I write mostly for TOMORROW X TOGETHER (TXT), with a special focus on Yeonjun (ult bias). That said, I’m an OT5 MOA, so you’ll see love for all five members throughout my work.
I’m currently open to requests, so feel free to send ideas my way, just keep in mind I may take time to get to them.
A little about me: I’m 27 years old, I’ve been a MOA since 2022, and I’m an adult writer.
Posting schedule can vary depending on real-life responsibilities and energy. Chapters and new content will come out as I’m able, so thank you in advance for your patience and support.
My most recent and published work is listed below.
Thank you for stopping by, and I hope you enjoy your stay here ♡
TXT
One-Shots
Date Night w Bf!Yeonjun (established relationship, no nsfw)
Amusement Park Date w Bf! Yeonjun (coming soon)
Chapter Series
A City Made for Love ( Yeonjun x reader au ) slow burn, fluff, angst, kissing, no nsfw, no smut, flirty Yeonjun ( ongoing )
genre: one-shot, friends to lovers, one bed-trope, shy reader, flirty yeonjun, eventual feelings realization, fluff, REAL slow burn, tension, suggestive language, implied intimacy
summary: One week in Paris. The City of Love. Too many shared photographs, Secret stolen glances. Hidden feelings. Several near heart attacks. The line between childhood friendship and something else starts to blur.
Word Count: 3,238
a/n: The pictures of Yeonjun in Prague that he recently uploaded on Instagram have not left my mind. Especially the Part 2 photos he posted yesterday. At the end of this chapter, I’ve included some of my favorite looks that inspired this chapter. He looks so boyfriend-coded and happy, so I drew inspiration from his Prague outfits for this chapter. Next chapter they will start exploring Paris more, and the chapter will begin right where it left off. Enjoy!
The sound of laughter echoed somewhere in the distance. Children wandered beside their families, while couples walked hand in hand across Pont Neuf, smiling as they enjoyed the evening together. And then there was him.
Standing beneath the warm glow of the Paris night, looking almost unreal. Too romantic under the Paris moon.
The golden lights of the city blurred around you as the sun began to set, bathing everything—including him—in shades of amber and gold. For a moment, it felt as though the entire city faded into the background, leaving only Yeonjun in focus.
“You’re staring again.”
Snapping out of your daze, you turned toward him.
He was standing right beside you.
You looked up at him, his tall frame making you feel smaller than usual.
He looked effortless.
Sexy.
Dangerously attractive without even trying.
Yeonjun was dressed up tonight, and it wasn’t like this was the first time you had seen him like that. You had seen him dressed up countless times before.
So why was it different now?
Why were you suddenly noticing every little detail?
The way his clothes fit him.
He was wearing a dark-wash denim set that suited him unfairly well, the jacket sitting perfectly on his shoulders and the matching jeans hugging his long frame in all the right places. Underneath, a patterned button-up peeked through the open collar.
The warm brown collar of the jacket framed his neck, drawing attention to the sharp line of his jaw whenever he turned. His hands were casually tucked into the pockets of his jeans.
His posture was relaxed.
Confident.
His hair was styled naturally, his forehead exposed, the strands slightly tousled. Somehow, that alone had your heart skipping a beat. The evening light caught in his hair, making the strands glow.
He looked expensive.
And everyone passing by seemed unable to stop glancing in your direction.
More specifically, at him.
And for some reason, you didn’t like it.
You watched as strangers stole quick looks his way, their attention lingering a second too long before moving on.
A strange feeling settled in your chest.
One you couldn’t quite name.
It felt almost selfish.
As if you didn’t want to share this version of him with anyone else.
As if the sight in front of you was meant only for your eyes.
The thought startled you.
The way the golden light caught his features.
The way he carried himself so confidently without even realizing it.
You had never paid this much attention to him before.
At least, that’s what you always told yourself.
Don’t look at him too long, Y/N.
Your heart always forgets how to behave when you do.
It was ridiculous that you were noticing all these things.
Because it was Yeonjun.
Your best friend, Yeonjun.
That was the excuse you had repeated to yourself over and over again.
And lately, it was becoming harder to believe it was just an excuse.
Your heart stumbled for a second before you quickly looked away, pretending you hadn’t just been caught staring at him for far longer than you should have.
That knowing, insufferable smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, drawing attention to how pink and plush they were.
Breaking the silence, you spoke, “I’m not staring.”
“You totally are, Y/N. It’s okay. You can admit I’m pretty handsome.”
His grin widened, his tone playful and teasing.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?” you asked, confused.
“Pretend.”
Your stomach tightened.
The look in his eyes softened right before yours did.
Softer.
Like he knew something you didn’t.
Before you could say anything else, he took a step closer.
Then another.
Suddenly, you were hyperaware of him again. His expensive cologne clouded your thoughts, making it difficult to focus on anything except him.
At some point—you didn’t remember when or how quickly it happened—the distance between you disappeared.
“Yeonjun…” you said quietly.
Your voice sounded small.
Your breath caught in your throat, making it impossible to form a coherent sentence.
“What?”
The way he said it made your heart leap.
If he kept teasing you like this, looking at you the way he was right now, you were convinced you would end up in the infirmary before the night was over.
“You’ve been acting weird.”
“Weird?” he repeated, as if he had no idea what he was doing.
Before you could answer, his fingers found a loose strand of your hair. He absentmindedly twirled it around his finger, his gaze never leaving yours.
Then, with a softness that caught you completely off guard, he tucked it behind your ear.
The simple gesture sent an unexpected warmth rushing through you.
And judging by the faint smirk that appeared on his face afterward, Yeonjun knew exactly what he was doing.
“Yes.”
A laugh escaped him.
“That’s rich coming from you.”
His gaze drifted to your lips before returning to your eyes.
The movement was subtle.
Barely noticeable.
But to you, it felt impossible to miss.
Your pulse quickened.
“You’re really annoying, you know that?” you said, mostly to hide how flustered you were becoming.
All these people around you, walking past and looking in your direction while Yeonjun stood so close to you, were making you nervous.
Could he stop doing whatever this was?
Seriously.
People were staring.
Well… maybe they weren’t.
But it certainly felt like they were.
And with the way he was looking at you right now, it was becoming increasingly difficult to think straight.
“Funny,” he said, tilting his head.
How did he seem completely unaffected right now?
Totally calm.
Meanwhile, your heart felt seconds away from giving out.
“You’re enjoying this.”
You were still standing entirely too close to each other.
“Oh, absolutely.”
The honesty caught you off guard.
So confident.
So unfairly attractive.
“You’re finally noticing.”
Your breath caught.
“Noticing what?”
For a moment, Yeonjun looked almost nervous.
Only for a second.
Then it was replaced by something warmer.
Something that made your entire body feel electric.
His familiar presence wrapped around you like a blanket—comforting, safe, and yet somehow making your heart race faster than ever.
“You’ve always been kind of slow when it comes to this stuff,” he said, a small smile appearing on his face. “So let me show you what I mean.”
Before you could protest, he stepped closer, one hand finding your waist.
Your breath hitched.
And then—
You found yourself lying on the hotel bed, your heart racing as your eyes shot open. After the taxi driver dropped you off, you both made your way to your room and ended up passing out almost immediately.
You were supposed to have separate rooms, but due to maintenance issues and last-minute inconveniences, you were reassigned to share one bedroom, with a view of the Eiffel Tower visible outside on the terrace.
And then the reality of it all settled in as you remembered where you were and what had just happened. You and Yeonjun were sharing a room… and one bed, and you had just woken up from a dream—a dream where Yeonjun was about to kiss you, and it almost felt like you weren’t opposed to it.
What was going on with you?
He’s your best friend. Best friends don’t dream about each other like that.
There had to be something in the air, something wrong with you, because ever since you both landed, something between you and Yeonjun had shifted—so subtly that anyone else would’ve missed it. But you didn’t. You knew him too well not to notice.
It wasn’t your usual dynamic anymore. And that realization sat heavy in your chest, unsettling in a way you couldn’t name—and didn’t want to.
You stayed still for a few more seconds, staring at the ceiling as if it might give you an answer, fingers threading through your hair in a slow, restless motion. The faint sound of the shower running pulled you back into the room, grounding you in the present, even as your mind slipped backward again.
The taxi ride.
The cramped space. Your legs brushing against his. The way neither of you moved away right away, like neither of you wanted to be the first to break whatever quiet tension had settled between you. The glances you kept stealing, only to catch him already looking at you.
And the worst part—the way your faces had ended up so close at one point you could feel his breath, almost able to read whatever he hadn’t said yet.
Because he had been about to say something. You knew it. You still didn’t know what.
And then the driver interrupted.
Just like that, whatever that moment had been… was gone. Just like the moment in your dream. Gone.
You exhaled slowly, forcing your expression to settle into something neutral—something familiar.
It didn’t happen. The dream didn’t matter. The taxi ride didn’t mean anything. Yeonjun was Yeonjun. Your best friend. That was it.
You pushed yourself up from the bed, smoothing the sheets as if that could smooth your thoughts too. With deliberate movements, you reached for your phone, pretending the screen was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. Anything to keep your mind from drifting back to him.
The quiet sound of water stopping filled the room. A moment later, the bathroom door opened, and Yeonjun stepped out—shirtless, with only a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his waist.
You had to force yourself to look anywhere else—anywhere but at him.
“Oh, finally you’re awake,” he said, his voice light and teasing as he stepped further into the room. “I was starting to wonder if Sleeping Beauty was ever going to wake up, or if I was going to have to come save you myself.”
There was that familiar ease in his tone—playful, effortless, like nothing in the world had shifted at all.
You blinked at him for half a second too long before forcing a small, lazy scoff, already slipping back into the role you knew how to play. “Wow,” you said, reaching for your phone like it was the most important thing in the world. “Such a hero. I’m honored.”
“I just value sleep more than your dramatic and extensive shower routines.”
But even as the words left your mouth, your chest tightened, because somehow hearing him sound so normal made it harder to ignore how not normal you suddenly felt around him.
So you told yourself you were just looking at him because he was right there. Nothing more. That’s all.
He glanced at you then, like he was considering that for a second. “Dramatic?”
“You heard me.”
A small smile tugged at his mouth, but he didn’t argue.
“We can’t all wake up from a nap and look that good, Y/N,” he added.
The compliment caught you off guard—because was he even looking at you right now? You probably looked a mess, whereas he looked far more put together than you ever did.
There was still a faint warmth to him from the steam, the kind that carried into the room, followed by the clean, slightly sweet scent of his shower gel that lingered longer than it should’ve. Fresh. Familiar. Distracting in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge.
“You’re just jealous I got to shower first,” he added, casually tossing his towel over the back of a chair like he lived here more than he should’ve.
He stepped further into your shared room with a towel hanging loosely around his neck. His damp hair was still dark from the shower, slightly pushed back as he ran his fingers through it. A few strands fell forward anyway, framing his face in a way that somehow made him look even better.
And you hated the way it made you feel—suddenly shy, suddenly aware of him in a way you couldn’t quite shut off.
Because why were you reacting like this?
It’s not like you’d never seen him like this before. Not like you’d never watched him come out of a shower or wander around his apartment without a shirt when you were over. Nothing about this was new.
And yet, something about it felt different now.
“You’re staring again,” he said suddenly, tone light. Not accusing. Just stating it.
Your spine went a little too straight.
“I am not.”
“Mm.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Sure.”
But you still looked away a second too late—just as he glanced up and caught you staring.
Except he didn’t react. At least, not in any way you could tell.
Yeonjun just blinked once, expression steady, unreadable in that annoyingly effortless way of his, before continuing as if nothing had happened.
“…We’re going out in a few hours,” he said instead, like the moment hadn’t even existed. “You should probably stop fighting sleep like it personally offended you.”
“I wasn’t fighting sleep.”
“You were literally unconscious. Smiling too, if I remember correctly. Must’ve been some dream.” he added.
That made your face warm instantly, Yeonjun completely unaware of what you had just dreamed about. If only he knew, he would probably be mortified.
“That’s different,” you responded.
“Is it?”
You didn’t answer that.
He walked over to his side of the bed, gathering his things like it was the most normal thing in the world, like your gaze hadn’t just lingered on him a second too long.
Finally getting up from the bed, you gathered your things and picked out an outfit for tonight, realizing you still needed to shower and get ready. Your long afternoon nap had thrown you off schedule, leaving you slightly behind.
So you quickly busied yourself with anything else—anything but him—your face already warm as you convinced yourself he hadn’t noticed. Of course he hadn’t. He was just Yeonjun. Always unbothered. Always in his own world.
Meanwhile, he moved with quiet ease, pulling on a shirt after a moment, like he wasn’t in any rush at all. Like he wasn’t aware that you were still very much trying to recover from being caught staring at him like he was some five-star Michelin meal being served on a platter.
He headed toward the small shared closet next, calmly hanging up his clothes, deciding what he’d wear for your first night in Paris.
And if there was the faintest hint of something amused in the slight tilt of his mouth as he turned away—something he made sure you wouldn’t see—you were too busy pretending you hadn’t just been caught to notice it.
Yeonjun didn’t say anything. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease you the way he usually would if he caught you staring too long at anything, let alone him.
Instead, he just kept talking like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t noticed at all.
And that somehow made it worse—because it meant either he truly didn’t see it…
Or he did, and he was pretending he didn’t.
“Do you want to go somewhere fancy tonight?” he asked, tone shifting slightly more thoughtful now, like the earlier teasing had been folded away.
“Depends,” you said from behind your suitcase. “Are you paying?”
A beat.
“…Absolutely not.”
“Then no.”
You both joked like this often, but knowing Yeonjun, he wouldn’t end up letting you pay in the end. He was too much of a gentleman for that. Being your friend and all, he always said it was his duty to take care of you, so he always said, but you would always notice he never treated your other friends like he treats you, so you always tell yourself it's because you are best friends and it is different.
Soon you were both ready to leave. You’d chosen a silk black dress, the fabric smooth and fluid against your skin, paired with a tailored black blazer that sharpened your silhouette without overwhelming the outfit. Black kitten heels completed the look—simple, understated, and elegant in a quiet way.
For your makeup, you kept things clean and natural—soft skin, a light touch of color, nothing heavy or overdone—just enough to enhance your features rather than mask them. The overall effect was effortless, put-together without trying too hard, like you had stepped out already knowing you didn’t need to prove anything.
Yeonjun was dressed in layers of neutral tones that softened the frame of his figure. He wore a simple white shirt beneath a beige Ralph Lauren windbreaker, paired with washed-out blue-gray trousers, a belt, and black dress shoes. The fabric shifted subtly with each small movement he made, catching the light in quiet, effortless motion.
His blonde hair was tousled in that familiar way, as if it never stayed perfectly in place for long.
He looked like he had stepped out of a postcard you weren’t supposed to keep.
You both were now ready to go explore the city.
The Paris air outside felt different the second you stepped out of the hotel—cooler somehow, sharper, like it immediately pulled you out of the quiet safety of your room, and into something louder, wider.
The streets were still alive with movement . Laughter, music spilling out from cafes, the soft glow of street lights reflecting against the pavement like scattered gold.
Yeonjun stepped out first, adjusting the sleeve of his windbreaker as he glanced around, taking in the city like it wasn’t his first time—but like he still found something new in it anyway.
“You coming?” he asked, looking back at you.
You hesitated for half a second too long.
Then nodded. “Yeah.”
You walked beside him.
At first, it was normal. Easy. The kind of silence you’d always had with him—comfortable, familiar. Your steps falling into rhythm without trying.
But tonight, something about it felt slightly off.
Not wrong.
Just… noticeable.
Every so often, your shoulders brushed when the sidewalk narrowed. Small, careless touches that you normally wouldn’t think twice about.
Except now, you did.
“You’re walking too slow,” he said suddenly, glancing down at you.
“I’m not walking slow.”
“You are.”
“I’m literally walking normally.”
He hummed, unconvinced, and kept walking.
But then—after a few steps—he slowed down anyway.
Matching your pace without saying anything about it.
That made you glance at him briefly.
He was looking straight ahead, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
Like nothing had changed.
Like he hadn’t just adjusted for you on purpose.
You looked away again quickly.
“…It’s just the city,” you said lightly, mostly to fill the silence. “Everything feels slower here.”
“Mm,” he responded.
Not agreeing. Not disagreeing.
Just there.
The silence settled again.
But this time, it didn’t feel as comfortable.
It felt aware.
Too aware.
A few steps later, his shoulder brushed yours again.
Longer than before.
Not enough to be intentional.
But not quick enough to be accidental either.
You stiffened slightly before forcing yourself to relax.
It was nothing.
It was just crowded.
It was just—
“Y/N.”
His voice cut through your thoughts, quieter than before.
You turned your head slightly. “What?”
He was already looking at you.
Not fully. Not intensely.
Just… briefly.
Like he had almost said something, thought better of it, and decided not to.
His gaze lingered for a second too long anyway.
Then he exhaled through his nose, almost like a quiet laugh at himself.
“Never mind,” he said.
And kept walking.
But he didn’t speed up.
And neither did you.
So you stayed like that—
walking side by side through Paris,
with something unspoken sitting quietly between you both,
close enough to notice…
but not close enough to name.
A/N: I was so inspired by these Yeonjun photos of him in Prague. He looked so romantic and unreal. I just was thinking about him in this way the whole time I was writing.
genre: one-shot, friends to lovers, shy reader, fluff, REAL slow burn, angst, tension, flirty and silly Yeonjun, subtle touches, future kissing. (Will change with each chapter)
summary: One week in Paris. The City of Love. Too many shared photographs, Secret stolen glances. Hidden feelings. Several near heart attacks. The line between childhood friendship and something else starts to blur.
Word Count: 3,164
a/n: This is my first chapter series, so please bare with me on this one, lol. English is my first language, however if there are any minor grammar issues, I apologize. First chapter will be a little shorter than the rest of the chapters. Enjoy this REAL slow-burn, yeonjun x reader friends to lovers au. The tags and pictures for each chapter will change for each chapter. This will probably just be a short au, not very long. I was really in the moment writing this, and it was so much fun. Please feel free to share your thoughts. Thank you!
“All passengers, we will be arriving in Paris in about one minute. Thank you for choosing Air France, and we hope you enjoy your stay. And to all the lovebirds on board, the City of Love awaits you,” the flight attendant announces over the intercom.
“I can't believe we're here!” you state, turning to your side.
Yeonjun, sitting beside you with a smile on his face and excitement written all over his features, turns to face you.
“Our younger selves would not believe we're actually doing this.”
“Soon we will be sitting by Pont Neuf, overlooking the Seine River in Paris, with a coffee and a croissant in our hands,” you stated.
Yeonjun leaned back slightly in his seat like he was already picturing it, his eyes closed as he took a deep inhale, clearly already imagining all the new food stops they would visit. With a grin spreading across his face, he states, “Mmm… Pont Neuf, huh?” He drags out the name as if he’s testing how fancy it sounds on his tongue. “Sounds very… cinematic of us.”
He turns his head toward you, eyes bright with that familiar spark of mischief. “While we’re picturing how our days in Paris will look, I’m looking forward to becoming a full-time Paris food critic by the end of this week-long trip,” he adds, nodding seriously for exactly half a second before breaking into a small laugh.
You give him a playful look, feigning fake annoyance, and he continues, “If someone’s going to do it, it has to be me, you know, since I have such a great palate for great food.”
You shook your head, taking a good look at your longtime friend from high school, happy to see him happy. You both had always talked about visiting Paris together when you were younger.
You had always been obsessed with Paris growing up—the food, the people, the history, the romantic vibe of the city, and the beautiful scenery you had only ever seen in movies. Yeonjun, likewise, had his own reason for always wanting to visit Paris, though his had more to do with the fashion scene.
You and Yeonjun shared a lot of dreams in common, and you always told each other that when you were both settled and done with school, you would take a trip to Paris together to celebrate the testament of a friendship that had never faltered all these years.
The plane had finally landed after a seven-hour flight. Everyone quickly stood up from their seats, impatient and restless to get off. Exhaustion was evident on everyone’s faces, including yours and Yeonjun’s. Although, Yeonjun had been able to sleep a little bit on the flight.
You always found it difficult to sleep the whole plane ride, always too nervous to fall asleep in case something happened. So you chose to stay awake and sleep at the hotel when you got there.
But Yeonjun, on the other hand, had taken two tablets of melatonin to help him fall asleep and knocked out almost immediately, only waking up about ten minutes ago. He stretched his hands above his head, his deep, husky voice rough with sleep as he asked where they were, sounding almost disoriented, like he had no clue where they were for a moment.
He stayed like that for a couple of seconds, visibly confused, his usual pouty lips set in a soft pout as he blinked a couple of times, before realization slowly hit him of where they were and where they were heading.
You giggled, giving him a side-eye that he was all too familiar with, scanning him for a second as you thought your friend looked a little too adorable like this.
The man had a bit of a fear of flying, and he had told you earlier on in the flight that the melatonin would help ease his heart and mind and give him a few hours of rest, so he could catch up and be ready to make this experience as incredible as possible as soon as they landed and begin making those memories.
“What are we going to do first once we drop our stuff at the hotel?” he asked, curious to hear your response, his luggage already in his hand from the overhead carry-on storage.
You, on the other hand, were struggling to reach your bag—it seemed someone had pushed it all the way to the back of the overhead compartment. You sighed in frustration, and Yeonjun looked over at your frazzled state, then up at where you were trying to reach. Without hesitation, he got up and got it for you.
“Thank you,” you said, giving him a smile, and he returned it with an even warmer one.
You were so lucky to have him in your life, to be able to call him your friend. You honestly didn’t know how he had the patience to put up with your brattiness all these years, but he had always been by your side, steady and constant, like the sun and gravity.
As patient, respectful, and kind as always. Granted, he had a personality too.
You two were complete opposites when it came to personality—where you were quiet, timid, and reserved, he was confident, vibrant, extroverted, loud, and effortlessly funny, always just being himself. You enjoyed that about him. You liked the person he brought out of you every time you were with him. Everyone who knew him, loved him and always had good things to say about him.
It made you think back to college, when things were no different.
Back then, people always assumed you and Yeonjun were dating. It wasn’t even a rare comment—it happened so often it almost became part of your routine.
You’d be sitting together on campus, sharing food, walking between classes, laughing at something only the two of you understood, and someone would always, without fail, ask the same thing.
“Are you two together?”
And every time, you’d both laugh it off, shaking your heads. At times, Yeonjun would hesitate for a second before answering, his eyes flickering to you first, but you were always quick to correct them, and he would simply agree, offering his striking smile to whoever had asked.
“No, we’re just best friends.”
Just best friends who happened to spend almost every day together.
Just best friends who always chose each other first.
Just best friends who, apparently, made everyone else think there was something more, when to you, it had always just been normal and comfortable with him.
You thought it was so stereotypical how, whenever anyone saw a girl and a guy being overly friendly with each other, they automatically assumed the two were dating. A girl and a boy could totally just be friends.
Besides, he’d always had a reputation back in college for never committing to a relationship and casually dating around, so you always thought it was best to keep things as just friends.
You never really understood why he hadn’t settled down with someone by now, considering people would practically throw themselves at him for a chance. But none of his relationships ever seemed to last.
It was always something about them not being the one for him, or that he had simply gotten bored—whatever that meant.
You found yourself wondering about it more often than you cared to admit. Because if Yeonjun truly wanted to be in a relationship, you were convinced he’d be taken in a heartbeat.
But, of course, you never told him that.
Now, you weren’t blind, and you weren’t a liar either. You had eyes, and you couldn’t deny that your best friend definitely had the looks. You understood why he was so popular in almost every phase of his life that you had known him.
Yeonjun had such a striking, unique face that it was almost impossible not to look at him when he walked past you. His features were sharp, refined in a way that made him stand out even in a crowd.
At first glance, if you didn’t know him personally like you did, you would probably agree with the general population that he could come off as intimidating or even rude based on his appearance alone. But most people never cared enough to get to know the real him the way you did.
You think that’s probably why the two of you clicked so quickly back in high school and became inseparable. You accepted him for who he was without all the expectations and labels people constantly placed on him to fit their own narrative. And in return, he had always done the same for you.
Coming back to the present moment and snapping out of your thoughts, you took a good look at him standing closely behind you as the two of you exited the plane after grabbing all your things. Yeonjun had decided—more on his own than at your request—that he would carry some of your bags for you.
As you finally stepped out into the airport and began making your way toward the arrivals and baggage claim area to grab a taxi, you found yourself stealing another glance at him.
His hair was currently tousled, framing his face, his bangs falling over his eyes and softly parted just enough to reveal a bit of his forehead, though not fully since it wasn’t styled up today. His hair was a honey blonde color, with a light golden sheen that complimented his features and made him look mature, exactly what he has been trying to achieve with his look.
He had a sharp nose and plush pink lips that always rested in a slight pout when he was concentrating or thinking intensely. You found it quite endearing—quite Junie. His brown, fox-like eyes had a way of pulling attention without trying; if you looked at them for too long, someone might say you could get lost in them. They tied everything together perfectly.
Today, he wore an all-black outfit, a black knitted short-sleeved polo shirt, solid black dress pants, and black dress shoes. Everything just suited his proportions in all the right ways. And you tried your hardest not to stare for too long because why would you even think about looking at your best friend in that light, you said to yourself.
Once you stepped out of the airport with your luggage, you and Yeonjun were starting to make your way to the hotel you'd be staying at on your trip. One week in Pairs. The hotel was close to all the tourist attractions you both wanted to explore together. Yeonjun, still carrying some of your bags along with his own, scanned the area for a taxi to get you both there in one piece.
The hotel was about ten minutes away from the airport, so it wasn't a very long drive, and you were thankful for that because you were exhausted and hoping to get a nap in once you guys arrived at the room.
“Did you pack your whole life in this bag?” Yeonjun questioned. “It’s so heavy, even for me,” he continued, letting out an exaggerated groan as he adjusted his grip. His tone was playful and sarcastic, the kind of dramatic flair he always fell back on. It was so typical of him—always a little extra about everything. And somehow, it never failed to make you laugh.
“I told you I didn’t have a problem carrying it, but you insisted on it,” you giggled, watching him struggle with all the luggage. He had one of his bags on his left shoulder and a backpack on, along with your two bags hanging off his right shoulder and your purse dangling from his arm.
His hair was a bit messy after you guys got off the plane, so he ended up putting on a backwards cap for now, saying something about how he had “hat hair” and that no one could see it in the state it was currently in. You, on the other hand, thought he looked fine.
“Are you sure you don't mind carrying all that?” you asked, looking at him apologetically, now feeling bad. Your best friend was always so caring when it came to your needs—more than any of your other friends had ever been. Honestly, you had never had such a caring and attentive person in your life like him.
“No, Y/N, I don’t mind,” he began as he finally managed to wave a taxi down. The driver pulled up to the curb outside the airport pickup terminal, waiting for you both to get inside. The taxi driver got out and took both of your luggages, placing them in the trunk as you both got into the small taxi cab.
“Besides, what kind of man would I be if I let a lady carry all this stuff by herself? They might think I'm some narcissistic jerk, and I am not a jerk. I am your loving best friend of fourteen years helping out his friend who looked like she was struggling back there.” He said in still his usual sarcastic and playful tone.
His face became somewhat smug as he looked at you with a playful, mischievous expression; something Yeonjun was always known for.
He was well known for his fun and playful side. That was something everyone was drawn to about him. Well, that and his looks, but you would never let him know that. Otherwise, he would never shut up about it and would tease you endlessly, so you kept that little fact to yourself.
You guys were finally on your way. You and Yeonjun sat closely together in the back of the taxi. The car was a little cramped, forcing the two of you to squeeze into the limited space. Your right thigh pressed against his left, and with how little room there was between you, you could almost say you were sitting on top of him.
Every bump in the road seemed to push you a little closer.
You were so close that the faint scent of his cologne filled your senses. You tried not to linger on it—or on the strange feeling it stirred in your stomach whenever it drifted your way.
Yeonjun often wore his signature cologne, which you had complimented him on more than once. It carried notes of sea salt and fresh air mixed with crisp earthy sage, warm cedarwood, and a soft musky undertone that smelled quietly luxurious. Familiar. Like him.
Comforting.
Dangerously so.
As the taxi turned a corner, your shoulder bumped into his. Neither of you moved away.
Instead, Yeonjun shifted slightly, trying to make more room for you, but somehow it only made you more aware of how close he was. The warmth of his arm brushed against yours, and suddenly the backseat felt much smaller than it actually was.
“Damn,” Yeonjun muttered, glancing around the cramped car. “Did they build this thing for children?”
You laughed. “Maybe you're just too tall.”
“Too handsome, actually.”
“There it is.”
“There what is?”
“Your ego.”
“My ego?” He pressed a hand dramatically against his chest. “Y/N, you wound me,” he chuckled a smug smile on his face.
The movement caused his arm to brush against yours again. Neither of you acknowledged it, or at least you thought you didn’t—but Yeonjun definitely did. He just didn’t say anything, keeping it to himself for now.
“I think it's a perfectly reasonable observation,” he stated.
“You think everything about yourself is a perfectly reasonable observation.”
“Not everything,” he said with a grin, poking his tongue out. “Just the important things.”
You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the smile threatening to pull at your lips, but with him smiling at you the way he was right now, it was impossible not to.
Another bump in the road made your leg press more firmly against his. For a brief second, neither of you shifted away— comfortable in each others space.
Then Yeonjun cleared his throat.
“This taxi is seriously way too small.”
“That's what you've been complaining about for the last five minutes.”
“Can you blame me?” he asked. “I can practically count your eyelashes from here.”
Your eyes widened slightly before you quickly looked away, hoping he didn't catch the faint blush now appearing on your face.
It wasn't until you turned to look at him that you noticed just how close your faces were to each other. His breath faintly fanned against your skin from the close proximity.
Yeonjun slowly scanned your face before lifting a finger and pointing toward your eyelashes, pretending to count each one in a joking manner. You were wondering how much longer you were going to have to be stuck in this cramped up car with him.
“One... two... three...”
“Yeonjun,” you laughed.
“What?” he asked innocently, clearly teasing you at this point.
His ridiculous behavior made you laugh despite yourself, and you tried to quiet yourself down a bit, afraid it would draw the taxi driver’s attention—not wanting that.
Though the warmth spreading across your cheeks and the fluttering feeling in your stomach left you feeling somewhat flustered.
“Then stop looking at me.”
A laugh escaped him.
“See? That's the problem. You're making impossible requests already, and vacation hasn't even started.”
You felt your stomach do that strange little flip again.
You told yourself he was just being Yeonjun. He was always like this—playful, teasing, and naturally affectionate with the people he cared about. He definitely couldn't have meant it as anything other than a friendly comment toward his friend.
Thankfully, Yeonjun turned toward the window before he could notice.
The taxi slowed to a stop in front of the hotel.
The driver said something in French you didn’t quite catch.
“We’re here,” Yeonjun said, his voice quieter now.
But neither of you moved.
For a moment, it was like the space between you forgot how to shift back to normal. The cramped backseat suddenly didn’t feel as small as it did before—but it didn’t feel any easier to leave either.
Yeonjun stayed still, one hand still resting near his bag, eyes flickering toward the window before drifting back to you.
And then he paused.
Just slightly.
“…You’re staring again,” he said, softer than before.
Your heart gave a small jolt.
“I’m not,” you said quickly, maybe too quickly.
A beat.
He didn’t tease you this time.
Instead, he just looked at you for a second longer than usual—like he was thinking about saying something, then decided against it.
The silence settled again, heavier this time in a different way.
The taxi meter clicked faintly in the background.
Neither of you reached for the door.
“Y/N,” he said after a moment, voice low.
Not playful. Not teasing.
Just your name, like it meant something he wasn’t fully putting into words yet.
But before anything else could happen—
The driver cleared his throat from the front seat.
“Madame. Monsieur. You are at the hotel.”
The moment broke.
END OF CHAPTER 1
A/N: How did you guys like the first chapter? Could you tell I am a big fan of Yeonjun in the all black Dior outfit from Paris Fashion Week that he posted on Instagram last year. Stay tuned for more. The tags will change depending on content of each chapter.
genre: one-shot, friends to lovers, one bed-trope, slight alcohol consumption, shy reader, feelings realization, fluff, REAL slow burn, tension, suggestive language, flirty yeonjun and silly, implied intimacy, kissing.
summary: One week in Paris. The City of Love. Too many shared photographs, Secret stolen glances. Hidden feelings. Several near heart attacks. The line between childhood friendship and something else starts to blur.
Part 1
a/n: This series will come out in chapters. I was inspired by Yeonjun in Europe and how boyfriend he always looks when he visits.
Violet was back on your fire escape the following Monday morning, undeterred by such feeble inconveniences as a firmly shut window latch.
You saw her as soon as you opened your eyes.
Before you’d moved in, you’d worried about the short curtains, afraid that the morning light would wake you up at the crack of dawn. Now, however, fingers braced on the window frame as you worked the latch, you appreciated every inch of glass they failed to cover.
Violet slipped inside the moment you pushed the window open, already accustomed to this. She brushed your ankles in a brief greeting and strode through your bedroom like she was running late for a meeting in your living room.
You exhaled and reached for your phone. Your vision was still clouded with sleep as you opened Yeonjun’s contact, but last night’s conversation on your screen snapped you awake.
You typed quickly, forcing your eyes to stay on the keyboard.
YOU [6:58 AM]
violet is ehre
It took him a minute to reply:
YEONJUN [6:59 AM]
coming up
You briefly wondered if you’d woken him, but decided it wasn’t your problem. Violet, however fond you were of her, was his cat. And if he wasn’t taking enough precautions to keep her inside, he could deal with the consequences.
You headed into the kitchen and picked up your mug from the cupboard.
Violet had already stationed herself by the window, nose lowered to the floor where her water bowl had been the day before. There were faint smears on the tiles where droplets had dried. You made a mental note to give the floor a proper scrub tonight.
The doorbell rang, cutting through the quiet of your flat.
You opened the door to find Yeonjun in a loose grey jumper, hood up, his hair poking out in uneven strands from underneath. His eyes were half open.
“Hi,” he said, voice still rough with sleep.
“Hi,” you replied. “She’s by the window.”
He glanced over your shoulder. “Sorry again. I know it’s starting to come across like maybe I don’t mind her leaving—”
“A bit, yeah.”
He held back a smile. “I do mind. I don’t even hear her do it.”
You stepped aside. Yeonjun’s gaze dropped to your pyjama top. It had strawberries on it. He was almost certain he’d seen it on you before, and the recognition sent a pleasant shiver through him.
Your phone buzzed in your hand before he could speak.
Professor Lee.
You glanced towards the living room, where Violet was sitting with her tail curled politely at her feet, then back at Yeonjun.
“Come in,” you said. “I’ve got to take this.”
A little thrown by the invitation, Yeonjun hesitated on the threshold for another second, then stepped inside with a deep inhale.
You turned away to answer the call.
Professor Lee skipped the small talk as he usually did, but it felt particularly abrupt this early in the morning. Apparently, he needed you in. Said he had a faculty meeting, and you would have to cover his office hours.
Yes, immediately.
No, there wasn’t any time to discuss details.
You stumbled over your words, trying to negotiate a reasonable travel window; you couldn’t exactly come in immediately, you were in your pyjamas. But Professor Lee seemed to be operating under the assumption that you either possessed the ability to teleport, or would develop it under pressure.
While you blinked at the floor, Yeonjun made soft, clicking sounds with his tongue to get Violet’s attention behind you. She resisted for a good half a minute, watching you as though she expected you to tell him to stop; he was embarrassing them both.
When you didn’t meet her gaze, she relented and allowed Yeonjun to gather her up.
“Sorry,” he murmured as he passed you with Violet in his arms. His eyes lingered, briefly, on your vase of sunflowers. He didn’t ask where they’d come from, but hoped it was your grandfather.
You nodded, half-turned away.
“Alright,” you said into the phone, shutting the door. “I’m on my way.”
✦ • ─── AUGUST 24, 2026. 9 AM
As it turned out, Professor Lee’s emergency was not much of an emergency at all.
You sat in his office for an hour, and not a single student came; not one tentative knock, no confused first-year wandering in by accident.
You spent the first twenty minutes checking your emails, another twenty staring at the clock above the door, and the last spinning aimlessly in the chair, half-hoping someone would appear just to give you something to do.
This was the calm before the storm.
Shortly after Professor Lee returned, he declared, with his usual flair, that the undergrads had flipped his schedule upside down. Naturally, that meant yours was upside down as well.
You spent the rest of the day reshuffling appointments, reworking study plans, and running around campus in search of Professor Lee’s missing staff badge. You returned to his office with bad news, only to be told that he’d realised he’d forgotten the badge in the back pocket of his trousers at home. He had a great laugh about that. You considered stepping out for a cigarette.
By the time you returned to your building, you could barely stand. Your dark brown trainers, which seemed so comfortable when you put them on this morning, had rubbed blisters all over your feet. The noises of the day still rang in your ears.
Yeonjun was in the lobby.
He stood by the letterboxes with a bowl of something aggressively green (with tomatoes) and a fork.
“Hi again,” he said, mid-bite.
“Hi.” You paused by the door, eyeing the contents of his bowl. It seemed to be a salad. “Tastes better in the lobby?”
Grinning, he speared another leaf onto his fork and held it out to you. “Want to try?”
“No, thanks.” You moved past him towards the letterboxes. He shuffled out of your way, his trainers scraping on the floor. “Did you actually come out here to have lunch?”
There was a flimsy advert in your letterbox: window frames at twenty-five per cent off. You glanced at it, then scrunched it up in your hand.
“Technically,” Yeonjun said, pausing to swallow, “s’my breakfast.”
You shut the letterbox and looked at him. “It’s four in the afternoon.”
He shrugged, already shovelling another forkful to his mouth. You caught your gaze locking onto his fork and turned away, crossing the lobby towards the stairs. He followed.
“Everything okay, then?” he asked.
You glanced back at him. “Hm?”
“You rushed out this morning.”
“Oh.” You slipped the crumpled advert into your pocket to toss it out at home. “Professor Lee had—he needed me to come in early. Hope Violet wasn’t upset.”
“She was,” Yeonjun said. “Very offended you kicked her out. But what can you do.”
“Did you tell her I’ve got no hard feelings?”
“No.” He nudged something—coriander, by the look of it—to the side of the bowl. “I told her you changed your mind about being kind to her. S’showbiz.”
You fixed him with a look.
His grin settled more comfortably on his face. “What?”
You huffed, then turned back to the stairs.
“Violet’s fine,” he said, scraping the bottom of the bowl. The sound was eerie in the stairwell. “She’s spoiled, I told you. But she, uh—hopefully she’ll stop coming. M’thinking I’ll stick some tape on the latch, so she stops getting ideas.”
“Hmm.” You dragged your hands down the sides of your jacket. “She won’t like that.”
“Probably not,” he agreed. “But she’ll realise it’s for the best.”
He took the next step, then stumbled to a halt, suddenly recognising his mother’s words in his mouth.
His fork clipped the rim of the bowl and slipped, clattering down onto the stairs.
You turned.
“My fork,” he said, mournfully, and bent to retrieve it.
You pressed your lips together. “Serves you right. Eating in the stairwell.”
Yeonjun hummed as he straightened, tilting his head.
“Meant to do that,” he said.
“M’sure you did.”
He stopped outside his door, shifting the bowl to one hand so he could find his keys in his jumper pocket. You continued up the stairs.
“See you tomorrow, then,” he called out.
“Or not,” you replied. “If Violet hates me now.”
“Sure. But I might pop by the lobby, still.”
You glanced back down at him. “Oh, might?”
He lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug, his lips stretching. “We’ll see what tomorrow brings.”
Shaking your head, you continued up the remaining steps.
✦ • ─── AUGUST 25, 2026. 6:55 AM
On Tuesday, Violet waited on your fire escape while you fumbled with the window frame. There was a strip of tape stuck to her whiskers. Evidently, Yeonjun’s grand plan to protect the latch hadn’t worked.
You braced a hand against the sill, blocking her path for a moment, and gently plucked the tape away. She chirped sharply, offended to be disrupted in this way, and tried to nip past your grasp.
You pulled back. The fire escape creaked as Violet slipped in through the gap and landed gracefully on your floor.
You shut the window and picked up your phone.
YOU [6:57 AM]
guess who’s back
YEONJUN [6:57 AM]
back again
shady’s back
Frowning, you started to type before he could send another text.
YOU [6:58 AM]
you coming or
The three dots disappeared for a minute.
YEONJUN [6:59 AM]
omw
By the time the doorbell rang, Violet had already made herself comfortable on the armrest of the sofa. She flicked an ear at the sound, blinked once, and turned back to the window.
You opened the door.
Yeonjun looked as though he’d come here directly from his bed. His hair was flattened at the back, sticking up at odd angles by his temples; his shirt sat crooked on his shoulders, collar askew.
He took a determined breath and dropped into a squat.
“Right, then,” he said. You pulled back from the door, giving him a clear line of sight. “Come on, love.”
Violet did not come on.
Yeonjun had come prepared; he crinkled her bag of treats.
Unfortunately, that only drew Violet a little bit closer. She sat down at a safe distance and eyed him for a minute. A few petals from the sunflowers lay scattered on the floor beside her.
“Alright,” he murmured, giving the bag another shake. “Few more steps for me, yeah? Just—”
The moment he reached for her, Violet twisted out of his grasp with startling speed.
“Violet, shit—” He jerked his hand back, blinking at the thin red line rising across his skin. “What did I tell you last night? You can’t scratch when I’m trying to teach you to behave.”
You folded your arms and diplomatically averted your gaze to grant them some privacy.
Yeonjun’s firm tone must have registered with Violet, though, because she made a low, begrudging sound and turned around. After another moment’s consideration, she lifted her chin and stepped past him into the stairwell, as if this had been her intention all along.
Exhaling, Yeonjun stood.
“Your hand alright?” you asked.
He gave it a reflexive shake. “Yeah, it’ll be fine. Growing pains. Sorry about her.”
“She’s alright,” you said. Violet turned her head in your direction, her pupils wide. She was hoping you’d invite her back inside. “She’s clearly very determined to keep coming.”
Yeonjun glanced down at her and cautiously extended his hand again. Violet leaned in for a sniff, her whiskers stiff against his skin. She allowed him exactly one stroke down her back before slipping deftly out from under his fingers.
“Feisty today,” you observed.
“I’ve been holding back the treats,” Yeonjun explained, straightening. He rattled the package in his hands again. “Hoped it’d stop her clawing at the window.”
“Ah.” You inclined your head. “So she’s come to claw at you instead.”
“I guess.” He twisted his wrist experimentally—then winced, breath catching as the motion pulled at his old sprain. He dropped his hand back to his side. “Anyway, uh—I’ll try again with the curtains. I pulled them up, but maybe she wants them fully gone.”
You followed his gaze to Violet, now perched on the top stair, thoughtfully licking her paw.
“Maybe,” you said.
“Yeah.” He rocked lightly on his heels, then remembered himself and stilled. “Um—you’ll be off to uni, then?”
You pushed off the doorframe. The edge of your pyjama pants snagged on a loose splinter in the wood. You glanced down, suddenly very aware of the stain at the knee from an unlucky accident with oil.
“Yeah,” you said, angling your leg to hide the blemish. “Professor Lee and I are hosting the introductory lecture for undergrads today.”
“Oh,” Yeonjun said. He opened his mouth to make another comment, but discovered he had none left. Half his brain was still asleep. “Good luck.”
You nodded.
He stayed on your doorstep.
The corridor fell into a quiet stillness around you. Only the soft, repetitive sounds of Violet grooming herself by the stairs broke the silence.
Yeonjun scratched the back of his neck and glanced at you, then dropped his gaze back to the floor.
“I, uh,” he said, “I could drive you.”
Your stomach seemed to drop out from under you.
You glanced down, instinctively, as if to catch it.
“Oh,” you said, gaze locked on your slippers. “N—I mean, no need. It’s not far.”
“Okay,” he said quickly. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know. The offer always stands.”
Violet had paused, mid-lick, to give him a pointed look. Yeonjun caught it and blinked away.
Nice going, idiot, she seemed to be saying. What else you got?
“Right,” he said, bending to scoop her up before he started to peel his skin off. “See you later, then.”
You dragged a hand over the side of the doorframe. “Later.”
✦ • ─── AUGUST 25, 2026. 9 AM
Professor Lee was running late, which wasn’t unusual. You suspected the man would one day be late for his own funeral.
You could manage his absence.
What you could not manage was the auditorium door.
You pressed your staff badge to the scanner again. The little light above the lock flashed red.
You stared at it, perplexed.
The corridor began to fill with students, their voices wrapping around you—laughter, complaints about the cold, yawns, jokes about the football match last night. You stood still, badge in hand, trying to look like you weren’t locked out of your own lecture.
Your skin felt terribly warm. Uselessly, your mind flashed back to the early morning. Yeonjun hadn’t driven you here, yet your stomach still felt tight as if he had.
“Sure you’ve got the right room?”
You turned. A boy stood beside you, looking a good ten years younger than you. He should’ve been in kindergarten.
“Yeah,” you said. “Seems like technology’s not working today.”
“Oh, well,” he said easily. “Guess class is cancelled, then. You can hang out with us instead.”
His friend, taller than him but still looking like he was learning to clap his syllables in primary school, jabbed him in the ribs. “Shut up.”
You forced a tight smile and tried the badge again.
Red.
The boy beside you snickered. His friend failed, audibly, to stifle his own amusement.
A few more comments followed behind you, just loud enough to reach you: most assuming this was your first day on the job (it was), or that you were actually a first-year, too (you almost wished).
You kept your eyes on the lock.
When Professor Lee appeared five minutes later, slightly out of breath but unfazed as always, the corridor immediately quieted.
It irked you a little, his innate authority.
You wondered what he had that you didn’t. He didn’t look much like a professor with his multicoloured shirt, jeans, and a black backpack slung over one shoulder.
Maybe it was just that he was a man.
“Ah,” he said as a way of introducing himself. “Good, good.”
He tapped his badge once.
The light blinked green. The lock clicked open.
Smiling like you were due for a check-up at the local psychiatric ward, you stepped into the auditorium after him.
The lecture, at least, went better.
Once you switched on your PowerPoint, the words came easily. You’d practised your presentation until it was muscle memory, even if said muscles kept shaking the entire hour and a half.
The students listened. And, in what passed for high praise these days, only a few of them pulled out their phones.
After you finished, a small group stayed behind.
“Sorry about earlier,” one of the students said—Sungjae, you’d learned, the one who’d tried to recruit you in the corridor. “You’re very young for a lecturer.”
“Yeah,” you said, cutting him a look as you turned off the projector. “I’m equally shocked they let me do this.”
He snorted, relieved you were playing along, and brought a finger over the edge of your desk.
“You did well, though,” he said. “I’m looking forward to seeing you the rest of the term.”
You gave him a tight smile.
He’d been overly active the whole class, raising his hand to clarify the points that didn’t need clarifying (‘Why’s that image wonky? Oh, sorry, I thought it was, like, a test of our perception—carry on.’). He reminded you of the students back in your thesis workshop.
He didn’t move from your desk.
Behind him, Professor Lee was deep in conversation with another cluster of students, nodding enthusiastically at something you suspected he hadn’t even heard. You considered calling him over.
Clearing your throat, you glanced back at Sungjae.
“First paper’s due end of September,” you said. “I’m very excited for that.”
“Oh—right.” His eyes widened, then dropped to the floor. “Yeah—I’ll do my best, then. Have a good one.”
“You, too.”
He rejoined his friends in the corridor, where he was immediately met with a round of laughter and a few punches to the shoulder.
Off to a good start, then.
At least this one hadn’t tried to ask for your phone number. You might’ve had to call his parents otherwise.
Turning away, you caught Professor Lee’s eye. He beamed at you and flashed you an energetic thumbs up, startling the boys he’d been speaking to.
You smiled back, relaxing your shoulders.
The professor hadn’t changed much since he’d been hosting your psychological warfare seminars back in grad school. And, despite everything, it felt good to be back in the trenches.
✦ • ─── AUGUST 25, 2026. 4 PM
When you returned, Yeonjun was leaning against the wall in the lobby, scrolling through his phone.
This, you realised absurdly, might’ve been the most stable part of your life right now.
No matter what happened at university, you could trust Yeonjun to be in the lobby when you got home.
You sighed as the doors clicked shut behind you.
Yeonjun looked up, already smiling before your eyes properly met. He had big, black-framed glasses on today. They were sliding down his nose.
“Oh, hi,” he said. “Back already?”
“My usual time, it seems.”
“Yeah? Wouldn’t know.”
You hummed, eyes narrowing slightly.
The last time you’d seen him wear glasses, he’d followed you into the library where you were working on a presentation with Luke. Those had been lensless, then; he’d been putting up a performance. Brought a book and everything.
“Like my glasses?” he asked, noting your stare as he slipped his phone into the back pocket of his jeans.
“Real or not?”
“Real, of course.”
“Yeah?” You turned away, tightening the strap of your backpack. “Used to wear ones for decoration.”
He knew exactly what you were thinking about.
“Used to wear real ones, too,” he said, eyes glittering behind the frames. “Before we met.”
You remembered him mentioning that.
“Mhmm,” you said. “So, a quick switch to being fake, then, yeah? Checks out.”
He blew out a puff of air. You seemed in a violent mood today—perhaps Violet had infected you—yet the small smile on your lips as you crossed the lobby had him transfixed.
He stood still for half a second before he realised to follow you.
“I like that you remember my fake glasses,” he said, deciding he enjoyed walking on thin ice. His hand followed yours on the railing.
“Hard not to,” you replied. “You stalked me into the library.”
“I asked if I could come with you.”
“I said no.”
“You didn’t.”
“I implied—”
“Well, how am I supposed to understand implications?” he cut in, tapping his palm against the bannister. “I can’t read minds.”
You gave him a flat look over your shoulder. “Clearly.”
He grinned. “You should tell me everything directly.”
“Alright.” You paused on the second-floor landing and turned to face him properly. “Don’t come to the lobby anymore.”
“That’s better,” he said, stopping a few steps below. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“That doesn’t sound reassuring.”
He shrugged. “I’m only human.”
Clicking your tongue, you turned back towards the stairs.
“Tell me something else, then,” you said. “What are you doing, job-wise, to have enough free time to loiter here every day?”
Yeonjun was feeling very buoyant and needed a moment to gather himself. Then his thoughts.
“I do simulations,” he said finally. “Strategy work.”
You slowed just enough for him to fall into step with you.
“For cars?” you asked. “Racing?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. Then, catching your raised eyebrows, he added, “not anywhere near Formula, in case s’what you’re thinking.”
“But you’re an engineer?”
He lifted a hand in a vague, sideways motion.
“A consultant, technically,” he said. “Mostly performance diagnostics. Data analysis.”
You lowered your head, thoughts drifting.
Beside you, Yeonjun could tell you remembered playing 21 Questions on his sofa with him. Eating grapes and chocolates. You’d asked him what he wanted to do in the future. He’d said he liked cars.
He remembered it, too: the low crackle of the fireplace, the way you used to look at him back then.
When he got the call with the job offer, that was what came back to him first.
“What sort of racing, then?” you asked, not looking at him.
“Stock cars.”
“Oh.” That surprised you again. “Like NASCAR?”
“Sort of,” he said. “We’ve got a local league. Closest thing you’ll get to NASCAR here, I guess.”
The stairwell narrowed as you climbed past the third floor, forcing you closer. Sunlight pushed through the thin windows in stubborn streaks, catching dust in the air and highlighting the yellow paint on the walls.
“Haven’t moved to dirt, then,” you said, almost absentmindedly.
His nose scrunched faintly, a reflex you recognised before you could stop yourself noticing.
“No,” he said, pushing his glasses higher up his nose. “Loyal to tarmac.”
“Hmm.”
By the fourth floor, your pace had slowed without either of you deciding on it.
You were aware that there was only one floor left until his flat. And if you lingered to talk there, that would mean you weren’t just exchanging quick neighbourly small talk on the stairs anymore. Then you’d be having a Conversation.
“That’s cool, though,” you said. “You went legal.”
“Yeah.” His gaze dropped to the stairs. “S’not bad. Mostly screens and numbers. Pays well, though, and, uh—” he looked up, “—leaves me with loads of free time.”
You met his eyes.
“Mhmm.” Your lips pressed together. “That explains it.”
“I do leave my flat, though,” he added quickly. “On test days, and—”
“I’m not accusing you of anything.”
“You gave me a look.”
You snickered under your breath.
“Didn’t mean anything by it,” you said. “Just surprised you’d voluntarily choose to work from home.”
That was fair enough, Yeonjun had to admit.
He let out a quiet breath, his gaze settling somewhere ahead.
“I’ve, uh—I’ve changed a lot,” he said. He’d had this conversation in his head hundreds of times before. He wondered if his words sounded rehearsed. “Found my peace.”
This wasn’t the first time he said something like this to you.
You didn’t know what it was supposed to mean.
“That’s good,” you said.
“Yeah.”
You rounded the next corner, gaze catching on the uneven linoleum, the peeling paint on the walls, the bannister smoothed by hundreds of hands. It all looked softer in the sunlight, more welcoming.
The two of you reached the fifth floor.
Yeonjun stopped at his door, hand hovering near the handle. He waited until you turned to glance back at him.
“Let’s see what Violet does tomorrow, I guess,” he said. “Yeah?”
You nodded and turned for the last flight up. “Yeah.”
Yeonjun watched you go.
✦ • ─── AUGUST 26, 2026. 6:55 AM
Violet did not care about the curtains.
She was back on the fire escape at her usual time, seated with rigid patience, waiting for you to notice her. In truth, she felt quite disrespected. It’d been nearly a week – surely, you should’ve expected her by now?
The faint, persistent scrape against the glass of your window finally dragged you from sleep.
You sighed into the pillow, then heaved yourself upright and went to the window. Violet squeezed through the gap the moment you lifted the latch, nudging the frame further with her plump backside.
“Violet,” you said as she toddled into the living room. “Be honest with me. Do you hate Yeonjun? I won’t tell him.”
Violet kept her secrets and settled between your flower pots.
Half an hour later, Yeonjun stood in the middle of your flat, scratching the back of his head. You left him to sort out the cat while you dried your hair in front of the mirror by the bathroom door.
“I don’t know what else to do,” he admitted, turning to look at you. He felt faintly dizzy at the scent of your shampoo.
He’d just spent five minutes hunched over in your kitchen, rattling the treat bag with steadily dwindling confidence. Violet wasn’t falling for it. Stretched out in her patch of sunlight, she had not so much as turned her head.
“Is she opening the latch herself?” you asked, shutting off the hairdryer and bringing a hand through your hair. It felt staticky. You tried to smooth it down.
“I mean, unless my flat’s haunted, yeah,” he said. “I shut it properly, I’m sure. She must keep at it until it gives. Chewed through the tape I’d put on and everything.” He glanced at the cat. “Then she just lets herself out.”
You hummed, gathering the cable as you turned your attention back to Violet.
You watched her roll onto her back, exposing her stomach to the sun. Her mottled fur seemed to glisten in the light. Her paws pressed against the glass.
She looked entirely at home.
“Um.” You walked into the kitchen and set the hairdryer on the island. “We could try leaving her here for the day.”
Even as you said them, the words sounded strange.
“I’ll be back around four,” you added, filling the pause before it could turn awkward. “I can let her out then. Bring her back to you. Obviously, I’d leave water out, and—” you gestured towards him, “—you could bring over some food. She could just—I don’t know. Stay here. For a bit. Like back on Sunday.”
Yeonjun watched Violet’s tail flick rhythmically against the floorboards and didn’t answer straight away. He flexed his fingers once, as if to remind himself that he, too, had a corporeal form.
“You’d—” He cleared his throat. “You’d be alright with that?”
You lifted one shoulder. “I don’t mind. But she’s your cat.”
Yeonjun was very aware of that. Aware, too, that Violet, his cat, clearly preferred your place to his.
He wondered, although he tried not to, how many other things he had in common with her.
“Yeah,” he said at last. “She—yeah. I’m cool. Fair warning, though, I can’t thank you with peach cobbler this time. Haven’t had a chance to bake anything.”
“Oh.” You raised your eyebrows and tsked. “Well, obviously, this can’t work, then. Take the cat and go.”
He snorted.
“We can try leaving her here,” he said.
“Yeah?”
He nodded.
“Okay.” You turned back to Violet. “Yeah.”
“I’ll, uh—I’ll bring over some of her food.”
“Alright.”
You stood still for a moment after he left, watching Violet and trying to decide if the rapid, uneven thumping in your chest meant anything. You decided it didn’t.
Yeonjun returned a few minutes later with Violet’s food in a charming, pale green ceramic bowl.
You took it and set it down on the floor beside the water, your expression deliberately neutral. This was all, of course, perfectly ordinary. Just doing your neighbour a favour and letting his cat stay at your flat. Again.
Violet lifted her head at the soft click of the ceramic against the floor. You crouched beside her, giving her a gentle poke on the back, then gesturing towards Yeonjun.
“Look, little one,” you said. “You sure you won’t miss him during the day? He’ll be gone awfully long.”
She flicked her tail once in acknowledgement, then turned her head back towards the window.
“Right, then,” you said, standing. “Never mind.”
“Right,” Yeonjun echoed. He was twiddling his thumbs.
“Nervous to leave her?” you asked.
“A bit.” He dropped his hands, then pushed them up to the back of his neck. “Always hard for a parent to separate from his kid.”
You felt your lips twitch again and turned away. “She’ll be alright.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
You left him to say his goodbyes—he did genuinely seem close to tears—and stepped into your bedroom to open the window just an inch, in case Violet decided to go home early. Then you returned to the living room.
Violet hadn’t moved. Her eyes were still squeezed shut in front of the sun.
You grabbed your backpack and stepped out into the corridor. Yeonjun followed, quieter now.
He lingered behind while you locked the door, wondering if he should say something else. He didn’t.
“Alright,” you said, slipping your keys into your backpack. “See you later, then. I’m sure Violet will be okay.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “See you.”
He walked downstairs with you to his floor and stood by his door a minute longer. By the time he went inside, he was smiling again.
✦ • ─── AUGUST 26, 2026. 4 PM
When you returned home that afternoon, the light in the lobby was dimmer. The sun slanted through the narrow windows, reflecting off the silver chain around Yeonjun’s neck.
He turned from the letterboxes the moment he heard the door shut. He had his glasses on again.
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
“Hi,” you said. “She hasn’t come back?”
“Hi.” He pushed himself off the wall. “No. M’starting to think she won’t want to.”
Your heart lifted at that. You forced it to calm down.
“She’s probably just looking for a change in environment,” you reasoned, turning towards the stairs. “Or—have you got other pets? Or some unusual odour in your flat?”
He snorted, following you. “No. She’s my only pet and the only unusual odour in my flat.”
You laughed.
Yeonjun felt it like a sudden drop in gravity and reached for the bannister just in case. He was remarkably dreadful on his feet around you. There was probably a name for it.
“Think she just likes your place, to be honest,” he said around the second floor. “You’ve got good light. And plants.”
You glanced at him. “You haven’t got plants?”
“No.”
You slowed until your steps aligned with his in the cramped stairwell.
“Why not?” you asked.
He looked down at the scuffed edges of the steps and tried to concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other, or else he’d start thinking about how close to him you were walking.
“Never thought to get any,” he said.
Your thoughts raced ahead of you.
You remembered the house he used to share with Soobin—how large it had felt, with light spilling through the big windows, and a kitchen with too many cupboards and teabags no one could find. And plants, on the sills and on the tables.
“You, uh—” The words caught in your throat on their way out. “You used to have plants.”
Yeonjun looked at you and forced his expression into something more neutral.
“Yeah, those were Bin’s,” he said. “Didn’t even let me water them unsupervised.”
Your lips quivered. “Makes sense.”
“D’you think I should get plants?”
You looked at him again. He looked earnest and a little worried, as if the rest of his life depended on this decision. You made a concerted effort not to start smiling.
“Yes,” you said.
“Okay.” He nodded. “What sort?”
“Whatever you want. Ferns are fairly easy, for example. Once you get them settled in a good spot.”
You and Reina had had three ferns in your old flat. She’d taken them when she moved in with Soobin while you were away in New York. One of them hadn’t survived the move, may it rest in peace. You and Reina had held a small funeral after you returned, then divided custody of the remaining two.
Yeonjun, in the meantime, sifted through his own memories.
He hadn’t really got acquainted with the plants he’d had with Soobin. There had been ‘the big one, with the enormous leaves’ in the living room, and ‘the small ones’ on the windowsills in the kitchen. There might’ve been a few in the guest rooms, too, come to think of it.
Had any of them been ferns?
“Ferns,” he said slowly. “Those are the ones with the feathery leaves, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you said. “They’re also non-toxic for cats.”
“Oh.” He blinked, embarrassed that he hadn’t considered that. “Okay, that—that’s great. Can they survive anywhere?”
“More or less,” you said. You were nearing the fifth floor now, and you began to rush through your words. “They usually prefer shade, but they do need some light. They’re quite communicative, though—you’ll see it from the leaves if they’re getting too much sun. Or if you’re overwatering.”
Yeonjun clicked his tongue, unconvinced.
There’d been those Christmas plants that Soobin had brought home once—poinsettias, were they? He couldn’t remember. They’d looked expensive. Soobin had left them for a couple of days while he was visiting his family and had said, Yeonjun remembered clearly, water them a bit.
So, Yeonjun had watered them a bit.
By the time Soobin got back, all the red leaves had dropped off.
“Yeah, they’re all communicative,” he mumbled. “Hasn’t stopped me from killing them before.”
Your smile won against you. “Well, you’ve got to go into it with a pure heart. Plants can sense bad energy.”
He was about to argue. Then he thought of Violet, and the way she escaped his flat each morning and ran to yours instead.
Maybe he did have bad energy in his flat.
Maybe he should’ve bought one of those bundles of sage.
Maybe he should’ve asked you to move in with—
“Alright,” he said, inhaling sharply. “S’fair enough. I’ll look into ferns, then.”
You reached the fifth floor and stopped, briefly, on the landing.
“You, uh—are you coming up, then?” you asked. “For Violet.”
“Oh.” He glanced upwards as though he’d forgotten there was another floor. “Yeah. Of course.”
He followed you up the stairs. There was a peculiar lightness in his hands, he realised, as though some screws in his wrists had loosened. His fingers wobbled on their own.
It took you a minute to unlock the door. You jostled the key and nudged the wood with your shoulder until the lock finally gave.
Yeonjun paused on the threshold.
Your flat, he thought, smelled of something familiar. Fresh laundry, perhaps. Vanilla-scented candles. It felt warm and inviting. He was this close to climbing out onto the fire escape tomorrow morning and knocking on your window himself.
Violet hadn’t moved far.
She lay stretched across the centre of your rug, exactly where the sunlight had settled. She turned her head at the sound of the door, rolled onto her side, then pushed herself up and trotted over to Yeonjun. There seemed to be a small skip in her step.
Yeonjun was surprised.
“Hi, love,” he said, squatting to greet her. “Missed me, did you?”
She took a mandatory turn around his ankles, her head brushing against his knees, before allowing him to pick her up.
“Wow,” he breathed as she snuggled against his chest. She was content now. Ready to go home, treats or no treats. “Alright, then.”
“Guess she needed a break from you,” you said. “Can’t blame her.”
He snorted, then broke into proper laughter despite himself.
You felt yourself smile in response.
The sunflowers, Yeonjun noted, glancing back inside, were still on your kitchen island.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, one hand resting against Violet’s back. “Guess so.”
You slipped your backpack from your shoulder and let it fall by the door. Yeonjun shifted to the side to make more room.
This gesture felt alarmingly familiar, and for a moment, you forgot what to do with yourself.
“Should we—” Yeonjun paused when you looked up. He swallowed, recalibrating. “Should we do this again tomorrow? If she’s back at your window.”
You watched Violet’s whiskers twitch and settle. Yeonjun felt an uncomfortable heat rise to his ears with every second that you didn’t reply.
“I guess,” you said. You doubted you had a choice. “She seems to like it here.”
“Yeah. Alright.” He nodded quickly. “Don’t feel pressured by her big blue eyes, though. If you’re busy, I can come up and get her.”
Her big blue eyes were closed now. She was already half-asleep in his arms.
The bowl of food Yeonjun had brought her stood empty by the window.
“She’s good,” you said. “I don’t mind.”
Violet seemed to sense the shift in his chest at your words and lifted her head. He smoothed a hand down her back, warning her to be cool.
“Alright,” he said. “Just let me know she’s here, yeah?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
He nodded, and lingered on your doorstep for another moment.
He realised that, while he wasn’t very good at goodbyes, he was very good at hovering in your periphery and looking for small reasons to stay a little while longer.
You let him look for them.
“Until tomorrow, then,” he said at last.
“Until tomorrow,” you said, and then you smiled briefly—at him first, only then at Violet.
Until that moment, Yeonjun hadn’t realised he might be in competition with his cat.
✦ • ─── AUGUST 27, 2026. 6:55 AM
This time, you left the window open overnight—only a fraction, so you wouldn’t freeze in your sleep. The frame complained about it every now and then, and the fire escape rattled in the wind. But still, you slept.
At 6:55 precisely, the window frame gave an insistent groan.
You heard a faint scrape of claws. A soft, investigative sniff. Then—success. A quiet patter of paws on your floor.
You caught yourself smiling as you sat up in bed and reached for your phone.
YOU [6:57 AM]
she’s here
Not waiting for a reply, you swung your legs out of bed and made your way to the kitchen. The tap glugged, disgruntled, as you filled Violet’s bowl.
Behind you, she had already taken her place by the window. She didn’t look at you. She figured she’d already trained you into your role.
“Right,” you said, crossing back to pull the curtains open.
The morning light flooded Violet’s little face. She blinked slowly and pushed onto her paws, leaning closer to the glass. The dark patch around her left eye softened in the early morning brightness.
She looked very pleased.
You left her there, got ready, and headed to university, anticipating an easier day. Your seminar had been cancelled, so you only had two meetings: one with your doctoral advisor and one with Professor Lee.
You should’ve known better than to celebrate.
On your way from that second meeting, you ran into Professor Myers in the corridor. You hadn’t seen her since graduation, and she whisked you into the staff room for a cup of coffee to catch up.
That part was lovely.
Then she asked you to speak to her grad students about your fellowship in New York.
“Oh,” you said. “When?”
She glanced down at her watch. “In about forty-five minutes.”
That was decidedly less lovely.
You finished your coffee, trying desperately to gather your thoughts, and followed her to the auditorium. Your eyes were twice their normal size; you dreaded being unprepared.
Your only consolation was that Taehyun and Kai were in her class—they’d just started their final year of grad school. They took it upon themselves to react to everything you said with excessive enthusiasm. Every time you stumbled over your words or lost your train of thought, they filled the silence by ooh-ing and ahh-ing at something you’d said earlier.
It was ridiculous.
It helped immensely.
You took them both to the canteen for dessert afterwards.
Despite being past lunchtime, the place was still loud. Benches scraped. Someone dropped a tray by the window just as you walked in. The air smelled distinctly of grease.
You’d missed it.
The dessert bar was already half-empty; only the chocolate cake looked remotely appealing. That was what the three of you settled on.
“I like your necklace,” you said, sitting down at a table in the back, opposite Taehyun.
His golden cross caught the light as he dropped himself onto the bench.
“Thanks,” he said, already cutting into his cake. “It’s the one Nara made for me.”
Kai, on your right, leaned forward to flaunt the four-leaf clover at his throat. “She made this one for me.”
Nara, from what you’d gathered, had discovered jewellery design earlier this year, after ordering a bracelet online and receiving it broken. Irritated, she’d bought wire cutters and a new clasp, and fixed it herself. It was a matter of principle, she’d said. Also, shipping was criminally expensive.
From there, she discovered beads. Then gemstones. You were sure she’d start melting metal soon, too.
“Reina mentioned she made her a lily,” you said, taking a bite of your own cake. The chocolate clung to the roof of your mouth. “Out of—out of wire. S’beautiful. I don’t know how she does it.”
“Oh.” Taehyun looked up sharply and shook his head. “Don’t ever ask her. She’ll walk you through every step in excruciating detail.”
You huffed. “That sounds interesting, though.”
He leaned back, lifting his plate. “Not when it’s the tenth time you’re hearing it.”
“I’ve asked her to make me a chain next,” Kai said. There was chocolate at the corner of his mouth. “One of those proper chunky ones that you can use as an accessory and a weapon.”
Taehyun glanced at him. “What’d you need a weapon for?”
“You never know,” Kai said, shrugging. “Better to be prepared.”
You smiled. “I like your thinking.”
“Practical,” Taehyun agreed, wiping his hands slowly on a napkin. Then he looked at you again, more thoughtful now. “I still think it’s ironic, though. You’re back from New York, giving a speech on what Sociology students can do with their degrees. Yet no one else in your year is actually doing it. I mean, Nara’s making jewellery.”
You tilted your head, your gaze dropping to his cross again. “Thought that was still a hobby.”
“Well, yeah,” he said. “But we don’t know what she and Beomgyu actually do, either.”
Kai looked up again. He was very invested in Beomgyu’s whereabouts now that they no longer lived together; partially because Beomgyu constantly sent him the most ridiculous pictures and never explained any. This morning, it was a photo of what looked like herring on a plate.
“To be fair,” he said, pointing his fork at Taehyun, “it could be related to Sociology. They never explained it.”
“Them not explaining it is exactly why I think it isn’t,” Taehyun replied.
You gathered the crumbs on your plate with the edge of your fork.
It was a known fact among your friends that Nara and Beomgyu left together every morning. Same car, same hour, every day. They came back the same way, too. They called each other ‘business partners’ and always giggled obnoxiously whenever anyone asked what they actually did.
“They are legal, though,” you said. “Right?”
Kai shrugged. “We hope so.”
“Hmm.”
You took another bite of your cake. It was still aggressively sweet and far too dense.
“Jun’s doing something with racing,” Taehyun said after a moment. He kept his gaze on his plate, but watched your reaction from the corner of his eye. “Actually think it might be something to do with data analysis, after all.”
“Mhmm.” You swallowed the chocolate. “He mentioned something.”
Taehyun lifted his head properly. “He did? To you?”
You looked up.
“He—yeah.” You paused, suddenly aware they’d both gone still. Something was rattling in the kitchen at the far edge of the canteen. “H-he lives in my building. I didn’t mention? Anyway. I think—”
“Whoa, hang on.” Taehyun raised a hand so abruptly that he nearly dropped his plate. “He lives in your building?”
Kai leaned forward, his eyebrows raised.
“Since wh—and you talk?” Taehyun added. “What the fuck?”
“What the fuck,” Kai echoed helpfully.
You reached for a napkin. The paper felt thin, almost useless, between your fingers, leaving a tear where your thumb pressed too hard.
“Yeah,” you said. “So, uh—funny story.”
Understandably, Taehyun and Kai ended up keeping you on campus a good half an hour longer than you’d planned. Your own fault, they’d said. Should’ve informed them about this Yeonjun development.
Swallowing your protests, you focused on answering their (many) questions without going into too much detail. The two of them already looked outrageously amused as it was.
✦ • ─── AUGUST 27, 2026. 4:35 PM
By the time you finally made it back to your building, the clouds had gathered overhead, thick and grey. It looked like it was going to pour.
You pushed through the lobby doors, quickening your pace. You were worried that Violet had started to feel abandoned in your flat. Or perhaps she’d already returned home through the gap in the window. Unless she got lost on the fire escape—
Yeonjun wasn’t in the lobby.
You stopped short and looked around, as though he’d decided to hide inside one of the letterboxes or behind the noticeboard.
He hadn’t.
You glanced at your phone.
To be fair, you were late. And you had told him to stop coming down here. Perhaps he’d listened.
A small flicker of disappointment tightened your chest. You clenched your hands into fists.
It annoyed you that you’d expected him to be here.
You’d never asked outright why he kept coming down in the first place. But he had, and now it had been over a week, and you found yourself lingering at the letterboxes, fingers brushing over the cool metal—waiting, without admitting you were waiting, in case he hadn’t noticed the time and was still on his way.
He was.
Not even two minutes later, the lobby doors pushed open again, the heavy frame resisting as usual. Yeonjun stumbled in, breathless, hair a mess over his forehead, one hand clutching a potted plant.
You straightened, stepping back from the letterboxes.
“Shit,” he managed between wheezes. His right hand was tangled in his jacket sleeve. “H—hi.”
“Hi,” you said, your gaze honing in on his hands. “You’ve got a fern.”
“I—” He bent slightly, bracing one hand against his hip as he lifted the small white pot, victorious. “I’ve got a fern.”
“Very nice,” you said, and waited, silently, until he’d recovered enough to move.
He pushed himself forward after a moment and joined you by the stairs. The two of you started up together, slower this time.
“Really think it’s nice?” he asked, drawing a steadier breath. His insides were burning. “Picked the greenest one.”
“Yeah,” you said, reaching out to brush your fingers lightly along one of the leaves. It was soft under your touch, but springy. “S’pretty much the main requirement.”
“I thought so,” he said, a flicker of pride in his voice. “Did you know they predate dinosaurs, by the way? Ferns. ‘Course they’ve evolved plenty since then, but still.”
“I didn’t know,” you said, a familiar smile settling on your lips. “Fascinating.”
“Hmm. There was a sale.” He tapped the yellow label on the edge of the pot. “S’why I went there—uh, today.”
He chose not to mention the calculations he’d performed to time his trip right, so he’d be back just when you returned home. The queue had ruined his plans. And the run back had nearly finished him.
You, in turn, chose not to mention waiting for him.
The two of you continued up the stairs in silence. By the time you reached the fifth floor, the rhythm of his breathing had grown unsteady again.
“Let me drop this off,” he said, hoisting the pot while his other hand rummaged through his jacket pocket for keys. “And we’ll go up for Violet.”
Nodding, you leaned against the railing, fingers tapping against the wood while he pushed the key into the lock.
You were waiting for him again, you realised.
That was not great.
“Actually,” Yeonjun said, opening the door. You looked up. “Would you mind coming in? Help me find a spot for the fern?”
You didn’t move straight away. You knew you shouldn’t.
Then you pushed off the railing anyway. “Sure.”
Yeonjun’s flat had the same layout as yours, but it felt noticeably larger. Your footsteps echoed once he shut the door.
It was the lack of furniture, you supposed. Aside from the standard built-in counters in the kitchen and a few chairs, the living room area stretched open completely bare. No sofas, no rugs, no tables. Nothing to fill the space.
The light fixtures on the ceiling looked new, though. That might’ve explained the noises you’d been hearing at night.
The curtains on the windows were in a terrible state. Half of them hung properly, but the other half draped over the frames and slumped to one side. He’d mentioned adjusting them for Violet. It looked like he’d started, then given up.
You found yourself wondering, without much reason, what Yeonjun’s parents thought about him living somewhere like this.
Then, as you turned your head towards the archway leading to the bedroom, you saw a piano tucked into the corner, partially obscured behind the wall. Its dark wood blended into the dark of the flat.
Something warm flickered through you.
“Oh.” The word slipped out before you could stop it. “You started playing again?”
Yeonjun followed your gaze as he set his keys down on the kitchen counter.
“Sometimes, yeah,” he said, shrugging out of his jacket. “Only when I’m in a good mood, though. Still pisses me off otherwise.”
You watched the piano for a second longer.
You hadn’t heard it once since he’d moved in.
“Uh…” You dragged your attention back to the living room. “Not many options where to put the fern.”
“Yeah.” He turned the pot thoughtfully in his hands. “I’m still moving in.”
“I can see that.”
Yeonjun hummed. He’d never lived alone before. Even after Soobin moved out, he’d kept to his room and didn’t touch the rest. This open space, this potential for other rooms, felt awkward to him.
He’d taken a few things from his old house—mattresses, mostly—but they hardly felt fitting here. He kept them all at the back of his bedroom.
“I don’t really know what living rooms are supposed to look like,” he admitted. “Never needed one.”
“Well,” you said, “they usually have a bit more furniture than this.”
“I assumed so.” He set the fern down on the counter and glanced towards his bedroom. “Hold on.”
He disappeared through the archway and returned a moment later, carrying a small metal table with golden detailing around the sides. It looked heavy.
“Got this in my bedroom,” he said, lowering it to the floor with a grunt. It landed with a loud thud. “The previous owners left it. Could put it here somewhere. By the curtains? I’ll sort those out, by the way, I know they’re a mess. Would that be a good spot? In the corner, there?”
You stepped closer. “Show me.”
He pushed the table across the floor. It moved with a jarring scrape that made you both wince. Abandoning the effort, he dropped it close enough to the corner and shoved the curtains aside with his forearm. Half of them shifted; the rest sagged further. One panel gave up entirely and slipped to the floor.
The room remained dim.
You stopped beside him to study the corner as he put the fern on the table. The green leaves seemed dull in the low light.
“This could work,” you said slowly. “But I hope you open the curtains in the morning. Fully, I mean.”
“Uh…” He glanced at you. “Well, what’s ‘morning’?”
You frowned. “What time do you usually wake up, then?”
“When you text me to say Violet’s at your place.”
“Oh—”
“Then I pick her up,” he continued, “and go back to sleep.”
Something in your chest clenched suddenly.
You were shaping each other’s routines now.
That was not great.
“Well,” you said, folding your arms, “it’d be good if the fern got some morning light. So maybe leave a gap in the curtains? Not directly on it, but just enough to let some light in.”
He turned back to the curtains.
They had been designed, quite deliberately, not to leave gaps—he’d made sure of that when he bought them.
He spent three minutes trying to find a way to make one. After that didn’t work, he dragged a chair over from the kitchen and wedged it between the drapes, forcing a narrow slit open.
“There,” he said at last, stepping back. “That alright? Kind of defeats the purpose of blackout curtains, but…”
“Looks okay,” you said.
A thin sliver of light cut into the room, catching the leg of the table. Small as it was, it changed the air immediately. The flat looked more alive.
“Why d’you even need blackout curtains in the living room?” you asked. “They’re meant to help you sleep.”
“I am very fascinated with the idea of living in a cave.”
You snorted. “Explains your obsession with Plato.”
He grinned, bringing a finger over the bruise Violet had left on his hand and instinctively searching for something to lean against. There was nothing.
He really didn’t have much furniture here, he realised. But, to be fair, he didn’t have many people over. He’d never needed to think about where to stand when talking to someone.
“I tried taking them down for Violet,” he said, nodding towards the uneven mess of fabric on his windows. “She didn’t care, so I hung—well, tried to hang them back up. In any case, I think I’ve got the disadvantage of that old billboard across the street. It blocks all the light.”
You glanced at the window, but the gap in the curtains wasn’t wide enough to show much.
You knew the billboard he meant anyway; it was an old wooden frame with peeling remnants of posters layered over each other. It had a habit of absorbing what little light reached it.
“Right,” you said, turning back to the fern. “Well, it should be fine here. Give it some time, see how it settles.”
He nodded. “Alright.”
You tapped your jacket pocket, searching for your keys. “Should we check on Violet?”
Yeonjun dropped his hands to his sides. “Yeah.”
The corridor was quiet when you stepped back out. The two of you moved upstairs, your shoulders brushing in the narrow stairwell.
For a few seconds, this felt perfectly normal.
The moment you noticed it, the feeling thinned.
It was really not great, you thought, this ease with him.
Not great, the way your breath kept catching in your lungs.
The last time that happened, it had taken you months to recover.
You jammed your key into the lock with unnecessary force, letting the resistance travel up your arm. The door stuck, as always. You lifted the handle and rattled it until it finally gave.
As soon as the door opened, Violet darted out of your bedroom, her paws quick and light against the floor. She locked onto Yeonjun, stopping abruptly at his ankles.
“Oh—hi, love.” He crouched down. “Have a nice day at kindergarten?”
She answered with a pleased little sound and pressed her face into his palm.
You looked past them.
The sky outside the windows was dark. Your bedroom door stood open. The sheets had been dragged halfway off your bed, trailing onto the floor. There were small holes, suspiciously shaped like paws, on your pillow.
An absurd smile pulled at your lips.
“I see she’s explored your place a bit,” Yeonjun said, glancing up.
“Yeah.” You looked back down at her. Violet blinked up, her blue gaze curious. “S’fine. I’m not hiding anything from her.”
“That’s good,” he said. “Because she will find it.”
You crouched beside him and ran your fingers over Violet’s back, her fur warm and soft. She leaned into you, inadvertently pulling Yeonjun closer. Your little finger brushed his. His hands were cold.
Swallowing, you drew your hand back.
“See you tomorrow, then,” you said, nodding at the cat. “Right, Vi?”
She turned her head towards you and let out a soft, agreeable meow.
You stood, brushing your hands lightly against your dark trousers.
Yeonjun gathered Violet into his arms and stood up, too. She rested her head against his wrist.
“Let’s see if I can recreate this setup,” he said, nodding towards your flat, “with my sole fern.”
“No direct sunlight,” you reminded him.
“I’ll try.” He pivoted towards the stairs. Violet blinked slowly at you from the crook of his arm. “If it’s dead tomorrow, though, that’s on you.”
“It won’t be dead tomorrow,” you called after him. “I trust Violet to keep an eye on it.”
Violet meowed obediently at the sound of her name. You snickered.
Yeonjun paused on the stairs just long enough to catch it, then gave you a brief wave as he reached the turn and continued down.
You watched him go.
✦ • ─── AUGUST 28, 2026. 6:55 AM
On Friday, following your newly established routine, you left Violet in her usual spot, pawing idly at your monstera. Her fur was a little wet; it was raining outside. You filled her bowls, checked the window latch, and set off for university.
Unlike your established routine, you were back two hours later.
Professor Lee had mentioned a book he needed for his research on incarcerated adolescents: Erikson’s Identity, Youth and Crisis. He said it’d been checked out of the library.
You had an interest in the formation of identity—less about being incarcerated, though—and happened to own a copy. Still too eager to be helpful, you offered to fetch it for him.
And so, you barged through the door of your flat just before midday, startling Violet out of her wits. She bolted from your bedroom—her new playground, apparently—back arched, eyes wide with alarm.
“Hey,” you said, breathless, as you shut the door behind you. “Did I scare you? I’m sorry.”
She stared at you from a careful distance, assessing whether you deserved her forgiveness.
You dropped your umbrella to the floor and lowered yourself into a squat, lungs still tight. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw that your wardrobe doors were open in your bedroom. You’d definitely closed them before you left.
“I just popped in to grab a book,” you explained softly, extending your hand. “S’why I’m back. And what’s your excuse for going through my wardrobe?”
Violet approached and pressed her face into your palm with a small purr. She accepted your apology and did not think she owed you any explanations.
You scratched under her chin, briefly captivated by the fine wisps of hair above her eyes. God, she was beautiful. Then you stood.
Once you stepped into your bedroom, you saw precisely what had kept Violet busy.
She’d found the box at the bottom of your wardrobe and lovingly redistributed everything across the floor. Old keychains, small trinkets, and empty picture frames were all scattered around your bed.
The black woollen scarf hung on the edge of the box. You could see the wrong side of the golden stitching on the corner.
The hippo plushie lay slightly apart from the rest. Its once vibrant grey had faded into a softer white.
You watched it for a minute.
It had been over a year now since Yeonjun had taken you to the zoo. And yet, you could recall that trip with near-perfect accuracy: the angry peacocks, the silly pictures with the camels, the gift shop.
And the giraffe, the other half of the pair.
He’d kept it.
Violet meowed questioningly behind you. You snapped out of the brief trance and turned to her, offering her a small smile.
“Right,” you said. The room was cold from the open window, a little drafty. “Let’s get the book, yeah?”
Violet followed you to the bookshelf. Your heart banged against your chest as you squatted to scan the lower rows.
Why had you kept the scarf and the toy?
It wasn’t because you loved Madagascar exceptionally much. And it definitely wasn’t because you’d wanted to wear Yeonjun’s scarf again.
It wasn’t because you’d forgotten them, either. You vividly remembered unpacking after New York, jet-lagged and disoriented, standing in the middle of your empty flat with your entire life still zipped into suitcases. You remembered finding the scarf—and remembered the brief flash of thought that followed: you’d wanted to run into Yeonjun.
You hadn’t been sleeping for those first two weeks back, and the noises in your head were very loud. You hadn’t been thinking clearly.
You supposed you’d wanted to see him just to reassure yourself that he had been real. Maybe to return the scarf, too.
You let out a deep breath.
Now that you’ve actually seen him, none of your thoughts made sense.
A little lightheaded, you finally spotted the red spine of the book and pulled it free from the shelf. Violet stepped closer, intrigued by the new object. You could still see the scarf out of the corner of your eye.
Had you kept it for the memories, then?
To relive everything now that it was safely contained inside a box that you could open and close at will?
But reliving everything meant reliving everything.
You sat down on the edge of your bed.
Back then, fresh from nine months in a city you didn’t know, you might’ve clung to everything that was familiar. Everything you could recognise without thinking about it. You’d even salvaged all of Reina’s doodles that she’d left on napkins all around your flat.
But you were home now.
And Yeonjun lived downstairs.
And you were seeing him in the lobby—and seeing him there again. And again, and again.
You were talking to him now.
Trying his peach cobbler.
Helping him with his fern.
Looking after his cat.
You inhaled sharply, your hand instinctively settling on Violet’s soft back. Your fingers moved slowly along her spine, tracing the soft brown patches, then the darker ones.
She shouldn’t have been here.
You thought you didn’t mind. Didn’t care.
But you did care.
Cared so much, in fact, that you could hardly take another breath.
It had been a monumental mistake, those two weeks with Yeonjun. Had they taken only your pride, perhaps you might’ve been fine now.
But they hadn’t.
You’d spent months thinking about his reasons for ending it and walking away. Months, thinking about what you could’ve done differently so that he would’ve stayed despite those reasons.
You felt uncomfortable about those thoughts now. You were supposed to be fine.
You sat on your bed for a minute longer, staring at the corner of the room, with Violet quiet by your side.
You wouldn’t relive it.
There wasn’t much you could do to change Violet’s ways—she was a cat, she went where she wanted—but you could still change yours.
✦ • ─── AUGUST 28, 2026. 1 PM
Your traditional lunch with Reina stretched far past the point of reason.
You’d gone over to hers to help her pick a dress for the engagement party tomorrow—quickly, before Soobin got home from work. Not long after, Nara came over to join you. She’d recently dyed her hair light pink and wore a golden necklace with a bear pendant. She’d made this one herself, too.
You spent the first half an hour eating noodles and talking about her jewellery. And, an hour later, the three of you were still sitting on Reina’s sofa, on your second glasses of wine.
Soobin had called Reina five times in the past twenty minutes. Reina’s uncanny sixth sense must’ve rubbed off on him; he sensed that she was planning some sort of surprise.
She let the first three calls ring out. Then she answered the fourth with a voice she assumed was casual, but actually sounded a little like she was being strangled.
By the fifth call, she admitted she was choosing the dress for the party.
Soobin said he was coming home immediately.
Laughing, you stood to gather the dresses and cram them back into her wardrobe. Nara, meanwhile, tried to help her hang up by feigning a crisis (dark red wine on Soobin’s grey carpet).
“I genuinely don’t know what we’ll do when it’s your actual wedding,” you said, once Reina finally tossed her phone onto the sofa. “When he’s not supposed to see you before you walk down the aisle.”
Nara picked up the glasses from the table and carried them to the sink.
“Maybe,” she said, “we could convince him to wear the dress instead.”
“Oh, yeah,” you said. “But then Reina will be the one trying to get a glimpse of him before the wedding.”
Reina sighed, slumping onto the sofa and holding out her wrists. “You’re right. We’re doomed. Just lock me up.”
You laughed again and joined Nara in the kitchen to finish tidying up.
By the time you left, you were in a good enough mood to forget the tremor in your hands.
Yet, back on campus, the day refused to settle.
Professor Lee’s office seemed to have a revolving door today. People came and stayed, stayed and talked, talked and drank coffee. They wanted to know how your first lecture went, how New York was, what the topic of your dissertation would be. You were fairly certain someone had asked about the colour of your socks, too, though you couldn’t remember.
When you finally staggered back home that afternoon, your hands were as heavy as the lobby doors. Your hair was wet from the rain (you’d left your umbrella at home when you stopped for the book), water dripping from your jacket onto the tiles.
Yeonjun was there.
He stood in his usual spot by the letterboxes, his phone pressed to his ear. He looked up as the door shut. No glasses today.
“Gotta go now,” he said into the phone, already turning towards you. “Yeah—sure. Yeah. Okay. Bye.”
He slid the phone into the pocket of his jeans before you could decide whether to acknowledge him or try walking past.
“Soobin,” he explained, tapping his pocket.
“Ah,” you said. “Getting ready for tomorrow?”
He exhaled and nodded. Ever since Soobin had determined that Yeonjun was functioning well enough, he’d been on the phone with him every day for at least forty minutes at a time.
“He’s spiralling about whether to wear a tie or a bow,” Yeonjun said. “Beomgyu voted tie, but Bin thinks it’s too much. It—it’s a whole thing.”
“Hmm.” You started towards the stairs. “Reina’s stressed about her outfit, too. It’s good, though, that this is their biggest problem.”
“Yeah.” He fell into step beside you, as easily as before. Something sharp pinched at your stomach. “M’happy for them. But, uh—still fucks with me that they’re engaged. I remember Bin losing it before their first date—he was dry-heaving on the bathroom floor. Feels like that was a few weeks ago.”
“Yeah.”
You remembered talking to Yeonjun about Reina and Soobin before. Remembered sitting across from him at that Italian restaurant—Linguini’s, your mind supplied helpfully. With Edgar, the waiter, and that piano player with hands growing out of his ass.
“Time’s strange like that,” you added, your throat dry.
“Mm.” Yeonjun’s throat felt dry as well, though for a different reason. “So, um—about tomorrow.”
You sensed the shift before he even said anything.
“Would you…” He trailed off, opting for a different approach. “I mean—we could, uh—go to the party together.”
Your heartbeat jolted, sharp against your ribs.
You reached out a hand to the wall to steady your balance.
“I’ve got to go there early,” you said, fingers tracing the uneven layers of paint. “Need to help Reina get ready. We’ve got a—kind of a ritual. Wouldn’t be good to break it on a day like this.”
“Oh, yeah,” Yeonjun said, nodding quickly. “Makes sense. Can’t break rituals. But I mean, I wouldn’t mind going early, too. Not to help Reina, but, uh—”
“Yeonjun.”
He looked up. “Hm?”
You’d stopped on the third-floor landing. Your hands, you realised, were shaking worse than before.
“Let’s not do this,” you said.
He visibly recoiled.
His jaw tightened, hands disappearing into the front pocket of his dark blue jumper.
“What are we doing?” he asked.
“This,” you said, gesturing between you. Your voice reached him as though from underwater: low and muffled. “Going places together. Let’s—let’s not.”
The landing felt smaller suddenly, and airless. The peeling paint on the walls beside you seemed to curl downwards in your peripheral vision.
“What’s wrong with that?” he asked.
“If you don’t know, I doubt I can help yo—”
“You can,” he said, sharper now, “by answering the question. Why can’t we go places together?”
You felt a pang of irritation at his tone.
A torrent of words teemed on the tip of your tongue, all of your past history: from the casual we’re-just-playing dating, to the serious it-had-not-felt-like-a-bet goodbye.
You could have unleashed it, you knew.
But you also knew what it would sound like. Knew what it would reveal.
You didn’t think you wanted him to hear it.
“We’ve already tried that before,” you said. “Hasn’t gone well, has it?”
Yeonjun swallowed. His throat felt full of sand.
He watched your wet hair for a moment and couldn’t help remembering that last day he’d talked to you, in the parking lot by the Social Sciences building.
He’d left you in the rain and driven off.
“That—well, that was—” He tried to grab onto a sentence, or even a word, and took a sharp breath. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
You turned towards the next flight of stairs. “Nothing to talk about.”
A frustrated breath left him. “Don’t do that.”
You scoffed. “What am I doing?”
“Acting like nothing means anything. Looking for some angle. Some ulterior mo—”
“No.” The word was clean and brittle. “I stopped looking when I found it.”
Yeonjun shut his eyes for a moment, pausing on the topmost step.
He knew the scheme would come up. He just hadn’t expected to be standing in the middle of the stairwell when it did.
“That’s exactly what we should talk about,” he said.
“Well, then we already have.”
“No, we haven’t,” he insisted. “That wasn’t—I was just—there were things happening that aren’t… they’re not happening anymore. I can talk about them now.”
You stopped—abruptly enough that he nearly missed a step and landed at your feet.
“Can you?” you shot back. “What does any of that even mean, ‘there were things happening’?”
Yeonjun had wanted to have this conversation with you, but hadn’t planned for it to happen like this.
He wanted, a little bit, to back out now. To rewind the time. Honestly, to have never been born.
“It—it’s a long story,” he said. He pulled his hands from his pocket, then shoved one back in, restless. “But I want to tell you.”
You studied him for a long moment.
Then you faced the stairs again.
“No.”
He couldn’t process the word. “No?”
“Think I’ve heard enough of your stories.”
The finality in your voice startled him.
He’d known better than to expect anything easy from you. But you were talking to him now. Joking with him. Smiling sometimes.
He thought the two of you were better.
He bounded up three steps to catch up.
“But it’s important.” His hand shot out on instinct, fingers closing around your wrist. “It—”
You stopped mid-step, startled more by the coldness of his hands than the touch itself.
He let go right away, but the brief contact was enough to send something electric through you both. You resented that your first instinct was to reach back. To warm him.
You weren’t sure you were breathing.
“I want to explain everything,” he said.
Slowly, you folded your arms across your chest.
He looked unsure and a little scared. You felt something inside you waver.
Maybe you should talk.
Maybe he should explain, and you should listen.
“Why?” you asked.
“Well, because it—because everything that happened was my fault,” he said, and you heard it in his voice—the I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry he’d kept repeating as he walked away from you, without an explanation, the last time.
“And what is it that happened?” you asked, jaw tightening.
“Everything,” he said. He felt each of your questions like a punch in the gut. “Us. And—you leaving for New York.”
Your eyes narrowed. “What’s me leaving got to do with anything?”
Yeonjun blinked down at the stairs.
This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.
“It—well, it was all happening at the same time, I don’t know,” he said, his gaze flicking, momentarily, to your face, then dropping again. “I—okay. Can we just talk about it? All of it.”
“We are talking about it.”
“No,” he said. “We’re talking around it.”
You dropped your hands to your sides.
“Right,” you said.
He looked up, hopeful despite his better instincts. You weren’t looking at him.
You didn’t want him to explain.
You wanted there to be nothing to explain. Wanted him not to have walked away that day.
You continued up the stairs. “Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about or around it at all, then.”
Groaning, he followed after you. “Why not?”
“Because I’m not doing this again.”
“Not doing what?”
“This.” Your voice rose despite yourself, instinctively matching his. “Arguing and explaining and playing games. I’m done wi—”
“I’m not playing games, though!” he cut in. His hands flew up, then faltered, fingers pushing back through his hair. “I—I’m not. I mean that. I meant it before, too.”
You paused again, your chest constricting, as if something inside was being forcibly pried open. It pinned you down to the floor. You could feel yourself start swaying faintly on your feet.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The stairwell did not know what to do with this silence. It stretched between you until it echoed in your ears.
You glanced up towards your floor, then down again, twisting the ring on your index finger.
This was enough.
“Look,” you said, in a voice so level and calm that Yeonjun didn’t recognise it at first. “Technically, we’re only talking because of Violet. Or because we’re neighbours. That’s all. And that’s all we’re ever going to talk about. Is that alright with you?”
For a second, Yeonjun simply stared at you.
He realised his mistake.
The more time that he’d spent around you, falling into these small routines, the more he’d taken it as a sign. Convinced himself that he could fix this. That you’d let him.
His wounds, he realised, had closed when he saw you.
But yours had opened.
“No,” he said finally. “S’not alright. But I get it. You don’t want to talk.”
You didn’t. But you found yourself itching to say something else. Felt the words rise, desperate and frightened on the tip of your tongue. You swallowed them down and turned back.
Quietly, Yeonjun followed.
At your door, he watched you wrestle with the lock. Watched the key catch, then slip out. Watched it struggle to turn. You adjusted your grip and pushed your shoulder into the frame.
The door opened.
Violet was already sitting on the threshold, as though she’d been listening. Her white tail flicked slowly side to side, her blue eyes bright and expectant.
You stepped back.
Yeonjun moved forward and scooped her up. He offered her no greeting. She didn’t dare breathe a meow in response.
