizzas? Dawg… you’re a fiend.” 

“Why are you all ganging up on me? I didn’t even order pizza yesterday!”  

Martin kisses his teeth in disappointment. “Using the company card for your gluttonous pleasures.”

Seonghyeon is left absolutely gobsmacked. He scoffs. “Do you even know how much you alone ate today? The total price was practically doubled because of you! You greedy bas—”

A sneeze cuts him off.

Juhoon is rubbing his shoulders, a rosy tint to his nose. “Can we just hurry up and get the ice cream? I wanna sleep.”

All the members look at him plainly.

“Well, since our cute little princess wants his beauty sleep—”

Juhoon’s eyes slide over to Martin with a small glare. The tall male puts his hands up in surrender, finishing his sentence.

“Then I guess we can skip the ice cream for today.” 

Keonho gasps so loud that it startles James next to him. 

“Dude! No way! I want my ice cream!”

“It’s getting late anyway, we need to watch out for our figures too. We have a comeback next mo—”

“But we promised we were getting ice cream…”

Martin’s eyebrows rise, a small knot forming between them. 

“Didn’t you say they don’t have the ones you like, though?”

“Pssh, doesn’t mean I don’t want any.”

“Let’s just get the ice cream.” Seonghyeon butts in, a small sigh to his lips.

The bickering dies down and nothing but the soft sound of nature and shoes on gravel takes over. 

The members are quiet, walking side by side, until Juhoon’s dark eyes scan the area around them.

“Hey,” his footsteps stop abruptly. The rest of the boys gradually follow, gazing over their shoulders to lazily quirk a brow at him.

For a moment, he simply looks around. His head turning side to side, then he starts to look around with his full body.

James watches on, completely and utterly lost.

“Did you lose something?”

Juhoon’s eyes flit to meet his, a small sense of hesitance.

“Hyung… where is she?”

The question hangs in the air for a short time.

James’ eyes widen, his stomach drops.

Not another beat passes before the others diligently join in on the search. Their moves are frantic, eyes out of focus, breaths short. Keonho even resorts to jogging over to the corner they just emerged from. 

Nothing.

During the whole thing, not a word is uttered. 

It’s when all hope is about to be lost, the boys coming together to form a circle of distress, that your aloof voice chimes in.

“What are we looking for?”

All heads immediately turn to you like meerkats.

You flinch at the intensity of their stares.

Their chests rise up and down, eyes blown wide, a visible sense of relief in them.

You give a dry chuckle, unsure of what’s happening. 

“So like, am I meant to do something… is this an improv or..?” 

Seonghyeon’s hand twitches first, but Keonho is the one to initiate the move. 

He runs over, coming to a stop just in front of you. The corners of his mouth pull up in the most adorable way. You find it in you to not voice your thoughts aloud, though.

He breathes out heavily. 

His hands, unsure of how to approach you, try to go for a hug, then immediately retreat and opt to stay firmly on his side.

“I thought we lost you.” 

You raise a brow.

Lost you…?

What are you, a dog?

Martin joins his side not long after. His eyes run over you with solace, finally stopping to meet your confused orbs. 

You present a wobbly smile in return. 

He laughs softly.

“Gosh, I got more scared than the first time you showed up in our dorm.”

“Told you you were scared!” Comes a voice from behind him.

He ignores it.

James gives you a thumbs up from where he’s standing, a glad grin on his face. 

Juhoon, ever the quiet one, looks on with repose. His eyes don’t fail to relax as he stares at you interacting with the others from afar. 

“Idiot.” It’s spoken under his breath, a relieved lilt to his low voice. 

Seonghyeon walks over to you, saying nothing at first. 

“Where were you?”

He says it with no emotion in particular, but the worry still clutches to his tone. 

Your lips draw into a thin line before erupting in a smirk. You teasingly wiggle your brows at him. 

“Was little ol’ Sean worried about me?”

“No.” He says too quickly, and you chuckle at him trying to keep an indifferent expression.

He clears his throat in a shy manner, waiting for your answer.

“I was right there, you just walked through me… which is weird.” You hadn’t really meant to say that last part out loud.

You were so sure they could all physically interact with you at all times, but it turns out that isn’t the case.

You even tried to call out to them a couple of times when they walked past you.

Is this the divide between the living and the dead?

You shake your head.

“You guys were just too busy chatting up a storm that you basically forgot about me.” You opt to say instead. A dead look to your eyes.

The boys guiltily giggle, scratching their heads in unison and avoiding your gaze.

“Well, whatever. Are we getting ice cream or not?” Comes James.

“I’m telling you. No one is sleeping until I get my ice cream.” Keonho joins in seriously.

You nod, a fond beam to your lips.

And the boys can’t help but marvel at it a little. 

Just a tiny bit. 

Because for once, they’ve all unanimously agreed on something that doesn’t even need to be said aloud.

The desire to protect that innocent smile, at all costs.

a/n: idk how to tell u this… but the next chapter is the penultimate one—

[woonhakfeet]

boo! I got your toes! | chapter 2

pairing: cortis x ghost!reader

synopsis: you’re a ghost who’s been wandering around with no purpose. you don’t remember your past life or anything for that matter. you’re always bored and find ways to entertain yourself—observing humans, flickering lights, sending objects tumbling off shelves, and the occasional toe grab through the blanket. so imagine your surprise when you phase through the walls of a random building, ready to terrorise a group of teen dudes, only for them to end up pointing at you and screaming their heads off before you could even do anything.

your eyes widen at the realisation.

they can see you.

genre: crack, fluff (i promise I’m not delusional pls—)

word count: 1.8k

other parts: chapter 1

a/n: i heard the cry of my people (i gave in to peer pressure—), and so, i am here with a (short) series. rejoice everyone! also, yes. other members will get their own lil moments down the road don’t worry

You’d like to think of yourself as a civilised person—well…ghost.

Highly mannered, incredibly patient, and embodying the empathy of a saint.

Which is exactly why you’re hiding behind the shower curtain, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Now, before anyone judges, you tried your very best to loiter around random habitats. Looked far and wide, flickered more lights than you can count and phased through more toes than you’d like to admit necessary.

You even remember trying to scare a guy by the name of Ryul, only for him to start playing Charlie Charlie with you.

Your name isn’t even Charlie!

Or at least… you don’t think it is. Not like you can remember it anyway.

The point is—no one has given as memorable of a reaction as the group of 5 idiots from that one dorm.

Moreover, the fact that they could actually see you made something suspicious settle in your stomach. You still don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Which is why you’re here to find out.

You can hear one of the members brushing their teeth (rather harshly) from where you’re floating. Past the door to the bathroom, a muffled song can be heard being blasted from someone’s speaker.

It’s night time. And night time is the best time to traumatise unsuspecting, vulnerable civilians.

The tap closes. You hear him go in for a second round of brushing.

Giving a small salute through the curtain, you silently commend his hygiene. You don’t think you’ve ever hit the 1 minute mark whilst brushing your teeth. You don’t even think you’ve ever done it right.

His brushing intensifies.

Spectacular.

Carefully, you phase part of your face through the curtain, scouting the area.

He’s squinting, toothbrush moving with the energy of a man fighting something considerably larger than plaque.

You hold in your laughter.

James releases an elderly grunt, lowering to spit and rinse his mouth. Grabbing the edge of the sink, he straightens back up to check his teeth in the mirror.

Your eyes meet his from behind him.

His whole body lurches. He spins around so fast he nearly slips.

Nothing.

The bathroom is empty. The shower curtain hangs completely still.

James breathes. Okay. He’s just tired. Practice has been rough, his brain is just playing tricks on him. It’s cool. It’s all good.

He turns back to the sink, splashing water on his face. Once. Twice. A third time just for good measure.

When he comes back up, face dripping, he feels it.

The shift in the air.

The hairs on the back of his neck stick up and he’s left silently hoping to everything that he’s seriously just overthinking things.

Because for some odd reason, he doesn’t feel very alone right now.

His eyes begin to rise up, almost reluctantly.

From his peripheral, he just about sees the outline of a figure.

His head turns ever so slowly. Creaking. Like a toy running out of battery.

And there you are.

Sitting on the toilet, legs neatly crossed, elbow on your knee, the back of your hand gently propping your jaw. Finding his entire evening routine deeply touching.

A split second goes by where you see the colour on his face completely drain out of his body and straight to his ass.

His heart stops beating.

“Boo.”

That’s all it takes for his reaction time to catch up to him. His body gains air time jolting so high that you wonder if he ever considered pursuing high jump as a professional career.

“aAAHk—”

You watch him stumble to the tiled floor, arms flailing around like a fish out of water, knocking every toiletry on sight with a loud crash.

One of his hands still clutches the sink for dear life, the other goes for the plunger.

You dodge on instinct just in time. The used plunger flies off, sticking to the other side of the wall. You stare at it with visible disgust, but James isn’t done yet.

He reaches for the toothpaste and whacks it your way. “Stupid—” You quickly float to the opposite end of the bathroom.

“—FriCkiN—”He chucks the stained toilet brush. You duck out of range.

“GhOST!” He throws his slipper. This time, you let it pass through you, cackling like an old witch.

His eyes widen in panic at the realisation of his lack of weapons.

Slowly, he begins to back up in the corner of the room, you stalk him. He frantically scans around. A defenceless bunny to a hungry wolf.

“H-HELp bRo!” He tries to call out to his group mates, his voice cracks just a smidge. You snort at him.

Something in his expression quickly changes. He randomly stops, looking extremely offended.

“Did you just laugh at me?”

Your gaze stutters for a second and you quietly peer at him from your position.

Wait… what’s with the sudden switch?

A little dumbfounded, you catch yourself blinking owlishly at him.

“Hey! I asked you a question, man!” He takes one step forward, an intimidating gaze to his orbs.

You can’t tell if he’s bluffing or if he’s actually serious right now. You’re genuinely confused… and a little concerned.

He takes another step and you naturally find yourself putting some distance between him.

Why isn’t he scared anymore?! hELLO?!

Your eyes widen by a fraction as you see him reach for you.

Being familiar with the way things usually work for ghosts, you don’t bother to move away. Cause surely it will just go through you, right?

His hand firmly grips your wrist.

You both freeze.

Okay. Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen.

And so it begins. It’s like slow motion—the way your eyes drop to where his fingers are wrapped around you, registering the burn of it, the weird electric tingle that has no business existing between a living person and a dead one.

Your wide eyes drag back up to meet his. He’s just as mortified, jaw falling to the ground.

His skin tingles in the same sizzling way yours does.

Erm..?

He’s still holding you when you simultaneously take an exaggeratedly deep breath, eyes still locked.

“AAAAHHHHHH—”

“—AAAAHHHHHH”

The two of you separate at the speed of light, James scampering towards the door holding his tingling hand like it’s a cursed relic; and you bucking it towards the shower curtain for safety.

You hear his scream amplify once he’s out the room. Threefold.

Delightful.

You phase through the bathroom wall so fast you’re practically fleeing.

Not that you’re fleeing. For the record.

Burgundy bricks and sweat-coated windows. Cars honk in the distance. The cool wind whips past without effort. You don’t feel it.

You shake your wrist once, watching how its translucence turns a weird colour for the shortest millisecond, before going back to normal.

Oookay?

Yeah…

No, yeah. This was normal. See? Nothing happened. Awesome. Good as new. Moving on—

Through the window, you see the boys grouping around James in the living room.

He’s hyperactive, talking with his full body, gripping Keonho by the shoulders and shaking him like a rag doll as he tries to explain the absolute dumbfoolery that just took place.

Martin’s face goes pale as the story escalates. Seonghyeon gulps. Keonho’s mouth goes dry.

“Guys, I don’t want to alarm you, but I think we might be haunted.”

Seonghyeon catches Martin before he can hit the ground. You observe this with the composure of a veteran ‘National Geographic’ camera operator.

Juhoon hasn’t moved.

While the others jitter around him, he just stands there. Arms folded. Listening. The only still thing in the room. It’s almost annoying how unbothered he looks. You lazily squint at him through the glass.

What’s his deal man.

Juhoon makes a sound. “Ayy, come on, don’t be like that,” he shoves Seonghyeon’s shoulder lightheartedly.

“No, no. I’m being for real. What if James hyung isn’t overreacting for once—”

“—HEY!”

Juhoon pauses. Keonho goes very still. Martin evaporates.

Sighing, the calm male tries to reassure the rest. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Juhoon mumbles lightly, a meek attempt to defuse the situation.

The boys don’t look convinced. You don’t either, for what it’s worth.

“Go to bed already, we have practice early in the morning tomorrow.” He pushes Keonho’s butt with his bare foot, shooing the rest away to their allocated rooms whilst turning off the speaker.

You watch him do this with mild interest. He’s good at that—the herding thing. Natural at it in a way that doesn’t look like effort.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches a reluctant James. Gaze of steel, mouth pressed in a straight line, shoulders trembling ever so slightly. Barely noticeable.

You notice though. Naturally.

Juhoon watches him silently, then crosses the room.

A firm hand lands on James’ shoulder. The boy nearly jumps out of his skin. Turning around, his alarmed eyes meet deep, tranquil ones.

“Hyung, are you okay?”

Something about the quietness of it makes you stare in comfortable silence.

James blinks.

“O-of course man. I ain’t scared of no ghost!” His arms perform makeshift karate moves. An unyielding show of dominance. Juhoon takes a moment to speak up again, his voice lower than usual.

“If it happens again, come straight to me, don’t scare the others.”

James’ eyes grow the size of melons at the younger’s seriousness.

“Bro, are you gonna kill it, bro?” He leans close to the younger male, whispering like they’re discussing a forbidden topic.

Juhoon breathes out a laugh.

“Yeah, bro.”

“No way, bro.”

You snort.

Juhoon only nods. James ends up doing a little dance in excitement.

But he stops his victory ritual abruptly.

“Wait. How do we kill a ghost? Salt didn’t work last time.”

The younger guy shakes his head.

Juhoon gives an easy smile, giving James’ shoulder one last squeeze.

“Leave it to me, hyung. You should get some sleep.”

You stare at the back of his head through the glass with a smidge of growing suspicion.

So like…who’s gonna tell them ghosts are already dead?

James’ eyes trail over Juhoon with a new found respect.

Nodding gently like an obedient toddler to their mother, he makes a beeline for his room.

Releasing the sigh he’d been holding, Juhoon throws his head back in exhaustion.

How the hell does one even vanquish a ghost?

Suddenly, the air around him starts to gently vibrate, the temperature drops to a subtle chill.

His breathing halts.

An unsettling silence roams the living room. The lights flicker the smallest bit.

Before anything else could possibly happen, Juhoon bolts to his room (the fastest he’s ever moved by the way), immediately locking it.

You step through the glass window of the living room with a satisfied smirk.

Unrest teasingly twirls around your floating figure, a personal sash of your unwanted presence in this household. You wear it with pride.

Oh yeah.

Your eyes momentarily fall to your wrist. You give it a little shake.

This is gonna be fun.

[slytherinshua]

　　❛ FLAWLESS SECRET ❜　𓋰　최영재

❪ はじめまして ❫　　fluff secret relationship　ceo's son!youngjae x beautician f!reader　1005　cw ノ kissing, not proofread 〃 ♡　⸝⸝⸝　that photo of youngjae just screams ceo's son sedate me rn　/　𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

The tension in the elevator is so thick you can feel it weighing down on your shoulders. You adjust your grip on your bag, the palms of your hands feeling too warm. Your gaze fixes on the numbers slowly dropping lower—floor twenty-one… twenty… nineteen.

Long way to go.

You aren't paying attention to the conversation that the CEO in front of you is having with his son, until a question suddenly lands addressed to you.

"I seem to recall seeing you before. What department do you work in, Miss L/n?"

"Cosmetology," a voice quickly supplies before you can answer yourself. Youngjae saving you like usual.

Your cheeks burn in nervousness and embarrassment. You can only nod your head slightly and pray that Mr. Choi will stop staring at you. What CEO cares enough to make small talk with one of their employees in the elevator, anyway?

You've never encountered him until today. You've only heard stories of how intimidating he is; how your coworkers have had to tiptoe around him, careful to not say the wrong word. You just don't want to lose your job, especially when you're well aware there is extra on the line for you. If Mr. Choi were to find out exactly who you are, and what you're doing with his son, he might fire you on the spot. You try not to overthink.

After getting his answer, the man shifts the conversation to shareholders and company sales, and you breathe a sigh of relief. In front of you, the CEO's son shifts one step back. The elevator displays the current floor number: sixteen. A chime signals the doors opening and a few more employees step in, pushing you further to the corner. You're happy to be out of view, and hopefully, out of the mind of your boss.

"Stop being nervous. He won't bite you."

The whisper grazes your ear, barely audible. Thankfully, no one else in the elevator seems to be paying attention to your little corner. Youngjae's body is almost pressed against yours, but it is easily played off as cramming for space. His thumb tracing your knuckles would be much harder to excuse.

Perhaps the gesture should make you nervous; close contact with the CEO's son in the elevator. But it only calms your nerves instead. You nod slightly at what he said, letting the former anxiety wash away.

From floors fourteen to eight, most of the people in the elevator get off—including the CEO and his secretary who had a meeting to attend to with a new business partner. The elevator is left empty apart from you and Youngjae, waiting to reach floor five.

"That was the most stressful three minutes of my life," you say seriously, sighing heavily. Youngjae squeezes your shoulder and gives a gentle smile.

"He doesn't remember you, I promise."

You give a wary glance to your boyfriend as the elevator doors open once again and you both step out. The floor is quiet. It's still early in the day, and all the shoots are scheduled for the afternoon. Youngjae follows your lead through the corridors until you reach an empty styling room. There must be at least twenty vanities, each set up with their own makeup stations. Racks of clothes are lined up at the back. In a few hours, the room will be filled with models getting looks done in preparation for the new line launch.

Youngjae shuts the door behind you both. Alone in the big room, you can finally let down your act. You both move towards each other in sync, as if you are two magnets clicking together—a rubber-band finally snapping. Youngjae's hands hold your waist, guiding your steps until you feel the your back hit the wall.

You look up at him; hair neatly styled to frame his face, lips glossy, skin glowing. Not one detail is out of place. Right now, he certainly exudes his reputation. The CEO's son, first in line to inherit the company once his father retires. Although your job is to make models look picture perfect—hair styled, glam on point, skin flawless—right now, you can only think of how badly you want to mess it all up.

Youngjae doesn't protest. In fact, he's more eager than you are. He lets your hands wander through his hair, mussing it completely. He lets your lips find his, smudging the colour that was previously applied. And when you kiss too softly for his liking, he deepens it, encouraging you more with a squeeze to your waist.

"You look so good today," you breathe out softly, voice rasping. Youngjae kisses you once more, fleeting at the corner of your lips. Then he straightens with a smile, eyes never leaving yours.

"You think so?"

You grip his jacket in your hands, barely holding back from pulling him back to you. But you know you're running short on time. You can't guarantee you won't get carried away with another kiss, so you slowly let go and smooth out of the fabric.

"Your hair is so messy. People will notice. Come here."

You pull Youngjae towards one of the vanities, sitting him down in front of it. Pulling out a comb and hairspray from the drawer, you get to work. You're used to working on Youngjae, even though he's never been an official client. You know how to clean up your own work, hiding the perfect mess you just created. You brush out his hair, clean up his smudged lips, and straighten out his clothes until he looks exactly as he did when he entered the room.

And so the delicate secret continues. As long as you cover up your tracks, no one will know. To the rest of the world, he is Choi Youngjae, a young successor with a reputation and company behind his name. He has a legacy to continue. But in front of you, he is just yours; a secret you keep close to your heart, concealing from everyone.

© slytherinshua ── do not repost translate or copy　⸝⸝⸝　join my taglist!

@fantasia-films @k-records

tws taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @seunghancore,, @sobun1est,, @talkingsaxy,, @50-husbands,, @1009high,, @imyuna-06,, @mjupis,, @stannwjnss,, @nonononranghaee,, @fr4ncehere,, @dohynjae,, @cupidslovearrows,, @i03jae,, @kangtaehyunzzz,, @tmrwsuns,, @ijustwannareadstuff20,, @wiishies,, @gyuwrites,, @loserlvrss,, @jellyluvsjihoon

[woonhakfeet]

The Voices Say I love You

Pairing: Seonghwa x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Slice of Life

Synopsis: You’re a masters level student just trying to get by. You decided to change your course from bio-med to literature, and now you’re left to suffer the consequences. You’re already struggling to keep up with submissions and you only ever half understand the lesson materials. That’s when it starts. The subtle voices. You swear you’re hearing them over your shoulder but each time you turn around you only see the focused faces of your classmates. You’re genuinely starting to think you’re losing your mind, until you get a lead on the source of where they’re coming from.

Words: 1.5k (…I think)

“…Franz Kafka,”

You’re going insane.

No, you’ve gone insane. The damage is already done.

“The answer is B.”

THERE IT IS AGAIN—

You spin on your chair with such speed that you give yourself whiplash. And once again, you see nothing but a bunch of classmates with their heads down, answering the questions on the quiz.

You grit your teeth.

How many times was this, now?

You’ve been hearing voices. You’re not sure if they’re in your head or not. They sound external, but there’s no evidence to back up your claim.

It’s been bothering you so much that you nearly considered reaching out to a therapist.

Nearly.

To tell you the truth, it’s not exactly a bad thing. The voices are actually helpful. They are, but….

“The Tempest.”

You shudder at the syrupy softness of the voice, your pen goes to circle the option on the sheet, despite yourself.

You purse your lips.

The quiz ends and the teacher goes over each answer on the board.

You get 100%.

You feel like a fraud.

In all honesty, you probably knew, like, 3 answers in that whole quiz, max. Yet, here you are, adorning a perfect score that doesn’t even belong to you.

Releasing a deep sigh, you stuff the paper into your school bag.

Behind you, a pair of beady eyes trace your movements. His lips twist, unsure as to whether he should talk to you.

“Wow! Full marks again, Seonghwa? That’s really impressive.” A bright voice from the desk somewhere behind you exclaims. You manage to catch a small, humble chuckle.

You flinch at the phrase. You’re sure whoever this “Seonghwa” guy is, likely deserved every bit of the praise. You, on the other hand…

You press your lips into a thin line.

No. Maybe you did deserve it… hypothetically speaking, if the voices truly were in your head from the start, wouldn’t that mean it’s still you answering? It’s your own brain, after all.

A sheepish smile graces your lips.

Yeah, who cares how you got it. As long as you don’t fail the class, you’ll be happy.

The lesson ends and you pack up your remaining possessions like time owes you rent. Dashing out the classroom, you fail to notice the lingering hand that was just about to reach out for you.

Retracting his arm back to his side, Seonghwa’s eyes remain glued to the door of the lecture room.

It’s okay, he’ll just try tomorrow.

Except, tomorrow was also a fail. And the day after that, and the day following that one, too.

Sighing in frustration, Seonghwa steeled his nerves.

Were you a descendant of Sonic or something? How were you so fast to escape when it came to the end of the lesson?

This won’t do, he’ll just have to talk to you during class.

It was quiz day, again. And as usual, you take the seat just in front of him. Seonghwa smiles to himself, seeing you offload your notebook and pencil case. The familiarity of your presence in front of him brought an odd sense of comfort.

“Okay, you have 15 minutes. This shouldn’t even take you that long,” the professor says as a matter of fact. A chosen student goes round the room, distributing the quiz papers. Once done, they also take their seat.

You emptily stare at the paper in front of you, barely hearing the signal to start the quiz. Taking a deep breath, you pick up your black pen.

You wait.

Your hand is hovering in the air and you look like a complete idiot, but you still wait.

You’re sure it will come.

The voice, you mean.

It never fails you. It always speaks at the right time. So you’re going to trust it, whether it makes you clinically insane or not.

A good 5 minutes pass and you start to sweat drop. Did you put too much faith in something that may have been made up by your own mind?

Looking over the sheet once again, your lips tug to the side as you read the questions.

You only knew the answer to Question 8.

You let out a gentle sigh.

You theorise that the voice doesn’t operate by command. That’s the reality of it. You likely have to do this yourself.

Squeezing your eyes shut with a new emerging headache, you massage the bridge of your nose in thought.

Time to guess your way through the quiz.

As your hand goes to lower the tip of the inked pen against the white paper, a gentle sound hits your ear.

“ A Midsummer Night’s Dream. ”

Your eyes go wide and you let out a slight yelp from surprise. The professor looks at you briefly, but you simply wave him off.

The voice.

It was the voice!

It came back!

You could just about cry right now.

When you needed it the most, it delivered. It was like your own little guardian angel, directing you through school life.

Biting your lips to avoid smiling at the table like a maniac, you quickly write down the answer to the first question.

And just like that, another perfect score was born.

The classroom buzzes with chatter as the other students discuss and exchange their answers. You’re looking down at the paper in your hands with a goofy smile.

Are you concerned for your mental health?

Partly.

Are you pleased with your academic score?

Absolutely.

You giggle to yourself, shoulders shaking in glee, eyes crinkled with the joy of life.

“You look happy. Did you get a good score?”

A voice coming from directly behind you startles you back into behaving like a normal human.

A boy with fluffy hair and a smile that could probably orchestrate world peace speaks up to you.

You blink at him.

He patiently waits for you to respond.

“Ah,” you fiddle with the paper in your hands. “I uh, I guess so..” Your eyes lower to look at your score, then rise to meet his.

The tip of his ears dust crimson at your meek gaze.

“That’s cool,” he lifts up his own paper. “I’m happy with my mark too.” He beams shyly.

You nod very slowly, a little confused as to why he’s even acknowledging you in the first place. You were so used to being part of the wall that you genuinely forgot people could exercise their free will and talk to you.

“What’s your name?” He asks lightly. His voice is so soft that it reminds you of a pack of clouds rolling over the sky in peak summer.

Wait, his voice… why did it sound so familiar?

Giving a little smile of your own, you tell him your name, regardless of your stupor.

“That’s a pretty name.” He says with intention, with care, and with a little too much interest, actually. It makes your heart do a flip and sends you stuttering over yourself like a fool.

“T-thank you,” you cough into your fist, a lousy attempt to make the air less awkward for the likes of you. His eyes follow you like they were specifically assigned to take in your every being.

“You’re welcome,” he states, but he can’t get another word in because the professor begins to round up everyone’s attention.

You turn back around in your seat, fully thinking that today’s interaction is going to be another fleeting moment in the week, but a gentle voice scratches your brain from behind you.

Seonghwa is slightly leaning forward, his hand cupping the corner of his mouth as he whispers.

“My name is Seonghwa, by the way.”

The people around you are starting to settle down and the volume of the classroom falls to a comforting hum. Seonghwa is still leaning over the desk when you start to bring out the folder filled with the extracts that the class usually mulls over.

As your fingers brush over a piece of paper containing the extract for “No Longer Human” an all too familiar sound lulls you to a stop.

“We’re doing A Midsummer Night’s Dream, today.”

And that’s when it clicks.

Like a hauntingly beautiful siren call, your ears tingle at his proximity and the way the words roll off his tongue. His voice, which is much too similar to the one you’ve been relying on for weeks, hangs in the air like bait to a fish.

Your heart hammers in your chest.

Could it be…?

Shifting ever so slightly in your seat, you slowly turn your head to just about steal a glance at the man sitting behind you.

He’s close, and he’s already watching you.

Your eyes pull wide, mouth slightly agape as you stare at him in deep realisation.

So this whole time, the voice you’ve grown to latch on to, the voice that whispered sweet words and academic answers.

It was real, all along.

His eyes crinkle at your expression, a fond smile overtakes his lips as his chin rests in his palm.

At last, you found him.

He gives a gentle chuckle as he tilts his head, whispering the words he’s been waiting much too long to utter.

“ It’s nice to finally meet you. ”

[woonhakfeet]

don't hate me because i'm beautiful | [엔하이픈]

kim sunoo.

PAIRING: fashionschool!sunoo x classmate!reader

GENRE: slice of life, comedy, slow burn, fluff, enemies to…

WARNINGS: bickering, forced promity, sunoo is a bit of a sassquatch and low-key rude but you are too so touché.

SYNOPSIS: When life tastes too sweet and the sun shines too brightly in the sky, that is when you ought to beware and brace yourself for impact. You had to learn this the hard way. Your final year of fashion school was meant to be your glory days— a catapult to your grandiose debut in the fashion industry; your heaven on earth, a free ticket to graduating at the top of the arts institution with flair and an unyielding sense of peace and fulfilment. Perhaps even paired with an obnoxious, villainous laugh. That was your carefully scripted “reality.” Until the one person you hate the most in the whole solar system waltzed into the classroom and ruined all potential plans of an early retirement, creative freedom and a stable blood pressure. Now, forced to co-operate alongside the very bane of your existence, you're plunged into an unwanted partnership, cat fights instead of catwalks, and an unavoidable confrontation of a ridiculously long historical rivalry.

WORD COUNT: 12k (got a lil carried away)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: can you believe it’s finally here? my first full enhypen fic! I could cry. I hope u enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. expect more enha fics in the future! i appreciate all feedback so don’t be afraid to comment ur thoughts <3

 You’ve been at war since you were six.

"Are you friCkiNg stupid?"

"No. But I know you are."

"Why yOU—"

A tiny sea of arms secured you a split second before you could leap into battle. Your classmates had already anticipated your moves, creating a makeshift barricade with their limbs for the both of you before matters could get any worse.

It had been the third time this week that a brawl broke out between the two of you, and it was only a Tuesday. 

On Monday, it was a fight to the death on the playground over who got the correct scientific name of the animal that scurried on the big oak tree.

It was a squirrel.

"—I said let me GO!"

And now, your patience was being tested inside the classroom.

The teacher had briefly nipped away to fetch more gluesticks for the arts and crafts spaceship your class was building for the upcoming school funfair. She absentmindedly put the brightest, most responsible child, who was obviously you, in charge.

All was going splendidly, till a certain foxy, poopoo faced looking, annoying, short, bratty and stinky-bum boy decided to open his mouth and move it like a typewriter.

He insulted your drawing skills. Berating you and saying your doodle was "gross" and that you "couldn't even colour in right." You had drawn an outstandingly detailed flower at the bottom of the cardboard spaceship.

He called it a deformed elephant with wings.

And elephants don't live on the moon.

They don’t have wings either…

So, you took that personally.

The group of little children were now trying their best to push the both of you to opposite corners of the classroom, but your thrashing only grew fiercer.

You accidentally kneed one of them in the shin and elbowed another in the face. The two fallen soldiers dropped to the floor like wilted petals, each holding on to their brand new injuries gifted by yours truly.

By this point, hot tears of anger started to form as you fought to rush the dark haired boy who still had the audacity to stick his tongue out.

You ground your teeth.

From behind you, a kind girl with pig tails landed a few soft head pats to soothe your vexation.

But there was no calm before the storm when it came to you. You were all fire and crackle and if anyone ever tried to put you out, you'd set them ablaze too. 

"Quick! Help me hold her arm—"

You slipped out of their grasp like water from a faucet, ignoring the squeals of terror that gurgled out of your classmates.

As if time itself gave way to marvel at your closing act, you propelled your small body forward, jumping with all your might, arm drawn back with professional ease, fist loaded for impact. 

The dark haired boy’s eyes flew wide open, legs attempting to scamper off to safety, but he couldn’t make it on time. It was already too late, and he knew it.

And like the famous painting of Apollo descending from the skies akin to an angelic dove, your mini sized fist connected raw and clean, right on his soft, chubby cheek.

His body fell in slow motion, your classmates watched in morbid horror, and you guffawed at the face of mockery, hands resting on your small hips like an infamous dictator.

And that’s how a new bruise was born.

You and Sunoo never got along.

Not when you were both in 3rd grade grabbing each other’s hair because one called the other’s shoes ugly.

Not in 7th grade, when you called Sunoo’s gifted and brand new £200 perfume vomit-inducing. 

And certainly not in the very last year of high school, where Sunoo had painfully ridiculed and sabotaged your collaborative, end of year arts & science project. 

In front of your whole entire school, your precious piece blew up on your face, the entirety of your hand made solar system had catastrophically erupted all over you, covering you from the crown of your head to the very soles of your shoe with a concerning amount of hot pink lip gloss.

It was supposed to spit out a sensitive amount of glitter to mirror the shining of the stars in space.

You’re not even sure how he managed to get such an ungodly amount of lip gloss in one go. And you’d rather not know.

So, basically, no.

You and Kim Sunoo never got along.

Never did.

Never have.

And likely, never will do.

The funny thing is, it wasn’t your fault, because somewhere in your mind, at the ripe age of 11, you convinced yourself that from that point on, nothing was your fault. Maybe it was the inner workings of an upcoming narcissistic phase, or perhaps it was truth coated in a ridiculously thick layer of lies. 

Whatever it was, you decided to stand by it from then on.

In your viewpoint, you tried your very best to be nice. You attempted to make friends at any given opportunity (that’s a lie), you were stunning (truth), smart (correct) AND incredibly inviting (debatable). 

Day by day, you managed to give Mary Sue a run for her money, if you do say so yourself. And the most significantly impressive thing of all is that you strained yourself daily to not downright rip Kim Sunoo apart, piece by piece.

You were a saint. 

Nothing could convince you otherwise. 

Which left the equation as obviously self explanatory as it could possibly be. 

You weren’t the problem. 

He was. 

So, naturally, when you came back to your last semester of fashion school after being severely sick for two weeks straight, the last thing you expected to see was a sadly familiar set of dark hair before you.

No, surely not…

This couldn’t be—

You rebuke it! 

You shut your eyes momentarily, an intense scowl imprinted on your previously serene face. 

Maybe if you didn’t see him, he wouldn’t see you. In fact, what if he was just a figment of your imagination? 

You peeked your eye open to check.

Nope, still there.

He just hadn’t seen you yet.

Making a strangled noise of defeat, you growled lowly, eyes narrowing into murderous slits.

What the heck was he doing here?

Perfectly styled strands of ebony frilled around rhythmically, the wind blew like it was his partner in an end of year tango dance. His lips shone in pride, always moisturised and glistening as if ridiculing everyone else’s chapped ones.

It pissed you off. 

Sunoo sat at the very back of the room, his attention completely absorbed in his own reflection as he monitored his appearance using the back of his phone. 

You scoffed unbelievably, a mirror phone case, why of course.

His aura practically screamed “I’m better than every single one of you roaches” and your eye retorted with a twitch.

The clearing of someone’s throat pinched you out of your annoyed brain fog. 

Your lecturer, also recognised as your fashion tutor, Ms. Dubois, smiled down at you with a sophisticated, rouge grin. She wore her signature 7 inch red bottoms, tight pencil skirt that trickled down to stop just above her knees and a cropped, asymmetrical blazer covered her slender shoulders. 

You scowled deeper.

“Oh, come on. Don’t give me that look, young lady! You haven’t stepped foot in here for two weeks and you’re already greeting me with such ugly energy.” Her heavy, francophone accent swam into your ears, a voice as strong as a diamond and as sharp as a dagger. She waved her hands in front of you as if attempting to “shoo” away your bad energy. 

Your expression refused to change.

“What is this I’m hearing about? Some kind of paired work,” you spoke up, ignoring her hands still fanning the air around you. 

“Oh! Yes, yes!” She finally stopped trying to exorcise you and bit down on the bait you offered her; the project. 

“The final project will be a collaborative assignment. Pick a concept, a theme, and show the world what you got!” 

You sighed, your shoulders sinking to the ground in despair.

It was too early in the morning for this.

“What’s the length of the project?” You inquired, already planning various mental mood boards and formulating prototypes of pieces in your head. 

“3 months, darling.” Her towering figure stood with elegance, a professional smile beaming down at you. 

You could already feel the weight of the project on your frontal lobe. You fought the urge to succumb to your intrusive thoughts of jumping out the window.

You were on the 7th floor. 

That certainly wouldn’t end well.

“Have the rest already picked their partners?” You barely got your sentence out before Ms. Dubois guffawed in hysteria. You aimlessly blinked with mild astonishment.

Erm.

Okay?

“Darling, the pairs are assigned. Your partners were announced last week. Let me see,” she waltzed over to her overly large desk. Grabbing a folder as big as a Yellow Pages book, she licked her finger and started turning through the papers.

“Ah! Here we go. Your partner is, uh…” she looked up from her folder, squinted her eyes and skimmed the crowd of students with laboured difficulty.

“Umm, Kim Sunoo?” She carefully gestured towards the male that was STILL checking himself out before his name got mentioned. Her voice gave a slight rise near the end of her sentence, uncertain about her pronunciation.

Time zeroed in on itself. 

The classroom completely blacked out and your head twisted to meet a dreaded face that looked just as awfully put off as yours. 

You’d think it was an AI generated video at how unrealistically slow you moved.

You swallowed harshly, your eyes meeting his wide, amber ones. 

His hands had frozen in mid air, one somewhere between fixing his hair and the other on its way to lowering his phone. His gaze faltered all the more once your tired eyes turned completely stone cold.

…Hmm…

Maybe it was a different Kim Sunoo?

Your brain tried to coerce you into delusion as you walked up the steps towards the self-centred ass— you mean, man.

Dropping your items on the table with exaggerated force, you tossed your head backwards, sighing the world’s biggest sigh.

You know what made it all worse? 

You hated sitting at the back. 

You purposefully aimed to sit at the front on a regular basis, unfailingly, because even one single missed information would gnaw at your skin like the bubonic plague.

Even the past two weeks, you were working yourself like a dog on the lecture slides and studying overtime on the current fashion trends.

You were aiming to be a serious prodigy, an outstanding fashion designer. One of a kind. Once in a century. 

You wanted to gag the current brand leaders and respected personnel in the industry. You couldn’t possibly do all that from the back. That’s for unserious people, that’s like shooting yourself in the foot at the finish line.

With your head still tilted, your eyes slid to look at Sunoo with murderous intent. 

Your lids were heavy, mouth rested in an expressionless straight line, but the look in your eyes was enough to transpose all you wanted to do to this man.

Wrangling his neck would only be the start.

The dark haired male gagged in disgust as soon as he saw you standing near the table. His bundled fist flew to cover the opening of his mouth, eyes tightly wrinkled in pain.

“Could you kindly stop looking at me? Your face is making me feel physically sick.”

You nearly threw a table at him.

Silently staring at him for a moment, you turned on the balls of your feet, and wordlessly speedwalked back down the steps and straight for Ms. Dubois.

Her unsuspecting form was going through another student’s portfolio, assessing their recent contributions. 

Your hands slammed against her desk with such force that Ms. Dubois was sure you disengaged gravity for a good minute.

“Ms. Dubois.” Your voice was low and eerily calm. You weren’t facing her, your head was lowered and glaring daggers into the wooden table below, your hunched back creating a dark, shadowy cast over your face.

Ms. Dubois gulped.

“I need a new partner.”

Ms. Dubois gave a quick prayer, preparing to utter her next words as sensitively as she could. She took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry to inform you that I can’t do that,” 

Silence.

Blinking in very real alarm, Ms. Dubois attempted to get a good look at your face, calling out to you in genuine fear. 

You didn’t move. 

You couldn’t. 

You were rooted to the ground of the classroom, a prop to the school building. 

Why you?…

You seethed.

Why now?! 

A poke stammered you back into focus. Ms. Dubois cautiously rushed to retreat, her finger now safely to her side.

“I really can’t, darling. It’s the rules! And I sent out an email with a deadline for discussions about changing partners last week.” She spoke as if her justifications could ever alleviate the raw suffering and sorrow you were condemned to. 

Taking in a worryingly deep breath, you closed your eyes, rising up from your position with poise. 

“I understand.” 

Ms.Dubois blinked in surprise. 

Did she hear you correctly? 

“Wait. Y-you do?!”

“Yes.” 

You turned around like a puppet on strings and made your way back to where your lovely partner was sitting, elbow on the table, hand upholding his jaw as he looked at your sorry attempt at changing partners with the most primal level of schadenfreude. 

You balled your fists. 

“Good morning to you too.”

You snapped your neck to the side making direct eye contact with him. The air physically grew cold. 

“Don’t talk to me.” 

Sunoo let out a dry whistle. “Gosh, aren’t you just a joy to be around.” 

“Can’t say the same about you.” 

He bit his lip, fighting the urge to throw an insult back. 

Sighing, whilst whispering a hollow “Whatever,” he opened his sketchbook to the page he was already working on. 

A variety of brainstormed ideas scattered the paper. Small sketches, colour schemes and fabric lists adorned each page like a purposefully orchestrated spectacle. 

You took your seat, methodically choosing the one that was a chair away from him. 

Sunoo was fully immersed in the planning of the project. 

“I already thought of some concepts and prototypes for the pieces, whilst you were lazying about in the comfort of your own home,” 

Sunoo glanced up to test your reaction, a sadistic smirk mildly glazed his lips before momentarily faltering. 

He raised a brow. 

“Why are you so far away?” 

You stopped your writing to look at him. 

“I work better in a controlled setting.” 

Jabbing your pen at him, you added. 

“You are not a controlled setting.” 

Was he genuinely not as appalled, by the idea of the two of you being forced to work together, as you were? 

He has been awfully on board with the whole thing. Usually, he’d already be trying to stab you with a ruler.

Scoffing, Sunoo directed his attention to you. His hand forcibly moved the chair between the both of you out of the way. 

What happened next had you completely and utterly stupefied into pure silence. 

He leaned over the now empty space, grabbing a hold of the bottom of your chair, and promptly pulled you over in silence. 

Your chair migrated very slowly with a chorus of squeaks and mind altering screeches, eventually coming to a stop decently close to the pretty male. 

You paled in your seat.

“There,” he said, hands wiping away at false sweat. His eyes never found yours. 

“That’s better.” 

You nearly threw up. 

Attempting to move your chair back to its original position, Sunoo blocked any further movement by sucking in a short breath. 

“Do you want to get a good grade or not?” His caramel eyes raked over you, briefly.

“I’m not exactly ecstatic working with you either, but unlike you, I’m actually serious about my work. So stop being a pain and pick up your pen. We have some planning to do.” 

You were left speechless. 

And unfortunately, he was right, although you would never admit that, not even over your dead body. 

So you kissed your teeth, silently picked up your pen in mandatory obedience and started doodling fashion ideas.

Sunoo cleared his throat, hastily glancing at your quiet form.

You sighed. “What now?”

“I was thinking we could do a wedding concept—”

“No.”

Sunoo’s eye twitched.

“No? What do you mean, no? I didn’t even finish talking!”

The volume of your bickering managed to catch the attention of a few classmates. In particular, a short girl’s eyes lingered just a bit longer than others.

You continued drawing, shaking your head slightly. “That’s a weak concept. It’s not eye-catching, it’s predictable, safe, and it has limited themes. Sure, you could twist its traditional colour schemes but you can’t make a widely, unrepeatable fashion statement with a wedding dress.”

“Who says it needs to be a dress?”

“Your point remains invalid.”

He glared at you, clearly displeased.

“Well then have you got any ideas, since you’re the self proclaimed genius in this relationship—OW!” Sunoo rubbed his stinging upper arm. 

“What the hell is actually wrong with you!” 

“Oh, stop being a diva. I barely touched you. And we aren’t in a relationship.”

“You must be an imbecile, because a relationship is just a connection between two people, stupid. We’re literally partners.” He gave you a flat look. 

“Anyway,” you resumed, ignoring him. 

“My glorious idea is to go with the concept of extraterrestrial life—” 

“Like that’s any better.”

You continued. 

“It’s widely interpretable, allows experimentation with shapes, colours and sizes, and most of all,” you leaned close to his face just to spite him with your next line. 

“It’s interesting.” You finished, smugly. 

He seemed unfazed at the proximity.

Nevertheless, you raised your brows in victory, throwing your arms to the side as if saying, ‘I told you so.’ 

Sunoo pinched his nose shut, making a disgusted face. “Gosh, your breath reeks. Did you even brush your teeth this morning?” 

“Say one more word and this is going right up your ass.” You were being so deadass, hand twirling your ‘Hello Kitty’ ball point pen in your fingers like you were playing poker. 

“Please, I insist.” You urged him. 

He just scrunched his face and wrote down your suggestion with no further comments. 

You smiled. 

Good.

“—How does an extraterrestrial bride sound to you?”

“Sounds like utter bullshi—”

“I like your plan, except it sucks, so let me do the plan and that way, it might be really good.” He interrupted you with no care whatsoever.

You see, that’s the thing. 

The both of you couldn’t be more different. 

One reason why you were both constantly at each other’s throats growing up was because you were always at the polar opposite end of every possible spectrum. 

When Sunoo liked pink, you liked blue. 

When he wanted sparkles, you reached for mattes. 

And when you wanted sequin, Sunoo would go through heaven and hell to opt for satin. 

“Since we can’t agree on a concept we both like, let’s do one we can’t care less about.” 

“But liking something makes you work harder.” 

Sunoo glanced at you with little to no interest. 

“That’s not how professionalism works. A professional puts their all in every project and can work with any criteria.” 

You chewed your lip, hating how he was technically correct.

“What are you, Detective Conan?”

He snickered smugly.

Huffing air out of your cheeks like a cartoon character, you slumped in your seat dramatically. 

“Fine, let’s go with nature.”

“That’s basic.”

“Shut up.” You retorted.

He wrote down some words whilst you sulked next to him. 

“Specifically, let’s do animals. I think that’s eccentric enough to keep your attention span running.”

You sat up a little higher on your seat. 

“Hey, that’s not a bad shout, actually.”

“Cool.”

He gave a satisfied smile and your brain farted. 

“Ew.” You said on instinct. 

“Don’t smile like that, it’s making me feel nauseous.” 

He replied with a dramatised eye roll.

Returning to finally making some progress on your work, the reason as to why Sunoo was here had nearly escaped your mind.

“Why are you—no, how are you here, anyway? I haven’t seen you in years. Didn’t know you studied here.” You wrote as you conversed casually. 

“Ooo, is that interest I’m smelling?” 

Sunoo had shifted to give a small turn of his head to look at you, his jaw propped up by his palm, elbow on the table, a relaxed smirk.

You wrinkled your nose, eyes still focused on your book as you replied with little to no effort. 

“Hardly.”

He hummed, turning back to his own sketchbook. 

“I’ve always attended this institute, in case you were wondering. I’ve seen you around, actually. I just wasn’t enrolled in this specific program.” 

You continued to listen.

The room filled itself with the sounds of pen strokes hitting watercolour paper and the blurred out conversations of other groups. A layer of comforting white noise.

“I was originally doing the Fashion, Beauty and Cosmetics course, but I found that too easy. I mean, I practically know beauty inside and out.” He pridefully raised his chin to show his sculpted face. 

“So, I changed to something closely related but slightly more stimulating.”

You raised your head to steal a look at him. 

“How did they even allow you to do that on the last year during the last term?”

Sunoo simply shrugged.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

Fashion Design & Textiles was far from easy, so you concluded that if he was allowed to join this late so openly, he ought to have been more than qualified. 

Or maybe the institute’s course director had lost their marbles. 

Essentially, the outcome was the same; they ruined your comfort.

Sighing, you placed your pen down. 

“I’m going to need your phone number. We need to arrange for fabric, styling, make up— though I’m sure with your prior knowledge that will be a breeze, and we need models.”

Luckily, the main showcase was to execute one primary piece with two other complimentary garments. This meant that you didn’t need to scramble about like a headless chicken, looking for 5 tall enough campus victims, like last year. 

Three looks should be a piece of cake.

“With my prior knowledge… are you finally admitting I’m good at something?”

Your lips twisted.

“No.”

And you left it at that.

The two of you exchanged numbers, despite Sunoo initially gate keeping his phone like his life depended on it. 

It’s not like you wanted to do this either, but you weren’t about to bank your future success on your hatred levels. 

Even for you, that’d be low.

The rest of the day went by like a filler episode, and because your team had the likes of you in it, you got the majority of the planning done in no time. 

Some suggestions had to be beat into agreement, Sunoo was hard headed after all, but you cracked the code of how to get what you want from the male. 

Just annoy him until his ears bleed.

“I said we’re doing an Arctic fox, what the hell is this?” Sunoo lifted a design sketch of a garment that fully resembled the nature of a snow owl flapping its wings.

“Well, I said I liked the snow owl. So we’re doing the snow owl.” You snatched the paper out of his hands and straightened out the crumpled bits.

You were at the famous campus Café. 

You hadn’t ordered anything because you were simply here for business, not to dilly dally. Sunoo ordered a mint chocolate and salted caramel frappé.

Your mind was already steeled to not let his opinions pass so easily.

You almost hesitated when you first walked into the building, seeing the sight of Sunoo’s heavy eye bags and what looked to be a gazilion loose sketches laid out on the table. For once he looked less like Ass Sunoo and more like a student running on delusion and spite, but you had a surprisingly strong resolve. So you kept it pushing.

Also, a whole week had gone by and all your texts regarding the project had been dutifully aired by the dark haired male, so you were in no mood to compromise, especially when your assigned partner wouldn’t listen or put in the work. No matter how heartbreakingly shattered your partner may look. 

Taking a bottle of water out of your bag, you took a sip and swiftly twisted the cap back on. “An arctic fox is so painfully predictable.”

Sunoo scoffed.

“Oh, and an arctic owl isn’t?”

You nodded as a matter of principle.

“Gosh, why do I even try?” He mumbled to himself whilst throwing his hands in the air. 

“That’s what I’m saying, why bother?”

He nearly jumped you, but decided to be the bigger person.

“You know what, fine. We can do the stupid owl.” Sunoo frowned like a pre-schooler. His bottom lip jutted out in utter displeasure and his eyes brimmed with dissatisfaction.

You watched him quietly for a moment, then sighed ever so dramatically.

“Well, since we are doing animals as the main prompt, how about we pick arctic life as the theme?”

He looked up at you and you nearly flinched at the way his honey coloured orbs focused solely on you like there was no other presence in the room.

You cleared your throat.

“In other words,” you started, averting your gaze to the barista with the name tag reading “Niki” who looked like he’d rather be anywhere but behind the counter. “We can do your cursed arctic fox idea.”

A solid silence lingered after your words and for a second you wondered if you said something wrong. But then you remembered that you don’t have the ability to be wrong, so you smiled to yourself with an odd look of serenity. 

Your vivid eyes shifted to catch Sunoo’s reaction.

He was still looking at you, but the straw between his lips froze mid sip. His eyes widened a fraction, and he was looking at you as if you grew 6 extra pair of eyes.

“Okay then. Maybe not—” you rushed.

“—No! No… I like that idea,” he blinked slowly. “I think it’s cool.”

You looked at him with a plain stare. 

“You don’t look like you think it’s cool.”

At your pointed expression, his senses seemed to have re-awakened. 

With the corner of his lips lifting, he gently leaned back on his chair, eyes holding prolonged contact with yours. 

“What? Do you want me to jump up like a frilled lizard and start applauding?”

“I hate you.”

He made a kissy face back and you’re sure that if you ended up ordering anything you would’ve spat it right onto his face from the sheer disgust you were feeling.

But since you didn’t have a drink to communicate your distaste with, you settled with lightly kicking him under the table.

“Ah!”

His painful moan garnered a few judgemental glances from the tables nearby. 

You pursed your lips in an attempt to stop yourself from laughing. As you reached for another sip of your water, your hand stopped.

“Oh—” You slowly got up from your chair, eyes drifting toward the restroom sign.

“I’ll be right back.” You started off, then turned back menacingly.

“Don’t touch anything.” 

And disappeared behind the toilet door.

Sunoo was left sitting silently at the table, occasionally sipping his drink. 

A tap made him glance over his shoulder.

A classmate. The short girl from last time.

“Hey Sunoo!” She smiled bubbly. Sunoo returned a cheery beam of his own.

“I couldn’t help but overhear a bit of your conversation. I’m sorry you got paired with her. She’s insane, isn’t she?” she asked, tone light, almost expecting agreement.

He looked at her for a moment. Then briefly glanced past her to where her partner sat, completely absorbed in his phone.

“I requested to work with her.”  he said simply, smile not quite reaching his eyes. “I wouldn’t worry about us though.”

He nodded toward her partner.

“Good luck.”

The girl forced a small laugh and turned away with a confused frown.

He did the same.

Sunoo’s fingers twitched around his drink. He raised his straw to his lips, his hold lingering a moment too long. He took a small sip.

His honey eyes scouted the vicinity just in time to see you returning, a small bounce in your step after feeling refreshed.

You dropped back into your seat.

“Okay, where were we?”

“Sketches.”

“Right, sketches.”

The sound of pen on paper resumed.

“Hmm, we could have both our ideas and then make a main piece that brings everything together. How about an arctic hare?” You started jotting into your sketchbook, unknowingly smiling as you got carried away.

“Wait, shut up for a second, I need to think…” Sunoo mimicked a thoughtful pose, eyes lifting toward the ceiling in false immersion, fingers stroking his chin.

You threateningly tapped your pen against your open page at the carelessness of his words.

“Let’s do an Orca.”

You raised a brow.

“A what?”

“An Orca.” He repeated, unimpressed.

“An Orca…” you echoed. “Why though?”

“Because we’ve done a land animal and a fowl.” He looked at you as if you were dumb.

“Oh, elements…water!”

“Yeah, water.” He said with false excitement as he went right back to sipping his extremely loaded frappé.

“Water, land and air. Huh, that’s actually—” you choked on your own words, physically unable to compliment him further.

“A brilliant idea. Yeah, I know. You’re welcome. Don’t mention it, not like you ever would.” 

The two of you got to sketching each final piece by the end of the life span of Sunoo’s frappé. 

It hadn’t been as difficult as you thought. Oddly enough, the process had been easier than with your previous partners.

Your fingers moved swiftly as you drew line after line.

“You’re quick.” You recall Sunoo commenting.

You pridefully smirked as a reply.

At a certain point, the task stopped feeling like a punishment and melded into more of a side quest accompanied by an annoying NPC.

“You’re blocking the sun.”

Sunoo raised an eyebrow.

“What? Does it give you some sorta super power or something?”

You opted to reply, but naturally fell back into the pull of your sketchbook.

You both worked silently for another hour.

You hard carried the drawing part, as you were accustomed to the course more than he was. You were also a heavy perfectionist and insisted on sketching most of the art foundations yourself. You didn’t fail to include Sunoo’s ideas though, and he didn’t fail to draw his own version.

“These look great.” You beamed, hand holding out the three sheets of paper like they were your babies. 

“Agreed. You did good.” You heard the man across from you say, suspiciously softly.

What?

Shuddering, you clasped your chest in a hurry. Your heart literally stopped beating for half a second. 

Was it the plague? 

“Please don’t ever say that again, I nearly perished.” You hushed. 

A short silence landed before Sunoo caught on to what you meant. 

He blinked once. Then just stared at you strangely. He never encountered anyone that reacted that way to praise before.

“Weirdo..” he huffed a gentle smile. A smile that went very unnoticed by the likes of you.

Apart from the constant bickering, the next few weeks went swell. 

You got your Snow Owl inspired two-piece done, just in time for you to work on Sunoo’s outfit; the Arctic Fox. 

And yes, Sunoo got to have his darn androgynous dress. 

In fact, the design was primarily his doing. You remember starting the sketch only for him to stop you mid stroke, his hands pulling out a revised drawing of his idea. This time, it had the inclusion of the comments you had made in the Café. “Not too feminine. Not too masculine.” You had said.  Wanting to appropriately represent nature’s original beauty.

Your eyes squinted, getting a good look at the paper. He even added things you don’t remember mentioning. He perfected your collaborative vision. 

Oh. You didn’t know he could do that.

Despite the fact that the dress almost uncannily reminded you of your teammate with its foxy nature, it was turning out to be outright stunning. Dare you say, it was almost too perfect. 

Yeah, everything was going too well.

The both of you had now gotten the main trail of the garment done. Its nature resembling the mischievous movements of a fox’s tail. 

The fabric adorned the most beautiful layer of shimmering beads and rhinestone, a line of faux fur coating the bottom line. 

A harmonious cacophony of whites, splinters of black and the collaboration of silk, wool, tulle. You name it. 

It looked like it was personally touched by an angel.

Ugh! You were so going to get that future you planned out.

Not to brag, but a good 60% of the whole thing was your idea, so you deserved to toot your own horn.

It was half way through the given time, and you were confident that you would be able to get the project done early. Granted, you still had the rendition of the Orca inspired dress to get to. But at the pace you were going, that’d be done with at least a day to spare.

Side by side, you worked through the garments in silence, needles pulling through fabric in a steady rhythm.  Dare you say, you made a pretty decent team. 

You managed to snag 3 out of 5 of the same models you borrowed last year, and, better yet, you barely had to talk to Sunoo when you met up to work on the clothes.

Surprisingly, he didn’t talk much when he was working. Not that you noticed.

Anyway, your life was looking up.

Until it wasn’t.

Gasping like someone stole your mom, you pointed an accusing finger at the figure near the foot of the dress. 

What could only be described as a nearly done dress, now had the most devastatingly enormous tear known to man. 

Your heart plummeted straight to your ass cheeks.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?!” You spat venomously, legs rushing into the scene, a bleak attempt to save what was already lost. 

Before you crouched Kim Sunoo, face as guilty as can be, scissors in hand, jaw on the floor, legs shaking. 

“No, no, NO! What have you DONE?!” You held parts of what used to be part of the dress, eyes shocked open in pure disbelief. 

“I-I just wanted to trim the loose thread near the—”

“—You’re so useless! Do I have to do everything myself? Can’t I just leave you alone for one second?”

Sunoo’s mouth fell shut. 

“I can’t believe you, you’d seriously go as far as sabotaging your own piece?”

“I-wait, wHAT?”

“You heard me!” You snarled, snatching the scissors out of the male’s hands. 

“How many times have you ruined my work in the past, huh?! I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you,” you heaved as your lips continue to throw venom. Sunoo could only look on in silence, his arms glued to his side in defeat. 

“Do you… hate me that much? So much so that you genuinely believe I did this on purpose?” His voice came out weak and small, holding a hurting that you missed due to your fervent anger. 

He looked at you, waiting for a response.

You breathed heavily, eyes glossed over with betrayal. Your face was hot, voice gruff from frustration.

Marching straight to his face with your bodies barely a centimetre away, you looked him dead in the eyes, purposefully ignoring the way your heart clenched in shame and how your orbs hesitated at your next words.

“I hate you.” Your voice was hoarse and your throat dry.

“I hate you so so much, Kim Sunoo. More than humanly possible. If it were only the two of us left on Earth, I’d find a way to end you. Now get the hell out of my sight, I need to fix the mess you made.”  

You shoved him out of the way aggressively, arms scrambling to gather up the destroyed material. Your eyes began to water as you continued to pick up part of your work. 

Piece by piece. 

Tear by tear.

It was like a small part of you crumbled into nothing. You spent three weeks on this, hard earned sweat, stab wounds from needles, blisters from hot glue burning your skin. For him. For his piece.

You specifically took it upon yourself to manage the majority of the practical work due to Sunoo’s inexperience with varying materials, and the one time you start to think he’s grown into a sort of decent human being, he ruins everything and shoves it down your throat. 

Bet he was happy.

A single drop rolled down your cheek. 

You sniffled weakly.

Bet he was laughing his ass off in another room, rejoicing at your downfall. 

A sad sob escaped your lips, you wiped your hot tears with your sleeve as they increased.

You were so blinded by your own rage that you couldn’t even see the slumped figure just a few feet away from you.

Sunoo never left the room.

He stayed. A distraught look on his face, just watching you cry to yourself.

He was sorry. 

He was so sorry.

He didn’t mean to ruin your hard work at all, but there was no way you’d believe any of the words coming out of his mouth. 

His shoulders slumped, his face falling to the ground.

He couldn’t bear to look on any longer. 

With a reluctance as heavy as the weight of his mistakes, he turned on his heel and left without another word. The choked up cries still lingering past the soft thud of the door.

And then there was nothing.

Just you and the dress. 

You stared at it for a long time. The tear bared its teeth at you— an ugly reminder of the irreparable. It was mocking you. Telling you don’t have enough time to fix it and get the last piece done. It was calling you names. Incompetent. Useless. Failure. Yet your eyes refused to show any disdain towards it. Instead, you felt the most angry at yourself. At the way you lost your grip on your emotions, at the way you failed to avoid, or at the very least, control the situation, at the way you threw blame like a dart to a target.

Softly, the tip of your fingers found the edges of the damaged fabric. As if on autopilot, you caressed the sheets, smoothing and assessing them with the similar emptiness of a doctor when checking for a pulse they already know isn’t present. 

You stayed there for a while, sprawled on the floor. Silent. The crook of your neck ached and your head began to thump aggressively. 

You got up and made for the needle.

You could fix this—no. You had to fix this. There was no time to dwell on failure.

Swallowing the thickness in your throat, you reached for the dress. 

The first attempt took approximately 57 minutes. You couldn’t make it to an hour. 

It was too humiliating. 

You had plucked at the severed seams, unpicking the string with surgical precision, rethreaded, started again. Your hands were steady. Your face was blank. You partially held up the piece and you could feel your stomach churning. 

It was wrong. 

It was all wrong.

The precision was off, the seam slightly puckered where your fingers had pressed too hard and the thread veered the smallest bit to the side. If you squinted with enough intention, you were sure you could likely make out exactly where the tear began and ended. 

Barely noticeable to anyone else. 

Absolutely unforgivable to you.

You started again.

Second attempt. Your fingers moved fast. Sewing machine whizzing with no real destination. New threads. More fabric. New needles. More sweat.

It was worse.

You knew it. You didn’t have to look to know. The fabric sat dead on your fingers, almost like the previous magic it held managed to seep its way out through the cracks. A flatline on an ECG monitor. Unsalvageable. 

You stayed on the floor, the trail of the dress on your lap, just staring at it. A hostage to time. 

Eventually, you set it down. Carefully, the exact same way you place something down when all you really want to do is throw it out the window. 

You took a 30 second break.

The third attempt you didn’t even finish.

You were so used to people parading about the third time being the charm. 

Well they were wrong. 

They lied. 

You still believed it though. Why else would you have had so much hope? 

The process was the same. A sickening cycle. You got halfway through and stopped. Simply…stopped. Needle suspended mid weave, long thread pulled taut between your teeth, the dress hugging tightly against the mannequin, waiting for you to do something. Anything.

Silence filled the workroom. Everyone else had packed up and gone home hours ago. The faint smell of new fabric, dye and glue. The exact kind of quiet only found in studios such as these. The quiet that you used to love. 

Now it made you sick.

You abandoned the needle in your hand on the table next to you, eyes unfocused as you mentally digested just how long you devoted yourself to this project. 

It was hopeless from the start.

Like a puppet without a mind of its own, you stood up, refusing to acknowledge the dress. 

Your legs walked without your consent, fingers lazily reached for the light switch. 

Without sparing a glance backwards, you turned off the studio lights.

And walked away.

The room sat hollow after that. Nothing but the dull corridor lights bleeding past the crack of the door. It stayed still. No one in. No one out. Until a little past 10pm. 

The door clicked open with a considerable amount of hesitation. 

Sunoo stood in the frame for a while, hand still on the handle. His eyes peered into the darkness, slowly adjusting to the mess in the room. 

The dress, in the middle, shining with mercy for attention. 

He exhaled through his nose. 

Without another word, he switched on the lights. 

Every step closer to the piece unveiled a new layer of damage. Somehow, the dress looked worse than when he left it, and the sprawled scissors, torn scraps of material and stray needles served as hard evidence in knowing exactly whose hands had been on it. 

Desperation didn’t always amount to success. 

He knew that more than anyone.

He plainly stared at the joint work of chaos. 

It was a mess, but sometimes messes made for the most surprising results. 

He picked one of the loose needles on the table, and started moving.

Empty corridors, chilly workrooms.

Hours passed with the ease of the night.

The building retained that particular kind of quiet atmosphere that was exclusively reserved for 2am only. 

Then, approximately a minute after 2, the door gently propped open. 

A classmate, bag half on, clearly on their way home, stopped short when they saw the lights still on. 

They leaned in the doorway drinking in the scene with that slow comprehension of someone whose brain is already at home and tucked away in bed. 

They blinked very slowly.

“Dude. It’s 2am. Ain’t you going home?”

“In a minute.” Sunoo replied soullessly. He didn’t even know who he was talking to. His whole attention being pulled to the crystalline faux fur in his hands. 

The other student didn’t move, they stayed standing, quietly taking a sweep of Sunoo’s condition. Beads of sweat gathered on his temple, his hair resembled defeat, the cream fabric of his shirt decorated with small rust coloured splotches that definitely weren’t there last time. And the bandaids—fingers, palms, and one on his cheekbone. How did that even get there?

The classmate gently shook his head, speaking more so to himself than Sunoo. A low whisper, “…Y’all sure you hate each other?” 

Sunoo’s fingers faltered for a fraction of a second, then kept moving like the moment never came.  

“Goodnight man.” The classmate called out. The door clicked behind him softly, leaving Sunoo to his isolated concentration once again. 

The night rolled on in silence, a comforting sheet of company.

Morning came and students followed along with it. The corridor slowly filled with the shuffling sounds of early risers and the chirpy voices of classmates who were likely having a better day than most people.

Footsteps approached the door to the workroom. A click.

The conversation of a small group of female students, morning coffee in hand, stopped dead upon seeing him.

“What the… Sunoo?”

He didn’t look up.

“Morning.” 

A timid beat of silence stretched on much longer than needed.

“Wha—have you been here all night?”

“Morning,” He repeated lightly, a polite smile etched on his lips. His eyes still refused to separate from the part of the dress that he was working on. The needle in his hand poked through flesh, drawing another bead of red. He didn’t so much as blink, continuing on with a scary level of focus.

The others shared a puzzled look before scattering off to their own stations to work on their own projects.

The rest of the day went on as normal, apart from your absence. It was almost like the place felt more amicable without your dictatorial energy buzzing with competitiveness. It was nice, yet a little uncomfortable. Or perhaps your classmates had just become a little too used to your terrorising presence. 

How sweet.

It was the official end of the day. Around hour 19 for Sunoo. The workrooms had thinned out by then. The afternoon crowd slowly surrendering to the temptation of the evening, bags packed, stations cleared, the familiar end-of-day sounds of zips and goodnights. 

One student remained longer than the rest. 

They’d been a quiet comrade for a few hours, tucked away at the far end of the room with their own project. When Sunoo felt drops of red trickling down his nose, the student silently excused themselves to the toilet. The next thing you know, a small bundle of toilet paper was placed near Sunoo’s work station. 

They were smart enough to say nothing. Decent enough to stay.

Eventually, they pushed back on their stool, the sound making Sunoo’s shoulders flinch the smallest bit. 

Crossing the room, they stopped beside him. They looked at the dress, then at him. At the constellation of plasters and wounds. At the evidence of his hard work and determination. 

Without a word, they set something down on the table beside his hand. 

A singular strand of gum. 

“It helps.” 

Sunoo glanced at it for a second. Then picked it up and tucked it away in his pocket, giving a small nod as a thank you.

The other student, Heeseung, pulled up a stool beside him and worked quietly for another hour, no conversation, just the shared sound of two people making something remarkable. Then he packed up, slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the door. 

Before leaving, he glanced behind him. A relaxed expression on his features.

“Goodnight Sunoo.”

This time, Sunoo actually looked up. Tired citrus orbs, dark circles, and that small smile of his that could make anyone’s day just a little more bearable. 

The vision of humility, something that he had been avoiding deep inside for far too long.

“Night.”

Heeseung nodded, opening the door and walking out.

The door shut behind him.

And then it was just Sunoo again. 

“Oh, for crying out loud.” 

Your grumpy face met the surface of your pillow. 

You skipped out on lectures, something you’ve never done willingly. The crawls of guilt crippled up your skin. 

You made a face.

Sitting up on your bed, you glanced at the clock. It was probably dark outside. 

You sighed dramatically.

What were you even doing? Moping around like an absolute loser. 

You had to admit, you were appalled at your own behaviour. Wallowing in your room over a dress like a sad sack of potatoes. How laughable!

Kicking yourself off your bed with the momentum of your legs, you quickly stood up, an intimidating aura surrounding your form.

“What a crybaby,” you slapped yourself over the chest. “Acting like the world just ended and everything, psh!” You bit the fat on your forearm. 

“How are you meant to survive the industry if you cry over the World’s most minuscule mishap, hUH?!” 

Sudden banging from the wall beside you made you jump five feet in the air.

It was late. You were being too loud. And your neighbour was 2 minutes away from calling security on you.

You kicked the wall in retaliation. 

Anyway, like you were saying. What kind of professional faints at the sight of a challenge? Embarrassing! 

With a new found speed, you grabbed at your sewing kit, shoved it into your bag, and kicked the wall you shared with your neighbour once more (just for good measure) before dashing out of your apartment with crocs on.

Commando. No socks. 

What an absolute fashion statement.

You scampered over to your campus looking like that gremlin from the Lord of the Rings. 

Desperate times called for desperate get ups. 

The Fashion department always remained open  for longer periods of time because the average fashion student didn’t know the concept of sleep. It seemed like you fell snugly under that category. 

Unlocking the door to the large building, you ran to the elevator, cursed at it for being out of service, and made for the stairs.

By the time you reached the 7th floor you regretted your life decisions. Why was it that adrenaline lasted the equivalent of a YouTube ad. 

Screw physical activity!

“Urgh,” you swallowed a load of air, burping in the process. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” You leaned against the door to the workroom, your previous motivation fizzling out in real time.

Pushing your body weight on the door handle, you heard the soft click of the door. Your body came tumbling down on the other side with a sad splat.

“Oof, my rib!”  You gripped at the edge of the door from the ground, ready to pull it off its hinges with your frustration. 

But before you could do that, the gleam of something inside the dark room sent you blind first. 

You squinted, hand going to shield your face.“What the actual fu—”

Wow…

You stopped mid complaint, entirely enchanted by what you were seeing. 

The dress. Finished. Breathing in all its glory, as if the recent instances never occurred.

You gulped, unable to hold the gasp that left your lips. Getting up from the ground, you made tentative steps towards the garment. Slow and steady, like a zoo keeper approaching a wild animal.

It was on full display, moonlight highlighting its curves like the shimmers from winter sunlight hitting ice water. 

“She’s beautiful…” 

Absolutely, jawdroppingly stunning. 

Enviably majestic.

The tip of your fingers landed on the surface of the table. You stood face to face with the mannequin, the wonders of the material shining even better at closer range. 

Glancing to the side, you caught countless stray papers being sprawled on the surface. 

Drawings.

Some crossed out, others ripped in half, but none left unfinished.

Messy and sloppy. Highlights on every word, defeating the entire purpose of a highlighter. But he didn’t give up until he got it right.

The standout sketch was updated to match the dress’ current design. 

Clumsy and clearly inexperienced. 

Wonky by your standards but undeniably genuine and real.

You felt a small lilt in your chest.

He did this?…. Alone… This quick?

It was hard enough as an experienced fashion student let alone a rookie. This guy. Kim Sunoo… he had the potential of becoming a true fashion designer. You couldn’t believe you were admitting it but, he may have actually been…better than you.

You were still marvelling at the moon beams swimming through the materials of the dress when the door popped open. 

The yellow industrial lights of the corridor broke into the darkness. 

You turned around.

Sunoo.

Box filled with spewing fabrics in hand.  A makeshift scarf of light sequin around his neck. And an alarmed gaze that bore into your surprisingly calm orbs.

He was scared.

Even you could tell this much. 

You weren’t new to people being scared of you, but usually it was due to your fiery and unorthodox nature. 

But this was different. You felt it. Saw it. The guilt that still lingered, strangling his throat into a suppressed silence.

He was the culprit in this crime, and the jury stood before him unannounced.

He swallowed a thick lump.

“Erm,” you awkwardly started, gaze bouncing around everything in the room but him.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be here…”

“Yeah, no. Me neither.” 

“So…uh,” 

Sunoo stood remarkably frozen, you on the other hand, were shifting your weight from one leg to the other: a dog needing the potty.

Without further thought, you spouted out the first thing on your mind.

“I’m sorry—” 

“—I’m sorry—oH!”

A beat of silence.

“I didn’t know you knew those words.”

“Again, me neither.”

You pressed your lips together.

“Can I go first?” You inquired, putting your hand up like a child in class. 

With eyes slightly wider than usual, Sunoo nodded once, his whole attention on you.

“Listen, I’m really sorry,” you paused, not entirely used to the phrase on your tongue. “I overreacted. I was supposed to be your confidant. Your helper. The teammate that you rely on.” 

You ducked your head in shame. “I was supposed to be your partner…” you silently added, barely above a whisper. 

“Mistakes happen all the time in this line of work, and yet, I conducted myself like an absolute rookie who’s unable to handle a singular unexpected event.” You sighed, frustratingly totalling your hair at the mere memory of your breakdown. 

“I put all the blame on you when I was meant to reassure you. I was meant to guide you, but I was so blinded by my own selfishness. You trusted me, yet I shunned you and treated you like crap. So, once again,”

Your eyes rose to finally meet his. They stayed on you the whole time. You gulped.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to forgive me. I would understand fully.”

A dead quiet overtook the air and you couldn’t help but immediately lose the confidence that you conjured up. Your eyes found the floor again.

Sunoo took a breath, carefully searching for the right thing to say. You flinched at the sound, ready to receive a load of hateful slashes and an unaccepted apology served stone cold.

Instead, you heard a short, playful scoff.

“Wow. Character development.” 

You gaped at him, eyes blinking in offence, yet you couldn’t even begin to defend yourself.

“Now, if I may. I would also like to have heartfelt speech.” 

Your left eye twitched.

Was he being serious right now?

“I’m sorry about the dress. It was truly my doing. I was too ambitious and eagerly tried to do something without discussing my decision with my teammate. So for that, I apologise.” He gave a small bow, an unfamiliar sense of humility latching at his words. 

You licked your lips. 

This wasn’t the time nor place, but the way he appeared so meek and vulnerable under the moonlight’s beam almost made him look… attractive—

WoAH, who said that?! 

You cleared your throat. 

His lips parted to add.

“Granted, your reaction was admittedly overdramatic.”

You looked around for something to throw at him and he immediately ducked behind a nearby empty mannequin.

Not finding anything remotely adequate, you quickly grabbed at the spare mannequin near you as well, lifting off the ground just a smidge.

“Sorry, what was that again? I think I misheard you?” You smiled at him, tone venomous.

“I said I accept your apology!” 

You placed the heavy weapon back down.

“Great! I don’t accept yours.”

“What?!”

Pointedly ignoring his complaints, you nudged your chin to the items he was carrying earlier which were now left on the floor near the door.

“What are those for?”

Sunoo’s eyes flitted to find yours and you had to clench your ass cheeks to not flee his eye contact like a weakling.

Were his eyes always so…

“The dress,” his voice interrupted.

You raised a brow. 

The dress?

“Wait…it’s not finished?” A disbelieved blink. 

There was no way that absolute masterpiece of a dress wasn’t finished. No, seriously. You couldn’t possibly think of any necessary additions. It was practically perfect!

Your eyes raked over him in suspicion.

“What more could you possibly want to add?” 

He just watched you like you said the most unhinged thing ever.

“Did that phrase really just come from you right now? I thought you loved the extreme?”

“There can never be too much. But sometimes too much is too much.”

“What does that even mean?” 

“Just show me what you’re planning to do.” You sighed out, gravitating towards the box on the ground.

Sunoo picked it up before you could reach it, the sash still around his neck. Switching the lights on, he made his way to your shared station. You cluelessly followed close, a duckling to their mama bird.

Setting the stuff down, he took a seat behind the piece, crossed his legs on the floor and waved you over.

You quietly did the same.

Before he did anything else, he turned to you, a gentle confidence behind his eyes.

“Do you trust me?”

No.

“Yes.”

Fake it till you make it proved to work on most occasions. Then again, you really did hold a certain amount of trust towards him. Not astonishingly enormous, but it was there. And it had never been there before, or perhaps you never noticed it. So this time, you were going to latch onto it and see if it was worth keeping.

Your stare was intense, being filled with a sense of reliance that felt foreign to him. He’s known you for over half his life and he never saw you look at him that way until now.

The ghost of a smile adorned his lips and he had to quickly avert his gaze to avoid losing control of his expression. 

A satisfied hum left him.

“Good. Then let’s get started.”

You were about to crap your pants. 

Show day. The runway was ready. The audience was already seated, curiously following the various model’s paths as they posed and twirled in each team’s garments.

Your model was MIA.

Why was your model MIA?!

You furiously bit your lip, pacing around backstage. Sunoo and the two other models that showed up watched you in silence, too scared to tick you off even more. 

“Where is he?!” You whisper-yelled in distress. A cold sweat bead licking the corner of your temple.

Sunoo tried to put on a wobbly smile but it ended up looking lopsided. 

“I’m sure he’s on his way—”

“Your team is going up in 10.” A staff member called from the back before disappearing behind the curtain, and you could feel the life drain out of you. Sunoo had to hold the small of your back to keep you standing, the hand placement making your skin buzz in an unexplainable conflict of emotion.

The sound of a ping caught your attention. 

You pounced at your phone, unlocking in record speed.

A text from Johnny.

‘sorry, can’t make it in today something came up’

‘I’ll make it up to you though…’

‘eventually lol.’

The last text echoed in your head. His boyish voice circling your mind like an unending joke.

You chuckled lowly. 

“We’re doomed.”

Your laugh only increased. Complete hysteria. 

“We’re so doomed.” 

A frozen smile plastered your face and the rest of the models were left to look at each other in worry.

Your eyes drearily shifted to Sunoo’s.

Your mouth opening to add more fuel to your misery, but no words left your lips. 

You stared at him for a long time. 

Wait…

His eyes. His nose. His lips.

Your gaze dropped to his skin-tight shirt, the material hugging his waistline.

A spark crossed your eyes.

Suddenly, you sprung to life, grabbing Sunoo’s upper arms with the force of a thousand men.

His face was perfect.

No, he was perfect.

The whole piece looked like it was designed around him. 

Sunoo blinked back at you. A completely innocent expression on his unsuspecting face. 

He gave a short laugh, quietly asking. “…What?” 

You pulled him to the side immediately, your eyes casting a brief glance at the clock. 

8 minutes.

You could do this.

Taking his hand in yours (to his surprise), you quickly guided him towards the fox-inspired piece.

You let go of his hand, staring at him with straight eyes.

“Strip.”

He nearly choked on his spit.

Then, sputtering, he responded. “W-WHaT?”

“7 minutes till you’re up!” 

You grabbed the hem of his shirt, already starting to pull it upwards.

“Hey!”

“No time.” You were calm. Your voice completely relaxed, eyes focused. 

No one would have ever been able to guess you were losing your mind a minute ago.

Sunoo saw the look in your eyes, his own honey orbs finding the dress not too far away.

He finally caught on.

With dread written all over his face, he started to squirm under your hold.

“I-I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

“Sunoo,”

“I didn’t even rehearse, I don’t think I even know how to walk straight—”

“Sunoo.”

“I’m not cut out for this—”

“KIM SUNOO!”

He stopped.

Wide eyes found yours, the embodiment of insecurity.

His breaths slowed down. Gulping, he finally spoke.

“What if I ruin everything?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Because he was right. There was no telling what would happen. No guarantee that all would go smooth sailing, and he had a pre-existent record of short-comings.

But.

Your eyes searched his. 

“You won’t. I trust you,” you said smoothly. And this time, not one lie was told. 

Your peaceful tone acted as an anchor to his nerves. You continued.

“Do you trust me?”

Somewhere in the distance, the staff member called out again, the sound becoming muffled behind the intensity of your stare. 

There was something behind your eyes. Something more than trust. Something that left Sunoo entranced and breathless. 

Without a second thought, the words came spilling out of his mouth like water.

“I trust you.”

You nodded once. 

Good, because there was no time.

The two of you moved in sync, somehow managing to shuffle Sunoo into the dress. 

The models helped with the jewellery and shoes. You got to tailoring the size with inconspicuous clips, and Sunoo’s fingers swam across his face with ease whilst doing his make up. 

“1 minute! Let’s go everyone, let’s go!”

A crowd of arms rushed you towards the front.  You hopped after Sunoo’s figure which was moving further away from you quicker than you anticipated. 

Stretching forth your hands to fix the trail, you ended up tripping over something, completely face planting the floor. 

Sunoo turned around instantly, concern written all over his face.

You sent him a firm thumbs up, body sprawled on the floor like a starfish, a tiny trickle of red to one of your nostrils. 

You smiled.

“You got this!”

And that was all he needed.

One by one, the models (and Sunoo) went up. 

Each piece flowing like a carefully orchestrated storyline, one after another. You watched, crouched from behind the curtain. You gave a little prayer when it was Sunoo’s turn. Just in case. 

Step after step. Sway after sway. It was like he was born to do this. Evidence of his nerves pooled lightly on the crease of his brows but it was hardly visible to the naked eye. Only someone accustomed to his expression would be able to tell. 

You bit back a snort.

It was almost like you knew him like the back of your hand now. Perhaps you’ve known each other for too long.

The show ended with the expertise pose performed by yours truly; Sunoo. All the models coming out to walk the finale. 

The crowd cheered. People clapped. And you soaked in the sounds of what ‘could be’ in the future. 

It was finally over.

“You did so good!” You mused at the model that wore your owl inspired outfit, her joyous smile radiating off her features, making her look even more surreal. 

“Thank you!” 

You high-fived the second model. The orca inspired outfit was endorsed in black and white, a striking combination with his darker complexion. 

He gave you a charming grin, nodding over at you before going in for a quick hug.

Then came Sunoo.

His steps were small and almost hesitant. Eyes not meeting yours.

You halted, taking him in slowly. 

Taking a step closer, you manoeuvred your face, forcing his eyes to meet yours.

A small panic ensued, the male taking a small step backward. You held his arm, preventing him from escaping further.

Slowly, a small genuine smile softly overtook your lips.

“You were perfect.”

Silence.

Nothing but the overly loud beating of Sunoo’s heart. Something he hoped you couldn’t hear. 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he blinked, releasing a breath.

“T-thank you.” 

You simply nodded back, turning away from him and starting to get your stuff ready. 

“You were perfect too…by the way.” 

You froze at the comment.

Your chest suddenly feeling light.

Clearing your throat, you straightened your back. 

This wasn’t something you were used to. Not between the two of you, anyway. This whole cordial atmosphere was so… unfamiliar. Or maybe it wasn’t? Maybe it had just been presented as something else this whole time. 

Unsure of what to say, you just threw another thumbs up. 

At your unexpected gesture, he broke into a light fit of laughter. The sound carrying gently into your ears. 

Your cheeks felt warm.

“You’re so… awkward.” He giggled again and you felt a small lament bubble up inside you.

“Oh yeah? Well you’re so…sO,” 

Your voice broke.

His laugh increased.

Your eye twitched.

“Well, whatever.” Was the weak response you decided on.

This was unlike you. Usually you’d be able to counter with ease. Usually his chuckles would be like nails to a chalkboard.

Usually… you wouldn’t be feeling this way.

Grabbing the rest of your stuff in a hurry, you mumbled under your voice, a false bite to your tone. “I’m going home.”

Sunoo’s soft chuckles were still present despite them fizzling out. He called out with a certain comfort that only the two of you had. “Wait for me!”

And you did. Oddly enough. It was like your body wasn’t responding to your brain anymore.

Maybe it was broken.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

“How ugly you looked in that dress.”

Sunoo rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure you  were.”

“I really was. Reminded me of the pig we used to look after in 5th grade.”

“Pint the pig?”

You raised an inquiring brow. “His name was Pint? Well, that’s very on brand. He was the most energetic pig I’ve ever seen in my life. Second only to you—”

You dodged the punch that was about to land on your arm, sticking your tongue out like a child.

“I’m surprised you even remember that.” Sunoo finally said after some quiet strides beside you.

You were nearing the intersection where you’d both go your separate ways.

Humming lightly, you cocked your head to the side. “I have a great memory.”

“I’d beg to differ.” Sunoo deadpanned.

“You always beg to differ when it comes to me,” you sniffled, crossing your arms over your chest. Your steps had slowed down to a tranquil strolling pace. “It’s like you’ve had it out for me ever since we were little.” 

At your light tone, he softly chuckled.

Then, after a few seconds, you added. “Why did you hate me anyway?”

Your voice lacked the sarcasm it carried earlier. A tiny entrance of honesty being opened for Sunoo to explore. Small enough to keep your face, big enough for you to feel a tinge of vulnerability gnawing at your skin. And this time, neither of you backed away from the pressure of confrontation.

You reached the intersection, both your footsteps stopping, allowing the question to hang in the air between you.

Sunoo’s head tilted backwards. A small sigh left him, his eyes staring up at the sky.

“I never hated you.” 

At this, you turned towards him. You stood very still, a small expression of confusion on your features. 

“I’m pretty sure you did, buddy.” 

Sunoo snorted at the random nickname.

Covering his face with his hands to hide his smile, he shook his head, sparkling crescents blooming in his eyes. “I really didn’t!”

“Then why’d you always pick on me?!”

“Because…” Sunoo thought for a moment.

“…wait, you were the one who hated me!” 

You looked at him incredulously, scoffing.

“I’ll have you know my mum told me never to start fights, but to end them. So that means it was definitely you who hated me.” 

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeh-uh!”

Sunoo flicked your forehead lightly, causing you to rub at the spot with both your hands. You glared up at him.

“I’m telling you, you were probably just jealous of my pretty privile—”

You sputtered out a boisterous laughter, wiping at a tear.

“Oh, please! You? Pretty privilege?”

Ignoring your unprecedented bullying, Sunoo tossed his hair, frilling up his fringe.

“6 year old you just hated seeing beautiful people succeed.” Patting your shoulder, he gave a mocking pout. “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, darling.” 

“Wha…” 

You couldn’t believe your ears. Blinking repeatedly, you shook your head in disbelief, shoving towards his side of the intersection. 

“You better go home then, Cinderella, before the clock strikes midnight and you become ugly again.”

Walking backwards to keep his conversation with you going, Sunoo raised a pointed finger. “Um, that’s technically not how the story goes—”

“Just go home! Jeez!” You huffed, shooing him away before turning around and making for your house.

Without even realising his actions, Sunoo tenderly watched you walk away with a tiny smile. Your form becoming smaller and smaller as he stayed.

What you’d never know, is that he never hated you. 

Not one bit. 

So long as you were annoyingly stuck to his side, and talking his ears off, he didn’t mind living with the constant migraine. Because when the migraine was as irritatingly addictive as you, it also had the strange ability of feeling like home.

But that was something that Sunoo knew you weren’t ready to hear.

So for now, the migraine was enough.

After all, he’d known you since he was six.