03JYH23 Presents: The Ateez Diaries, a 2k followers Vampire Special 🩸
Seonghwa has lived too long. He’s weary, detached, and drifting through the decades with the quiet grace of a bygone era, speaking in the polite, formal cadence of the old world. Sitting in a dim New Orleans jazz club, swirling his bourbon, he’s merely existing—until you walk through the door. In a world full of noise, you are the first thing in a century that makes his immortal, tired heart actually want to beat again.
➢ vampire!seonghwa x human!reader | ➢ supernatural au, vampire au, angst, love at first sight | ➢ compulsion, loneliness, references to death/mortality | ➢ 8k | ➢ master list | ➢ i was writing it with my window open wide and raindrops banging on my windowsill; summer turned a little rainy on my part of the earth. this one is a little different, it focuses more on seonghwa than the reader, but i hope you'll like it 🌧️🖤
ㅤㅤㅤThe bourbon was older than the young man who poured it.
Seonghwa turned the crystal tumbler between his fingers, watching amber liquor catch the low light of the brass lamps. It moved lazily, painting gold against cut glass before settling once more into perfect stillness. He found himself envying it.
Even whiskey, eventually, reached the bottom of the glass.
The jazz club had changed names three times since he first discovered it. The wallpaper was new. The velvet had been replaced. Smoking had become a memory rather than a haze that lingered beneath the chandeliers. Yet it still smelled the same. Mahogany polished until it gleamed beneath dim light. Bourbon rich enough to burn sweetly. Expensive perfume woven through the room like invisible silk. Rain carried in on tailored coats each time the front door opened.
New Orleans had always smelled alive.
He supposed that was why he’d returned. Not for nostalgia. Not for absolution, simply because endings ought to know where they belong. His had begun here. Nearly three centuries ago, beneath a sky swollen with summer storms, in a city that welcomed monsters as easily as saints. He had arrived a frightened young man with a beating heart. He had left with neither.
A quiet melody drifted from the stage as the pianist surrendered to the saxophone. Applause rose, polite and restrained, before dissolving into murmured conversation, crystal clinked against crystal.
Seonghwa inclined his head in silent thanks as his drink was served. “Much obliged.”
The bartender smiled, unaware that the gentleman thanking him had witnessed Napoleon’s empire rise and fall before his great-grandfather had drawn his first breath. People rarely looked twice at old manners, they simply assumed old money… if only wealth were the strangest thing he possessed.
Seonghwa lifted the glass, more from habit than desire, the bourbon no longer intoxicated him. Neither did music. Nor beauty. Nor the passing of seasons. Time had sanded every sharp edge from existence until centuries blurred into one another with exhausting grace. Faces faded, cities transformed, empires crumbled into museum exhibits, lovers became names carved into stone.
For fifty-three years, one thought had accompanied Seonghwa with unwavering devotion.
Enough.
Not desperation, not grief. Merely certainty that he had lived long enough to become a relic wandering through a world that no longer required remembering.
Outside, thunder rolled somewhere beyond the Mississippi. Inside, a woman laughed three tables away. She was young, perhaps twenty-five. She threw her head back with the careless abandon reserved for those who had not yet learned how quickly years accumulated. Seonghwa watched her for a moment, not because she fascinated him but because once upon a time he had believed laughter sounded eternal. Now he knew better. Give it twenty years, the corners of her eyes would soften first. Another ten, perhaps fifteen, and silver would begin collecting discreetly at her temples.
Then, inevitably… Someone would attend her funeral.
He lowered his gaze to the bourbon. Everyone became a memory eventually, Seonghwa simply remained long enough to remember them. Grief had once been a violent thing, he remembered weeping until sunrise over faces whose names he could no longer recall. Now grief resembled old velvet: it was soft, heavy, constant enough that he only noticed its absence.
The quartet played beautifully, Seonghwa knew because he remembered when the song had first been written. He remembered hearing it played badly in crowded rooms thick with cigar smoke. He remembered the man who had once claimed, with complete confidence, that jazz would never survive another decade. He had been buried for almost a century. The music remained. As did Seonghwa. Against both their wishes.
“Another bourbon, sir?” The young man could not have been more than thirty. Crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to the forearms, a smile practiced enough to appear effortless. There was youth in his face—not merely in smooth skin, but in certainty that tomorrow would arrive because it always had.
“If you would be so kind.”
The bartender inclined his head and reached for the bottle, “You’ve hardly touched this one.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Seonghwa’s mouth. “No,” his voice was soft, warm despite the years it carried. “I seldom do.” The explanation seemed enough, the bartender simply nodded before replacing the bottle and drifting toward another patron. People rarely questioned peculiarities when accompanied by impeccable manners. They invented explanations kinder than the truth: old money, an eccentric collector, a lonely widower. Any of those fit more comfortably than monster. Seonghwa rested two fingers against the cool crystal once more. The bourbon smelled of oak, vanilla, and smoke. He remembered when whiskey had been harsher, remembered when it had been poured into rough clay cups by men with dirt beneath their fingernails and hope in their eyes. He remembered the first distillery he’d ever visited, the owner had insisted his son would inherit it. Neither man survived the fever that winter. The distillery did, and it still produced award-winning bottles.
Time had a peculiar sense of humor.
Seonghwa’s eyes wandered lazily across the room, the club breathed around him. Conversation rose and fell, never loud enough to intrude upon the quartet tucked into the corner beneath crimson curtains. Couples leaned close enough to become silhouettes rather than individuals. A businessman loosened his tie as he laughed, an elderly woman, draped in emerald silk and pearls, tapped one gloved finger against her glass in perfect rhythm with the music.
Life.
Everywhere.
Ordinary.
Fragile.
Beautiful.
Seonghwa had once believed beauty could become ordinary only through abundance. He had been wrong. It became ordinary through repetition. The first sunrise after his turning had stolen every word from his mouth, three centuries later he scarcely looked toward the horizon. He had witnessed cathedrals rise stone by stone, wars begin over pride and end in silence. He had danced in ballrooms illuminated by thousands of candles, crossed oceans beneath sails, watched electricity replace fire, watched horse-drawn carriages surrender to automobiles, telegrams to telephones, letters to glowing screens small enough to fit within a pocket.
Humanity insisted upon moving forward. Only he remained. Always arriving. Never belonging.
Another woman laughed somewhere behind him, bright and unrestrained. Laughter had become strangely predictable over the centuries, Seonghwa could hear affection in its cadence. Hear uncertainty, the careful politeness reserved for strangers and the careless joy shared between old friends. There had been a time when he memorised voices. There had been lovers whose laughter alone could draw him from another room.
Now...
Now voices dissolved together, becoming part of the same endless symphony that accompanied every city, every century. He could scarcely remember the sound of the first woman he’d ever loved. He remembered her eyes, remembered the warmth of her hand. He remembered the way grief had hollowed him when the war took her away from him.
Her laugh… time had stolen that.
Perhaps that had been its cruelest theft, not lives but memories. A mortal lost someone and mourned them for decades, an immortal mourned until memory itself began to fray.
What remained after three hundred years?
Seonghwa closed his eyes briefly.
There had been so many names, perhaps too many. If he allowed himself, he could still recite them, not because he wished to remember but because he feared the day he no longer could. His maker, his first friend after the turning, the pianist who had hidden him during a fever epidemic, the child who had insisted he looked lonely and offered him half of her sugared pastry before running back to her mother. Soldiers, artists, priests, sinners, lovers, enemies. Every one of them beneath the earth, reduced to dates carved into stone. Except him. The realisation no longer hurt, pain required sharpness, and his had long ago worn smooth. It settled inside him instead, constant enough that he noticed only when, for the briefest of moments, it lifted. Seonghwa could not remember the last time that had happened. Perhaps fifty years, perhaps longer, the decades had begun bleeding into one another sometime before the twentieth century. He marked them now not by calendars, but by funerals, by the buildings that vanished from familiar streets, by the faces that stopped appearing. He had become intimately acquainted with disappearance.
It was why New Orleans had called him back. The city had taken almost everything from him. It had also given him eternity.
How strange that the two should prove inseparable.
His gaze drifted toward the rain-speckled window. Beyond the glass, the streets shimmered beneath gaslight-shaped electric lamps, reflections trembling in puddles left by an evening storm. The French Quarter wore time differently than other places. It accepted change the way old aristocrats accepted wrinkles—with dignity and no expectation of reclaiming youth. Some cities forgot, New Orleans remembered. Perhaps that was why he had returned, not to relive the beginning but simply to decide whether he wished to witness another ending. His time has come. He had seen everything he had once longed to see, loved more deeply than he believed possible, buried everyone he had ever sworn never to lose.
If eternity was a gift, it had become one left unopened. No. That wasn't true. It had been opened.
Admired.
Treasured.
And, eventually, outlived.
Seonghwa wondered—not for the first time—whether the heart could simply grow tired in ways the body never would.
The quartet drifted into another song, someone near the stage applauded softly, rain whispered against the windows. And Seonghwa, elegant as a portrait left hanging in a house that no longer belonged to its owners, sat alone with a drink he would never finish, waiting for nothing at all.
Or so he believed.
The resolve he needed to end it all felt closer tonight than it had in decades. He could simply leave his daylight ring, walk out and wait on a secluded balcony for the unforgiving New Orleans sun to burn away the centuries. It would be a quiet conclusion to a loud existence.
The old oak door groaned on its hinges, a draft slipped into the room, cool with rain, carrying the scent of wet pavement. Someone laughed near the entrance, someone apologised for dripping water onto the hardwood floor, the quartet never missed a note. Nothing remarkable had happened.
And yet—
Seonghwa frowned.
It was... quiet.
No.
Not the room.
Himself.
For the first time in longer than he cared to calculate, the incessant drone inside his mind—the endless procession of memory and melancholy—had fallen still. The silence was so unfamiliar that he found himself searching for its cause. His fingers loosened around the crystal glass. An odd sensation unfurled beneath his ribs, not pain, nor hunger. Something... remembered. His brow knit almost imperceptibly.
Impossible.
He had not possessed a heartbeat in nearly three centuries. Yet, for the briefest instant, he could have sworn he felt the phantom echo of one.
Once.
Slow.
Heavy.
Then nothing.
His hand stilled entirely.
“...Sir?”
The bartender stood beside him, a bottle poised politely in one hand.
“Pardon?”
“You were saying something.”
Seonghwa blinked.
Had he?
“I beg your pardon,” he replied, smoothing invisible creases from his cuff. “I fear my thoughts wandered.”
“They’ll do that in this place,” the bartender smiled before moving on, Seonghwa remained motionless. That...
...had never happened before.
He had mistaken many things across the centuries: grief for love, loneliness for desire, habit for purpose. But never this, his body did not forget itself. It did not invent sensations, and it certainly did not… he almost laughed.
Heartbeat.
How absurd that he was allowing nostalgia to masquerade as memory. New Orleans had always been dangerous in that regard. He was simply tired, that was all.
He lifted the glass, the bourbon reaching his lips yet he didn’t drink. Someone had entered his peripheral vision, he paid them no mind. A woman removed her raincoat near the entrance, shaking droplets from the dark fabric before offering an apologetic smile to the hostess. She laughed at something the older woman said, warm and unforced. The sound drifted across the room with impossible clarity, threading effortlessly between the saxophone and the murmured conversations. Seonghwa’s fingers tightened around the crystal.
No, not the laugh.
The feeling.
There it was again, that impossible pressure beneath his ribs.
A second phantom heartbeat.
Then another.
Slow.
Measured.
His eyes lifted before permission could be granted.
The movement startled him, it was instinct, his gaze crossed the room and it found you immediately. Not because you demanded attention, quite the opposite. You weren’t trying, you stood beneath the warm glow of the entrance lamps, one hand tucked into the belt of your coat while the hostess spoke animatedly to you. Rain had kissed loose strands of hair that framed your face animated by easy expressions—curious eyes, a crooked smile offered without calculation, the sort of smile that belonged to someone who still believed strangers might become friends before the evening was over.
There was nothing theatrical about you, nothing that should have undone three centuries of impeccable composure. You were simply… Alive. Not in the way every mortal was alive. There was a peculiar brightness to you, as though the world had not yet succeeded in convincing you to dull yourself for its comfort. You looked at people when they spoke as if every story mattered, as if every passing moment deserved to be witnessed. Seonghwa had forgotten such people existed. The realisation struck him because he had once been one of them. Long before hunger, long before blood, long before eternity had taught him that every bright thing was destined to fade. You thanked the hostess with a touch to the older woman’s arm.
Such a small gesture.
So inconsequential.
And Seonghwa felt something inside him fracture, not painfully. Quietly, like ice surrendering to the first warmth of spring. His immortal existence had been defined by one unwavering truth. Everything ended: cities, kingdoms, families, love. Even grief, if given enough centuries. Yet as he watched you smile at a stranger… A thought entered his mind that had not visited him in over fifty years.
Perhaps not tonight.
His fingers slowly released the glass.
For the first time in decades tomorrow did not feel like a sentence.
Seonghwa did not realize he was watching until you began walking toward him, well not toward him. Toward the empty seat beside him.
Of course.
The rest of the bar had filled sometime during the evening, every velvet stool occupied save the one at his right. You slowed, glancing first at the vacant chair before turning those impossibly attentive eyes upon him. “Excuse me,” your voice was softer than he’d expected. “Is this seat taken?”
For the briefest moment, Seonghwa forgot language, a ridiculous thing. He spoke six languages with varying degrees of fluency. Yet a simple question seemed to catch somewhere between thought and speech. He rose instinctively, one hand resting lightly against the back of the chair. “It is not,” his voice emerged calm, and measured. “If it would please you.”
A smile, small and grateful. “Thank you.”
The bartender appeared almost immediately. “What can I get you?”
“A dirty martini,” you paused, “...extra olives.”
“Coming right up.”
The exchange lasted mere seconds. Seonghwa stared fixedly ahead, he had perfected stillness centuries ago, he would not be discourteous enough to stare. Nor discourteous enough to acknowledge the peculiar awareness that now occupied every one of his senses. Coldness reached him first, not unpleasant, not the biting chill of winter, rather the lingering coolness left behind by rain, clinging to damp skin and fabric. It radiated gently from you, dissolving against the warmth of the crowded room.
Then—
Your scent.
His eyes closed, only for an instant. Rainwater, jasmine. Something impossibly soft... vanilla, perhaps.
No.
Not vanilla.
Books, old paper. The faint sweetness of aging pages.
Beneath it all… you. Every mortal carried a scent no perfume could disguise Blood, life, and warmth. His kind often described it crudely: hunger. Seonghwa had always found that description lacking, blood did not merely smell of sustenance. It smelled of memory. Of childhood scraped knees, of racing hearts before first kisses, of laughter that stole one’s breath, of tears, of fear. Of every beautiful, fleeting thing reserved for those destined to die.
Yours...
God.
He had never encountered anything quite like it. Not sweeter, not stronger. Simply… familiar. Like hearing a melody one had loved long ago without remembering where. Something inside him leaned toward it before his body could object, his fingers tightened against the crystal tumbler.
No.
Absolutely not.
He had spent nearly three centuries mastering every instinct that separated predator from gentleman. He would not falter now, not over one woman, not over a scent. He lowered the bourbon to the polished wood with deliberate care, the glass did not tremble. His hands never did, only his thoughts.
Beside him, you thanked the bartender as your martini was set upon its coaster. “Perfect,” you plucked one olive free with the little silver pick, smiling to yourself before taking a sip. “...Mmm.” The quiet sound of satisfaction drew his attention despite every effort to remain detached. Seonghwa looked, just once. You caught him. There was no accusation in your expression, no embarrassment, only amused curiosity. “Good bourbon?” The question arrived lightly, conversationally.
Seonghwa regarded his untouched glass. “I could not honestly say.”
One elegant brow lifted. “No?”
“I’ve yet to drink it.”
You looked from the nearly full bourbon...
...to him.
“...Then why order it?”
For the first time that evening—
for the first time in what felt like an age—
the corner of Seonghwa’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t merely polite. It was small and almost imperceptible, but real. “I’m beginning to suspect,” he said quietly, “that was the question all along.”
You blinked. Then laughed. It was nothing like the laughter echoing from the tables behind you. Yours came quietly, escaping before you could stop it, accompanied by the smallest shake of your head. “That’s... incredibly cryptic.”
“I’ve been told as much.”
“Frequently?”
“Once or twice,” the answer was delivered with such unwavering sincerity that you couldn’t tell whether he was joking. You studied him from the corner of her eye. Everything about him felt... curated. Not artificial, rather intentional. His suit fit as though it had been tailored for him alone, silver cufflinks caught the warm light whenever he moved his hands, though he scarcely moved at all. His posture remained impossibly straight without seeming rigid, shoulders relaxed, one hand resting lightly beside the untouched tumbler. Even the way he occupied silence felt practiced, comfortable. Most people rushed to fill it. He simply... existed within it.
“You know,” you said after another sip of your martini, “I almost didn’t come tonight.”
“Indeed?”
“Mhm,” you rolled the olive between your teeth before setting the pick back down. “I've had one of those weeks where staying home in pyjamas sounds infinitely more appealing than putting on heels.”
“I confess I know very little of high heels.”
Another smile threatened on your face, “I would’ve never guessed.”
“No.”
You glanced at him fully this time, his expression remained composed, yet there was something so perfectly dry in his delivery that you laughed again. “You’re funnier than you let on.”
“I assure you, that was not my intention.”
“Oh, I think it was.”
Seonghwa inclined his head ever so slightly. “You are entitled to your suspicions.”
God.
Who talked like that?
Not in an affected way, not like someone performing sophistication. It sounded... natural. As though every sentence had been assembled with care before it ever reached his lips. You wondered how old he was. Mid-thirties, perhaps. Older? It was impossible to tell. There wasn’t a single line on his face, yet there was something profoundly settled about him. A patience you’d only ever seen in elderly professors or grandparents who had nothing left to prove.
“You aren’t from around here.”
His gaze drifted toward the quartet, “I was.”
“Were?”
“A very long time ago.”
You smiled, “So... college?”
A pause.
“...Something like that.”
Seonghwa hated lying but it had become necessary centuries ago. Not because he feared discovery but because the truth burdened others more than falsehood burdened him.
How old are you?
Three hundred and eight.
Where are you from?
A country whose borders no longer exist.
Do you have family?
Not anymore.
The answers had only ever invited pity or disbelief. Tonight… he found himself wishing he could answer honestly. He could not understand why.
“I come here every Thursday,” you said, swirling your martini absentmindedly. “Well... almost every Thursday.”
“A habit?”
“I like routines,” you shrugged, taking another sip of the liquor from the crystal glass. “They make life feel less chaotic.”
Seonghwa’s eyes settled on you once more. “What an extraordinary privilege.”
You frowned. “...Routine?”
“To believe there shall be enough tomorrows to justify one,” the words escaped before he could stop them. Silence followed but not awkwardly.
You looked down into the clear liquid of your drink. “...That’s a sad way of looking at it.”
“Is it?”
“I think so.”
“Why?”
You rested your elbow against the bar. “Because tomorrow isn’t promised.”
“No.”
“So I’d rather have a Thursday tradition than spend every Thursday wondering whether there’s any point.” His gaze remained fixed upon you. You continued, unaware that every word was lodging somewhere deep inside him. “I mean…” You smiled sheepishly. “Maybe that’s naive.”
“No,” his answer came immediately. “...It is not."
You looked surprised by the certainty in his voice. “I think people overcomplicate happiness,” you went on. “Everyone’s chasing these huge life-changing moments,” you gestured vaguely around the room before continuing. “But sometimes...” Your eyes wandered toward the stage, where the saxophonist had begun a slow, aching solo. “...Sometimes it’s just this.”
“The music?”
You nodded. “And the rain outside. A martini,” you lifted your glass. “The extra olives,” a grin tugged at the corner of your mouth. “And accidentally making conversation with the mysterious bourbon guy who apparently buys drinks for decorative purposes.”
For a heartbeat—
a real one, or the phantom of one—
Seonghwa forgot to breathe.
Not because of the joke. Because of the ease with which you occupied the moment. That was what unsettled him most. Not your smile, not your warmth, not even the strange, impossible pull that seemed to draw him toward you despite every instinct he had spent centuries mastering. It was the simplicity of it. You had entered his evening as naturally as the rain had entered the streets outside. You had taken a place beside him as though you belonged there, as though his silence was not something to be feared or filled, but merely something that could exist beside another person.
As though loneliness was not an inevitable fate.
As though it could simply...
be interrupted.
The thought was absurd. And yet, his gaze drifted toward the untouched bourbon resting before him. For decades, he had ordered drinks he never intended to finish. A glass in his hand made him appear human enough; a small performance of normalcy he had perfected long ago. But tonight—
Tonight, he reached for it.
The crystal was cool beneath his fingers. Slowly, almost cautiously, Seonghwa lifted the glass to his lips. The bourbon was familiar, he knew every note of it before it even touched his tongue. The richness of oak, the faint sweetness of vanilla, the sharp warmth of alcohol that lingered afterward. But memory was not the same as experience. For so long, everything had simply passed through him. Music, food, seasons, years. Beautiful things had become distant reflections, things he remembered enjoying rather than things he could still enjoy. But this—
This was different. The burn was real, the warmth was real. For one brief moment, the world reached him.
Beside him, you watched the amber liquid disappear past his lips, your expression brightening with satisfaction. “Look at that,” your smile turned teasing. “The spell is broken.”
Seonghwa lowered the glass, placing it carefully against the dark mahogany. “It would appear so.”
You rested your chin in your hand, looking at him with amusement. “And who, exactly, deserves credit for such a miraculous achievement?”
His gaze moved toward you. For a moment, he had no answer. Not because he did not know but because the truth felt far too vulnerable to say. “My companion.”
Your brows lifted. “Oh?”
“Indeed.”
“And what did I do?”
The question was asked lightly but Seonghwa found himself considering it with more seriousness than it deserved. You had not done anything extraordinary, you had not performed some impossible feat. You had simply sat beside him. You had spoken. You had laughed. You had treated him as though he were not something separate from the world.
“You reminded me,” he said quietly, “of the value of an evening.” His fingers rested against the edge of the glass. “An art I fear I had entirely forgotten.”
For once, you did not immediately tease him, you only watched him. Then, slowly, a smile appeared. “Are you always this formal?”
Seonghwa inclined his head slightly. “I was taught it was discourteous to be otherwise.”
A soft laugh escaped you, a simple sound, human sound. And once again, that strange phantom sensation stirred beneath his ribs.
A heartbeat that did not exist.
A memory of something he had lost.
“Well…” You leaned closer, only slightly. “Don’t stop.”
His eyes found yours. “Excuse me?”
“It’s charming.”
The word struck him with a quiet force he had not expected.
Charming.
For centuries, he had been called many things. Elegant. Beautiful. Intimidating. Mysterious. Cold. Dangerous. People looked at him and saw old wealth, old power, old secrets. They saw something distant. Something untouchable. But charming? No. That was different. That was a word belonging to ordinary moments, to warm conversations, to someone you enjoyed sitting beside. It was not a word reserved for legends or monsters. It was a word reserved for people. And somehow, impossibly, you had looked at him and found one.
Time, which had dragged behind him for decades like a chain he could never break, seemed to loosen its grip. The quartet shifted into another song. The saxophone fell quiet, replaced by the smooth trumpet. The bartender polished the counter once, then twice, never interrupting the quiet corner you had claimed together. Your martini disappeared and was replaced with another, the silver pick holding three fresh olives. Seonghwa’s bourbon remained mostly untouched. And yet, for the first time in longer than he could remember, he was not counting. Not the exits, not the footsteps around him, not the heartbeats filling the room, not the endless years ahead of him. He was simply… there. Talking.
You spoke of books first. Not simply stories, but the feeling of them. The smell of old pages, the worn edges of a beloved novel, the strange comfort of returning to a world that had waited patiently for you. “Old books are the closest thing humans have to time travel,” you said.
Seonghwa found himself smiling faintly. “An interesting perspective.”
“It’s true,” you turned your glass slowly between your fingers. “Someone held that book before you. Someone loved it before you. Maybe someone read the same sentence and felt the same thing you did,” your eyes drifted around the room. “You can feel when something has lived.”
The words lingered.
You spoke of the French Quarter next. The architecture, and history. The way the city carried pieces of every person who had passed through it. “I love things that have survived,” you said softly, your voice lowered, almost reverent. “Antiques. Old buildings. Jazz. They have stories. They’ve seen thousands of lives, and they carry those secrets with them.”
Seonghwa looked at you and he wondered if you understood the irony of your own words. You admired things that survived, yet you had no idea you were sitting beside one. He was older than every object in this room. Older than most of the stories hidden within these walls. He carried too many memories. Too many names. Too many ghosts. Then your gaze returned to him. Bright, and curious, unburdened by the centuries he carried.
“What’s the oldest thing you’ve ever seen?”
The question was innocent, and that was why it was dangerous. Because Seonghwa answered before caution could stop him. “The construction of the—” he stopped, the words froze.
A mistake. But after centuries of silence, even the smallest crack could become an opening.
You blinked.
“Construction of what?”
The construction of the French Opera House.
Seonghwa lowered his gaze to the bourbon. He had spent his entire existence guarding this truth not because he feared what others would think but because he knew what would come after. Fear. Questions. Distance. People did not know how to love something that could outlive them. And yet, looking at you now, he found himself too tired to build another wall. He was tired of pretending, tired of weaving careful lies around a truth that had become heavier with every passing century. For just a moment… he wanted to stop. “I’m very old.”
The confession was not dramatic, there was no grand revelation, only a quiet truth spoken by a man who had carried it for far too long.
You gave a small laugh, assuming it was another piece of his dry humour. “I figured.”
His eyes remained on the glass. “You did not.”
That made you pause.
Slowly, Seonghwa lifted his gaze. “I am older than this country.”
Your smile faded, and your eyes searched his face for amusement. For any sign that he was playing some elaborate game. There was none.
The silence stretched.
Then you laughed again. But this time it was uncertain. “...You’re serious.”
“I have not lied to you this evening,” and that was when he heard it. The change in your heartbeat, the subtle shift in your breathing, the sudden rush of fear. He smelled the adrenaline before he saw the colour leave your face. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the bar, and immediately, instinct overcame everything else. Not hunger. Not self-preservation. Concern. “Look at me.”
You did.
Seonghwa softened his voice.
“You needn’t be afraid.”
The command was gentle.
The panic loosened its hold. Your heartbeat slowed, shoulders relaxed, mind remained clear. You drew in a slow breath. “...Did you just do something?”
Seonghwa looked away, “Yes.”
“What?”
A pause. Then, quietly: “I allowed you to remain calm.”
Your eyes narrowed slightly, “You can do that?”
“I can.”
It should have frightened you. Instead, you studied him. Then, somehow: “Do you sleep in coffins?”
Seonghwa stared. “...Good heavens, no.”
A tiny smile appeared, “Can you go in the sun?”
“I find it highly unpleasant.”
“So...” You tilted your head. “Sunscreen?”
For a moment, he simply looked at you. Then he sighed softly. “In rather excessive quantities, yes.”
The absurdity of the conversation settled over both of you.
And somehow—
impossibly—
you laughed.
So did he.
Quietly. Briefly. But genuinely. The sound echoed through the shadowed corner of the club. And that was what finally destroyed him. Not the fact that you knew. Not the fact that you were sitting beside a creature that should have terrified you. But that you knew exactly what he was… and you were still smiling. For the first time in decades, Seonghwa did not feel like a relic. Not a monster. Not a ghost. Just a man sitting beside someone who made the world feel alive again. The laughter faded slowly, not because either of you wanted it to. Because all laughter eventually ends, that was something Seonghwa knew better than anyone. His smile remained for a moment longer than it should have. Then reality returned. The woman beside him knew. Not everything but enough. You knew the impossible, the truth hidden beneath three centuries.
“I am weirdly calm about this,” you glanced at him.
“I told you to be.”
A pause. Then the faintest hint of amusement returned to your face. “Although I do have some questions.”
“I imagined you might.”
“First…” You lifted one finger. “Do you have fangs?”
The question was so unexpectedly ordinary that he almost forgot how to respond. “Yes.”
Your eyes widened. “Really?”
“That is typically considered one of the more recognizable characteristics.”
“Can I see?”
“No,” it came immediately.
You laughed, “That was suspiciously fast.”
“It was also necessary.”
“Why?”
His expression softened. “Because you are still human.”
The teasing faded slightly, not entirely. There it was again, that small, inconvenient reminder: You were temporary. He was not. Every moment he spent with you was a moment he would eventually remember alone.
“I have to admit something,” your voice pulled him from his thoughts. “I am not sure if I should be terrified or fascinated.”
A faint smile touched his lips. “Most would choose the former.”
“Most people aren’t sitting next to a vampire in a jazz club at midnight.”
“A reasonable observation.”
“Do you always answer like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve stepped out of a century-old novel.”
He lowered his gaze. “Perhaps I have simply remained in one.”
The answer should have been sad, you heard the sadness and that was what frightened him. Because you heard the things he did not say.
“How long have you been alone?”
He looked at you. Silence, a dangerous one. Because that question was far more terrifying than any question about his immortality. He could answer how old he was. He could explain what he was. But loneliness? That required admitting something was missing. His fingers tightened slightly around the glass. “I do not remember.”
Your expression changed. Not into pity, something gentler. And somehow that was worse. The room had grown quieter. The musicians had begun packing away their instruments. The last notes of the evening lingered in the air, soft and fading.
A goodbye. Everything eventually became one, Seonghwa knew that better than anyone. “I should go,” the words came automatically, the old instinct, old escape.
You tilted your head. “Do you want to?”
The question stopped him because the answer came too quickly.
No. He did not want to.
And that terrified him.
“You make things very difficult.”
A small smile appeared on your lips. “Do I?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
He looked at you for a long moment. Because you make me remember. Because you make me want. Because I had finally accepted the end, and then you walked through the door.
Before Seonghwa could answer, you closed the distance. Not dramatically, nor seductively. Your fingers brushed his. The contact was brief, barely there. Yet Seonghwa went completely still because every instinct told him to pull away. Every reason he had built over centuries rose at once. You were mortal. You would age. You would die. And Seonghwa? He would remain. He knew this ending. He had lived it countless times.
“Don’t,” the plea left him before he could stop it.
You paused, eyes searching his. “Don't what?”
He had no answer.
Don’t make me want this. Don’t make me remember what it feels like to be alive. Don’t give me something I cannot keep.
But you were already too close. “I don’t think you actually want to leave.” His breath caught, a human would have inhaled, he did not need to. But for a moment, he almost did. Your lips touched his for a brief moment, and Seonghwa forgot every language he had ever learned. For one impossible second, there was no history, no centuries, no graves, no inevitable ending waiting patiently in the distance.
Only warmth.
You.
The unbearable softness of being wanted.
His hands remained at his sides, he did not move because moving meant admitting that he wanted this. That he had wanted this from the moment you walked through the door. Then you pulled back slightly, enough to look at him, and that was when he realized something. You were giving him the choice: you were not asking him to take, you were asking him to stay. The realisation broke whatever remained of his restraint.
Slowly—
carefully—
as though approaching something fragile enough to disappear—
his hand lifted.
His fingers touched your cheek, cold against your warmth and for the first time in decades… he allowed himself to want. Only for a moment. He had spent so long measuring his existence in losses that he had forgotten what it meant to desire something without immediately mourning its ending. He knew better. He knew exactly what stood between you. He knew how this story ended. He had watched it happen before. So he should have stepped away, he should have thanked you for the evening, offered some elegant farewell, and disappeared into the night before this fragile warmth became something he could no longer bear to lose. That would have been the kind thing, the honourable thing, the thing he had always done. But then you looked at him and Seonghwa found himself making a terrible, selfish bargain. Just this once. One moment. One breath. He would allow himself this. He would not think of tomorrow. He would not think of the inevitable grief waiting patiently at the end of every human connection. He would simply exist here. With you. For one moment more.
The movement felt unfamiliar, almost impossible. As though his body remembered something his heart had long forgotten. His fingertips brushed your cheek, warm and alive. The contrast should have been unbearable. Instead, it was the most beautiful thing he had felt in decades. Your breath caught softly, not in fear but in surprise. And Seonghwa closed his eyes for the briefest moment. He should stop. He should stop now. Before there was more to regret. Before he crossed the final distance. But he had already crossed the most dangerous distance of all. He had let himself hope. Your eyes met his and in that quiet space between one heartbeat and the next, Seonghwa made the choice. Not forever, he was not foolish enough to believe in forever. Just now. Just this. His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, an almost reverent gesture, memorising something he already knew he would lose. Then he leaned closer. Slowly, giving you every opportunity to change your mind. You did not.
The kiss was gentle. Not the desperate hunger of a creature starved for centuries. Not possession nor taking. Something far more dangerous.
Tenderness.
For a moment, Seonghwa forgot what he was. Forgot what he would eventually have to do. There was only the warmth of you beneath his hand. The softness of your lips. The quiet sound of your breath. The impossible miracle of being close to someone who knew the truth. He had forgotten that he could feel this. That he could want this. That there was still some part of him capable of reaching for something instead of simply letting it pass. And that was the cruelest part. Because the moment it ended, he knew. He knew he would remember it forever. A mortal moment. A fleeting moment. A single evening in a New Orleans jazz club. And somehow, it would become one of the most permanent things he had ever known.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested lightly against yours. His eyes remained closed. For one final second, he allowed himself to pretend. That this was possible. That he could stay. That he had not spent centuries preparing himself for goodbye. Then reality returned, and with it came the terrible knowledge that he had broken the one rule he had never allowed himself to break.
He had given his dead heart something to lose.
The rain had stopped. New Orleans shimmered beneath the streetlights, the pavement dark and gleaming. Seonghwa had walked these streets for longer than most buildings had stood. He knew every turn, every shadow, every place where history had left its mark. And yet, tonight, the city felt unfamiliar. Because you were beside him.
“You are quiet,” your voice pulled him from his thoughts, he looked at you.
“I am thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how strange it is.”
You tilted your head, “What is?”
“That after all this time…” His voice softened. “I had convinced myself I wanted nothing,” the honesty of the confession lingered between you.
“And now?”
His gaze moved over your face.
Now.
A dangerous word.
“Now I find myself wishing for things I have no right to ask for.”
“Who decides what you have a right to?”
He almost smiled, “If only it were that simple.”
“Maybe it is.”
And for one impossible moment, Seonghwa believed you. That was the tragedy. He believed you. The thought was so simple, so impossibly human. Maybe it could be that easy. Maybe a person did not need permission to want something beautiful. Maybe he was not destined only to watch life pass him by. Maybe, after centuries of saying goodbye, he could finally allow himself to stay. The hope was fragile and terrifying. And yet, for one fleeting moment, it was enough. His hand remained against your cheek, his thumb barely moving, as though he feared that even the slightest motion would break the illusion. You looked at him with such certainty that it almost hurt. As though you did not see the years behind his eyes. As though you did not see the graves. The names. The endless procession of people he had loved and lost. You only saw him.
And he had to let you go.
Not because he wanted to. Because the thought of you carrying the weight of him—the fear, the danger, the inevitable grief—was unbearable. He had spent centuries taking from life. Taking moments. Taking memories. Taking whatever little pieces of humanity he could hold onto. He would not take your future too. Slowly, he lowered his hand. The loss of warmth was immediate. And somehow, it was worse than any wound. “I am sorry.”
Your brows drew together. “For what?”
He looked at you, memorising everything he had no right to keep. The softness of your expression, the curiosity in your eyes. “I should not have allowed this evening to happen.”
You went quiet.
He hated that he was asking for something, he hated even more that you would give it. “I have lived long enough to know the consequences of wanting something I cannot keep.”
Your expression softened. “And what if I don’t care about the consequences?”
For a moment, Seonghwa saw another path. A different life, one where he stayed. One where he saw your smile again. One where he walked beside you through the years instead of watching you disappear from them. But he had seen that story before. He knew how it ended. The mortal heart was not built for eternity. Only moments. And perhaps that was what made them precious.
“You deserve a life untouched by my sorrow.”
“Is that what you think you are?” The question caught him off guard. “A sorrow?”
For a moment, he had no answer. Because once, long ago, he had been a man. Then he had become something else. Something caught between existence and absence, something that survived. “Sometimes,” he admitted quietly, “I think that is all I have been for a very long time.”
“You don’t have to be.”
His eyes closed, only briefly because if he looked at you too long, he would fail. He knew it. He would choose selfishness, he would choose one more night. One more conversation. One more morning he had no right to hope for. And he could not do that. Not to you. Not when you had given him the greatest gift anyone had given him in decades. You had reminded him he was still capable of feeling. He would not punish you for it. His eyes opened. The decision was made. “Look at me.”
Your gaze met his.
The command was softer this time, not an order but a farewell. The world seemed to quiet around you. Everything faded. “I want you to listen carefully,” his voice was barely above a whisper. “You will remember tonight. You will remember the music,” a pause, “the rain against the windows,” another, “the taste of your drink,” his gaze never left yours. “You will remember that you had a wonderful evening,” the smallest fracture appeared in his composure. “But…” His voice softened. “You will not remember me,” the words hurt more coming out than he had imagined.
“Why?”
The question was so simple yet his throat tightened. Because you had asked the one thing he could not answer without breaking.
Because I love you. Because you are the first person in half a century who made me wish for another day. Because I would rather disappear from your memory than become the reason your life changes forever.
His thumb brushed once against your cheek, the last touch, last thing he would allow himself. “I am sorry.”
“You will continue living, you will see places you have never seen, walk streets in cities you have yet to discover.”
The words became harder to say.
“You will meet people who will change your life,” but he continued. “You will fall in love,” his expression softened. “More than once, perhaps,” a tiny, sorrowful smile. “You will be loved in return,” his fingers brushed gently against your hand. “You will grow old surrounded by people you love.” The ache in his chest was unbearable but he endured it. Because this was what love was supposed to be. Not possession, not keeping. Letting someone go where they could be happiest. “You will have a long life,” his voice almost broke, “a beautiful one.” The final words left him barely above a whisper. “One that you will cherish.”
The compulsion settled gently, not like a command but like falling asleep. Your eyes softened, the tension left your shoulders, and Seonghwa watched the impossible happen. The evening remained. The memories remained. Everything remained. Except him. He stepped back and for a moment, you simply looked at him. Not knowing why your heart hurt. Not knowing why saying goodbye to a stranger felt like mourning something you had lost. Then you smiled and Seonghwa knew he had made the right choice.
You deserved every beautiful thing waiting for you.
Even if none of those things included him.
“Goodbye,” the word was barely audible but he knew you heard it even if you would never remember.
And as the city swallowed the last trace of your footsteps, Seonghwa finally understood that immortality was not the curse of never dying—it was the curse of remembering everything worth living for.
He had spent a century longing for the end, never knowing the cruelest punishment would be finding a reason to remain.
synopsis: you’ve known zhong chenle since you were five years old. once inseparable childhood best friends, everything between you shattered at eighteen — the moment your arranged marriage became real. to him, you became a symbol of everything he lost: freedom, choice, and a future that no longer belonged to him. by twenty-four, you finally marry as the country’s beloved golden couple. the heirs of zhong cosmetics and yü skincare, bound together by legacy, business, and expectations.
warnings: some scenes are very angsty! chenle is mean! cheating! a near death experience! pregnancy! +18 reader is a virgin and very inexperienced, not your ideal first time, sex is treated as a duty once, chenle is a pussy eaterrr, he cums inside every time, not super detailed but a sex montage featuring the following: slight exhibitionism, rough sex, dirty talk, fingering, he bends you over a billiards table, blowjob, riding him in the hot tub, doggy-style, squirting, i hope i didn’t miss any. mentions of: blood
an: i am in my chenle feels! and i’m also procrastinating writing for the donors, the loverboys and ruin the friendship jeno ver right now, so you’re all getting this instead! and liking it! (i hope) please let me know what you think of this one! - with love, c.
⚜️ THE GOLDEN COUPLE ⚜️
“i would like to thank everyone for coming today,” lili zhong, aka chenle’s mother and legally your mother-in-law as of five hours ago, says into the microphone. her voice carries effortlessly across the grand ballroom, smooth and commanding without needing to be loud. the entire venue stills for her, conversations fade, forks lower onto porcelain plates.
there were exactly a thousand guests in attendance tonight. family, friends, business partners, celebrities, investors, socialites, industry executives from every corner of asia, people whose names appear in magazines and headlines and billion-dollar reports. the ballroom itself looked almost unreal – dripping crystals suspended from the ceiling, white roses woven into towering arrangements, soft gold lighting reflecting against polished marble floors. every detail had been curated to perfection. fitting for the wedding of the heirs to two of the most influential beauty empires in the country.
“we have been waiting for this union for years now,” mrs. zhong continues, and somehow every person in the room hangs onto each word she says. she has always had that effect on people.
“my one and only son, chenle…i am very happy and excited as you take on this next chapter,” her eyes land on him briefly, full of pride, “i know you will be extraordinary, as you are in everything you do.”
a wave of soft applause spreads through the room. chenle beside you gives a polite nod, composed as ever.
then her attention shifts entirely to you.
“and of course, my beautiful daughter in law, y/n zhong…,” the warmth in her voice softens you completely. the last name making your heart flutter. you don't know if you'll ever get used to hearing it.
“i’ve always wanted you as my real daughter,” she says with a small smile painted in her signature crimson lipstick, “and now i can finally say you are.”
your chest tightens in the best way possible. you smile back before you can even think about it, eyes sparkling beneath the lights as emotion swells quietly inside you. because unlike the cameras and contracts and business articles surrounding this marriage…this part felt real.
lili zhong was someone you had admired long before you ever understood what admiration truly was.
you can remember it as if it was yesterday – being seven years old inside the towering headquarters of zhong cosmetics, your tiny dress shoes squeaking against the floors as you and chenle ran through the halls without a care in the world. the building had felt gigantic back then, less like a corporate empire and more like your personal playground. you remembered hiding beneath reception desks with chenle while assistants searched for the two of you in panic. remembered spinning around in leather office chairs worth more than most people’s rent. remembered sneaking into empty conference rooms just to press random buttons on expensive remotes.
and then lili zhong walked out.
and the entire atmosphere shifted the moment she appeared. not much different from how it is now. employees straightened immediately. conversations stopped mid-sentence. people moved aside for her without being told to. she carried herself with grace and effortless authority, shoulders back, chin lifted slightly, heels clicking sharply against the floor like a metronome everyone unconsciously followed. but what fascinated you most wasn’t the fear or respect she commanded. it was how composed she looked doing it.
you remembered watching from next to chenle as she reapplied her lipstick using the reflection of a glass wall, precise and graceful like second nature. one smooth swipe of red. cap clicked shut. then immediately back to discussing quarterly projections as if perfection came as easily as breathing. prim. proper. poised. she was untouchable. and you had been completely mesmerized.
from that moment on, you’d wanted to become the kind of woman lili zhong was – respected, strong, confident – the type of woman who could walk into a room and have the world rearrange itself around her. and now, standing beneath thousands of glittering lights with the zhong diamond resting heavily on your left ring finger and her son beside you, you suddenly wondered if this was the closest you had ever come to becoming her.
“i wish you both a fruitful marriage,” she says with a subtle wink in your direction, a wave of laughter spreading softly through the ballroom. your face warms instantly because everyone here understands exactly what she means. not just the merger between zhong cosmetics and yü skincare. not just the billions this marriage would bring. not just the headlines already flooding social media tonight.
but heirs too. children with the zhong name. future successors beautiful enough to belong on campaign billboards before they could even walk.
“may it always be filled with prosperity and success,” mrs. zhong continues, lifting her glass slightly, “and may the two of you continue bringing honor to our families and our companies.”
camera flashes explode around the room like lightning. you can already imagine tomorrow’s articles.
THE GOLDEN COUPLE OF BEAUTY
CHINA’S MOST POWERFUL MARRIAGE!
LOVE, LUXURY, AND LEGACY.
“this country has not seen such a beautiful couple before.”
the applause is immediate. a thousand guests rise to the toast without hesitation, crystal glasses lifting beneath the chandelier light. from the stage, the entire ballroom looked dipped in gold.
“to mr. and mrs. zhong.”
“to mr. and mrs. zhong!,” the crowd echos.
you lift your champagne glass with a smile so genuine it almost hurts. because despite everything, despite the pressure and expectations and business contracts hidden beneath layers of silk and diamonds – you were happy. maybe pathetically so.
you have loved zhong chenle for most of your life.
before the magazines started calling him the future of luxury cosmetics. before investors nicknamed the two of you the golden couple. before marriage turned into obligation instead of possibility.
and there was a time, too. a time when chenle used to reach for your hand first. a time where the two of you spent entire afternoons running through corporate buildings while your parents attended meetings. a time where he’d steal your desserts at dinners and complain when other boys talked to you at events. a time where marriage jokes from your families made both of you groan dramatically before dissolving into laughter.
back then, it had felt harmless. like something far away. until you both turned eighteen. when meetings became serious. when contracts replaced teasing. when your families stopped asking and started deciding.
that was when everything changed.
because every time chenle looked at you after that, it was no longer with warmth – it was resentment.
you became the physical reminder of every choice he would never get to make for himself. the life he would never get to live. the love he would never get to experience freely.
somehow, the public never noticed. that was the worst part – chenle was terrifyingly good at pretending. like right now, with one hand resting against the small of your back, he looked every bit like the devoted husband he wanted the media to believe him to be. calm smile. soft gaze. protective touch.
the perfect heir beside his perfect wife.
and the cameras adored him for it – “mr. zhong, look here!” “mr. zhong, one more picture with your wife!” “you two are stunning together!”
his fingers flex lightly against your waist as another round of flashes goes off, and anyone watching would think the gesture is affectionate. loving, even. but you know chenle well enough to recognize performance from sincerity. his hand only ever lingers when people are watching. once they turn away, he lets go like touching you burns.
still, your heart betrays you. every. single. time. because some part of you still remembers the boy before all of this. the boy who used to grin at you with missing front teeth and tell everyone you were his favorite person in the world.
the boy you always pictured on this day.
“i can’t wait for this to be over,” chenle murmurs beside you, barely moving his lips. to everyone else, it probably looked like he was whispering sweet nothings into your ear.
“perfect!,” someone gushes behind a camera, “they look crazy in love.”
the irony nearly makes you laugh.
chenle turns toward you then, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear with such practiced tenderness that several people nearby audibly swoon. you hate how your stomach flips.
he’s beautiful at pretending to love you.
sometimes beautiful enough that you can almost pretend with him.
the reception continues in a blur of diamonds, champagne and endless congratulations. one by one, some of the most influential people in the country approach your table to greet the two of you personally, every gift placed before you looking absurdly expensive.
chenle smiles effortlessly but if someone looked closely enough, they would notice you speaking far more than he was, carrying conversations, thanking guests, asking about their families and businesses with perfectly timed warmth. prim. proper. poised. you had learned from the best. every time chenle’s expression dulled slightly, you stepped in before anyone could question it. when his attention drifted you redirected conversations smoothly. when his smiles became visibly strained, you compensated with your own brightness. and you’re convinced no one notices his lack of sincerity. or maybe they do and simply choose not to acknowledge it. because appearances mattered more than truth in a room like this.
“you two truly are perfect together,” an older woman sighs while admiring the two of you, “just look at how attentive your husband is.”
“he always takes good care of me,” you reply quickly, smile never faltering, the lie sliding off your tongue so naturally it almost scares you. chenle glances at you briefly after that comment. you can’t tell if he’s irritated or grateful. perhaps both.
minutes pass like that. more smiles. more photos. more toasts. more champagne. your cheeks begin aching from smiling so much but you endure it anyway. this was your wedding day. everything is supposed to be perfect. until–
“excuse me,” chenle suddenly says beside you after another round of greetings, “i need to use the restroom.”
you immediately nod before anyone else can react, “of course.”
one of the investors chuckles knowingly, “already escaping from married life, mr. zhong?”
a ripple of laughter follows. chenle gives them a charming grin that doesn’t reach his eyes, “just five minutes. i'll be right back.” he leaves with calm steps, posture still immaculate beneath his suit. you continue smiling after he disappears into the crowd.
five minutes pass. then ten. then twenty. people begin noticing.
“where’s your husband?” someone asks casually.
you let out a soft laugh, “probably being dragged into another business deal somewhere.” they laugh with you easily. and you cover for him again. and again. and again.
by the thirty-minute mark, you can practically feel whispers beginning to bloom around the ballroom like perfume in the air. so you straighten your spine further, lift your chin slightly, and you smile brighter. if chenle was going to disappear from his own wedding reception, then you would make sure no one noticed the crack forming underneath the surface. you continue greeting guests alone, accepting congratulations with elegance polished into your bones.
mrs. zhong watches you from across the ballroom, sharp eyes lingering knowingly on your solitary figure. she says nothing. because she knows her son. how loud his resentment has been years, months, weeks building into this. but she also knows you. and she trusts you’ll be perfectly fine. that’s why she chose you for her son anyway.
chenle finally returns before he hit the forty-minute mark. your eyes find him immediately across the ballroom. his tie is slightly loosened now, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for you to catch instantly. his expression remains composed. but the second he reaches your side – you smell it. whiskey. strong enough to linger beneath his cologne.
and truthfully? you don’t really mind. chenle was always easier when he drank. looser around the edges. less cold. less careful about keeping distance between the two of you. sometimes…he even looked at you like he used to.
and after disappearing for almost forty minutes, he was going to have to sell this act twice as hard.
“there you are,” you say smoothly as another cluster of guests approaches the two of you. before you can even fully turn toward them, chenle’s hand settles against your waist. firm. far more natural than earlier.
“sorry,” he says quietly near your ear, voice lower now, slightly roughened by alcohol, “got cornered.”
you hum in acknowledgement, not bothering to call him out. he was lying, obviously. but this version of chenle was infinitely more tolerable than the sober one who treated your marriage like a prison sentence.
“mr. and mrs. zhong!” another investor greets excitedly, approaching with his wife beside him, “we were just saying you two look unbelievable together tonight.”
normally, chenle would give a polite smile, a practiced nod, maybe rest his hand on your back for exactly five seconds before pulling away. instead, he pulls you closer.
“thank you,” he says easily, “my wife makes it difficult not to stare.”
your breath nearly catches. it was the first time he’d call you that. his wife. and you hate how much you loved hearing it.
the investor’s wife practically melts on the spot, “oh, he adores you.”
you knew that couldn’t be further from the truth. chenle’s just performing harder now. making up for lost time. and annoyingly enough, he’s very good at it. throughout the next hour, he barely left your side. and you’d be lying if you said it didn't affect you. drunk chenle was dangerously convincing. this version of him looked softer around the edges, dark eyes warmer beneath the ballroom lights. he smiled more. touched you more. occasionally leaned close enough that his shoulder brushed yours naturally instead of mechanically. like right now-
“you’re doing that thing again,” he murmurs quietly, only for you to hear.
“what thing?”
“over-smiling,” his lips twitch faintly, “your cheeks are probably hurting.”
the fact he noticed at all sends something uncomfortable fluttering through your chest.
“i’m fine.”
“mhm,” his pointer finger lightly grazes your cheekbone, soft and careful, “liar.”
your heart stumbles embarrassingly fast. you hate that alcohol makes him kinder. or maybe not kinder. just more honest with his attention.
another camera flash bursts in front of you both. another perfect photo for the headlines tomorrow. you wonder if anyone would still call the two of you the golden couple if they knew chenle only touched you this much after drinking enough whiskey to blur the resentment out of him.
you enjoyed the rest of the wedding reception. or maybe endured was the more accurate word. either way, you played the role of the perfect wife flawlessly. enough to fool an entire ballroom full of billionaires. by the time the reception finally ended, your cheeks ached from smiling and your feet hurt from hours in heels.
still, there was a strange warmth sitting inside your chest because despite everything – you had married the boy you love. even if he no longer loved you back.
⚜️ THE MARRIED LIFE ⚜️
the drive home is quiet. chenle sits beside you, his gaze lost outside the window. he doesn’t look at you once. the alcohol from earlier seems to have worn off already. funny how quickly the warmth disappeared from him too.
eventually, the gates to the mansion slid open. your mansion now. your home for the rest of your life. the estate stood enormous against the night sky, lights glowing warmly throughout the property. it was less of a house and more of a private villa, complete with a fountain in the middle, sprawling gardens, balconies overlooking the endless green landscape, rooms neither of you would probably ever step foot in. beautiful but cold.
the car comes to a stop and before the driver can even fully open the door, chenle steps out first. you follow shortly after, one of the maids helping you with your dress as you stepped inside the mansion. the grand foyer stretches high above both of you, chandelier light reflecting against polished floors.
chenle was already halfway up the left staircase. “night,” he finally says. flat. automatic. not even turning around. like the two of you didn’t just celebrate a once in a lifetime event people dream of.
he disappears down the left wing leading to his bedroom without another word. you stare after him for a moment before quietly turning toward the opposite staircase. right side. your side. your room.
lili zhong had arranged this mansion for the two of you a month before the wedding, insisting that it would help ease the transition. she genuinely believed that if the two of you lived together beforehand, chenle would eventually come around, that proximity would soften him, that he’d remembered the closeness you once had. you remembered how hopeful she sounded while showing you around the estate.
“give him time,” she had told you gently, “chenle’s stubborn, but he’s a good boy.”
you wanted to believe her. you really did. so for a month before the wedding - you tried. you asked him about work. about basketball games you knew he loved. about the restaurants you knew he liked. you sat beside him even when he barely acknowledged you were there. you tried being patient. understanding. gentle. it didn’t work. and in the end, your efforts never mattered anyway. because whether chenle liked it or not, the wedding was always going to happen.
now that it had, the distance between you felt even larger. married yet sleeping in separate bedrooms like strangers forced under the same roof. it’s whatever, really. the mansion had far too many empty rooms anyway.
three months pass like that.
the routine becomes almost mechanical. you wake up separately. leave for work separately. return home separately.
real conversations only happen at the office. meetings. sale projections. marketing campaigns. brand collaborations. like business partners instead of husband and wife. which, you probably should have expected.
at home, chenle barely spares you a glance. he doesn’t sit beside you on the sofa. doesn’t ask about your day. doesn’t linger in rooms you enter. dinners are eaten across opposite ends of a table long enough to seat twenty people comfortably, silence filling the space where conversations should’ve been. sometimes the only sounds are the clink of silverware against plates and the faint ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
and at night, the lights still glow beneath two different bedrooms. you’ve never stepped into his this entire time. and he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what the colors of your walls were. sometimes you wonder if he stays awake as long as you do.
one night, you walked into the living room to find him watching basketball. for the first time in weeks, he actually looked alive. completely relaxed against the couch, eyes fixed on the television while quietly reacting under his breath. stephen curry had just made an impossible three-point shot and chenle actually laughed softly, shaking his head with genuine enjoyment lighting his face. you had almost smiled seeing it. because it reminded you of the boy he used to be. then he noticed you standing there and immediately, everything disappeared. his posture straightened. his expression flattened. he watched the rest of the game in complete silence, pretending not to care when curry hit the game winning shot minutes later. pretending he hadn’t been enjoying himself at all before you arrived – that one hurt more than you expected. you realized then that your presence drained the life out of him. he physically could not relax around you anymore.
so eventually – you stopped trying to fill the silence. stopped asking if he wanted dinner together. stopped lingering in shared spaces hoping he might speak first.
if chenle wanted distance that badly, then fine. you would give it to him. even if the loneliness of this massive mansion swallowed you whole because of it.
⚜️ THE OTHER WOMAN ⚜️
you couldn’t help it though. every night, no matter how much you told yourself to stop caring, you still waited for the sound of chenle’s bedroom door shutting. just to make sure he came home.
some nights he came home early, footsteps echoing through the quiet mansion before midnight. other nights, he returned a little later, long after you were supposed to be asleep, the distant sound of his shoes against the floor enough to finally let the tightness in your chest loosen.
he never knew you waited. or maybe he did. either way, neither of you acknowledged it.
but tonight was different.
the grandfather clock in the foyer had already struck two a.m. nearly fifteen minutes ago, the sound heavy and hollow throughout the massive estate.
chenle has never been out this late.
you glance toward the entrance again before lowering your gaze to the untouched cup of chamomile tea in your hands. it had gone cold almost an hour ago, when you first realize how late it was and your husband was nowhere to be heard.
“did chenle say where he was going tonight?” you ask the maid standing nearby.
“no, mrs. zhong,” she answers carefully, “but he did call for the driver around twenty minutes ago, he should be making his way back.”
and it’s ridiculous, really, how your maid knows more about your husband's whereabouts than you do.
“okay,” you nod gently, setting the untouched tea aside, “go ahead and get some rest,” you offer her a smile despite the exhaustion sitting heavily behind your eyes, “i’ll wait up for him.”
“are you sure, mrs. zhong? i could wait instead.”
you wave her off, “it’s a wife’s duty to take care of her husband.”
she smiles politely at your response, “okay mrs. zhong, i’ll be here when you need me.”
“thank you,” you say genuinely.
she bows her head slightly before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you alone with the silence again. the moment she’s gone, your smile fades. slowly, you rise from the sofa and make your way toward the grand staircase. more specifically – the left staircase. chenle’s staircase. the one you never use.
the mansion had been designed almost absurdly symmetrical, splitting the house in two. like the house itself understood the distance between you.
you settle onto the second step quietly, smoothing the fabric of your silk pajama dress beneath you, waiting for him to come home. your eyes drift across the foyer absentmindedly – the massive chandelier overhead, the single round table with the antique vase filled of flowers you didn’t even like, and the wedding portrait hanging near the entrance your mother-in-law gifted. it always made your chest ache a little. you looked so happy in it. chenle looked convincing.
you wonder if this is what arranged marriages are supposed to feel like. waiting around in silence for someone who never notices you waited at all. you lean your head lightly against the staircase railing. maybe he was working late. maybe he was drinking. maybe he didn’t want to come home anymore. the last possibility settles the heaviest.
your mind drifts despite yourself, back toward the beginning. a time when chenle used to text you constantly whenever he went anywhere. texts that were as silly as:
look at this ugly dog i found
watch basketball with me, i have popcorn
and others, that always made you smile and your heart race:
just tried the new restaurant down the street from our favorite tea place. i have to bring you there..it will make you cry tears of joy.
i saw this dumpling plushie and it reminded me of you, so guess who has a new dumpling plushie
let’s go on trip this weekend, just me and you…already got the flight tickets
my mom’s annoying me. come save me. please.
where are you? i’m picking you up
you used to be the first person he looked for in every room. now you barely knew what was going on in that mind of his. a soft laugh escapes you suddenly, quiet and humorless. if the tabloids could see you now, they’ll realize just how easy it is to create fake gold.
another thirty minutes pass when headlights appear through the front windows. your body straightens instantly before you can stop yourself, heartbeat quickening embarrassingly fast.
the front doors open moments later, chenle walking in. his tie hangs loose around his neck, dark hair slightly messy like someone has been running their fingers through it repeatedly. he smells faintly of alcohol, expensive cologne and perfume that definitely wasn’t yours. your stomach drops before you can even process it fully. it’s sweet, floral, feminine – not familiar.
chenle freezes the second he notices you sitting on the staircase. for a brief moment, genuine surprise flashes across his face.
“what are you doing up?” he asks, voice rough and tired.
you force your expression to remain soft, normal, “waiting for you.”
something unreadable flickers in his eyes. guilt. maybe. or irritation. you can never tell with him anymore. whatever it is, it disappears almost instantly.
“go to bed, y/n,” he says with a sigh, already sounding exhausted by the conversation before it even begins. then he walks past you. just like that. and something inside you finally snaps.
there were many things that you could let slide. chenle ignoring you. chenle barely speaking to you unless necessary. chenle looking at you with those cold eyes sharp enough to cut skin open. chenle hating you for a life neither of you truly chose.
but this? coming home way past midnight smelling of alcohol and another woman’s perfume while wearing lipstick marks on his neck like he didn’t even care enough for you to hide them???
a wife could only take so much.
you could only take so much.
before you know it, you’re standing abruptly and following him up the staircase. his staircase. your slippers hit the marble harder with every step as anger burns hotter beneath your skin. he pushes open his bedroom door and you follow him inside immediately, shutting it sharply behind you, the sound echoing through the room.
it’s your first time entering his bedroom in the four months you’ve been married. that realization alone feels pathetic. it’s cleaner than you expected. dark walls. dark sheets. expensive furniture. floor to ceiling windows overlooking the green landscape, similar to yours. it looked less like the room of a married man and more like a luxury bachelor suite. nothing about it felt like there was space for you.
“are you fucking cheating on me?!” you demand, voice coming out harsher than intended, anger cracking through the polished composure you spent years perfecting.
chenle groans immediately, dragging a hand through his hair before kicking his shoes off carelessly, “i don’t want to fucking talk about this right now.”
you ignore him completely, hurt and fury already boiling too violently inside your chest.
“is this why you hate me so much?,” you ask, voice rising, “because you’re already in love with someone else?!”
that catches his attention instantly. his head snaps toward you so fast it almost startles you.
“what?”
you let out a bitter scoff, “oh my god, chenle!,” you gesture toward him angrily, “you have her scent all over you, there’s lipstick all over your neck–i’m not fucking stupid.”
your voice gets louder with every word. so much for grace. so much for being poised. right now you’re just angry. hurt. humiliated.
chenle stares at you for a second before rubbing both hands down his face tiredly, “i’m not fucking in love with someone else,” he mutters.
“then what the fuck is this?!”
silence stretches for half a second.
“i needed to get laid.”
chenle laughs once humorlessly, “if you haven’t noticed,” he says coldly, “i’ve basically been fucking abstinent for four months and i just…needed a release.”
it’s almost sickening how that makes you feel better. your anger doesn’t disappear but the crushing feeling in your chest eases slightly knowing there wasn’t some other woman holding his heart while you sat here playing the perfect wife. it was just sex. not love.
you step closer before you can think better of it. chenle’s brows furrow slightly at the sudden closeness.
“if you need to get your dick wet, you come to my room.”
his expression changes instantly, genuine shock flashing across his face. you continue before he can interrupt.
“no one else’s.”
your chest rises sharply with each breath.
“i’m your wife now, for fuck’s sake.”
chenle just stares at you like he genuinely doesn’t know what to say.
“i don’t care if this marriage was arranged for business,” you snap, “you do not get to cheat on me…again.”
that room falls silent after that. you can practically see the conflict moving behind chenle’s eyes now. because he hates this. all of it. the marriage. the expectations. the loss of freedom. but you can also tell he didn’t expect this reaction from you. didn’t expect you to claim your place beside him so bluntly.
“besides,” you add bitterly, “we need to have a child eventually, as our parents love to remind me,” your laugh comes out hollow, “you’d be doing me a fucking service.”
irritation flickers in chenle’s face immediately. but you don’t stay long enough to examine it. you turn sharply and walk out before he can say anything else, your heartbeat pounding violently in your ears as you cross to your side of the mansion.
⚜️ THE BEST FRIENDS ⚜️
the two of you never talk about that night again. it got buried beneath the same routine. work meetings. silent dinners. passing each other in hallways without speaking. but something had changed after that. because you opened a door that night. and whether or not chenle chose to knock was entirely up to him.
it takes another month before he finally does.
chenle can’t believe he’s actually considering this. he stands in his bedroom, staring at the half empty whiskey glass in his hand. this was insane. he was about to walk into your room and what? sleep with his wife? his best friend? except he’s not even sure that title still belongs to the two of you anymore.
best friends didn’t look at each other the way he looks at you now – like you were both the wound and the knife that caused it. best friends didn’t spend five months barely speaking despite living under the same roof. best friends definitely didn’t resent each other enough to split a mansion into separate lives.
chenle exhales sharply before taking another shot. not enough to get drunk, just enough for that liquid courage to settle into his bones, silencing the voice in his head that told him this was wrong and allowing himself to knock on your door.
he knows this is so hard to do because of him. he knows he’s been irrational. resenting you for decisions neither of you truly got to make. taking every ounce of frustration and grief and anger about his life and placing it onto your shoulders because it was easier to have someone to blame than to accept that this is his reality.
and yet despite all of that – the only thing you had ever truly asked of him during this marriage was to not cheat on you…again. you could’ve demanded affection. attention. a real marriage. instead, you simply looked him in the eye and told him to come to you first. that memory hasn’t left his head since.
another sigh escapes him before he sets the empty glass down and finally walks out of his room. the hallway separating your bedroom feels strangely longer tonight. every step making him question himself again. this was a terrible idea. he should turn around. go back to his room. pretend this impulse never happened. but fuck, he needs to get laid…right now.
the knock startles you instantly. you glance up from your bed in confusion. it’s almost midnight. no one ever knocks this late and the maids only enter when called. for a second, you wonder if something’s wrong.
slowly, you slip off the bed and walk toward the door, your silk, short pajama dress flowing around you. and there he is – standing in the hallway looking strangely tense beneath the dim lights.
for a moment, neither of you speaks. then chenle says flatly–
“i want to have sex.”
simple. direct. like he’s discussing a business proposal instead of standing outside his wife’s bedroom at midnight. your chest tightens painfully because somehow, even after everything, a part of you still hoped he’d come here for another reason. that maybe he missed you. maybe he couldn’t sleep either. maybe tonight, after months of silence, he finally wanted to talk to you like he used to.
but of course not. he wasn’t your chenle anymore. and this was your marriage - transactional. carefully detached. emotionally hollow.
“okay,” you answer softly after a second, stepping aside to let him in.
chenle walks past you quietly, eyes scanning your room almost curiously. unlike his bedroom, yours actually looked live in. warmer lighting. books scattered across tables. skincare and makeup products lining the vanity. blankets thrown carelessly across the couch near the windows – and trinkets, gifts, specifically from him – scattered around different parts of the room.
the dumpling plushie he got you when you were fifteen all because it reminded him of you.
the vintage camera on your shelf he bought behind your back when you were sixteen because you had mentioned once, only once, that you loved taking pictures because it made moments feel permanent. he remembers showing up the next day with your dream camera like it was nothing. “don’t say i never support your hobbies,” he teased.
even those damn crybaby figurines he bought you when you were seventeen were lined carefully beside your bookshelf. every single one from the collection you obsessed over years ago. you had a frown on your face over not getting the rare one from a blind box once and chenle spent nearly two weeks secretly hunting every figurine down until your collection was complete. you used to tell him he was insane for it. he used to think seeing you happy made the effort worth it.
suddenly the room feels suffocating. because there are pieces of him everywhere in here. small reminders scattered throughout your life of proof that before everything fell apart – chenle used to love you loudly. maybe not romantically. maybe not in the way you wanted. but enough to memorize the smallest things about you. enough to notice every passing comment and quietly turn it into something real.
chenle rubs the back of his neck awkwardly before finally looking at you fully and for the first time in months – he doesn’t look angry when he does. if anything, he looks shaken. then he clears his throat.
“we don’t have to make this…” he pauses, brows furrowing slightly, “more than what it is.”
“okay,” the answer leaves your mouth too quickly. too easily. like you’ve already accepted that this was how it was always going to be.
he nods, leading the way as he reaches for the buttons of his pajama shirt. you look away the second the fabric slips from his shoulder, the room suddenly feeling warmer. chenle drops his shirt onto the chair near your vanity while you remain frozen beside the bed, fingers nervously toying the hem of your pajama dress.
neither of you knows how to start this. that becomes painfully obvious almost immediately. there’s no romance here to guide the moment. no affection softening the edges. just tension and awkwardness.
finally, because if you stand there any longer, you think your heart might actually burst through your ribs, you reach beneath the fabric of your dress. with shaky fingers, you hook the elastic of your underwear and slide them down your legs, stepping out of them and leaving it on the floor. you keep the pajama dress on through, the thin material clinging to your curves.
the room goes still. chenle's eyes lift instinctively toward you, tracing the silhouette of your body before darting away almost immediately. and somehow that reaction hurts more than if he’d stared openly. because this feels like restraint. like guilt. like he is forcing himself not to want you.
you climb onto the bed quietly, trying desperately to appear calmer than you feel.
“you can turn the lights off if you want,” you murmur softly.
and maybe that was better. maybe if he couldn’t see you, he could pretend you were just another one of his one night stands. maybe the darkness would erase the history between you, leaving only the physical need. darkness settles over the room instantly, softened only by the lights outside filtering through the windows.
chenle approaches the bed slowly afterward, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight as he climbs in beside you, leaving enough distance between your bodies. neither of you speaks. there’s nothing comforting to say. just the sound of breathing filling the dark room.
then, he finally reaches for you. his hand settling against your waist, his palm warm against the thin fabric of your dress. he pulls you toward him and your breath catches immediately. and it’s sad, really, that despite the coldness, despite the hate, you’ve wanted this for years. you want him so badly it feels like a physical ache in your chest.
you close your eyes as he shifts closer, the last fragile layer of distance between you finally disappearing. he doesn’t lift the dress, simply just bunching the fabric up around your waist, exposing your hips and thighs to the cool air. he doesn’t kiss you. he doesn’t whisper your name. he simply positions himself, his cock hard and pressing against your entrance…and he thrusts in.
“fuck,” chenle groans under his breath, his hand gripping your waist harder instinctively, digging his fingers into your skin, “you’re so fucking tight.”
your breath catches painfully at the stretch, a sharp, searing pressure tearing through your center as your body struggles to accommodate the sudden intrusion. your fingers unconsciously claw into his biceps, gripping the hard muscle as a gasp of genuine pain escapes your lips. it hurts – more than you expected it to. there was no slow build up to soften any of this. no tender words whispered against your skin to ease the transition. this wasn’t lovemaking.
for chenle, this is only a physical release, a way to drown out the noise of his own sadness and the crushing weight of his expectations. for you, it was simply duty. the possibility of giving both families the heir everyone expected from the moment your engagement was announced. just two emotionally exhausted people trying to fulfill a role they’d been pushed into years ago.
chenle notices your pain immediately. you know he does because his movements stall, his body freezing inside you for a beat. in the dim light, you see his brows furrow, a flicker of something – hesitation, perhaps, or a ghost of the boy he used to be – crossing his features. he gives you a moment to adjust, his chest heaving against yours, but. neither of you say anything.
what would even be the point? there are no sweet words to be exchanged here. no declarations of love. only uneven breathing filling the dark room and the occasional strained sound slipping from both of you despite yourselves.
chenle keeps his eyes fixed downward, jaw tense like he’s trying not to think too hard about any of this. about you. about the way you feel wrapped around him. about what this act actually means for the two of you.
your fingers loosen from his arm eventually, your grip shifting to the silk sheets beneath you, bunching the fabric in your fists as the initial, blinding ache slowly dulls into a manageable throb. but as the physical pain recedes, a different kind of agony takes its place – one that is far more suffocating, your mind cruelly reminding you that this is the boy who used to hold your hand while crossing the street to make sure you were safe. the boy who bought you random gifts because they reminded him of you. the boy you had loved with a purity that now felt like a joke. and now, here you are, beneath him in a silence so heavy it felt suffocating.
he doesn’t try to make it last. he doesn’t try to find your pleasure or bridge the emotional divide between you. he simply drives into you with a mechanical, rhythmic intensity, his movements devoid of affection.
he lasted six minutes before it was finally over.
chenle curses softly under his breath as he paints your walls white. his forehead drops briefly near your shoulder, breathing unevenly before finally stilling completely. the room falls quiet almost immediately afterward except for both of your breathing.
then, chenle carefully pulls away. he begins to shift back but freezes mid-motion, his eyes dropping toward the sheets beneath you, the air in the room vanishing – small, vivid spots of red stain the white sheets.
“shit,” he breathes, his entire expression changing instantly. the detachment he had maintained through the act vanishes, replaced by a sharp, jagged edge of alarm, “are you okay?”
the concern in his voice catches you off guard more than anything else. real, genuine concern that you haven’t heard from him in years. the same boy who used to worry if you’d scraped your knee.
still trying to steady your breathing, you blink at him tiredly, “what?”
“you bled,” he says immediately, eyes darting back toward the sheets before the realization visibly crashes into him. his face tightens, jaw locking as the implication sinks in.
“fuck, y/n…,” he exhales sharply, “are you a virgin?”
you stare at him for a long second, the silence stretching between you. you feel empty, raw and utterly exhausted. you shrug lightly, “well,” you mutter dryly, “as of a couple minutes ago, i no longer am.”
chenle looks at you like you’ve just punched him in the chest. there’s disbelief there. guilt. and worst of all – pity. you hate it instantly. you aren’t a porcelain doll. you are the owner of an empire and you had walked into this encounter with your eyes wide open.
“don’t look at me like that,” you scoff, reaching for your blanket and pulling it over you, “it’s not a big deal, chenle. it was gonna happen one way or another.”
he lets out a frustrated sound immediately, dragging both hands through his hair, “why do you keep saying that?!,” he snaps suddenly.
you blink, startled at the sharpness in his tone, the sudden eruption of emotion, “because it’s true.”
“no, it’s not,” his brows pull together harder, frustration and disbelief bleeding into his voice, “and this is a big deal. i just took your virginity.”
“and?!” you shoot back instantly, emotions finally cracking open.
“it was always yours to take!”
silence. thick. heavy enough to suffocate the entire room. chenle stills completely. the lights spilling through the windows cast shadows across his face, but you can still see the shock there clearly. he looks haunted, as if you’ve just revealed a truth he wasn’t prepared to handle.
“what?” he asks quietly.
“unlike you,” you say bitterly, your chest rising sharply, “i never thought marrying my best friend was something so repulsive.”
the words hit hard enough that chenle just stares at you. stunned. because he genuinely cannot understand it.
when he found out about the arrangement years ago, it felt like his entire life stopped belonging to him. suddenly every conversation had contracts hidden beneath it, every family dinner felt staged, every interaction between the two of you became another reminder that his future had already been decided before he even got a say. he panicked. rebelled. slept with girl after girl trying to desperately prove to himself he still had freedom. he still belonged to himself. still had choices before marriage locked him into a life he never asked for.
but you – you just accepted it.
you didn’t run. you didn’t scream. you didn’t burn the world down to get away.
he remembers sitting in those meetings, hating every single second of it and every single time he looked at you – you were just sitting quietly beside him. calm. composed. nodding along politely whenever someone addressed you. you never argued. never pushed back. never looked angry enough.
and chenle convinced himself that meant you didn’t care. that maybe this really was just business to you, too. he resented you for it. resented the way you accepted everything so easily while he felt like he was suffocating. resented the way you let your parents decide both of your lives without fighting harder beside him. resented how fake everything started feeling after that. like your friendship had never really belonged to the two of you. like it had been another transaction always meant to happen.
just like tonight.
just like this bed. this room. your first time.
the reality settles sickeningly into his chest. because despite all his anger, despite all the resentment he carried for years – this should have been special. not because virginity itself mattered to him. but because you did. somewhere beneath the layers of bitterness, the boy who loved you was still there, and he realizes with a jolt of horror that he is the one to turn this moment into something cold. another deal to complete. another box to check.
for the first time in months, chenle genuinely feels ashamed standing in front of you.
you slide beneath the blankets completely, turning away from him. your voice goes cold again. controlled. composed. your expression slowly shutting down. piece by piece. the same way it always does whenever he hurts you. it’s a practiced defense, a wall built from years of his indifference.
“i’ll have the maid clean the sheets tomorrow.”
chenle opens his mouth slightly. then closes it again. because there’s nothing he can say that fixes this. nothing that gives you back the moment he just ruined. he cannot un-take your innocence.
“if you’re done here,” you murmur quietly, “you should just go.”
the guilt eats him alive, gnawing at his insides as he stares at your curled-up form. yet, chenle walks out anyway.
⚜️ THE MOTHER IN LAW ⚜️
you get your period two weeks later and it annoys you far more than it should. the second you see the faint streak of red, disappointment settles heavily into your chest before you can stop it. pathetic. you actually let yourself hope that one night would be enough. that somehow, despite how cold and emotionally disastrous it had been, it might’ve at least resulted in something tangible. something that would finally make this marriage feel like it’s moving forward instead of rotting quietly in place. something that would finally make this mansion feel like a house.
you’re afraid of the possibility it won’t happen again. not after the way things have been recently.
it’s gotten worse between you and chenle. at least before, when he looked at you, there was fire there. albeit, not the good kind…but fire, nonetheless.
now, it was just stone cold. and every now and then – guilt. it’s like he doesn’t know what to do with himself around you anymore. and every single time you notice it, sorrow settles deeper inside your chest. guilt isn’t love. you don’t want him feeling sorry for you. you want – no. you force yourself to stop that thought before it finishes.
wanting things from chenle only ever leads to disappointment.
“y/n, dear, how are you and chenle?” mama li’s voice breaks through your thoughts. she’s sitting elegantly across from you in the living room, posture perfect even in something as simple as afternoon tea. sunlight pours through the massive windows behind her, catching the gold resting against her fingers as she lifts her teacup gracefully.
she’s beautiful in the same terrifying way chenle is. composed. sharp. impossible to fully read. sometimes looking at her hurts because all you can see is him.
she asked the question gently. but there’s always command hidden beneath her voice, years of power woven naturally into every word she speaks.
“uhm,” you hesitate, “i don’t know, mama li,” the nickname leaves your lips naturally. it always has, “i don’t think we’ll ever go back to the way we used to.”
for a moment, genuine sadness flickers across her face. she exhales softly before offering you a small smile, “just give it time,” she says gently, “you know he’s always loved you.”
your chest tightens painfully. it’s what everyone says. your parents. his parents. family friends. employees who watched the two of you grow up together. everyone insists chenle loved you once. maybe still does. but lately, you’re not so sure anymore. maybe everyone simply misunderstood him all these years. maybe being comfortable around someone your entire childhood wasn’t the same thing as loving them.
after all – chenle himself has never actually said it. not once.
mama li studies your expression carefully before continuing, “chenle has always been difficult with his emotions,” she says with a quiet sigh, “but that boy would follow you around everywhere when you were younger. you were the only person who could calm him down whenever he got upset.”
you force out a faint smile, “that was a long time ago.”
“feelings don’t disappear that easily,” she replies smoothly.
you wish you believed that. instead, you take another sip of tea to avoid answering.
“even so, my dear,” her eyes linger meaningfully on you, “i hope you’re not forgetting your duties.”
there it is. the real reason behind this conversation. behind her visit.
children. heirs. you suddenly feel exhausted. you don’t know what to say. you’ve only slept with chenle once. and considering the fact you got your period this morning, you’re very aware you are not pregnant. still, you can’t exactly tell his mother that her son barely touches you. so instead, you straighten your posture slightly and force your voice to remain calm.
“we’re trying.”
mama li’s expression brightens immediately, genuine excitement sparkles in her eyes, “well, that’s wonderful news,” she says warmly, “we have to continue our legacies after all,” she adds with a soft smile, lifting her teacup once more.
legacy. sometimes you wonder if anyone in this family actually understands how lonely that word feels.
⚜️ THE DRUNK WIFE’S PINKY PROMISE ⚜️
it’s been a month since mama li’s visit. and half a year since you and chenle got married. he hasn’t touched you once since that night. not even accidentally. no lingering touches while passing each other in hallways. no brushing shoulders. no quiet midnight knocks at your bedroom door. absolutely…nothing.
and lately, the restlessness sitting inside you has started turning into panic. because six months into marriage and you still weren’t even close to being pregnant. your parents ask constantly. mama li asks so often that your stomach knots every single time. even the public has started wondering. the media hasn’t said anything outright yet, but you’ve seen the headlines.
WHEN WILL THE GOLDEN COUPLE ANNOUNCE THEIR FIRST HEIR?
A BOY OR A GIRL? IT SHOULD BE ANY DAY NOW.
and worst of all — people at work were starting to notice things too. the whispers had gotten louder these past few weeks:
why do you never arrive together? why do you leave separately? why do the two of you never eat lunch together despite literally being married? were you both simply that professional??? or did you secretly hate each other???
the stress had been eating at you slowly. you feel like you’re being watched even more so than usual.
so tonight, for the first time in months, you finally leave the mansion for something other than work. with your best friend - yizhou ning-qian. if anyone understood arranged marriages, it was her. except for the obvious difference that her husband, kun qian, absolutely adored her. even with their seven year age gap, they worked. somehow effortlessly. which honestly made your own marriage feel even sadder by comparison.
“have you tried initiating it?,” yizhou asks casually, sipping her tequila.
the two of you were tucked away inside one of the private rooms at a high-end bar where membership alone cost more than most people’s yearly salaries. dim lights glowed against velvet seating while soft jazz echoed faintly beyond the closed doors.
you stare at her, “yizhou,” you say flatly, “i can’t even get close enough to try.”
she snorts immediately, the sound sharp and mocking of the situation.
“every time i walk into a room,” you continue, “he leaves. immediately.”
"man,” she sighs, shaking her head, “chenle seriously needs to grow the fuck up.” you can’t even disagree. “this was always going to be our lives,” she continues, taking a quick sip of her drink, “and honestly? it’s not even that bad.”
another tequila shot arrives at the table. she pushes it toward you with a mischievous glint in her eye.
”i mean,” she giggles, “we’re literally billionaires! it can’t get better than this.”
you burst into laughter with her despite yourself, the alcohol finally beginning to warm your chest pleasantly.
“exactly!,” you groan dramatically after downing the shot in one go, “all we have to do is marry someone else rich and pretty yet chenle thinks the world has ended.”
yizhou nearly chokes, laughing, “god, he’s just been too spoiled.”
the two of you dissolve into another fit of giggles. and if it was any other person, you’d feel awful for trash talking your husband. but she was your best friend, one of your safe spaces. and it feels good to laugh. you haven’t done that in a while.
yizhou wipes beneath her eyes dramatically before leaning back against the couch, “if anything,” she says, still grinning, “you guys are the luckiest out of all of us.”
your smile falters, “and why’s that?”
”you married someone you already know…someone you already love.”
the words silence the laughter instantly. the love you carry for chenle is a heavy, aching thing – a devotion that has survived his coldness and his resentment. but love is a two-way street. and chenle has shown it loud and clear that he didn’t share those same feelings for you.
“he doesn’t love me, yizhou,” you say quietly.
for a second, she just stares at you. then suddenly, she bursts into even louder laughter. ”yeah,” she says sarcastically between giggles, “and my husband is fucking poor!”
you shove her shoulder weakly while laughing. considering kun was literally one of the ten wealthiest men in the country, the statement sounds ridiculous.
her expression softens after laughing, “y/n,” she says more seriously now, “that boy has loved you since before we even knew what love was.”
“you don’t know that,” you whisper, chest tightening painfully as you shake your head immediately.
“oh, please,” she rolls her eyes, “everyone knows that.”
you sigh into your drink. you wish people would stop saying that. it just lets the hope linger longer. just reminds you of the boy he used to be. just makes the man he has become feel more like a tragedy.
”seriously,” she continues, leaning forward now, “he just needs to wake up from whatever self-pity hole he dug for himself.”
you stare down at the amber liquid in your glass quietly.
“i mean, come on, he has to know that it could be worse,” she adds.
“how could it be worse than this?”
”jaemin’s literally arranged to marry someone he actually hates,” she points out, “and even he isn’t acting as childish as chenle,” she reaches for your hand then, intertwining her fingers through yours.
“it’s not your fault, y/n.”
your throat tightens at her comfort, the alcohol heightening the vulnerability of your emotions.
“and sooner or later,” she says softly, "chene's going to realize that too. he’s going to realize that while he was busy hating the arrangement, he was losing the only person who actually gives a damn about him.”
you drank a lot more than you should’ve. at first, it was just to loosen up. but somewhere between the expensive tequila, the soft jazz playing in the private room and yizhou’s ridiculous stories, the warmth spreading through your body started feeling addictive. every shot made things quieter. lighter. your thoughts blurred around the edges. your chest stopped hurting so much whenever chenle crossed your mind. for the first time in months, you weren’t thinking about the empty side of your dinner table or the way your husband avoided looking at you like eye contact physically pained him.
you were just laughing. drinking. existing. and maybe that’s why you didn’t realize how much time had passed until yizhou was shoving your purse into your hands while laughing at your completely incoherent attempt to put your heels back on.
by the time your driver finally pulls into the mansion’s driveway, it’s nearly three in the morning. the second the car door opens, cold air hits your face and you instantly regret every decision you made tonight.
“mmm,” you groan softly while stepping out drunkily, “why is the ground moving?” you complain.
“the ground is not moving, mrs. zhong,” your maid says gently while helping steady you. you squint suspiciously at the marble steps leading toward the front door. you manage to stumble inside the mansion without face-planting into the floor. barely. if it wasn’t for your maid’s help, you’d be on the ground.
“its uh–kay,” you mumble as your maid carefully tries helping you remove your coat, “mmm okay, i can take care of myself. i’m a professional. i’m a…ceo of being okay!”
you absolutely are not. your words are slurring into a thick, honey-like mess and you nearly take out a priceless vase with your shoulder before you finally collapse onto the bottom step of the right staircase.
upstairs, chenle hears your voice immediately. he had been awake. waiting. though he’d never admit that out loud. usually, when he came home from work, your bedroom light would still be visible through the tiny crack beneath your door.
tonight, it had been dark.
and when he checked downstairs earlier under the excuse of getting water, you hadn’t been in the living room either. and for reasons he doesn’t want to examine too closely, it unsettled him. so tonight, he intentionally left his bedroom door slightly cracked open. just enough to hear when you returned home.
and now here you were. sounding very, very drunk.
chenle exhales sharply before stepping out into the hallway. he makes his way downstairs quietly only to stop midway down the staircase at the sight in front of him. you’re sitting on the bottom step of your staircase now with your head slumped against the railing while your maid looks one second away from panicking.
“i said i’m okayyyy,” you groan.
“sir zhong,” the maid says immediately in relief the second she notices him.
your head snaps upward clumsily at her voice, eyes unfocused as you follow her gaze. chenle stands halfway down the staircase dressed in dark sweatpants and a loose shirt, his hair looking unbelievably soft. he looks unfairly handsome for three in the morning – a devastatingly beautiful statue carved from ice and moonlight.
“mrs. zhong is drunk,” the maid explains carefully.
“i’m not drunk,” you counter immediately. then your body sways sideways slightly and she catches your shoulder before you topple over completely.
she turns back toward chenle helplessly, “i’m trying to help her up the stairs, sir. she might hurt herself without guidance.”
chenle’s jaw tightens slightly. then he nods once. “i’ll take care of it, you may go.”
she bows politely before quickly disappearing down the hallway, leaving the two of you alone. silence settles briefly. chenle walks down the remaining stairs slowly before stopping in front of you.
“you drink now?” he asks flatly, clearly not amused.
you squint up at him from the floor, “wow,” you mumble, a small, crooked smile playing on your lips, “judgmental much? mr. perfect.”
stubbornly, you attempt standing on your own. terrible decision. the second you rise, the world spins 360 degrees. chenle reacts immediately, one arm hooking firmly around your waist and hauling you flush against his chest. the contact is electric. it’s the first time in months he's touched you with any kind of intent, and the sudden heat of his body against yours makes your breath hitch. he is solid, warm, smelling of expensive soap and something uniquely him.
you blink up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs as you reach out, poking his chest weakly with a finger, “you’re not the only one,” you whisper, your voice losing its playful edge and becoming raw, “who wants to forget.”
the words come out quieter than intended. more honest too. you’re too drunk to notice the way his face softens for half a second. deep down, he’s always known it. he just never wanted to acknowledge it – the fact that you were hurting, too.
he reaches forward, his hand cupping your face and squishing your cheeks together, forcing your lips into a pout. his brows furrow, gaze scanning your flushed face, “you know you’re not good with alcohol.”
you sway weakly at his wrist with a dramatic scoff, “psh, whatever.”
then you wriggle yourself fee from his hold before turning toward the staircase again, “i’m a big girl now,” you mumble stubbornly as you begin walking upwards, “i can do it.”
chenle hums behind you, not convinced in the slightest. you make it about five steps before the world starts tilting unpleasantly again. he was right. you were never good with alcohol. your head feels heavy. your feet hurt from the heels you still haven’t taken off and suddenly the stairs look impossibly long and all you want to do is fall asleep right here.
with a defeated sigh, you finally turn around. and only then do you realize how close chenle actually is. he’s standing just two steps below you. close enough that if you slipped backward even slightly, he’d catch you instantly. it softens you immediately. the way he still followed you. your expression crumbles into something smaller, softer.
“lele,” you mumble quietly, the nickname naturally slipping from your lips. you haven’t called him that in years. not since everything between you became sharp and complicated.
chenle visibly freezes. the air in the stairway seems to solidify, trapping him in the space between who he is now and who he used to be.
your lower lip juts out slightly as you blink at him tiredly, “i need help,” you admit finally, your voice small and stripped of all its corporate armor.
his heart stops. he swears the world stops moving. because you sound exactly like her. not the polished corporate heiress version of you who sits through board meetings with perfect posture and calculated smiles. not the wife who carefully measures every word around him now.
you sound like the girl he used to know. the one who used to cling onto his arm after getting tired at amusement parks. the one who cried dramatically over a barely scraped knee and demanded he carry her because “best friends are supposed to help each other.” the one who looked at him as if he were the only source of light in a dark world.
you sounded like the girl he loves.
before business meetings hollowed everything out between you. before his own resentment poisoned every room you shared.
chenle exhales slowly through his nose, a shaky breath that rattles in his chest. he sighs, and for the first time in years, the sound isn't one of annoyance, but of defeat.
“come on, you big baby,” he mutters.
the tease slips out so effortlessly it surprises both of you, a sudden echo of a decade ago. your eyes widen slightly, he hasn’t sounded like that with you in a very long time. before you can even respond, chenle bends slightly and hooks an arm beneath your knees. you let out a tiny squeak as he lifts you effortlessly into his arms, bridal style. instinctively, your hands grab onto his shoulder, settling against his chest automatically as he starts carrying you up the stairs properly this time. his warmth surrounds you immediately, steady and safe, your alcohol fogged brain melting into it without resistance.
chenle tries very hard not to think about how natural this still feels. how your body still fits against his as if they were two pieces of a puzzle designed by a higher power. he feels your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, a subconscious grip that mirrors the way you used to hold onto him when you were children. years ago, this would’ve been normal. he used to carry you all the time. after you fall asleep in the car rides home. after twisting your ankle once trying to impress him at basketball. after you threw a dramatic tantrum at sixteen because your heels hurt during some charity gala. back then, touching you was easy. now it feels dangerous.
he pushes your bedroom door open with his shoulders before walking inside. carefully, he lowers you onto the mattress. but the second he starts pulling away, your hands grab onto him tighter.
“not yet,” you mumble immediately, tugging him downward with surprising strength until he half falls onto the bed beside you. your arms wrap around him instinctively, face burying against his chest, holding him close.
chenle freezes for half a second. then exhales slowly. because fuck. he missed this. he missed you. not the tense silence between board meetings. not the careful distance. not the version of you that flinches emotionally every time he looks at you now. but this – warm and soft and clinging onto him like he was still your safest place in the world.
your hugs always used to calm him down faster than anything else. even now, after everything, his body relaxes embarrassingly quick the moment your arms tighten around him. he lets himself stay there for a little while. just a little. his hand settles carefully against your back as your breathing slowly evens out.
eventually, he pulls back enough to look at you properly, brushing your hair away from your face gently, his fingers lingering slightly longer than necessary.
“why’d you drink so much anyway?” he asks softly.
and maybe it’s the alcohol. maybe it’s the exhaustion. or maybe you simply miss your best friend too much to keep pretending you don’t. because suddenly, you start talking to him like he’s still that person.
“my husband won’t touch me,” you mumble sadly.
the words hit him directly in the chest. especially because you say it like your husband and the man currently holding you are two entirely different people. his eyes widen slightly, heat creeping into his face almost instantly and he’s almost grateful you’re drunk enough not to notice.
“and everyone keeps asking me about children, lele…” your voice grows smaller, “it’s just–it’s too much,” you pout slightly afterward, eyes glossy and tired.
chenle’s guilt continues to grow. he knows all of the pressure has been landing on you. his mother stopped bringing children up around him months ago. your parents tread carefully too. everyone gives him space, shows him more grace. he think’s it’s because everyone is afraid that if they push him too hard, it will make him snap completely. make him finally leave. no one realizes he never actually could. not when the thought of a world where he wasn’t with you, even in this broken, tragic way, felt more impossible than the marriage itself.
“do you even want a child?” he ask quietly, not sure why he keeps this conversation going. maybe because this is the most honest the two of you have been with each other in years.
you shift, turning on your side to find a more comfortable position, and in the process, you instinctively seize his hand again. without a second thought, you tug his arm around your waist, pulling him flush against you until your back is pressed firmly against his chest. the position nearly wrecks him. because this used to be normal too. movie nights. sleepovers. lazy afternoons tangled together on couches while studying. you always used to curl into him naturally like he was home. and he used to hate having to leave, always wanting more time with you.
“it wouldn’t be that bad to have one,” you admit softly, your fingers playing absentmindedly with his, tracing the lines of his palm, “i mean…we have all the money in the world.”
chenle huffs quietly through his nose, a small, dry sound. it always comes back to that, doesn't it? the money. the wealth. the legacy. the gold-plated chains that bind you together.
“we could have twenty and still have plenty left over,” you add with a sleepy, whimsical giggle.
that actually almost makes him laugh. the image of the two of you with twenty children running around this mansion sounds absolutely insane. he can barely handle one drunk wife right now. still, his chest feels strangely warm hearing you talk like this – domestic, hopeful, almost dreaming. it stirs something in him that he thought he had buried under layers of corporate coldness.
chenle doesn’t even know if he wants children. at least, not like this. not because families and investors expect it. not because it’s another duty to fill.
suddenly, you shift again, turning in his arms to face him fully. your movements are slow, languid, you lift your hand, fingers grazing his jawline with a touch so light it’s almost a hallucination. you caress him carefully, your eyes searching his with a heartbreaking intensity.
“give me a baby, lele,” you whisper.
his entire body stills. every muscle locks. he knows its the alcohol talking.
but, fuck.
the way you’re looking at him right now could ruin him. chenle would give you anything. money. houses. companies. his entire fucking life if you asked for it. just – not like this. not when it would feel like another transaction instead of something real.
his hand slides carefully into your hair instead, “why do you want a baby so badly?” he asks quietly, voice strained.
you shrug faintly. then your expression softens into something heartbreakingly vulnerable.
“i just don’t want to be so lonely anymore.”
his heart breaks instantly. completely. it’s his fault. he is the one who built the walls. he is the one who turned this house into a gilded cage.
“so…” you mumble sleepily, eyes barely open now, “will you give me one?”
hope flickers across your pretty face so softly it nearly kills him.
he swallows hard, “not right now, y/n,” he says gently. your expression falls immediately and the guilt twists violently inside him again. so he adds.. quietly…“maybe someday.”
your eyes lift toward him again slowly. then, you raise your pinky between the two of you.
“you promise?”
chenle stares at it and suddenly he’s thirteen again. you don’t link pinkies the way others do. you once declared that it “felt fake” and that crossing fingers didn’t feel lucky enough for important things. so, the two of you had invented your own ritual. your own secret language of loyalty.
carefully, with a tenderness that makes his chest ache, chenle takes your hand and he leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the very tip of your pinky finger.
“i promise.”
your sleepy face brightens instantly. you grab his hand and softly kiss the tip of his pinky too.
a promise sealed. except this promise wasn’t as simple as the ones before.
eventually, your body relaxes fully against his chest while his fingers continue stroking slowly through your hair until you fall asleep in his arms. chenle stays there longer than he should, watching you sleep peacefully against him, finally not hurting for a little while. once he’s sure you’re completely asleep, he carefully slips out of bed. but before leaving, he gently pulls your heels from your feet one by one. then he places a glass of water and two pieces of tylenol on your nightstand. the same way he used to after parties years ago. for a while, chenle just stands there staring at you. then quietly, he turns the lights off and finally lets the night end.
⚜️ THE DEATH GUMMY ⚜️
another month passes. and things were starting to shift subtly. you’re not entirely sure what happened that night you got drunk. honestly, most of it is blurry fragments in your memory – warm arms, soft whispers, the feeling of safety you hadn’t felt around chenle in years.
whatever happened though, it softened chenle a little. just a tiny bit.
he still doesn’t initiate a conversation unless absolutely necessary. still keeps most of his thoughts locked tightly behind careful expression. still retreats into himself more often that not. but he doesn’t leave rooms as soon as you enter anymore. and slowly, he starts joining you for dinner again. you ate silently, still on opposite ends of the table but at least he was there now.
then, one night, you found him in the living room watching an episode of f.r.i.e.n.d.s. normally, you would’ve turned around to avoid making him uncomfortable. instead, chenle glanced at you briefly, eyes soft, not leaving, not telling you to go away either. so, cautiously, you sat on the opposite end. the two of you watched an entire episode, occasionally laughing at the same jokes. at one point your laughter overlapped and both of you went awkwardly still afterward. but even that tiny moment felt precious. more than you could ask for.
maybe everyone was right. maybe chenle simply needed time.
today, the two of you are at yü skincare headquarters. a product development meeting. one of the company’s biggest launches planned for next year. your team had spent nearly eleven months developing a new type of vitamin e supplement. and because you took your work seriously, you always insisted on testing products yourself. if consumers were putting your products into their bodies, then so would you.
the testing room buzzes quietly with concentration. there are only five people here today – you, chenle, your assistant, mark lee – head of the vitamin research development team, and another researcher seated nearby typing notes rapidly into a laptop.
mark steps forward excitedly, holding the newest batch carefully, “today is mainly flavor testing,” he explains, “we finally stabilized the texture, so now we just need to ensure the taste is actually enjoyable for the mass market.” he places one small green chewable into your palm. then another into chenle’s, “we infused it with natural fruit extracts to eliminate the vitamin aftertaste.”
you nodded absentmindedly, your mind already drifting toward the logistics of the rollout. you trusted mark implicitly – he was one of the best in the industry.
without a second thought, you and chenle both placed the gummies into your mouths.
and that’s when everything goes wrong.
your throat locks almost instantly. your eyes widen violently. for half a second, you think you might have swallowed wrong. but then your airway starts closing. fast.
you can’t breathe.
in a blind surge of terror, you slapped your hand hard against chenle’s arm, the sound sharp in the quiet room. his head snapped toward you, and every ounce of color drained from his face. he watched, in horror, as you began to turn a terrifying shade of red, your mouth opening desperately, gasping for air that wouldn't come. your eyes were wide, filled with a raw, primal terror.
chenle reacted before anyone else could even process what was happening. he lunged forward, gripping your shoulders with a strength that nearly knocked you back, facing you fully.
“Y/N?!” his voice was tight, laced with immediate alarm.
your lips parted, but no sound emerged – only a wet, wheezing struggle. you clawed at your own throat, your nails digging into your skin in a desperate attempt to open the airway.
a wave of pure, unadulterated terror hits chenle, his eyes darting around the room frantically, searching for the cause, mind racing through every possibility.
“what the fuck happened?!," he roared, voice echoing off the sterile walls.
the room froze. everyone stood paralyzed, their faces masks of confusion and sudden fear. no one answered. no one has answers. the silence was suffocating, broken only by the horrific, whistling sound of your struggle to breathe. chenle’s gaze snapped to the tray of green gummies. he pieced it together then.
“we’re there kiwis in these?!” chenle demands sharply.
mark blinked, nodding quickly, his voice trembling, “uh–yes, sir. we infused it with concentrated kiwi juice because it–”
“SHE’S ALLERGIC!,” chenle’s voice cracks through the room so loudly everyone jumps.
you were deathly allergic to kiwi. not mildly allergic. not uncomfortable. deathly. a single slice of the fruit in a room could make your throat itch, a concentrated extract delivered directly into your system was a death sentence.
his breathing turns uneven instantly as fear floods his system. you’re not coughing anymore. you’re struggling. really struggling. your body starts slumping sideways in your chair and chenle catches you immediately before you hit the floor.
“hey–hey, stay with me!” his voice shakes.
for the first time in years, he completely loses his composure in front of other people. he was no longer the cold heir, he was a terrified boy watching the only person he truly loved slip away.
“her bag,” he barked, the command slashing through the chaos, “someone get me her fucking bag now.”
your assistant rushes forward immediately, handing your bag over. another employee is already yelling for medics outside the room. everything becomes chaotic around him. but chenle barely hears any of it. all he can focus on is you. the violent red of the reaction was fading into a ghostly, terrifying pallor. your lips were tinged with a bruised blue, and your head kept dipping weakly, your consciousness flickering like a dying candle. your hand, resting against his suit jacket, felt colder with every passing second. for one horrifying, timeless moment, he genuinely believed you were dying.
“look at me,” he pleaded, his voice urgent and wrecked. he gripped your face, his fingers trembling against your cheeks, trying to force your unfocused eyes to lock onto his. “y/n, look at me! stay with me!”
your eyelids fluttered, your pupils blown and hazy. you could see him – the panic in his eyes, the sheer, unadulterated terror – but you couldn't reach him. you were drowning on dry land.
“fuck—!” he let out a choked sound, his hands shaking violently as he dove into your bag. he tossed aside your wallet, your phone, a lipstick, his movements frantic and clumsy, “where is it–where the fuck is it–”
then finally – the epipen. you always carried it for emergencies.
relief crashed through him so hard it was almost physical, a wave of adrenaline that surged through his veins. he didn't hesitate. he didn't even remove your clothing, he slammed the injector hard against your outer thigh, the needle piercing through the fabric of your trousers with a sharp, clinical click.
“stay with me,” he whispered, his voice rough and broken, “please, please stay with me.”
the seconds that followed were an eternity of agonizing silence. chenle held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs, watching your face for any sign of life. then it happened – you let out a sudden, violent gasp, a broken, desperate inhale that sounded like a sob. it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. oxygen flooded back into your lungs, and the sudden rush of air brought a torrent of tears that spilled from your eyes, soaking into the fabric of his shirt.
chenle exhales shakily like he forgot how to breathe too, his forehead nearly dropping against yours from relief, his eyes closing tight.
“that’s it,” he whispers frantically, his voice a breathless wreck, “that’s it, baby, breathe.”
he doesn’t even realize what he called you. he only cared that your hand, though weak and trembling, was curling around his fingers, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you anchored to the earth. chenle grips tighter immediately, as if letting go would allow the death that had just brushed past you to return and take you away.
his breathing is uneven. his eyes are glossy. everyone in the room is staring now because they’ve never seen zhong chenle like this before.
but chenle doesn’t care about appearances anymore. not when he thought he was about to lose you forever.
⚜️ THE ONLY CHOICE HE’S EVER MADE ⚜️
chenle never visits you in the hospital.
the first day, mama li told you he was busy dealing with the fallout at work, there were investigations happening now, meetings with legal teams and a very furious chenle. the second day, you waited. by the third day, you stopped expecting him entirely.
your private hospital suite overlooks the city skyline, expensive and pristine in the way only billionaires could experience. fresh flowers arrive every morning from companies and family friends. assistants rotate in shifts outside your door. nurses practically hover around you like you’re made of glass. everyone treats you like you almost died. which, to be fair, you technically almost did. still, you feel fine now. a little tired maybe. but alive.
your father is currently standing near the windows watering the ridiculous amount of plants someone sent earlier when the question finally slips out of you quietly.
“has chenle come by?”
he pauses mid-motion before looking over his shoulder at you. then slowly, he shakes his head, “sorry, sweetheart.”
you look down at the blanket pooled over your lap, “you were right, dad,” you admit softly, your voice sounding hollow in the vast room.
his brows furrow, “i’m right about a lot of things…but what is this one about?”
you force out a weak laugh, “maybe it would’ve been easier to marry someone i didn’t love.”
that makes him stop completely. he places the watering can onto the nearby table before he walks toward your bed. your father has never been particularly good with emotions. he showed love through stability, protection and business lessons disguised as life advice. still, he takes the seat beside your bed quietly.
“sweetheart,” he says carefully, “there are positives and negatives in every situation. and sometimes…the choices we make can hurt more than we expected them to—but you already made your decision,” he sighs softly, “and just like every good business deal, you have to commit to it fully.”
you almost smile. trust your father to turn emotional comfort into a corporate lesson.
“trust your instincts,” he adds quieter this time, his hand patting yours awkwardly. it’s probably the closest thing to emotional reassurance he knows how to give. it helps a little.
“thanks, dad,” you murmur.
he nods once before leaning down to kiss the top of your head gently, “get some rest.”
then he leaves you alone again. the second the door shuts, the loneliness creeps back in. because despite his words – the only person you actually wanted to see was chenle.
unbeknownst to you, chenle visits every single night.
always after midnight. always once he’s certain you’re asleep. he slips into your hospital room quietly, dressed in dark clothes and exhaustion. the first night, he genuinely thought you looked dead. too still. too pale. fear hit him so hard he crossed the room immediately just to place a trembling hand near your face and make sure you were still breathing. only after feeling your warm breath against his skin did he finally relax. after that, it became routine. every night he checks your breathing first. sometimes, he sits beside your bed for hours in complete silence, staring at you while guilt slowly eats him alive from the inside out.
because you could’ve died.
and worse–
you could’ve died believing he hates you.
chenle doesn’t think he would’ve survived losing you. that realization was a cold, jagged blade, cutting through the carefully constructed armor he had worn for years. it terrified him more than anything else. for years, he convinced himself the opposite, that you were the reason he felt trapped, the reason his life no longer belonged entirely to him. the reason everything started feeling planned and suffocating. but the second your breathing stopped sounding normal – none of that mattered anymore. all he remembered feeling was pure, violent fear.
the memory keeps replaying in his head every night no matter how hard he tries to shut it out. your hand grabbing his arm desperately, your face turning red, the sound of you struggling for air, the way your fingers slowly weakened in his grasp, the horrifying weight of your body slumping against him and worst of all – how cold he felt. like someone had dumped ice water directly into his chest.
he hates that it took a near-death experience to shatter his delusions. he hates that he had been so blind. fear like that doesn't stem from obligation. you don’t unravel, you don’t scream into the void, and you don’t beg a person to breathe if all they ever were to you was a responsibility — he hates how almost losing you made him realize that everything he felt for you had always been real. not planned. not arranged. not a script written by two powerful families to ensure a monopoly on the cosmetic industry.
because long before contracts existed. before business meetings and inheritance talks and engagement announcements – chenle loved you.
he loved you when you were thirteen, sealing promises with kissed pinkies. he still remembers the first time you came up with it. the two of you had been sitting on the rooftop terrace of your parent’s vacation house, legs dangling over the edge while sharing melted popsicles in the middle of summer. “crossing fingers feels fake,” you complained dramatically after he broke a promise to watch a movie with you the week before, “people break pinky promises all the time.” he laughed, “so what? we sign contracts now?” you rolled your eyes before grabbing his hand. then, with complete seriousness, you pressed a tiny kiss against the tip of his pinky finger. “there,” you said proudly, “now it’s permanent.” after that, every important promise between the two of you was sealed that way. he never broke a single one.
he loved you at fifteen when you attended every single one of his basketball games with his number painted proudly across your cheeks in bright blue despite both your parents immediately scolding you for putting “cheap toxic paint” on your skin. you didn’t care though, you sat front row, screaming, “that’s my lele!,” every time he scored. he used to pretend to act embarrassed in front of his teammates while secretly searching for you in the crowd every few minutes just to make sure you were still there. you always were. and after the games, you’d rush toward him, still wearing his jersey, eyes sparkling. no victory ever felt as good as seeing you proud of him.
he loved you at sixteen when your vintage camera became permanently filled with blurry pictures of him. half the photos were terrible – his face cut off, him mid-yawn, him glaring because you kept shoving the camera into his face while he was trying to eat. but mixed between those were softer ones too like him asleep in the car with his head tilted towards you, him laughing with his head thrown back, pictures of the two of you together. he once asked why you took so many pictures of him and you shrugged like it was obvious, “because you’re my favorite person.” he thinks maybe that was the first time his heart ever genuinely stuttered inside his chest.
he loved you when you were seventeen, in a moment so sudden it had nearly knocked the wind out of him. he remembered the weight of the shopping bags in his hands, the handles digging into his palms, and the sheer, unfiltered joy radiating from you. you had spent weeks in a state of mourning over your crybaby figurine collection, devastated after failing to pull the secret rares. you hadn’t asked him for help – you never did – but chenle had watched your disappointment from the sidelines, and it had felt like a physical weight in his own chest. he spent nights contacting resellers behind your back until he found every missing figurine himself. when he finally handed you the completed set, the expression on your face had been blinding. you had looked at him as if he were the center of the universe. without a second thought, you reached up, grabbed his face in your small hands, and pressed a fervent, lingering kiss to his cheek. “i love you the most!” you squealed, your voice high and breathless with excitement. chenle remembered the way the blood had rushed to his face, a heat so intense it felt like a fever, while you remained blissfully oblivious, already turning back to admire your figurines. in that moment, he had realized that your affection was a drug, and he was already hopelessly addicted.
and deep, deep down, he knows he loved you at twenty-four. especially on the day you became his wife. the moment those heavy doors opened and you stepped inside wearing that white dress you spent months carefully choosing – he forgot how to breathe. everything around him blurred instantly. time slowed to a crawl, yet he felt his entire future rushing toward him at the same time. all he could see was you. the slight tremble in your hands, the way your eyes shimmered with a mixture of hope and fear, and the way you looked at him as if he were still your favorite person in the world, despite everything. you looked beautiful. not in the polished, public way magazines later described. not like “the perfect heiress.” you looked devastatingly you. and chenle wanted so badly to reach for you, pull you close, wanted this marriage to be real in every way that actually mattered. when the officiant gave the command to kiss the bride, his chest ached with a sudden, sharp grief. it felt cruel that this – a choreographed moment in front of a thousand witnesses – was your first kiss together. he remembers leaning down slowly, your lashes fluttering, lips soft and warm and gentle against his. and for a second, chenle forgot there were a thousand people surrounding you both. forgot cameras existed. forgot he was angry. kissing you felt terrifyingly natural, like a missing piece of his soul finally clicking into place, a homecoming he should have claimed years ago.
but the truth was, he had loved you long before he even had a word for it. back when the two of you were six years old and accidentally broke expensive glass tubes inside one of the zhong cosmetics labs while playing tag in the rooms. assistants had panicked instantly, someone yelled, another employee nearly cried seeing the shattered equipment all over the floor. you got scared immediately, eyes filling with tears as adults crowded around the two of you. and without even thinking, chenle stepped in front of you protectively, “it was my fault,” he lied. he remembered the feeling of your watery gaze on the back of his head while he stood there, taking the brunt of the scolding from every adult on the floor. he hadn't cared. the only thing that mattered was that you weren't crying anymore. later that evening, you had secretly slipped half of your dessert onto his plate, whispering that “heroes deserve rewards.”
everything else in his life had been a predetermined path. the schools, the internships, the board meetings, the carefully curated image of a successor. his life had been a series of checkboxes marked by people who didn't care about his heart.
but all those moments – the pinky swears, the blue paint on your cheeks, the secret figurines, the shared dessert – those belonged entirely to him. entirely to the two of you.
loving you was the only choice he ever truly made on his own.
it had happened naturally, quietly, and without permission. he had built this love in the secret spaces of his heart, and in his desperate, panicked attempt to protect his freedom, he had almost destroyed the only thing that had ever actually set him free.
he hasn’t forgiven himself for any of it yet. not for avoiding you all these years. not for making you lonely inside your own marriage. not for turning your first time into something cold and painful. not for the way your face looked when you admitted you just didn’t want to be lonely anymore. and definitely not for freezing in that meeting for even half a second before realizing what was happening.
which is exactly why he can’t face you while you were awake right now. he physically can’t. because the second you look him with those eyes of yours, he’s terrified he’ll completely break apart in front of you. he imagined himself sobbing at your bedside, begging for a forgiveness he didn't believe he deserved.
and everyone keeps reminding him stress is bad for your recovery. the irony was a bitter pill to swallow. chenle knew he was the primary source of stress in your life. so, he remained a shadow, visiting only in the dead of night, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest. it was pathetic. it was cowardly. but it was the only way he knew how to love you without hurting you further.
by the third day, your regular hospital meals suddenly disappear. instead, trays arrive with your favorite comfort foods – steaming siomai, all types of dumplings, wonton noodles – all warm and prepared exactly the way you like them. you can’t hide your smile when you see them because there is only one person in the world who knows your comfort order by memory, a relic of a childhood where he used to sneak you treats when you were sad. you stared at the tray fondly. chenle might not have visited you, but this feels like proof he still cares anyway.
and by the fifth day, you’re completely over it. everyone is being ridiculously dramatic. you feel so energized already. bored out of your mind. still, every doctor insists your body needs more recovery time after the severity of the reaction. your parents refuse to let you leave early and the only person who actually has the authority to pull you out, your husband, isn’t taking that risk either.
you end up staying in the hospital for two more days before finally coming home.
⚜️ THE AIR ⚜️
when chenle got home that afternoon, he’s exhausted. the past week had destroyed him more than he let anyone sees. he barely slept. barely ate. and every single time his phone rang unexpectedly, panic seized his chest before he could stop it.
he loosens his tie tiredly as he walks through the mansion doors, mentally preparing himself to go to the hospital to pick you up. but as he walks into the kitchen — he freezes.
you’re standing there, alive and healthy, wearing one of your silk pajama sets while leaning casually against the island, sipping water and scrolling through your phone like nothing happened.
for a second, he thinks he’s imagining you. you weren’t supposed to be released for another three hours. then again, you were stubborn enough to convince almost anyone to do what you wanted eventually. no one ever really knew how to tell you no when you looked at them with that specific, determined glint in your eyes.
“you’re home.”
the sound of his voice quickly diverts your attention from all the emails you were catching up on to him. you glance up and in his eyes – you see the difference. the armor he usually wore wasn't just cracked – it was gone. his eyes were wide, vulnerable, and shimmering with a relief so profound it looked like pain. slowly, you place your phone down on the counter, smiling at him gently.
“i’m home.”
for the first time all week, he remembered how to breathe again. like he had given you all of his air and it’s now finally being returned to his own lungs.
the briefcase he was carrying hit one of the glass tables with a loud, jarring crash. he didn't care. he didn't even look at it. he crossed the kitchen, closing the distance between you and collided with you, pulling you into his arms so suddenly and with such force that the air left your lungs in a small gasp.
chenle hugs you tightly. desperately. like he needs physical proof you’re still here. still warm. still breathing.
your eyes widen in shock, breath hitching against his shoulder. then, slowly, you let your guard down and wrap your arms around him, feeling the frantic, erratic thumping of his heart against your ear.
“i thought i was gonna lose you.”
his voice cracked, the sound raw and jagged against your hair. the confession was stripped of all pride, all resentment, and all the distance he had spent years cultivating. the fear was completely exposed, leaving him naked before you.
you pulled back just enough to look at him, though you stayed in his arms. the sight of him broke your heart. there were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his skin looked sallow from lack of sleep. and then, a single tear escaped, tracing a slow path down his cheek.
you froze. in all the years you had known him – from the boy who chased you through the labs to the man who ignored you across the dinner table – you had never seen chenle cry. not once.
with tenderness, you lifted your hand and brushed the tear away, your fingertips lingering on his skin, impossibly soft.
“zhong chenle,” you murmur softly, voice trembling with a mixture of ache and affection, “you really think you can get rid of me that easily?”
his eyes close briefly at your touch like your fingers can undo the pain inside him. he doesn’t answer, doesn’t joke, doesn’t hide behind sarcasm or distance or that cold indifference he perfected over the years. instead, chenle just pulls you back into his arms again, holding you tighter this time. and for the first time in years, you let yourself lean into him fully.
eventually though, reality settles back between the two of you. chenle slowly loosens his hold first. the second he realizes how tightly he’s been clinging to you, his expression shifts immediately. he clears his throat quickly and takes a half step back like distance might help him regain control again.
“i’m glad you’re okay,” he says quietly, guarded again.
before you can even process the moment properly — he leaves. just walks out of the kitchen entirely, leaving you standing there alone trying to understand what the hell just happened.
none of that made sense.
chenle has spent the last six years hating you. yet, for a few minutes, he had held you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. you stare at the doorway long after he disappeared through it. confused. hopeful. terrified. you didn't want to read too much into a moment of panic-induced weakness, but the ghost of his heartbeat was still echoing in your ears.
until your phone buzzes nonstop, dragging you back to reality, life continuing on like your world hadn’t just tilted.
⚜️ THE MISTAKE THAT ALMOST TOOK YOU FROM ME ⚜️
the next day you’re back at the office like nothing happened. your heels click softly against the marble flooring of yü skincare as staff members greet you nervously on your way toward your office.
you settle into your executive chair with a quiet sigh, immediately scanning through the pile of reports waiting for you. the vitamin incident had already become a nightmare with legal teams involved, quality control investigations and public relations teams working overtime to keep information contained.
you press the intercom button lightly, “send mark lee in.”
less than a minute later, the heavy door to your office swung open to huang renjun, human resource manager. his posture was stiff, his expression carefully neutral, yet there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes that immediately set off alarm bells.
your brows furrowed as you continued flipping through a document, “where’s mark?” you asked, your voice cool and professional, “i need the updated reports on the supplement.”
renjun coughs awkwardly, the sound immediately making you look up, something about his expression feeling off, “ma’am…” he hesitates, “he’s no longer with the company.”
your hand stills completely against the papers, “…what?”
“he’s been terminated.”
“i didn’t receive a resignation letter, nor did i authorize a termination,” you pointed out calmly, though your eyes narrowed, “explain.”
renjun uncomfortably shifts beneath your gaze, “sir chenle fired him.” you stare at him for a moment, trying very hard to not let your surprise show too obviously. renjun clears his throat again, “he actually fired everyone involved in the vitamin project.”
your mind raced. chenle was many things – arrogant, distant, and emotionally stunted. but he was never impulsive when it comes to business. he was a strategist who weighed every risk. for him to wipe out an entire department without a single consultation, without even a courtesy to call you, meant he had completely lost his composure.
you force your expression neutral anyway, “i see. you may go, renjun.”
renjun bows quickly before practically escaping your office. the second the door shuts, you lean back into your chair slowly. you should be angry. technically, you are. chenle had overstepped every professional boundary, sabotaging your chain of command and stripping you of your most experienced researchers. but beneath the irritation, a treacherous warmth bloomed in your chest. for the first time in six years, chenle had been emotional. he had been protective. he had burned down a project just because it had dared to hurt you. it was a violent, impulsive gesture of care, wrapped in the guise of corporate cruelty.
that night, you leave your office long after most employees have already gone home. the building is quieter now. the endless clicking of keyboards and ringing phones reduced to distant murmur somewhere far below. through the massive windows lining your floor, the city glows beneath the dark sky, millions of lights flickering like stars against the glass.
you wrap your blazer tighter around yourself before stepping out into the hallway. your heels echo sharply against the tiles as you make your way toward the glass bridge connecting yü skincare headquarters to zhong cosmetics tower beside it.
the bridge had always fascinated everyone. two billion dollar companies physically connected in the middle of the skyline. a symbol of merger. of power. of the marriage between you and chenle. you used to love walking through it. now it just feels symbolic in the cruelest way possible — close enough to see each other yet still separated by glass.
you knew these buildings like the back of your hand. every hallway. every hidden office. ever late-night corner where you and chenle used to sit as teenagers avoiding meetings your parents forced you into. the memories follow you all the way across the bridge tonight.
by the time you reach the executive floor of zhong cosmetics, the receptionist has already gone home. only chenle’s personal assistant remains seated outside his office. the man immediately stands and bows politely the second he sees you.
“mrs. zhong.”
you nodded once, your gaze fixed on the closed doors. “is he busy?”
his assistant hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing at the clock. “yes, ma’am, but… you may go in.”
you don’t bother knocking, simply pushing the doors open and walking inside. his office is dim except for the warm lighting near his desk and the city lights pouring through the windows behind him. chenle sits in his massive leather chair, sleeves rolled up slightly while scanning through documents with quiet concentration. he doesn’t look up immediately, probably assuming it’s just his assistant.
“you fired mark lee?” your voice cuts cleanly through the room, chenle’s attention snapping upward instantly. for a fleeting second, relief flickers across his face, like part of him still instinctively checks whether you’re okay every time he sees you now. then the expression disappears again, turning into something neutral.
“who’s that?”
you exhale slowly through your nose, already irritated, “chenle,” you say flatly, “mark lee. head of the vitamin research team.”
understanding clicks across his face immediately, but it isn’t accompanied by apology.
“ahh,” he leans back slightly in his chair, “yes. that guy. how could i forget.”
the dismissiveness in his voice immediately annoys you further as you walk deeper into his office, “you cannot fire my people without consulting me first.”
chenle finally sets the file in his hands down, “your people are my people,” he says coolly, “that’s the whole point of this marriage.”
you ignore the sting in that statement – the reminder that in his eyes, you are just another asset to be merged.
“i want him back on the team.”
his jaw tightens almost instantly, “no. y/n.”
the answer comes too quickly. too firmly.
you stop dead in front of his desk now, arms crossing, refusing to back down, “chenle,” you say, your voice carefully modulated, fighting to keep the anger out, “mark lee has been employee of the month for seven consecutive years. he’s one of the best researchers in the industry. he’s valuable to this company and firing him is a strategic mistake.”
"valuable people don’t almost kill my wife."
the room goes still. your heartbeat stumbles slightly at the sharpness in his voice, at the way he says my wife. the possessiveness of it nearly undoes you, but your frustration and stubbornness is stronger.
“for fuck’s sake, chenle,” you snap, the poise you’ve spent years perfecting finally cracking, ”it was an accident!”
his expression hardens immediately, “an accident?”
"yes, an accident!," you throw your hands up, “he didn’t even know i was allergic to kiwis!”
which was true. almost nobody did. allergies were weaknesses and weaknesses were dangerous in industries like yours. information could be weaponized to easily. chenle knew that better than anyone.
suddenly, he stands, furious enough that his chair rolls backward sharply against the floor. his palms slam loudly on his desk, a sound that cracks through the office.
“an accident that almost took you from me!”
his voice hits the room heavily — raw, furious, terrified — completely unraveled in a way you’ve never heard before. you stare at him across the desk, chest tightening painfully before anger rushes back to protect you from the hope that can completely blind you.
“oh please,” you scoff bitterly, rolling your eyes, “i bet you’d be jumping up and down if i actually died. it would have been the perfect exit strategy for you wouldn’t it? no more obligations, no more arranged marriage.”
the second the words leave your mouth, the atmosphere changes completely. the heat of his anger vanishes, replaced by a cold, suffocating stillness. chenle freezes, his eyes locking onto yours, hurt plastered all over his face.
“what?” he whispers.
your own emotions spill over immediately afterward. because you’re angry too. and hurt. and most of all, confused. you don’t know what he wants anymore. he needed space, you gave him space. you offer him a physical relationship that benefits him, he barely even touched you. and now – now he’s acting like he cares.
“you’ve spent the last six years making it very clear that you hate me,” you say, refusing to let your voice shake, “you’ve avoided me, ignored me and treated me like a burden. so don’t suddenly start playing the caring husband because i almost died. don’t pretend you have a heart now just because you’re scared of the paperwork a death certificate would cause.”
his expression breaks even more. the anger is gone, replaced by a look of such profound devastation that it almost feels like a crime to feel the way you do.
“i don’t hate you.”
and he sounds painfully, devastatingly honest.
you stare at him from across the desk, your heart beating so loudly it almost drowns out the silence filling the office. chenle doesn’t look away from you. the room feels too small now. too full of things neither of you know how to say.
“you don’t get to say that now,” you whisper finally, your voice cracking, “not after all these years.”
he looks down sharply, jaw tightening hard enough for you to see the muscle twitch. then he laughs once, a miserable, dry laugh.
“i know.” the words come out rough. he drags a hand over his face like he’s trying to pull himself back together. it doesn’t work. “i know,” he repeats weaker this time, sounding small and hollow.
you watch him carefully now, even more confused. zhong chenle never falls apart. not publicly. not privately. not ever. he is the gold standard of control – composed, untouchable, a man carved from ice and expectation. yet, standing before you, he looks like he’s seconds away from total collapse.
your anger starts cracking around the edges as you look at the boy in front of you. you were always weak when it came to him. if there were a list of your weaknesses, he’d be right there, on top of that damned fruit.
“chenle…”
he suddenly shakes his head. he physically can’t let you comfort him right now.
“do you know what i thought when you stopped breathing?”
the question hangs in tha air as you hold your breath.
“i thought,” he exhales shakily, “i thought the last thing you were ever going to believe…was that i hated you.”
he finally looks at you again then, completely wrecked, his eyes bloodshot and swimming with a grief that has been simmering for years.
“and i couldn’t fucking breathe,” he admits quietly, his voice trembling, “because all i could think was that you were going to leave me believing i didn’t love you.”
the world feels like it stops spinning. love. he said love. not care. not obligation. love. your lips part slightly but no sound comes out. chenle laughs bitterly again before shaking his head.
“you’re right. i spent years blaming you for everything because it was easier than admitting i was scared,” he confesses, his gaze searching yours, “scared that none of my choices were mine anymore. that my entire life was a script written by our parents,” he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing, “but loving you…that was the only choice that was actually mine.”
that brings tears to your eyes instantly. chenle looks at you helplessly now. he doesn’t know what to do with all the emotions spilling out of him anymore.
“and i ruined us anyway.”
he moves then, walking around the desk quickly, finally removing the barrier that always sat between the two of you. you think he’s going to stop in front of you.
instead – he drops to his knees.
“what are you–”
before you can even process the gesture, his arms wrap tightly around your waist, forehead pressing against your stomach and finally — he breaks completely. you feel the shuddering breath leave him in a great, racking sob, his grip tightening almost painfully around you, tears slipping down his cheeks.
“i’m sorry.”
the words come out cracked. wrecked. nothing like the polished man the world knows.
“i’m so fucking sorry.”
you cover your mouth with your hand, stifling a sob of your own, even though you could already taste the salt from your own tears. this is the same boy who never apologizes unless forced to. the man who would rather bleed out than let people see weakness. and here he is, kneeling at your feet, clinging onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him together.
“i’m sorry for all of it,” he gasps, his voice breaking, “for hurting you, for making you feel lonely, for making you believe i hated you when i—,” his voice breaks completely.
slowly, tentatively, you thread your fingers through his hair. the moment your touch meets him, chenle exhales a shaky, broken sound against your stomach, his entire body shuddering. even a small gesture of comfort from you is enough to undo him.
“stop that,” you whisper, voice trembling.
your heart is breaking for him, for the boy who spent years pretending to be a monster so he wouldn't have to admit he was a prisoner. you can't stand to see him like this – on his knees, apologizing as if he is something broken and discarded at your feet, rather than the person you’ve loved for all of your life.
you gently tug at his hair, coaxing him to look up. when he finally does, his eyes are swimming with tears, his expression completely defenseless. in this moment, everything else feels distant and irrelevant. there is only one overwhelming realization pouring through your chest:
chenle loves you.
the boy you spent years mourning while standing right beside him this entire time still loves you. your heart feels too full for your body. before you can overthink it, before the fear and doubts can return, you slide your hands down to his face, pulling him upward carefully.
“get up,” you murmur through your own shaky tears. chenle obeys immediately, still staring at you like he’s afraid this moment isn’t real. your hand slides slowly against his cheeks, wiping his tears away before settling on his jaw.
“you really love me?”
the question is a fragile thing, barely a whisper, floating between you like glass that could shatter at the slightest breeze. you sound disbelieving, your voice trembling with the weight of six years of silence and cold shoulders.
chenle’s expression dissolves. the hardness in his eyes, the armor he’s worn since he was eighteen, it all melts into something so painfully tender it nearly wrecks you.
“i always have,” he confesses.
that’s the final blow. the last shred of distance, the last wall of resentment.
you kiss him first.
but chenle returns it immediately, kissing you back like he’s been starving for it, years of tension snapping instantly. his hands come up to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, enough to pull a gasp from you while your fingers tangle tightly into his hair.
this kiss feels nothing like your wedding day. it’s not polite. not careful.
it’s desperate. it’s the sound of two people drowning and finally finding air. all the years you spent silently loving each other crashing together at once. he kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every moment he wasted. every cold shoulder. every lonely dinner. every time he walked away instead of reaching for you.
your back bumps lightly against the edge of his desk. he breaks the kiss for a fraction of a second, his forehead pressing against yours, both of you panting, breaths mingling in the charged air.
“fuck,” he whispers against your lips, his voice a wrecked, needy rasp, “i missed you so fucking much.”
the words makes your head spin. you don't let him breathe, pulling him back down, your mouth seeking his with a hunger that matches his own. his grip on your waist tightens, and in one fluid, powerful motion, he lifts you effortlessly, hoisting you onto the desk. papers scatter, sliding across the desk and fluttering to the floor. he doesn't give a damn about the reports. the only thing that matters is the heat of you.
you wrap your legs around his waist automatically, pulling him into you as he steps between your knees. he crashes his lips back onto yours, his tongue sweeping through your mouth with a possessive urgency. this isn't just lust, it’s an exorcism. he is purging years of loneliness, and you are drinking him in, fingers clutching his hair, pulling him closer as if you could merge your very souls.
“do you know-,” he groans, his voice sounding almost angry at himself, his mouth moving to the sensitive skin of your jaw, “-how long i've wanted to do this properly?”
“stop talking then,” you tease, your voice breathy and laced with desire. you reach down, hooking your fingers into his belt loop, tugging hard, dragging his hips flush against your center.
chenle lets out a grunt as he grinds his cock firmly into your clothed core, the friction sending a jolt of pure electricity through both of you. he freezes, a shudder racking his entire frame, his breath coming in jagged hitches.
“wait... wait, baby,” he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he forces himself to pull back just an inch.
“what’s wrong?”
“i really, really want to do this,” he rasps, “but...not here.”
you laugh softly and it almost undoes him. almost makes him take back what he just said. with a tiny smile on your lips, you nod, “okay.”
then you glance around the wreckage of his desk, your smile turning into something playful, “do you need help finishing up those reports first, then?”
“are you crazy?” he asks, though his tone is fond. he doesn't let go of you, his hands sliding down to squeeze your hips one last time before he helps you down.
“we’re going home...right now.”
the ride home is a blur of friction and heat. for the first time in your marriage, you don't sit in separate cars. you spend the entire journey tangled together in the backseat, the partition slid up to shield you from the driver’s view. you can’t stop kissing him. you can’t stop laughing into him, feeling the giddy, overwhelming rush of being loved back.
chenle is just as relentless, his mouth roaming all over your exposed skin, leaving a trail of dark, possessive marks that claim you as his. every time you try to catch your breath, he finds a new spot to kiss, his hands roaming your curves.
the air in the car is thick with the scent of expensive cologne and arousal, the silence of the ride punctuated only by the sound of wet kisses and the shaky, happy sighs of two people who have finally come home.
⚜️ THE MASTER BEDROOM ⚜️
as you step through the front door, chenle is practically jumping beside you, a boyish grin plastered on his face. he looks at you with a hunger that is now subdued by an overwhelming sweetness.
“race you to the top!,” he shouts.
before you can even process the challenge, he’s already bolting up the left staircase, his laughter echoing through the foyer.
“lele! this isn’t fair! i’m in heels!” you squeal, your voice sounding lighter than it has in years. you run up the right staircase anyway, feeling like a kid again – the version of you that loved him without fear, and the version of him that followed you everywhere.
by the time you reach the top, breathless and flushed, he’s already there, leaning against the railing with a smug, sparkling expression.
“that was not nice, you should’ve given me a head start!,” you complain, crossing your arms and pouting, a childish expression you haven’t dared to show him in a lifetime. he chuckles then, stepping forward, his presence enveloping you as he pulls you back into his arms.
his finger lifts your chin to tilt you face up to his, “and what does the winner get?,” he asks, eyes dancing with a mix of mischief and adoration.
you lean back slightly, a playful, daring glint in your eyes, “hmm…you get to choose.”
he quirks a brow, gaze dropping to your lips, “choose what?”
“my room or yours?” you say with a smile that looks innocent but tastes like a provocation.
a slow grin spreads across his face, “how about ours?”
“ours?” confusion flickers across your features.
without a word, he takes your hand and begins leading you. he doesn't turn toward the left wing or the right…instead, he guides you toward the central hallway – the one you’ve spent months ignoring. it was the dead zone of the house, a place too painful to acknowledge because it represented the void in your marriage. the hallway that leads straight to the master bedroom.
as you walk, he slides behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist in a tight back hug, pulling your back flush against his chest. he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, his breath hot and steady as he pushes open the two grand double doors.
you freeze, your breath catching in your throat. the room is breathtaking. grand and dipped in gold.
“wow,” you whisper, stepping inside, “i haven’t been in here since your mom gave me the tour…i thought it would’ve collected cobwebs by now.”
“it did,” he whispers against your ear, his voice thick with a sudden, piercing apology, “i had the maids clean while you were in the hospital. i wanted it to be perfect for when we finally came home together.”
you turn in his arms, looking up at him. a small, bittersweet smile tugs at your lips., “maybe i should’ve eaten that kiwi a lot earlier.”
chenle’s grip on your sides tightens, his expression shifting into one of genuine panic, “don’t joke about that, baby. please.”
you giggle, the sound soft and melodic. he scolds you, though his eyes are softening, “it’s not funny, y/n.”
“i’m not smiling because of the kiwi,” you reply softly, your voice barely a breath.
“then why are you smiling?” he asks, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.
you look away for a second, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment, “i just…i really like it when you call me baby.”
chenle’s heart is practically audible in his chest, his gaze intensifying as he tips your chin up gently, making you look into the depths of his devotion.
“i love you,” he declares, the words sounding like a vow.
“i love you, too,” you whisper back.
he kisses you then – not the desperate, starving kiss from the office, but something slow, sweet, and profoundly tender. it’s a promise of a future. a seal on the new life you’re starting.
then, without warning, he breaks the kiss and sweeps you off your feet. you let out a startled gasp, clutching his shoulders as he lifts you bridal style. he carries you across the room with effortless strength, eyes locked on yours, matching smiles on your faces before placing you carefully in the center of the massive king-sized bed.
as chenle looms over you, the playful energy morphs into something more deeper. he moves with deliberate, agonizing slowness, as if he wants to memorize every single inch of you, making up for every second of the years he spent pretending he didn’t want you.
he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that starts as a whisper and grows into a demand. his tongue swirls against yours as you moan into his mouth, hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
“you have no idea,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low, gravelly vibration, “how long i’ve dreamed of kissing you.”
his hands move to the hem of your blouse, fingers grazing your skin and sending jolts of electricity through your nerves. he undresses you with a reverence that borders on worship, peeling away the fabrics slowly, pausing to kiss the hollow of your throat, the slope of your shoulder, and the middle of your breast. when you’re finally bare beneath him, he pulls back for a moment, his eyes darkening as he drinks in the sight of you.
“you're so beautiful,” he whispers, his gaze heavy with adoration.
he descends slowly, lips finding your breast as he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking firmly, you let out a sharp gasp, your back arching off the mattress. the sensation is new – a focused, searing heat that radiates from your chest down to your core. he alternates between soft licks and deep, demanding suctions, moving from one breast to the other, leaving a trail of wet, burning kisses across your ribs.
“lele…oh, god,” you whimper as he continues trailing lower, his tongue tasting the skin of your stomach, circling your navel and teasing the very edge of your underwear. you can feel the heat radiating from him, the scent of his skin mixing with the luxury of the room, your breath coming in short, jagged hitches.
you’ve only known one kind of intimacy ever – that cold, transactional night with him that left you feeling empty. this is different. this is a slow burn, a deliberate awakening.
as he slides your underwear down your legs, he settles between your thighs, pushing them wide. you feel a surge of vulnerability, a sudden flash of inexperience that makes you shy away slightly.
“wait, chenle…i've... i've never…” you start, your voice trembling.
chenle looks up at you, a tender, knowing smile on his face, “i know, baby. just relax. let me take care of you.”
the first contact of his tongue against your clit pulls a soft moan out of you, a sensation you weren’t prepared for. the feeling of pleasure, making your hips instinctively jerk upward, arching off that mattress in a desperate search for more. he presses deeper, his tongue swirling in a slow, rhythmic motion that targets the most sensitive part of you.
“do you like that?” he mumbles, his voice a low, vibrating growl against your wetness, the heat of his breath sending fresh shivers racing down your spine.
“yes…” you whisper shyly, voice trembling. you try to keep your eyes open, wanting to witness the sight of him. but you don’t get to watch for long before your eyes begin to roll back, lids fluttering as he begins to feast on you with a sudden, hungry intensity. he’s no longer just tasting you – he’s consuming you. his tongue flickering rapidly, alternating between broad strokes and sharp, pointed pressure that makes your toes curl. when he suddenly sucks your clit into his mouth, creating a powerful vacuum of pleasure, your vision blurs into a haze of white and gold. you are completely undone. the tension in your lower belly coils tighter and tighter, building into a frantic crescendo that makes you feel like you're vibrating.
“chenle, i’m… i think i’m…” you gasp, your fingers clutching the silk sheets until they bunch up in your fists.
“go on, baby. give it all to me,” he encourages, his voice thick with desire. he works his tongue faster and harder, driving you relentlessly toward the edge.
as he does, he glances up, his dark eyes focusing on the sight of you – your head rolled back, your mouth parted in a silent, desperate gasp, your body arched, your nipples peaked.
he reaches up, grabbing your hand and locking his fingers with yours, anchoring you to the bed. you squeeze his hand with everything you have, clinging to him as the world finally shatters. you cum hard, your clit pulsing against his tongue in a series of intense spasms that leave you sobbing for air. the release is so overwhelming that it feels as though you're floating in a void of pure euphoria, a level of pleasure you never knew existed. you collapse back into the pillows, panting heavily, chest heaving as the aftershocks continue to ripple through you.
chenle slowly lifts his head, your pleasure glistening on his lips. he looks at you with a mixture of triumph and pure, unadulterated love. he crawls back up your body, kissing your forehead, your nose, and finally your lips, making you taste yourself on his tongue.
you reach up then, your fingers hooking on his tie. it’s already loosened from your earlier desperation. you tug on it firmly, finally removing it.
with a low, needy sound against his lips, you sit up, beginning to undress him, your movements hurried and clumsy with eagerness. buttons pop and fabric slides until he’s completely naked, his skin warm against yours.
your breath hitches in your throat. you hadn’t seem him fully the first time – but now, in the soft glow of the bedroom, you can’t seem to look away. your gaze drops to his cock.
driven by a sudden, bold curiosity, you reach out, your fingers wrapping around the warm skin of his shaft.
chenle lets out a sharp, strangled whine, his hips jerking towards your touch instinctively. the sound is so visceral, so unlike the composed man the world knows, that you freeze, your eyes widening.
“did that hurt?” you whisper, looking up at him with genuine concern, as if you've just discovered a secret vulnerability.
a small, breathless smile tugs at his lips, though his eyes are clouded with lust. he shakes his head slowly, his voice a strained rasp, "no, baby... fuck, it feels so good. you drive me insane–,” he kisses you again, pulling back just an inch, forehead resting against yours, breath hot on your skin, “-but you need to stop,” he groans, the sound vibrating in his chest, “i need to be inside you.”
he carefully guides you back to lay on the bed, hands sliding under your thighs to pull you closer to him. he spends a long moment just looking at you, his gaze roaming over your flushed skin and swollen lips.
“i’m sorry about before," he whispers, “i promise i’m going to make up for every single second of it,” he says, voice thick with emotion before grabbing your hand and pressing a soft kiss to your pinky. and before he can let go, you pull his hand towards you, returning the kiss to his pinky too – not the innocent promise of children, but a mature, desperate vow of devotion. chenle’s breath hitches, the small gesture acting like a catalyst, snapping the last thread of his restraint.
he doesn't rush though. he moves with a slow, reverent precision, parting your legs with a gentle nudge of his knee, his eyes never leaving yours. as he positions himself, the head of his cock brushes against your entrance, slick and searing hot. you gasp, your hips instinctively arching upward, seeking the friction. chenle lets out a shaky exhale, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding back. he enters you in one slow, agonizingly steady glide.
“oh...chenle,” you moan, your eyes fluttering shut as you feel yourself stretching to accommodate him. you’ve never felt so full.
he freezes for a moment, buried deep inside you, his forehead pressed against yours, a low groan escaping his throat, “you're so tight... so warm. i can't believe you're actually mine.”
then he begins to move, and it is nothing like the clinical urgency of the first time. this is a dance. he pulls back until he is almost out, only to plunge back in with a slow, heavy thud that makes you cry out. every thrust is deliberate, designed to make you feel the weight of him, the heat of him, and the sheer intensity of his love.
“chenle... please,” you whimper, your fingers clawing into his shoulders, “right there... don't stop.”
“i've got you, baby,” he whispers, kissing the sensitive skin of your neck, his lips leaving searing trails of heat.
he picks up the pace slightly, the wet, slapping sound of skin on skin filling the quiet room. then he reaches down, his hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit, thumb circling your swollen nub, perfectly timed with the deep, rhythmic thrusts of his hips. the combination is electric. you feel that same tension building again, faster this time, a coil of pleasure tightening with every stroke. you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting to erase any remaining space between you.
“look at me,” he commands softly. you open your eyes to find him watching you with an expression of pure, unadulterated worship, “tell me you feel it. tell me you know how much i love you.”
“i feel it,” you sob, your voice breaking, “i love you...i love you so much, chenle."
the words breaks something inside him. his movements become more urgent, more passionate, though he never loses that sweetness. he begins to whisper things against your skin – promises of a future, apologies for the past, and raw admissions of how much he craved this specific moment.
as the climax begins to crest, you feel your walls clamp down on him in tight, rhythmic waves. you gasp his name, body shuddering under the force of a release that feels like a spiritual cleansing. chenle lets out a guttural, strangled cry, his body stiffening as he delivers a few final, powerful thrusts. he pours himself into you, his own release consuming, his head falling at the crook of your neck as he gives in to the euphoria, collapsing onto you, his chest heaving against yours, his arms wrapping around you in a protective, crushing embrace. for a long time, the only sound in the room is the synchronized thumping of two hearts finally beating in the same rhythm.
“i love you,” he whispers into your hair, his voice exhausted but certain.
⚜️ THE REST OF YOUR LIFE ⚜️
you wake up to the sound of light snoring from your husband, his arms locked firmly around your naked waist, your back flushed against his bare chest. the warmth of skin on skin is electric, but it’s the prominent, hard bulge of his cock pressing firmly into the small of your back that makes your breath hitch.
you pinch your arm, a sharp sting that confirms this isn't a fever dream.
then you shift gently in his embrace, turning in the circle of his arms to face him. as you move, his cock slides against the curve of your hip, dangerously close to your core. the proximity makes your pussy clench instinctively. you’ve always loved chenle but this kind of hunger was new - a desperate need to be consumed by him.
“stop staring at me, you creep,” he teases, his voice thick with sleep.
you let out a breathless laugh, swatting his shoulder. the sound of your own laughter feels foreign yet right.
it hits you then – the terrifying, beautiful ease of it all. like the past six years of coldness, the resentment, and the silence were just a bad dream, easily erased by the heat of his body.
sensing your sudden silence, chenle opens his eyes. the gaze he meets you with is soft, searching, and filled with an intensity that makes your heart race.
“what are you thinking about?” he asks softly, his hand drifting up to thread his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp.
“just… thinking about how nice this is,” you whisper, a small, genuine smile tugging at your lips.
“yeah?” he lets out a playful hum, his eyes shimmering with complete adoration, “think you could do this with me for the rest of our lives?”
you lean in then, kissing him softly, “yes,” you murmur against his lips with absolutely no doubt, “you’ve always been the only person i could ever do this with.”
chenle’s heart stutters. he had thought his love for you had reached its peak, but every time you surprise him with your tenderness, the feeling grows, expanding until it feels like he might burst.
“do you think this would still be nice with twenty kids?” he teases, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes.
you recoil slightly, a look of genuine horror flashing across your face. “what?! i’m not giving you twenty kids, chenle! are you insane?!”
he bursts into a loud, genuine laugh, his eyes disappearing into crescents, his kitten-like smile whiskers prominent. as he calms down, he smirks, leaning closer, “i’m not the one who wants twenty kids. i’m pretty sure it was my beautiful wife, coming home drunk a month ago and begging me for a baby.”
you groan, your face flushing a deep crimson as you try to rack your brain for any memory of such a confession. but you don’t remember anything.
“i was drunk! i wasn’t in my right mind!”
“hmm,” he draws the word out fondly, his hand sliding down from your hair to trace the curve of your hip, “how many kids do you actually want then?”
“two,” you admit shyly, looking away.
“only two? baby, this mansion would go to waste,” he teases, a playful smirk on his face.
“okay… three then,” you say, trying to hide the smile growing on your face.
“what if one of them feels left out?”
“four. and that’s it!” you exclaim.
in one fluid motion, chenle rolls you onto your back, pinning you beneath his weight, his eyes dark with lust, his hard cock hitting your thigh with a heavy thud.
“guess we should start getting to work then,” he smirks.
you giggle underneath him, pulling him in for a quick kiss before murmuring against his lips, “can you do that thing you did last night first, though?” you ask, cheeks burning.
“what thing, baby? i did a couple of things.”
the embarrassment is overwhelming, but the craving is stronger. you bite your lip, unable to say it aloud.
“c’mon, mrs. zhong, owner of two beauty empires,” he teases, his voice a low, sultry drawl, “you can tell your husband exactly what you want.”
“go down on me again, chenle,” you whisper.
he grins, a predatory yet loving expression, “of course, baby… but you do know that’s not how babies are made, right?”
you groan, shoving at his chest, “i really don't care.”
he chuckles, the sound vibrating in his chest before he slides down your body. he doesn't stop until his face is buried between your thighs, letting out a low moan at the scent of your arousal, his hot breath ghosting over your clit before his tongue makes a slow, wet sweep from your bottom to the top, tasting every drop of your longing.
⚜️ THE OFFICE ⚜️
when you get to the office later that day, arriving in the same car, and walking through the lobby of yü skincare together – the atmosphere shifts. you can feel the collective intake of breath from the staff, the employees practically vibrating with curiosity, eyes darting between you and chenle, trying and failing to hide their sheer shock. you don't blame them. for seven months, your marriage had been spent apart. to see him not only accompanying you to your door but looking at you with an expression of raw, unfiltered adoration is enough to send the office gossip into overdrive.
your eyes scan the room, landing on a familiar figure – mark lee is back at his desk, focused and working. a surge of triumph rushes through you. you’ve won.
the moment the heavy door to your private office clicks shut, the professional facade vanishes. chenle doesn't waste a second. his hands are instantly back on you, grip firm and possessive as he spins you around to face him, pinning you lightly against the edge of your desk.
you grin, your eyes dancing with mischief, “i see mark lee is back,” you say teasingly.
chenle huffs a small, amused breath, his forehead resting against yours, “yeah, he’s back. but tell him he’s walking on a very thin line,” he murmurs, though there’s no real heat in the threat. you laugh, a genuine, light sound, and shove his shoulder playfully.
his expression shifts, the playfulness melting into something achingly sincere as he cups your face in his hands, thumbs tracing your cheekbones with a reverence that makes your heart stutter.
“you know i’d give you everything you want, right? just say the word and it’s all yours.”
it’s not just a statement – it’s another confession, a continuation of the vow he’s been making since you woke up.
“i told you,” he whispers, his gaze searching yours, “i’ll spend the rest of this life, and every single one after that, making it up to you.”
you let out a soft, breathless laugh, feeling a warmth spread through your chest, “when did you become such a sap?” you tease, reaching up and winding your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck to pull him down.
the kiss is slow, languid, and deep – a sweet contrast to the hunger of the morning, but filled with the same desperate need to be close. as your tongues slide together, the corporate world outside the door ceases to exist, there is only the scent of his cologne, the heat of his body, and the overwhelming realization that you are finally, truly, loved.
⚜️ THE FULFILLED PROMISE ⚜️
it didn’t take long after that before you finally got pregnant.
you and chenle fucked all the time. and it wasn’t even to conceive – the two you just physically could not get enough of each other. the mansion became your personal playground. you were pretty sure there wasn’t a single square inch of the estate that hadn’t felt the heat of your bodies.
like that one time when you both got home after a charity gala. you had worn a red dress that hugged every curve, the slit climbing dangerously high up your thigh. all night, chenle had been a predator in a tuxedo, his gaze burning into you, hand possessively gripping the small of your back, whispering filth into your ear while you smiled for the cameras. he didn't want to network, he wanted to rip the dress off your body. the moment the heavy doors of the mansion clicked shut behind you, the facade crumbled. he didn't even let you take off your heels. chenle grabbed you by the waist, hoisting you up with a grunt of effort and placing you down onto the large, circular marble table that sat centrally between the grand staircases, not even caring about the priceless antique vase sitting on top of it. he didn't waste time with foreplay – he reached down, bunching the red silk upward, exposing your lace panties and with one violent tug, he ripped the lace aside, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the vast foyer. “i’ve been thinking about this since the moment you put this dress on,” he growled, voice raw. he freed his pulsing cock, already leaking pre-cum, and shoved it into you in one deep, punishing thrust. you moaned his name so loud, back arching off the marble, legs locking around his waist to pull him deeper. the sound of your shared moans bounced off the high ceilings, filling the foyer with the raw noises of pleasure. he fucked you desperately, hips slamming against yours with a wet, slapping sound that could be heard all around the mansion. you knew the maids were nearby, you could almost feel their shocked eyes on you, but the thought only made you wetter. you gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his tuxedo jacket, sobbing his name as he hammered into you, driving you toward a shattering climax that left you shaking and drenched.
then there was the discovery of the billiards room. it had been a forgotten wing of the house, dusty and silent until you both stumbled upon it during a lazy afternoon. the moment the door closed, the atmosphere shifted. the green felt of the billiard table looked like an invitation. chenle didn't even let you stand still. he lifted you up the billiard table, hiking your dress up and spreading your legs wide. “you smell so sweet,” he murmured, breath hot against your inner thigh. he didn't hesitate, burying his face in your pussy. his tongue was your favorite weapon – broad, wet, and relentless. he licked your folds, swirling around your clit, making your toes curl. he fingered you with his other hand, two fingers sliding deep inside your soaking walls, stretching you while his tongue continued to drive you insane. it was an intense combination. you were sobbing, fingers clutching his hair. just as you reached the peak, he pulled away, leaving you gasping and dripping. he didn't give you a second to whine about it, grabbing your hips to help you down then bending you forward until your chest was pressed against the green felt. “look at you,” he whispered, his voice a dark caress, “always so ready for me.” he entered you from behind, his cock filling you completely over and over again. the friction of the billiard table against your skin and the relentless pace of his thrusts sent you over the edge. he fucked you ruthlessly, his hand reaching around to pinch your nipples over your pajama dress, his chest heaving against your back. every thrust was a claim, a promise that you belonged to him, until he finally groaned, filling you with a hot, thick surge of cum that left you both breathless and spent.
and also that one time in the hot tub, it wasn’t even night time…it was pure daylight, the sun was out, illuminating every inch of the outdoor sanctuary. the risk of being seen by the gardeners or the staff was immense, but the adrenaline only fueled the fire. you were draped across him, your legs wrapped around his waist as you rode him. the warm, bubbling water splashed around you, clinging to your skin. chenle’s hands were everywhere – one gripping your ass to keep you steady, the other reaching up to grab your breast. he leaned in, his mouth latching onto your nipple, sucking it hard, his tongue swirling around the peak. you threw your head back, your moans echoing across the open terrace, completely uninhibited. you could feel the vibration of the water and the rhythmic slide of his cock deep inside you. every time you sank down, you felt him hit your cervix, a sensation that made you whimper and cling to his shoulders. “who cares if they see?” he gasped, his eyes locked on yours, filled with a mixture of lust and adoration, “let them see who you belong to.” he gripped your waist tighter, lifting you slightly before slamming you back down onto him. the splashing grew more violent, the water churning as the pace increased. you rode him with a frantic energy, your clit rubbing against his pelvic bone with every downward stroke. when the climax hit, it was explosive. you screamed his name into the open air, your walls clamping down on him in tight, rhythmic waves, while he groaned, thrusting one last time and flooding you with his cum under the bright, midday sun.
and then there was that one week honeymoon that chenle insisted on, saying that he never got to give you a proper one. you two spent a week in the most luxurious private resort in hawaii. the resort is beautiful, open to the tropical air and the rhythmic crash of the ocean, but you barely saw the view. you were too occupied by your husband. for seven days, the world ceased to exist. there were no board meetings, no family expectations, and no corporate rules – only the sound of wet, slapping skin and the desperate gasps of two people becoming one. he fucked you in the private pool, the warm water swirling around your hips as he held you against the edge, his cock sliding in and out of you with a frictionless ease that made you scream into the salty air. he fucked you on the outdoor daybed, under the moon, the linen sheets soaking through with your combined juices. he would spend hours worshipping your body, his tongue tracing every curve, every fold, before driving himself into you with a force that left you shaking and sobbing his name.
and of course, eventually, you fucked in both of your offices. the two of you tried to keep it professional at first but at one point, you just couldn’t stop yourselves. i mean, no one can fire you anyway. and the two of you spend so much time at work it just makes sense. your favorite routine involved the desk — when you were the one who gets to play, disappearing from view while chenle continued a conference call. the contrast was intoxicating, his voice, cool and commanding, discussing quarterly projections, while your mouth was wrapped tightly around his cock. you would suck him with a focused intensity, swirling your tongue around the head and taking him as deep as your throat would allow, listening to the slight hitch in his breath and the way his hand gripped the edge of the desk to keep from groaning. when he finally hangs up, he would haul you out from under the desk by your waist and slam you down onto the edge of it, “my little slut wants to play, huh?” he’d growl against your lips as you cling to the desk for dear life, heels digging into the carpet. he took you right there in the center of his power, filling you to the brim.
but still...nothing beats fucking in your shared bedroom, this was where the real intensity lived, especially on the nights when chenle’s gaze turned dark and determined. on those nights, he didn't just want to fuck you – he wanted to possess you completely. he would start by flipping you over, forcing you onto your hands and knees in doggy style. he loved the view of your arched back and the way your ass looked spread wide for him. he would grip your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, and thrust into you from behind. the sound of his balls slapping against your cheeks echoed through the room, a raw, primal beat that drove you insane. he would reach forward to pull your hair back, whispering filth into your ear about how much he loved the way you took him. then, he would flip you onto your back, hoisting your legs up high, sometimes draping them over his shoulders, so that he could penetrate you at the deepest possible angle. in this position, there was no escape. he drove himself in until he hit your cervix, each thrust a heavy, thumping blow that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. “look at me,” he would command, his eyes burning with an obsessive kind of love, “tell me you're mine.” the friction and the intensity pushed you toward a peak you had never experienced before. in the heat of those nights, you discovered the sensation of squirting – your pussy drenching the sheets and leaving you gasping for air. the feeling of losing control, of your body literally overflowing with pleasure, sends chenle into a frenzy. he would fuck you even harder, driving you through multiple, shattering orgasms, his own release coming in a hot, thick flood that filled you completely, leaving you both tangled in the damp sheets, hearts racing in a synchronized rhythm of absolute devotion.
now, a year into marriage and you were two months pregnant with your first child.
it hasn’t been easy, your baby was stubborn – which you honestly should’ve seen coming knowing how stubborn its father is (and you, too).
the pregnancy had stripped away your usual composure. for a woman who navigated the cutthroat world of billionaire cosmetics with a steady hand, the loss of control was infuriating.
your morning sickness wasn't just “morning”sickness – it was a rolling tide of nausea that lasted the whole day. you had spent the last few weeks throwing up everything from expensive lobster to plain crackers. to add to the misery, your breasts had swollen, becoming agonizingly sore to the touch.
you were, in a word – grumpy. a whirlwind of mood swings, snapping at assistants and sobbing over the smallest of things, existing in a state of perpetual irritation. which was especially unfortunate considering you had never been particularly good at dealing with discomfort. you are a billionaire. struggle is not your forte.
still, chenle had been unbelievably sweet and understanding through all of it. he spent his days balancing both companies and his nights massaging your back or holding your hair back while you retched into the toilet, kissing your forehead with a tenderness that still made your heart ache.
today, you were plagued by a craving so specific, so visceral, that it felt like a physical hunger. you wanted a tomato-egg dish. but not just any version. it had to be right.
chef sung ahn, a culinary genius, was currently in the midst of a crisis — seven bowls of the dish sat on the marble island, each one a slightly different variation of seasoning and texture. and yet, none of them were right.
you pushed the seventh bowl away with a pout, your lower lip trembling. you knew you were acting like a spoiled child, but as you rested a hand over your still-flat stomach, you reasoned that you were carrying what is about to be the most spoiled heir in the country. it only made sense.
the heavy thud of the front door announced chenle’s return. he stepped into the kitchen, shedding his blazer and loosening his tie, his eyes immediately landing on the scene.
“baby,” he murmured, stepping behind you and pressing a lingering, sweet kiss to the crown of your head.
his scent, expensive cologne and the lingering musk of a long day at the office, usually calmed you, but today you were too frustrated to be fully appeased, “what’s going on in here?”
you let out a dramatic groan, leaning back into his chest, “your stupid baby wants a certain taste, and the chef can’t do it!" you complained, pouting up at him, “nothing tastes right, chenle! everything is wrong!”
chenle looked from your frustrated expression to the exhausted but patient chef sung ahn, a small, apologetic smile playing on his lips as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders.
“i’m so sorry, chef. she’s been incredibly sensitive since the pregnancy started. i think we're dealing with a very demanding little one.”
chef sung ahn smiled knowingly, unfazed by the seven wasted bowls. he was paid far too much to be offended by the complaints of a pregnant billionaire.
“that’s perfectly alright, mr. zhong. my wife was exactly the same way. i remember a week where she nearly kicked me out of the house because the toast was too loud.”
the two men share a low chuckle while you try not to roll your eyes. his wife was valid and you know it.
“i think i know exactly what she wants, though,” chenle said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming soft and confident.
"i’ll take care of it. thank you, chef. you can head out for the day."
as the chef departed, chenle took his place, rolling up his sleeves and exposing his forearms. you remained seated on the bar stool, watching him. there was something hypnotic about the way he moved – the precision of his knife, the way he cracked the eggs with one hand, the sizzle of the tomatoes hitting the pan.
as the aroma began to waft through the air, something happened — for the first time in hours, the nausea in your stomach vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense surge of appetite.
your mouth watered. the scent was an exact match – not to a michelin-star recipe, but to a memory. a flash of nostalgia hitting you. you were seventeen again, shivering under a duvet in your room, delirious with a fever. chenle visited you with a simple, home-cooked tomato-egg dish. it hadn't been fancy, but it had been made with a quiet kind of care that had spoken louder than any words.
you looked at your husband – the man who had once been your best friend, then your cold stranger, and now the love of your life. a small, amused smile tugged at your lips. your baby, barely the size of a fruit, was already exerting its will, bypassing the expertise of a world-class chef to demand the specific, nostalgic touch of its father.
god, you thought, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips as you watched him plate the food. the baby already has a favorite. what a traitor.
chenle finished the dish quickly, the steam curling upward, carrying that precise, comforting scent that had finally silenced the storm in your stomach.
he slid the bowl in front of you, the colors vibrant and the aroma intoxicating. as you picked up the spoon to take a bite, he stepped towards you.
“how is it?” he smirks teasingly. because he knows you. and he knows it’s exactly what you needed.
you let out a soft, involuntary sigh of contentment, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a verbal compliment just yet. instead, you pouted, looking up at him through your lashes. without warning, you reached out and gripped the fabric of his shirt, bunching the material in your fist and tugging him towards you as you burrowed your face into chest.
“you’re not allowed to go to work anymore,” you mumbled against his shirt, “you’re staying with me. every second of every day.”
a low, vibrating chuckle erupted from his chest, the sound echoing against your cheek. he wrapped his arms around you, hands splaying across your back.
he adored this version of you – the spoiled, demanding, vulnerable woman who only wanted him.
“i’m perfectly okay with that,” he whispered, his voice dripping with fond adoration.
you pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes shimmering. the stubbornness was still there, but it was softened by a deep, aching affection.
you reached up then, hooking your arms around his neck to pull him down toward you for a soft, lingering kiss filled with tenderness and love.
⚜️ THE END ⚜️
an: weeee!!!! did i spend my entire weekend glued to my computer writing this like a loser? yeah…i did. but i had to ride on the high of inspiration and delusions before i lose it or else this would take me months to finish lmao. anyways, i loved writing this! and i’m also realizing it’s very easy for me to write for chenle idk it’s always so fun for me!!! fun game: can you guess what kind of dad chenle is!! aka can you guess the gender of the baby??? put in the comments what you think! 😉 (i do have the answer). and please let me know your thoughts! thank ü for reading, much love to ü 💛
EXTRA: GENDER REVEAL PARTY
🏆 likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated
💳 if you enjoyed this story and would like to show extra support, my kofi is open! (i’m so broke rn guys pls spare some change 😔🚬)
CONTENT: Angst with a hopeful ending, contemporary romance, friends to lovers, second chances, idol life (subtle mentions), emotional maturity, group dynamics (mentions of ATEEZ members).
WARNINGS: Intense arguments, poorly managed jealousy (drunkenness), raw/coarse language during high-tension moments, emotional instability, and fear of commitment.
SUMMARY: After months of a painful limbo and a "just friends" pact that never actually worked, the tension between Hongjoong and you explodes in the worst possible way after a night of drinking and an unforgivable comment. Blocked entirely from your life, Hongjoong is forced to step down from his pedestal, leave his leader's pride behind, and show up at your front door. To save what's left, both of you will have to stop hiding behind the silence and decide if you're ready to leap without a net—but this time, with all the cards on the table.
NOTE: I wrote this fic after talking with my dear @karmaghostjess93 while we were exchanging TikTok videos of her husband, and in the end, this idea just came up! I hope you like the story, i love u 💜🩵
You wouldn't be able to say exactly at what moment you crossed the line.
You know it was about a year ago, because you remember it by that silly thing with the cake: it was the night after Hongjoong’s birthday. Everyone had already left the apartment, the empty bottles were still scattered across the living room table, and only the two of you were left, sitting on the floor, eating the leftovers of the cake straight from the plate because neither of you had the strength left to clean up.
"I can't believe you're still eating," you told him, leaning your back against the couch, your legs stretched out, a little tipsy from the wine.
"I can't believe you're still here," he replied, with that tired half-smile that always disarms you. "The others left ages ago."
"Because I actually like you," you retorted, raising your fork to pierce a piece of cake and holding it up to his mouth.
He leaned in, caught it with his lips, and as he did, his eyes lingered on yours for a second too long. It was something so minimal, so seemingly insignificant, that you could have ignored it. You could have looked away, made a joke, said goodnight.
But you didn't.
You don't remember who leaned in first. You don't remember who kissed whom. You only remember the sensation: sweet with chocolate, bitter with alcohol, Hongjoong's hand gripping your waist as if he had been wanting to do it for a while now. You remember how you both laughed briefly against each other's mouths when you almost fell sideways, how that one kiss turned into several, how the living room faded into the background until you found yourselves in his room.
That night, everything began. And, in a way, it was also the night you both decided not to give it a name.
You aren't a couple.
You are friends.
That is what you always repeat whenever anyone gets too close to the truth.
That is what he told you with an almost cold clarity one of the first times:
"I don't want to commit to anyone," he warned you, lying flat on his back in his bed, his chest still heaving. "I don't have... right now I just can't."
You pretended it didn't hurt. You turned to your side, the sheet covering you up to your waist, a light laugh ready on your lips.
"Don't worry, leader," you replied, searching for his eyes in the dim light. "I'm not looking for a boyfriend either."
And at that moment, it even sounded convincing. Because you believed it. Because it was easier that way.
Since then, the same scene has been repeated too many times to count: late-night messages, impromptu visits to his bedroom, hangouts that "coincidentally" end with the two of you alone and you sitting on his lap, his mouth on your neck, your hands tangled in his hair.
Tonight is no exception.
You are in his apartment again, although it shouldn't surprise you; in the end, his place has slowly become your second home over the months. The other members are out due to schedules, practices, commitments. You knew he would be alone. And he knows perfectly well that you know.
"You shouldn't keep coming over so late," he murmurs, as you close the door behind you. It doesn't sound like a real complaint; the way he looks at you contradicts it.
"You could just not open the door," you reply, leaning against the door with your arms crossed.
Hongjoong holds your gaze for a second too long.
"You know I'm not going to do that."
Neither are you.
You walk over to the couch, where he was sitting with his laptop on his knees, headphones hanging around his neck. The usual: work, music, something he never completely leaves behind. He sets the computer on the coffee table as soon as you are close, as if prioritizing you were a reflex he doesn't need to think about.
"Have you eaten dinner?" you ask, just to fill the air.
"Something," he replies, but his hand is already on your hip, pulling you, making you drop to your knees on the couch in front of him. No more conversation is needed.
The first kisses are soft, mechanical, almost familiar. You know how he moves, where he will place his hands, when he will bite your lower lip. You know the exact moment he is going to let out that raspy sigh that always gives you goosebumps. You grab his T-shirt, pulling it upward, feeling his fingers slide beneath the fabric of yours, as if you were following a script learned by heart.
You don't think. That is the rule. Don't think too much. Just feel, at least while it lasts.
Only, this time, something slips in between the kisses.
It was in the afternoon.
At the studio, with everyone.
You remember Hongjoong’s face perfectly, leaning against the wall, while you laughed out loud at something Yunho had said. Yunho imitating someone, gesturing exaggeratedly, you almost doubled over from how funny you found it. Yunho’s arm resting casually over your shoulders, leaning in to add another comment closer to your ear.
You didn't think anything of it. Because Yunho is Yunho. That’s just how he is. With you, with everyone.
But when you looked up, you saw Hongjoong. That look. The same one that repeats itself every time you accidentally touch someone too much, or someone gets too close to you. That slight twitch in his jaw, the way his fingers close around the glass in his hand. The fleeting tension in his eyes before he looks away, pretending to listen to Seonghwa with all the attention in the world.
You kept it to yourself. As always.
Until now.
His hands hold you tightly as he pins you down on the couch, his lips moving down your neck, his fingers gripping you with something you aren't sure is desire… or repressed anger. And, for the first time in many nights, that nuance bothers you.
"You were acting strange today," you let slip, almost without thinking, right between one kiss and the next.
You feel him freeze. Just for a second. Long enough.
"Strange?" he repeats, pulling back a bit to look down at you, his breath heavy, his hair messy.
"At the studio," you clarify, trying to make it sound casual, but your fingers are still gripping his T-shirt. "When I was with Yunho."
His eyes narrow slightly. There it is. That look.
"I wasn't acting strange," he says, too quickly.
"Hongjoong."
You aren't stupid. And he knows it.
He scoffs, lowering his gaze to your neck as if he wanted to go back to what you were doing before and not get into this conversation. But you don't let him; you place your hand on his cheek, forcing him to look back at you.
"If you're going to get like this every time I laugh with someone," you continue, feeling something light up in your chest, "just say it clearly."
"I'm not..." he starts, but cuts himself off, tilting his head, annoyed. "I'm just saying Yunho has been very... touchy-feely with you lately."
You can't help but laugh. A short, incredulous laugh.
"And? You know how he is. He’s like that with everyone."
"No, not with everyone," he retorts, serious, lowering his voice. "With you, it's different."
You fall silent for a second. You notice your heart beating a little faster, but no longer because of the hand he has on your waist.
"Even if it were," you reply, slowly, measuring your words, "you don't have the right to say anything."
His expression hardens slightly. He pushes himself up a little, resting one hand on the back of the couch, close to your head.
"Excuse me?"
"Exactly that," you insist, holding his gaze. "You have no right to say anything. You don't want commitment, remember? That's what you've been saying from the beginning."
The atmosphere changes. You feel it. Like a cold draft crossing the room.
"It's not that," he mumbles, looking away for an instant, as if searching for something to hold onto. "I just... I don't like seeing it."
"Seeing what? Me having a good time with your friends?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "Because that is what we did today: laugh. Nothing more."
A tense silence falls. He clenches his jaw, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek, that gesture you know by heart when he is holding back something he doesn't want to say.
"Sometimes it seems like you forget that you and I..." he starts, but trails off.
And you finish the sentence for him in your head: sleep together.
"You made it clear yourself what we are," you reply, lowering your voice, feeling the weight of your own words. "Friends. Just friends. You repeated it to me so many times that I even ended up believing it completely."
There is a flash in his eyes. Guilty. Annoyed. Hurt.
"Don't say that," he murmurs.
"Say what? The truth?"
For a second, neither of you moves. You are still underneath him, his hands haven't completely let go of you, but you no longer feel just the burning sting of desire. You feel the sharp edge of something you know is going to cut both of you sooner or later.
And yet, after that awkward silence, he leans in again, reaches for your mouth, and you give it to him.
Because you aren't ready to solve it. Because it’s easier to argue a bit, pretend everything cools down, and let your bodies take control again.
Because you’ve been doing exactly that for a year: inflicting small wounds on each other that never fully heal, only to cover them up with caresses, kisses, and nights that begin and end in the same bed.
Because you are both hooked on something neither of you dares to name.
And because, even though you promised yourself you wouldn't feel this much… the truth is, it's already too late.
The afternoon begins with a message like so many others, one of those you can almost anticipate before your phone even vibrates.
Tomorrow we're having dinner at the dorm, you coming?
San wants to grill some meat, he says it's no fun if you don't come
(and me too)
You stare at that last line for a moment.
In parentheses.
As if writing it that way made it hurt less to admit it.
Of course I'm coming. I wouldn't miss San's meat even if you weren't there :)
You feel the reply almost instantly.
Come earlier if you can
You don't ask why. You don't need to.
You end up arriving a bit early, just like every time he asks you to. The dorm's hallway feels so familiar by now that you could walk down it in the dark. You knock on the door a couple of times before stepping inside, knowing that someone probably left it unlocked anyway.
"It's me," you announce, poking your head in.
"In the kitchen!" San’s voice echoes, lively, followed by the rustling of pots and the rich scent of garlic and sauce.
You drop your coat over the back of the couch, greet Yunho and Yeosang, who are deeply engrossed in a video game, and head toward the warmth of the kitchen almost by instinct.
San is in front of the stove, wearing an apron that is clearly not his—it must be Seonghwa's—and his hair tied up messily. The moment he sees you, his face lights up.
"Hey!" he exclaims, setting the spatula down for a second to come over to you. "I thought you'd get here later."
He hugs you without a second thought, wrapping you in that kind of physical affection that is practically his trademark. Warm, tight, with no hidden motives.
"I came to make sure you don't burn anything," you reply, laughing, as he sways you a little from side to side.
"I never burn anything," he protests, letting go of you only to cup your cheeks with his hands and squish them. "You believe me, right?"
You make an exaggerated face of doubt, speaking with your mouth all squished:
"I d-don't b-believe you aaaat all."
San lets out a loud laugh and releases you.
"You chop the vegetables and don't get in my way," he sentences, gently nudging you toward the counter.
You take your place beside him, grab a knife, and start slicing peppers while he takes care of the meat, passing by you time and again, brushing against your arm, leaning over you to grab things he could just ask you to hand him. The conversation flows back and forth: silly things about the day, anecdotes from practice, inside jokes you only get because you've been around them for so long.
Everything feels light. Easy.
Until, out of the corner of your eye, you see him.
Hongjoong appears in the kitchen doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame, arms crossed. His hair messy, an oversized sweatshirt, an apparently neutral expression.
Apparently.
Because you know him. And you recognize that tiny twitch at the corner of his lips, that slight tension in his posture. He is looking at you. At San. At the narrow space between your bodies.
"Oh, look who came out of the cave," you comment, smiling to break the moment. You raise the knife in a clumsy greeting. "Done saving the music world yet?"
"Taking a break," he replies, without moving from the spot. His eyes travel from your face to San's hand on your shoulder, and then back to you. "Smells good."
"Because I'm cooking," San says proudly, resting his chin on your shoulder for a second now, as if he needed to emphasize it.
You feel the weight of Hongjoong's gaze on that tiny gesture.
"Sure," he murmurs, in a tone that could pass for neutral… if you didn't know him.
San, oblivious, keeps doing his thing: he explains how he's going to marinate the meat, makes you taste the sauce from the pan with your finger, wipes the corner of your lip with his thumb when you get a bit messy, without thinking much of it. To you, it's natural; to Hongjoong, observable.
And he observes everything.
"You taste it too," San says, raising the spoon toward where the leader is standing. "See if you like it."
Hongjoong finally walks over, leans in, and tastes the sauce. He nods.
"It's good," he admits, and then adds, almost as if he couldn't help himself, "You have our guest working as your kitchen assistant, I see."
"She's my star assistant," San proclaims, wrapping an arm around you again. "Without her, this would be a disaster."
You smile. You are used to that kind of affection from him. You consider him almost like a hyperactive little brother.
What you don't expect is what comes out of Hongjoong's mouth next.
"Surprising she hasn't run off with Yunho already," his comment is thrown out with a little smile, but there is something uncomfortable underneath. "They've been spending a lot of time together lately."
The air seems to change density.
San raises his eyebrows, looking at you and then at him.
"Jealous, hyung?" he jokes, with no malice.
You laugh, trying to brush it off.
"Please," you reply. "Yunho only tolerates me because I'm good at that game of his."
From the living room, Yunho’s drawn-out voice carries over:
"It's true! Otherwise, I would've traded her for Wooyoung already."
The laughter comes muffled, but you still feel that thread of tension in the way Hongjoong runs his tongue over his lower lip, not letting his gaze wander too far from you.
"I'm going to go help in the living room," he says at last, turning around without another word. "Don't burn yourselves."
Hongjoong’s back disappears from your line of sight, but it stays etched in your mind for quite a while.
San shoots you a sideways glance.
"He's acting strange," he says in a low voice, focused on the pan.
"He's tired," you lie, with practiced ease.
"I didn't mean that," he responds, casually, but he changes the subject right away, without pushing.
You try to do the same. Not think too much. Not read into things where there's nothing.
But you know there is.
Dinner, at first, is a pleasant chaos.
Everyone talks at once, plates pass back and forth, San complains that you all don't appreciate his culinary gift enough, Mingi makes bad jokes, Jongho complains that he always gets served the smallest piece, and a whole scandal breaks out because Yunho steals meat from his plate.
You laugh. A lot.
Especially with Yunho, who decided to sit right next to you, and with Mingi on his other side, setting up a sort of corner of chaos. Every time Yunho tells you something, he leans toward you; every time you reply, you playfully swat his arm. It’s an easy dynamic, with no weight to it.
Only, every now and then, you catch yourself looking across the table.
Hongjoong is between Seonghwa and San. He talks, yes, and laughs when appropriate, but his eyes keep coming back to the three of you, time and again. To you, to Yunho, to Mingi.
"Hey, look at this," Yunho says, pulling out his phone. "I have a video of Mingi from rehearsal that nobody should miss."
"Don't show it," Mingi protests, stretching his long arm over you to try and grab the phone. "Delete it!"
You end up caught in the middle of the scramble, half-leaning over Yunho while Mingi pulls from the other side. Someone in the background lets out a "careful" amid the laughter. The phone passes from hand to hand over your head.
From the outside, the scene must look simply fun. From where Hongjoong is sitting, all he sees is your body pressed too close to Yunho's, your laughter in his ear, Mingi’s hand brushing your back as he tries to recover the phone.
"STOP IT!" Mingi exclaims, finally managing to snatch the phone away. "Show's over."
"You get really nervous, huh?" you tease, settling back into your seat. "Let's see what it was that you didn't want us to watch."
"Nothing," he replies, blushing, and everyone laughs.
When you look up again, you lock eyes with Hongjoong directly. He looks away immediately, attacking his plate as if he had suddenly become ravenous.
You feel something twist in your stomach. You don't know if it's from the meat, the tension, or both.
Later, when most of them are too full and lazy to move, the impromptu plans begin: some move over to the couch, others clear the table. You offer to take plates to the kitchen, more to have a moment of peace than anything else.
You are placing a couple of glasses in the sink when you hear the door close softly behind you.
"I didn't know you were everyone's nanny now," Hongjoong’s voice comments behind you.
You turn around. He is leaning against the doorframe again, just like at the beginning. This time, without a smile.
"I can't compete with San in the kitchen, so I'm doing logistical support," you reply, trying to keep your tone light.
He doesn't laugh.
He takes a few steps into the kitchen, just enough for the door to shut completely behind him. The noise from the living room becomes a bit more distant.
"You're having a good time," he says, and it doesn't sound like a neutral statement.
"Yeah," you answer honestly. "The usual, right?"
He leans against the counter opposite yours, crossing his arms.
"With Yunho. With Mingi," he adds, as if he needed to specify.
You blink. You take a slow breath.
"With everyone," you correct him. "We are all together, Hongjoong."
"Right," he murmurs, lowering his gaze for a moment, as if he were deciding whether to say what's on his mind or not. "I just… I didn't remember you being so… close with them."
He spits the word out as if it tasted bitter.
You stand there looking at him for a few seconds, leaning your hands on the edge of the sink. Tiredness is starting to mix with irritation.
"Close?" you repeat. "What exactly do you mean? Because if you're talking about laughing with them, or Mingi almost killing me trying to get his phone back…"
"You know what I mean," he cuts you off, finally looking up. And there they are, those heavy eyes, that shadow of jealousy you already know all too well.
You sigh, setting a glass aside with a bit more force than necessary.
"What I know," you say slowly, "is that you're doing this again."
"Doing what?"
"This," you wave vaguely at the space between you. "Glaring at me every time someone gets too close. Seriously, I'm starting to feel like I'm on a dating show and you're the judge."
He frowns.
"I'm not judging you."
"No?" You arch an eyebrow. "Because from where I'm standing, it feels exactly like that. Every time I laugh with Yunho, you make a face. Every time San hugs me, you make a face. Today, because I talked to Mingi for more than five minutes, more faces."
"I'm just saying that sometimes it feels like you forget that you and I..." He leaves the sentence floating again, just like always.
You feel something fracture inside you.
This time, you aren't letting it slide.
"No," you interrupt. "I'm not going to let you imply it again without saying it clearly."
He falls silent, surprised by your tone.
You take a step forward, closing the distance.
"What are we, Hongjoong?" you ask, holding his gaze. "You tell me. Because when it suits you, it feels like we're something. But when I ask for clarity, then we are 'just friends.'"
He opens his mouth, then closes it again. He rubs the back of his neck, uncomfortable.
"You know I can't right now..." he starts.
"Commit?" you finish for him with a dry laugh. "Yeah, I know it by heart. You've been repeating it to me for a year."
Your voice hasn't risen too much, but it's heavy with emotion. You feel your blood boiling beneath your skin.
"It's not that simple," he murmurs, unable to completely hold your gaze. "The work, the group, privacy, everything that comes with it... I can't just say, 'she's my girlfriend' and that's it. It doesn't work that way for me."
"I get it," you reply, and you know you truly do. You have always understood. "I've told you a thousand times: I understand your reasons. What I don't understand is this," you point to the space between you again. "That you don't want to be with me officially, but you act like you are every time someone else makes me laugh."
A heavy silence falls. The murmur from the living room feels too distant for how much this moment weighs.
He presses his lips together.
"I don't like seeing you like that with them, okay?" he blurts out at last, with blunt honesty. "I don't like it. Period."
"I know," you admit. "I've noticed it this whole time."
You take another step; you are close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne.
"That's why I'm asking you," you continue, your voice lower. "If you're always going to get like this… why don't we make it official?"
The question hangs suspended in the air.
It’s not the first time you’ve thought it.
It is the first time you’ve said it like this, straight to the point.
You can clearly see the pulse fluttering in his throat. His hands close into loose fists at his sides.
"You and me," you repeat, just in case it wasn't clear enough. "For real. Not just 'friends who sleep together.' If you're going to hold these things against me, at least have the right to do it."
He closes his eyes for a second, as if the proposal hurt him physically.
"I can't," he answers at last, just like always, but this time it sounds rougher. "I've told you."
"Give me something that isn't the exact same line as always," you plead, feeling your patience falter a bit. "Something new. Anything."
He looks at you, his eyes shining with a mixture of frustration and fear that you can't quite decipher.
"If I say yes," he begins, his voice low, "everything will change. Not just for me, but for you too. People will look at you differently, they’ll talk, they’ll judge, you could get hurt… I don't know if I could protect you from all of that. I don't know if I'm even ready to see it myself."
"And yet," you interrupt, with a lump in your throat, "you're fine with this. With us sleeping together, with whatever happens between us… but without calling it anything. That is easy to manage."
He swallows hard.
"It's not that it's easy…" he whispers.
"It feels that way to you," you cut him off. "Not to me anymore."
You realize that you have completely closed the distance without meaning to. You could reach out your hand and touch his chest. He could lean in and kiss you right now. Just like so many other times, after a mild argument, you’ve ended up tangled in the same old thing.
But this time, you don't move.
"Look at me," you plead, as you see his gaze drift toward the floor. "If you aren't going to be able to say we're something, at least stop acting like we are only when it suits you."
He raises his eyes slowly. His eyes are full of something that hurts you to see: desire, guilt, affection, fear. All mixed together.
"I don't want to lose you," he confesses, barely audible.
The sentence pierces right through you, and for a moment, you feel like you could surrender. Go back to the usual pattern: argument, half-confession, kiss, night together, silence. Repeat.
But you are sick of it. And you know that if you keep going like this, you're going to lose him anyway, just more slowly.
"If we keep going like this, we're going to lose each other anyway," you reply, as if you had read your own thoughts out loud.
He shakes his head, a tiny, almost childish gesture.
"I don't want you to be with anyone else," it slips out suddenly, brutal. "I don't want to imagine you with Yunho, with Mingi, with anyone. I can't."
There is a second where his honesty leaves you breathless. You feel like screaming at him that you only want him. That the others are just friends. That you are here, arguing about this with him, precisely because you care too much.
But you force yourself to remember the phrase:
"I don't want to commit to anyone."
The one he had been repeating to you from the very beginning.
"Then decide," you say, with a calmness you don't fully feel. "Either we keep being what we are now, with everything that implies, but you stop making up scenarios in your head every time I talk to someone. Or we do it right and make it official. But like this… I can't do it anymore, Hongjoong."
Your declaration hangs between the two of you.
He looks like he's about to say something, but suddenly, voices can be heard approaching from the hallway.
"Are they finishing up a soap opera in there or what?" Wooyoung jokes from outside.
The doorknob moves, and you instinctively take a step back. Hongjoong pulls away from the counter, recomposing himself in a second.
The door opens and Mingi’s face pokes in.
"Ah, you were in here," he says, smiling, completely unsuspecting. "We're looking for more sauce."
You step aside, feigning normalcy.
"In the fridge," you point out, forcing yourself to sound casual. "Bottom right."
While Mingi bends down to look, you slip out discreetly, leaving the kitchen with an automatic smile plastered on your face. You feel Hongjoong’s presence behind you, but you don't look at him.
In the living room, you return to your spot between Yunho and Mingi as the chaos, the jokes, and the laughter resume. It’s as if the conversation in the kitchen didn't exist to anyone but the two of you.
For you, however, it has left an echo that won't go away.
Because, for the first time, you voiced what you had been swallowing down for so long.
And even though he gave the same reply as always… you know that something inside you has already begun to change.
When it’s time to leave, you have already gathered your coat and bag. Everyone is half-sprawled out across the living room, a yawn here and there, the echo of laughter still floating in the air.
"I’m heading out," you announce, standing up.
"Are you going alone?" Jongho asks, half-buried in the couch.
"I’ll catch a bus, don't worry," you reply, putting on your coat.
"I’ll walk you to the door," Hongjoong says immediately, as if he had been waiting for the moment.
You don't think much of it. You are used to saying your goodbyes separately. You walk down the hallway, he opens the dorm door, and the cooler air of the building hits your face.
In the elevator, he looks at you out of the corner of his eye.
"I'll drive you," he says, as if it were the most obvious thing.
"No need," you answer bluntly. "A bus is coming in no time, I checked earlier."
"I'll drive you," he repeats, firmer this time. "It's late."
"Hongjoong, seriously, I can go by myself."
"I'm not asking you," he cuts in, but his tone isn't harsh—it's… insistent. Stubborn.
You sigh.
"You know that sounds a little controlling, right?"
A faint smile slips out.
"Call it whatever you want. You're still coming with me."
And you do.
In the car, the tension floats silently for the first few minutes. The city lights pass through the windshield in intermittent flashes. You look out the window; he looks at the road.
"The meat was really good," he says suddenly, looking for something to break the ice.
"San is going to let it go to his head if you keep repeating it," you reply, leaning your head against the glass.
"It's already gone to his head," he counters, and for a second, he sounds just like always.
He makes a small comment about Yunho almost dropping his plate, about Mingi hiding his phone… things from dinner. Light anecdotes. You notice the effort: he is trying to tone down what happened in the kitchen, sealing it under a layer of normalcy.
You go along with it, but without putting too much energy into it. Short answers, an occasional laugh. You aren't explosively angry; you are just tired.
Even so, the simple fact of being alone with him keeps your body on high alert, all too aware of his every gesture—the soft clicking of his fingers drumming on the steering wheel, the brush of his tongue wetting his lower lip as he concentrates on a turn.
When he finally parks in front of your building, you unclick your seatbelt.
"Well… thanks for the ride," you say, already opening the door.
"Wait."
His hand closes firmly around yours before you can even touch the handle. You stop, turning your head back toward him.
His eyes are fixed on yours—dark, serious.
"Can I come up?" he asks, unadorned.
Your heart does a foolish flip, the kind you should be immune to by now. You call yourself an idiot in your head. An idiot for knowing what this implies, for knowing the pattern, for smelling what’s going to happen a mile away… and still feeling something in your chest say "yes" before logic can even chime in.
You swallow hard.
"You shouldn't," you murmur, though your voice doesn't sound very convincing.
He squeezes your hand a little tighter.
"I'm asking you if I can," he repeats, softly.
And, just like so many other times, you are the one sabotaging your own good intentions.
"All right," you give in with a sigh. "For a little while."
The smile that forms on his face isn't one of triumph; it's a mixture of relief and need.
"For a little while," he confirms.
The elevator goes up slowly, reflecting the two of you in its metallic walls. You watch the glowing numbers change, avoiding looking at him too much. You feel his shoulder brush against yours in the narrow space.
When you reach your floor, the silence grows denser. You walk down the hallway to your door. Your hands search for the keys in your bag; when you finally find them, you struggle a bit to aim for the keyhole because you feel his gaze pinned to the back of your neck.
"Do you always take this long to open up?" he whispers, stepping just a fraction closer.
"Always, when I have half my apartment stuffed in my bag, yes," you reply without turning around.
The lock gives way. You push the door open, step inside, and turn on the hallway light.
"Come in," you murmur, dropping the keys into the bowl by the entrance.
The moment the door closes behind you, the world shrinks. Your small apartment, the silence, the insistent throbbing in your temples.
You are about to leave your bag on the table when you feel his fingers firmly grasp your wrist.
He spins you around to face him.
There is no prelude.
His lips fall onto yours with an urgency that catches your breath. This isn't the timid kiss from the dorm’s living room; it's direct, hungry. He presses you against the hallway wall, one hand on your waist, the other cupping your jaw as if he were terrified you might slip away.
You moan against his mouth, more out of surprise than anything else.
"Hello to you too..." you mumble between kisses, trying to inject a tiny bit of humor.
He doesn’t answer. He only deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue in, pressing you a bit harder against the wall. His body covers yours, fitting together perfectly, and you internally curse how easy it is for you to surrender to his touch.
His hands slide beneath your coat, clumsily pushing it back until it drops to the floor. Your fingers cling to the folds of his sweatshirt, searching for an anchor.
You could stop him now. You could tell him to leave.
But you don't.
You let yourself be dragged under.
His lips move down to your neck, finding that sensitive spot just beneath your ear. He sucks, bites, marks you. You feel the heat pooling there, knowing that tomorrow a purple bruise will remain.
"Hongjoong..." you whisper, a mixture of warning and surrender.
"Mine," he murmurs against your skin, his voice raspy. "Only mine."
The words pierce through you like an electric current. One part of you trembles with pleasure; the other shrinks back.
His hand travels down to your hip, gripping it tightly, pressing you closer to him. You can clearly feel his erection, hard against your stomach, his ragged breathing in your ear.
"Nobody else gets to have you like this," he adds, with an intensity that is almost frightening. "Nobody."
Your back brushes the wall as his lips trace down your collarbone, his fingers already sliding under your shirt, slowly pulling it up. You nearly stumble when he pulls you away from the wall, gently guiding you further into the apartment without stopping the kisses.
The path to your bedroom is a blur of soft stumbles, muffled laughter, and impatient hands. You bump into the edge of the table, into the back of a chair. He holds your waist to steady you, but he doesn't slow his pace.
When you finally step into your room, you both nearly tumble onto the bed at the same time. He positions himself over you, a knee between your legs, his mouth on yours again, as if he needed to reaffirm every single second that you are there, beneath him.
He pulls away only to yank your shirt over your head. He looks at you for a second, his breathing heavy, his dark eyes sliding over your exposed skin. He bites his lip.
"Only you drive me this crazy," he confesses, raspy. "Only you."
He leans in again. His hands map your torso, your sides—repeated memories, yet always new. He unclasps your bra with practiced ease, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulls it away and tosses it aside. His lips descend, kissing, sucking, marking.
Every time you moan, he seems to hold onto you even tighter. As if every sound confirmed something he is terrified of losing.
"Look at what you do to me," he whispers, forcing you to meet his eyes as his hand glides down your belly. "Nobody is going to touch you like this. Nobody."
A part of you wants to talk back, to tell him that there is nobody else. That there never has been since this whole thing started. But the words dissolve into a gasp as his hand reaches exactly where you need him most.
You lose yourself.
What follows are fragments: his naked body against yours, the burning friction, broken whispers in your ear. You notice how he repeats "mine" between his teeth when you arch beneath him, how his hands don't let go of you for a single second, digging his fingers into your hips as he moves inside you.
And you, as always, give him everything. Your body, your sounds, that part of your heart you've been trying to deny for so long.
You end up tangled in the sheets, breathing wild, skin slick with sweat. He falls beside you, flat on his back, his arm still wrapped around your waist. For a few minutes, the only thing that exists is the sound of the two of you trying to catch your breath.
Then, inevitably, the moment arrives when his fingers relax, his hand pulling away from your body.
He props himself up on one elbow.
"I have to go," he murmurs, with that familiar mix of apology and habit.
"I know," you reply automatically.
It’s always the same. You know it by heart: he can't stay too long. He knows they’ll ask questions. He knows he’ll have to make up a "I went out to clear my head" or some variation.
You don't ask. You never do.
"We have an early start tomorrow," he adds, as if he needed to justify himself further.
You just nod, already sitting on the edge of the bed, searching for your shirt on the floor.
He gives you one last fleeting kiss, almost chaste compared to before, and gets up. He dresses quickly, in silence. You open the apartment door for him, both of you with your hair still messy, your lips slightly swollen.
"Get some rest," he says before leaving.
"You too."
And he's gone.
He closes the door behind him, and the echo of his footsteps fades down the building's hallway.
You lean against the wood for a moment, wearing your shirt inside out and your heart weighing more than it should.
You slide down to the floor, pulling your knees up against your chest, and let the silence hit you full force.
You think about what happened in the kitchen.
About his "I can't," repeated like a mantra.
About how, just ten minutes ago, he was telling you "only mine" with a conviction that makes you tremble.
About how he left without looking back, just like always.
You don't know how much longer you can hold on like this.
You know this isn't sustainable. That it isn't healthy. That the little arguments are turning more bitter. That you love him enough to fear that, at this rate, one day the two of you will break something that can't be fixed by even the best sex in the world.
You swear to yourself, once again, that you have to set a boundary. That next time you will say no. That if he can't give you something clear, the only thing you can be is friends.
You swear it to yourself.
And you know that, sooner or later, the moment will come when you'll have to keep that promise.
That moment begins to take shape one night, months later.
You went out with your coworkers. You had spent months preparing a complicated campaign—overtime, lost weekends, stress. Today, finally, it went well. Really well. Success, congratulations, collective relief.
First came dinner: toasts, laughter, glasses of wine. Then someone suggested continuing the celebration at a nearby bar. "Just one," they said. It ended up being several. Nothing out of the ordinary: music, photos, people dancing, victory hugs.
You posted a few Instagram stories: the team around the table, the typical crowded selfie, another blurry video on the dance floor. In one of the photos, a coworker wraps his arm around your waist to fit into the frame, smiling. There’s no mystery to it for you.
To Hongjoong, it's something else entirely.
But you don't know that yet.
At four in the morning, half-drunk, you step out of the taxi, swaying a little. You walk into your building, greeting the security guard with a clumsy smile, and ride the elevator up, already feeling the hangover brewing at the base of your skull.
It’s only when you open your apartment door that, out of habit, you pull your phone out of your bag.
The screen is full of notifications from him.
How was your day? Haven't heard from you today. Are you busy? Do you want to meet up later?
All of them from early in the evening. Then, moving down the timeline:
Ah, I see you're having a good time. Nice photos. Looks like you aren't thinking much about me today.
And further down, more blurred, almost as if he had been fueling his own anger:
Who is that guy holding your waist? I hope you get home safe. Answer me when you can.
Your first reaction, with the alcohol still in your veins, is profound exhaustion.
You can't do this. Not at four in the morning. Not in this state.
You leave your phone on the nightstand without replying. You half-undress, crawl into bed, and let sleep drag you under.
The next day, the light streaming through the window deals the final blow to your head.
You spend almost the entire morning trying to "look like a human being again": water, coffee, ibuprofen, a long shower. Around noon, you sit on the couch, pick up your phone, and re-read his messages with a clearer mind.
The shift in tone is obvious: from worried to irritable, from affectionate to passive-aggressive. As if he had had an argument entirely with himself, with you absent on the other side.
You sigh and, instead of feeding into that mood, you choose a different path. You don't want to start the day with a fight that you know, deep down, you don't deserve.
You reply simply, keeping it light:
We were celebrating yesterday, the campaign went great :) Today I'm just trying to look like a human being again, even my soul hurts haha
You send it and set your phone aside, determined to watch some mind-numbing show to distract yourself. He doesn’t reply right away. An hour passes, then another. You grab a bite to eat, tidy up the apartment a bit, answer a few emails.
It’s close to nine in the evening when his response finally arrives:
Are you home? Can I come over?
You feel a tight knot in your stomach—a mix of anticipation and nerves.
Yeah, I’m home. Come over if you want.
Part of you wants to see him. To tell him how well everything went, to share the relief. And, while you're at it, to clear up his messages. You aren't expecting what comes next.
It doesn’t even take him ten minutes to arrive.
When you open the door, you barely have time to say hello.
He enters like a whirlwind.
He kicks the door shut, his hands already on your face, on your waist. He pushes you back gently until you're pinned against the hallway wall. His lips fall onto yours with a fury you’ve never felt from him before; it isn't the warm urgency of other nights, it’s something rougher, more desperate.
"Hongjoong..." you mumble against his mouth. "Hello to you too..."
He doesn't listen.
His body presses you against the wall, one hand on your hip, the other at the base of your neck, holding you in place. He kisses you as if he hadn't seen you in months, as if he wanted to erase any trace of anyone else from your skin.
His mouth moves down to your neck, to your collarbone. He bites hard, more than usual. You feel him leaving marks without bothering to soften them.
His hands grip you with too much force: fingers digging into your sides, into your thighs as he tries to lift you a little. There is a point where pleasure and pain blur together, and you don't know which one is winning.
"Wait," you murmur, trying to pull your mouth away from his.
He doesn't. He kisses you again, rougher.
"Hongjoong, wait," you repeat, gently pushing against his chest.
Nothing.
You have to raise your voice, cutting through the moment like a knife:
"Hongjoong, stop for a second!"
He stops, finally. He stays incredibly close, his breathing ragged, his chest rising and falling fast. His hands are still on your body, but their grip loosens a bit.
You look into his eyes. You see them clouded: desire, yes, but something else too. Something dark, thick. Badly digested jealousy, anger, fear.
"My God..." you exhale, still trying to catch your breath. "Just wait a moment."
He tries to pull himself together. He runs his tongue over his lips, averting his gaze for an instant.
"It's fine," he says. "I just... wanted to see you."
He leans in to kiss you again, as if that were enough to justify everything.
This time, you place your hands firmly on his chest, stopping him.
"No," you whisper, serious. "You can't pretend like nothing is wrong. It's written all over your face."
His eyes meet yours, surprised by your resistance.
"What is wrong with you?" you ask, without stepping away, but without letting him get any closer.
He swallows hard. His automatic reflex is to deny it.
"Nothing. I just got worried, I didn't hear from you yesterday and…"
"No," you cut him off, hardening your tone. "Don't lie to me. Not with me."
He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. He seems to be debating internally between continuing to deny it or offering you the truth.
In the end, the truth wins.
"I saw the photos," he confesses, his voice lower. "Your stories. The dinner, the party. That guy holding your waist…" He clenches his jaw. "I couldn't stop thinking that you could end up in bed with someone who wasn't me."
There it is. Everything, all at once.
Anger rushes up to your throat so fast it almost makes you dizzy.
"Seriously?" you ask, incredulous. "Is that what you thought?"
"What was I supposed to think?" he snaps, taking a step back, but not going very far. "You were drunk, with people I don't know, one of them glued to you in the photos…"
"That I was having a good time with my coworkers after months of busting my ass," you reply, feeling indignation mix with sadness. "That’s what you were supposed to think."
He shakes his head, frustrated.
"You don't know what it was like to see all of that and hear nothing from you," he admits. "You weren't answering, and then those photos, and…"
"Have I ever asked you to give me explanations when you go out with the guys?" you interrupt him, locking your eyes onto his. "When you post photos with fans hugging you, with girls at events, with people I don't know either?"
"It's not the same," he answers immediately, almost defensively.
"Of course it is," you retort. "It is exactly the same."
You step away from the wall, crossing your arms over your chest, putting a little more space between the two of you. You need air.
"And the worst part isn't even what you thought," you add, calmer now, but colder. "The worst part is that you seem to not know me at all."
He blinks, stung.
"I know who you are."
"No, it doesn't look like it," you counter. "Because if you truly knew me, you’d know I wouldn't just sleep with someone like that. Much less when you and I..." you gesture between the two of you, "when you and I have something, even if you don't want to call it anything."
He opens his mouth to protest, but you keep going:
"From the very beginning, we agreed on something, remember?" Your voice hardens. "That if someone else came along, if either of us started something with someone else, we’d stop this. Out of respect. Because neither of us is that kind of person."
His silence is confirmation enough that he remembers.
"And do you honestly, seriously think that I would go to bed with someone else without telling you? Just like that? From one day to the next, drunk, at a work party?"
He closes his eyes for a second, a pained expression crossing his face.
"I didn't want to imagine it," he admits, clenching his fists. "But I couldn't stop myself from doing it."
"Well, that's your problem, not mine," you answer clearly. "Your jealousy, your insecurities… they aren't my responsibility, Hongjoong. Not when, officially, 'we are nothing.'"
A tense silence falls over the room. His eyes search yours, desperate to hold onto something.
"I don't want to end this," he says at last, with that broken honesty that always turns you inside out. "I don't want to lose what we have."
It hurts. A lot.
"And I don't want to ruin what we have," you reply, feeling your throat tighten a bit. "But if we keep going like this… we're going to destroy it anyway."
He takes a step toward you, as if he wants to touch you. You raise your hand, stopping him.
"I can't live having to give explanations every time I go out," you continue. "I can't be worrying about whether posting a photo is going to make you invent scenarios in your head. I'm not your girlfriend, Hongjoong. You make sure to remind me of that yourself every time I bring it up."
You look down for an instant, gathering your strength.
"And you can't live like this either," you add. "Angry, irritated, jealous, making up stories every time I don't reply instantly or when you see me laughing with someone else. That’s no way for you to live. And it's not fair to me."
He takes a deep breath, as if every word you say were a physical blow.
"I don't want this to end," he repeats, almost in a whisper.
You look up. You make sure he sees exactly how serious you are.
"I don't want to lose you either," you confess. "But I’d rather lose this… than lose you completely. I’d rather we stop sleeping together, stop crossing that line, before we reach a point where we hurt each other so much that we can't even be friends."
The word hangs heavy: friends.
He leans against the opposite wall, as if his legs are about to give out.
"Is that what you want?" he asks, his voice barely a thread. "To end… us?"
You swallow hard.
"I want to end this," you clarify, gesturing to the space between you, charged with restrained electricity. "The sex, the jealousy, the arguments we only have because we're in a limbo you refuse to define. I don't want to stay in something that hurts me."
A pause.
"But I don't want to end us," you add, softer this time. "I don't want to stop being in your life. I don't want to stop seeing all of you. I don't want us to look at each other one day and see nothing but resentment."
He covers his face with both hands, exhaling sharply.
"I don't know how…" he murmurs. "I don't know how to separate one thing from the other. I don't know if I'll be able to look at you and… and act like it's nothing."
"I don't know either," you admit. "But I know that I can't keep going like this. And you shouldn't either."
He looks up. Your eyes meet at a midpoint between wounded pride and resignation.
You know that, inside his head, he is fighting. That a part of him wants to tell you he'll try, that he'll change, that he won't get jealous anymore—but you know him, and you know that wouldn't be entirely true.
In the end, he nods. A small, almost imperceptible gesture.
"All right," he says, raspy. "If that's what you need…"
"It's what we both need," you correct him gently.
A dense silence falls. You feel something break, even if it doesn't make a sound.
"Then… I guess I should go," he murmurs, taking a couple of steps toward the door.
You don't try to stop him. It's the first time in a very long time that you don't feel that urge.
You only add, before he reaches for the doorknob:
"I don't want us to stop talking," you say. "Or for you to stop inviting me to things. I need… for us to still be us. Just… without this."
He stands still for a second, his back turned to you.
"I'll try," he finally answers.
You aren't sure if it's a firm promise or just a wish spoken aloud. But for now, it's the only thing you have.
He opens the door, steps out, and closes it quietly behind him.
You are left alone in your living room, with the fresh mark of his hands still on your skin… and the distinct feeling that you have just let go of something that, for a year, had been almost an addiction.
You don't know what it will be like to see him from now on.
You don't know if you will truly be able to go back to being "just friends."
The only thing you know is that, for the first time, you have chosen to stop hurting yourself.
Even if, right now, it hurts just the same.
The days following your conversation feel strange.
There is no big, final fight, no slammed door, no "I never want to see you again." Just silence.
You wake up in the mornings and your phone is… empty. No "did you sleep well?" texts, no three-minute voice notes telling you about something that happened in the studio. The hours tick by and you don't receive a single complaint from him about the company’s catering, no silly photo of San goofing around, no random text like "listen to this song."
You catch yourself staring at the screen more than you’d care to admit.
At first, you think it’s just a matter of days. That you both need space. That it’s normal not to know how to rearrange the pieces so quickly.
Then two weeks pass. Three.
The texts dwindle to nothing. The calls are nonexistent. And as for seeing each other, forget it.
The absence begins to feel heavy.
A part of you—the logical part—reminds you that you were the one who set the boundary. That this is what you decided. That it's better this way. Another part, the one that stays up staring at the ceiling at night, burns with anger.
Because, in the end, it seems you were right about what you yelled at him: without sex, he has vanished. No friendship, no nothing. As if you were just another chapter in his life that has simply been archived.
And that hurts you so much more than you want to admit.
The message that breaks the inertia doesn't come from him.
San:
Have you forgotten about us or something? We haven't seen you in forever Come to the dorm, seriously We have a few hours off tomorrow afternoon I promise not to burn anything down (I think)
You laugh out loud reading his texts. You miss him. You miss all of them.
I miss you guys too I'll drop by in a couple of days, okay?
If you don't come, I'm deleting you from the official Ateez meat registry.
You don't hesitate anymore.
Two days later, you are standing in front of the dorm door.
From the hallway, you can already hear the noise: laughter, overlapping voices, the occasional exaggerated shout. Everything sounds exactly the same as always, yet at the same time, incredibly distant.
You knock.
Seonghwa opens the door. His eyes widen the moment he sees you.
"Thank God," he exhales, reaching out to grab your arm and pulling you inside. "I can't deal with this alone."
He drags you into the living room almost as if you’ve just arrived to put out a fire. Inside, it’s the usual chaos: Yunho and Mingi wrestling over a remote, Wooyoung yelling that it's a foul, San laughing from the floor, Jongho with a bowl of popcorn bigger than his head.
"HEY!" San shouts as soon as he spots you. "Look who decided to remember us!"
The rest of them look up almost simultaneously.
"You came!" Yunho jumps up, hugging you tightly, nearly lifting you off the ground.
"I thought you had new friends already," Wooyoung teases, coming up to hug you from behind.
"You've missed way too much drama," Mingi adds, smiling.
They welcome you with the same warmth as always. Hugs, jokes, questions about your work, comments on how long it took you to visit.
You answer, you laugh, you let yourself be wrapped up in it. But you can't help it: between one face and the next, you search for another.
Hongjoong isn't there.
You don't ask at first. You force yourself to enjoy the moment a bit, to catch up: they tell you about work, the upcoming comeback, the hours spent practicing, a new choreographer who is a demon disguised as a human.
You end up sitting on the edge of the couch, with Jongho on one side and Yeosang on the other, talking about movies. But that absence keeps throbbing.
Finally, the question slips out on its own:
"Where's Hongjoong?"
A tiny silence falls—one of those that only lasts a second but feels much longer.
It’s Seonghwa who answers:
"He stayed at the studio," Seonghwa explains with a sigh. "He's working."
"We told him to take a break," Yunho adds from the rug. "To come over, even if it was just for a bit."
"He didn't listen," Wooyoung scoffs.
San chimes in, his expression a bit more serious:
"We told him you were coming," he says. "Even so… he said he had things to do."
The knot in your throat appears out of nowhere. You try to swallow it down with a sip of soda.
It is painfully obvious.
And you can't help but feel… discarded. Avoided. As if your presence were now something he had to run away from.
"He's in misunderstood genius mode," Mingi jokes to lighten the mood. "He'll snap out of it."
You nod, pretending it doesn't affect you.
"Well, as long as he doesn't forget to eat…" you reply, forcing a smile.
You spend the rest of the night putting all your effort into making sure no one notices anything. You laugh, you make jokes, you listen to their stories. You act like everything is fine. Like you are fine.
But every burst of laughter has a strange edge to it. Every time the hallway door opens, your heart races for a second… only to stop when you see it's just someone going to the bathroom or the kitchen.
When it's time to leave, you smile, hug everyone again, and promise not to disappear for so long.
Instead of taking the path back to your apartment, without overthinking it, you pull out your phone and call a cab.
You aren't going home.
You're going to the company building.
You know that building as well as the hallway of your own house. The security guard recognizes you and lets you through with a smile.
You ride the elevator up, each floor lighting up with a soft beep. You know exactly which floor Hongjoong's studio is on. You know which door is his.
You stop in front of it. You can feel your heart beating in your throat. You haven't prepared a speech. You haven't thought of the words. You just know you can't keep going like this, with all of this stuck in your throat.
You knock.
Silence.
You knock again.
The click of the lock echoes. The door slowly opens.
Hongjoong appears on the other side, wearing a black hoodie, his hair a bit messy, headphones hanging around his neck. He smells like the studio: coffee, a long night, deep focus.
For a second, both of you freeze.
He wasn't expecting to see you. That much is obvious. His eyes widen slightly, bare surprise written on his face.
"Hey," he says, finally, his voice barely a thread.
"Can I come in?" you ask, gripping the strap of your bag tighter than necessary. "It'll only take a second."
He hesitates for just an instant. Then he nods and steps aside to let you in.
The studio is the same as always: monitors, the desk cluttered with papers, a half-empty mug, the lights dimmed. You stand right in the middle of the room, your back to the door, refusing to sit down.
You don't give him any time.
"Is this what it is now?" you blurting out, with no preamble, without even taking a breath.
He blinks.
"What...?"
"Are you going to ignore me for the rest of your life?" you continue, the words pouring out of you, completely unfiltered. "Are you going to hide every time I go to see the guys?"
His expression tightens. He closes the door behind him, but he doesn't come any closer.
"I just..." he starts.
"I thought we could be friends," you keep going, cutting right through his sentence. "That that was what you wanted. That if we ever ended this, nothing would be ruined between us. That’s what you said, remember?"
You feel something break in your voice. You don't stop.
"And I’ve realized it was all a lie."
He stays quiet, as if your words had completely stripped him of his script. He opens his mouth, but you don't give him any room.
"You don't text me, you don't call me, you don't even come to see me when I'm with everyone else," anger warms your cheeks. "Since we stopped sleeping together, it feels like I don't matter at all in your life. As if I only mattered as long as you could come to my bed."
Saying it hurts, but it's also exactly how you’ve felt these past few days.
"It's not like that," he finally manages to say. "That's not it."
"Well, it doesn't look like it," you fire back, refusing to let anything soften. "Because it looks like I only mattered while there was sex. Now that there isn't… silence."
You take a deep breath, your chest burning.
"Tell me straight," you add. "Was I just something to use and throw away?"
The question drops like a stone between the two of you.
He furrows his brow, deeply hurt.
"No," he says, with firmness for the first time. "No, not at all. Don't say that."
"Then what?" you retort. "Explain it to me, because all I see is that you vanished the moment what interested you was over."
You feel the sting in your eyes. You don't even know at what point the tears started to form. You blink hard, as if you could hold them back that way.
"I’ve been processing everything," he blurts out, taking a step toward you. "It’s hard for me too, it has hurt me too. It's not easy to act normal from one day to the next."
"Processing?" you laugh without humor. "And while you process, what? What am I supposed to do? Because for you, 'processing' seems to mean erasing me from your daily life."
He steps a little closer, his hands half-raised, without quite touching you.
"You aren't something to use and throw away," he says slowly, looking directly at you. "You were and you are important to me. Much more than you think."
The tears have already escaped. You feel one slip down your cheek. You don’t wipe it away.
"You aren't showing it," you answer, your voice broken. "All I see is that I seem to make you uncomfortable now. That it’s easier for you not to see me. As if my existence outside of your bed annoys you."
He shakes his head, desperate.
"It's not that. It's just that I didn't know how to be around you without…" he gestures, searching for the word, "without the other thing. I was scared of screwing up even more. And I screwed up anyway."
"Well, congratulations," you spit out. "You did it."
You brush the back of your hand over your eyes, angry at yourself for crying in front of him.
"If you want me to disappear from your life, just tell me," you add, your voice trembling. "If you want me to pretend we’re nothing, not even acquaintances, I’ll do that too. But say it clearly. Don't make me fill in the blanks with your silences."
"I don't want that," he answers quickly, as if you had put a knife to his throat. "I don't want you to disappear. I don't want… I don't want to lose you."
"Well, you're doing a fantastic job," you retort, your volume rising without you even realizing it. "Because with every passing day, I feel less and less like a part of your life."
You don't know at what point you started raising your voice. You just feel everything rushing out all at once: the anger, the sorrow, the exhaustion of months.
He tries to get closer, to say something, but you are already too far gone, too overwhelmed.
"Have a nice life, Hongjoong," you spit out, a mix of anger and pain.
You turn around, open the door before he can react, and walk out, slamming it shut behind you—a sound that echoes down the hallway.
You don't give him time for anything. Not for an answer, not for a "wait," not for an "I'm sorry."
All you know is that if you stay for even one more second, you are going to break down right in front of him. And the only thing you want right now is to breathe far away from that studio, far away from everything.
The next day, your phone vibrates.
We need to talk when you calm down a bit. Please don't just interpret things your own way.
You read the texts, and you feel shame rushing up from your stomach—shame for having cried, for having shouted, for having been so brutally honest. You don't know how to process what he’s telling you. You don't even know where to begin to reply.
So, you don't.
You leave him on read. You turn off the screen. You put it off "for later."
Later turns into days. Then, into weeks.
Then, into a month.
Some of the guys text you: San asking if you're still alive, Wooyoung sending you memes, Yeosang sending a photo of a coffee, saying it reminds him of the one you always used to order. You reply with short excuses: "I'm busy," "I can't this week," "Another day, okay?"
Hongjoong, however, you never answer. You don't know what to say. You don't know if you're ready to hear whatever he has to say.
Time keeps passing.
You try to move on with your life.
You force yourself to.
At work, inertia helps: new projects, meetings, deadlines. Your boss talks about how well the previous campaign went. Your coworker—the guy from the photos—is still kind, funny, and attentive.
One day, after an especially long meeting, he suggests grabbing a coffee.
"To decompress," he says, smiling.
You accept. You want to get out of your own head for a bit. Coffee turns into a beer after work. You laugh, you talk about things that have absolutely nothing to do with campaigns or clients. It’s easy.
Easier than you thought.
Weeks go by, and he pushes a little further. He invites you to a dinner—"like a date," he says it clearly, without beating around the bush. You hesitate. You think of Hongjoong. You think of your promises, of your agreement to stop if someone else came along.
But you also think about what has happened this past month. The emptiness. The slammed studio door. The fact that, officially, you are nothing.
You decide to give yourself a chance. To yourself, not to him.
The date is good. Nice. He is considerate, he listens to you, he makes you laugh. The restaurant is pretty, the conversation flows. You could say you enjoy it.
Or, at least, you put on a very good act.
When you reach the front door of your building, there is a short silence, heavy with expectation. He looks at you, stepping a bit closer.
"I had a really great time," he says, with sincerity.
"Me too," you reply, because it would be cruel to say anything else after all the effort he put into it.
He leans in. He kisses you.
It’s a soft, respectful kiss. His lips are warm, his hands gently resting on your waist. There is no rush, no overwhelming urgency, no whispered "mine" against your skin.
And right there, you notice it.
You don't feel even half of what you used to feel with Hongjoong.
You don't feel that jolt in your chest, or that electric current down your spine. You feel affection, maybe the possibility of something… but not that immediate fire that consumed you every single time he looked at you.
You let the kiss last for a few seconds, then pull back with a slight smile.
In the following days, your coworker tries to suggest more dates. He texts you, he proposes plans. It’s hard for you, because he isn't a bad person. You don't want to hurt him.
In the end, you decide to be honest.
You meet at a café. You take a deep breath.
"I'm sorry," you begin. "You're great, truly. But… I'm just not in the right headspace. I'm not interested the way I should be. I don't think we have as much in common as you think."
He nods, disappointed but dignified.
"Thanks for telling me straight," he answers. "I prefer that over being led on."
You leave with a mix of relief and sadness. You don't know if you’ll ever be able to feel that way for anyone who isn't Hongjoong. You don't even know if you want to.
One afternoon, weeks later, your phone finally shows his name again.
The guys are asking about you They say it's about time you drop by I want to see you too I'll be there We could… give it a chance. To do it right this time. To be real friends.
You stare at those texts for a long time.
Part of you wants to ignore them, to keep going the way you have been. Another part—the one that has spent entire nights missing his silly messages—softens.
You think about it. A lot. For several hours, mentally replaying what happened in the studio, what you said to him, what he wrote to you afterward. There is no clear apology, but there is an attempt to reach out.
In the end, you decide you don't want to keep running away.
When you arrive at the dorm, the welcome is the same as always: shouting, jokes, open arms.
"Finally!" Wooyoung exclaims, hugging you as if years had passed. "I thought you’d switched groups."
"We hate your boss," Mingi says, completely serious. "We’re going to go tell him to let you breathe."
"You should quit your job and join the staff," San adds. "That way we’d see you more."
"Yes, please," Yunho pipes in. "We need emotional reinforcements."
You laugh. They make it easy, despite everything.
Hongjoong is there.
He greets you with a measured, somewhat tense, but genuine smile.
"Hey," he says, softly.
"Hey," you reply, just as restrained.
There are no hugs. Just a nod. But in that second, your eyes lock, and you feel the weight of everything left unsaid.
It’s obvious there is tension. You both notice it. The others do too, even if they pretend to be distracted.
You try to handle it normally. You really try. Or, at least, you force yourselves to.
The following weeks find a sort of strange stability: you start texting again, but less. Neutered, more careful messages. You share memes, some random anecdote from your day, but you avoid those late-night, exhausted confessions.
You still hang out with everyone, go to dinners, watch movies as a group. Little by little, you get used to this new reality: being in the same room, inevitably searching for each other’s gaze, always feeling that underground connection… and yet, keeping your hands to yourselves.
It’s not like before. Neither of you pretends it is. Something has irremediably changed. But for the first time in a long while, it feels like you are close to that "just friends" you both talked about so much but never actually managed to be.
Until one day, you have a few too many drinks again.
It’s one of those nights when everyone is exhausted but happy. A small, improvised celebration after a long recording session. You order food, someone brings out bottles. The laughter grows louder as glasses are filled and emptied.
You drink too. Not much at first, but enough to feel the warmth in your cheeks.
The usual dynamic takes over the living room: Yunho yelling at Mingi for cheating, San trying to sing, Wooyoung interrupting every sentence with a comment. Hongjoong is at the far end of the couch, quieter than usual, glass in hand, his eyes brighter than normal.
The night wears on. Conversations blur together. You’re talking to Mingi about a show, laughing at something absurd, and he throws an arm over your shoulders in a gesture that is completely innocent, comfortable—the way they all always do.
That’s when you hear the words, hurled from the other side of the living room, soaked in alcohol and something much uglier.
"Are you going to fuck Mingi now too?" Hongjoong’s voice says, clear, cutting right through the air.
Silence drops like a lead weight.
Everyone freezes. Mingi lets go of your shoulder instantly, as if he’s been burned. Yeosang’s eyes widen. San whispers a warning "Hyung..."
You feel the blood completely drain from your face.
You look at him.
Hongjoong holds your gaze for barely a second, his eyes glassy, his expression twisted between jealousy and self-destruction. He immediately drops his gaze back to his glass, as if he hadn’t said a thing.
"What did you just say?" you ask, your voice so cold it surprises even the others.
He makes a vague gesture with his hand.
"Nothing," he mutters. "Forget it."
But you can't. You won't.
The humiliation and rage surge through you all at once. You feel something snap in a place where there was barely anything left to break.
You stand up without a word.
"I'm leaving," you announce.
San sits up a bit.
"Already? But..."
"I have an early start tomorrow," you lie, grabbing your coat. "I got a text from work, I have to be in early."
No one stops you. Everyone feels that something heavy just happened. Seonghwa shoots Hongjoong a look that could kill.
He says nothing.
You leave the dorm with your hands shaking. You hail the first cab that passes and give the driver your address, your voice cracking. The driver asks no questions.
The moment you walk into your apartment, your phone vibrates. And vibrates. And vibrates.
Texts from Hongjoong, calls, a chain of notifications.
You don't answer. You don't pick up.
You fall asleep late, your jaw clenched so tight it aches.
Over the next few days, he tries everything.
He calls: your voicemail picks up every single time.
He texts: the messages are never delivered.
He suspects the obvious: you’ve blocked him.
He doesn't give up right away. He waits a little, in case it's a glitch, in case you turned off your phone. He tries again. Nothing.
In a moment of desperation, he approaches Yeosang in the studio.
"Have you talked to her lately?" he asks, trying to sound casual.
Yeosang looks at him for a second, reading the room.
"Yeah," he replies. "We were texting a little while ago."
The sentence is a sharp knife.
They don't get through to him. They get through to Yeosang. The conclusion is clear: there is no technical error. There is a decision.
You are genuinely done with him.
That night, without overthinking it, he shows up at your building. He doesn't warn you. He doesn't send a text beforehand that could be left on read or ignored.
He goes up. He rings the doorbell.
When you open the door and see him on the other side, your entire body tenses up.
"What are you doing here?" you ask, not giving him much room.
He swallows hard. His eyes look tired, with dark circles under them.
"Can I come in?" he asks. "Just for a second. I want to apologize."
The temptation to slam the door in his face is strong. You cross your arms, leaning slightly against the doorframe.
"No."
He takes a step forward, not invading your space, but closing the distance.
"Please," he insists, his voice dropping lower. "Just a moment. I'm really asking you."
You look at him. You see the regret pinned in his eyes. You also see all the damage he has done to you. Everything you’ve let him put you through.
You sigh. You open the door a bit wider.
"Come in," you concede, your tone dry.
He crosses the threshold. You close the door behind him and stand facing him, your arms still crossed.
"I'm listening," you say.
Hongjoong takes a deep breath, as if preparing to step onto a difficult stage.
"I'm sorry," he begins, straight to the point, without beating around the bush. "For the other night. For what I said. There's no excuse. I was drunk, yeah, but… I thought it. And the fact that I even thought it is already wrong."
He looks down for a second, then looks back up at you.
"These past few months have been absolute shit," he confesses, unadorned. "I tried to act like it was nothing, to go on with my normal life, to focus on work. But I can't. I couldn't."
His hands clench and unclench, nervous.
"You occupy my thoughts most of the time," he continues. "Every single damn day that has gone by without a text from you, without one of those calls where you’d tell me how your day went… it’s been a torment. I'm not exaggerating. I couldn't focus. I can't focus."
The raw honesty of his words hits you harder than you want to show. You keep your expression serious, even though something inside you stirs.
"I tried to convince myself that we could just be friends," he goes on, "that I could handle that. But I’ve spent months lying to myself. To me. To you. To everyone. And the harder I tried, the more… I rotted inside every time I saw you with someone else, every time I thought you might be better off without me."
He pauses. He takes half a step closer, not enough to touch you.
"It’s not a justification," he adds. "There’s no justification for what I said to you. I disrespected you. I crossed a line I should have never crossed. And I know it."
He lowers his voice a bit.
"I just… needed you to know that you were never 'something to use and throw away' to me. Never. That I didn't vanish from your life because we stopped sleeping together, but because I didn't know how to handle anything I was feeling without causing you more pain."
He looks at you, his eyes shining, completely vulnerable.
"I've missed you," he admits, almost in a whisper. "More than I know how to put into words. And I don't know what to do with all of this."
You stay silent for a few seconds, processing.
You are hurt, tired, exhausted. But you also see something you've never seen so clearly before: fear. A lot of fear. And love, even if he hasn't named it yet.
You keep staring at him, your chest tight, your arms still crossed as if they were a barrier.
"You don't know what to do with all of this," you repeat slowly. "And while you don't know what to do, I've spent months trying to piece myself back together from everything you have done."
He lowers his head slightly, but he doesn't defend himself.
"I know," he says. "And I don't expect you to forget it. Or to forgive me right now."
You lean against the wall, sideways, because standing right in the middle of the hallway makes you feel too exposed.
"When I stopped sleeping with you," you begin, locking your eyes on his, "I did it precisely to avoid getting to this point. To avoid ending up shouting things at each other that we don't mean—or that we do mean, but hurt. To avoid losing our friendship."
Silence.
"And yet," you add, "look where we are."
He swallows hard.
"I don't want to keep hurting you," he murmurs.
"But you do," you reply, without raising your tone. "With your silences, with your jealousy, with your comments. And I've hurt myself too, by staying, by putting up with it, by waiting for… something. Anything clear."
You see his jaw tremble just a bit. He forces himself to hold your gaze.
"Then tell me what you want me to do," he finally says. "If you want me to leave and never come back, I'll do it. If you want us to go back to being just friends and try to… I don't know, reset, I'll try. If… if you want something else… that too."
His voice breaks slightly on that last sentence.
You take a deep breath. This time, you actually take a few seconds before speaking. You are tired of reacting purely out of pain.
"First of all," you begin, "we already saw that the 'just friends' thing doesn't work out well for you. Or for me."
A bitter half-smile slips out. He mirrors it, without any joy.
"Second," you continue, "I can't—I truly can't—keep being in something where I have to guess what you're feeling. Or what you want. I'm not a mind reader, Hongjoong. And I don't deserve it."
He nods, very slowly.
"And third..." you let your breath out. "I need you, for once, to be the one to say things clearly. No 'I can't,' no 'it's complicated,' no beating around the bush. What do you want with me? Not in general, not in theory. With me."
He stays incredibly still. All the noise in the world could vanish right now and you wouldn't even notice. You only hear your own heart and his as he takes a deeper breath than usual.
"I love you," he says.
He had never said it like that before. Not like this.
It’s not an "I like you," it's not an "you matter to me a lot." It’s simple. Raw. Almost brutal because of how clear it sounds.
"I love you," he repeats, just in case. "I have for a while. Longer than I’ve known how to admit. I’ve been hiding behind excuses, behind work, the group, everything… because I’m scared of what it implies to say it. Because I know what’s being put on the line. Because I know it’s not easy to be with me, to be… with someone like me, with my life."
He runs a hand through his hair, nervous.
"I don't want you to be 'something more' or 'a special friend' or 'the girl I sleep with,'" he continues. "I want you to be my girlfriend. I want to be with you for real. With everything that comes with it. Even if it scares me. Even if I have to learn how to manage what I feel without screwing up your life."
Your mind goes blank for a second. Not because you hadn't dreamed of it, but because you didn't expect to hear it right now, after everything.
"And if after everything I’ve done…" he adds, his voice dropping lower, "you can't believe in that anymore, I understand. Truly. But I didn't want you to be left with the idea that you were just… that. Just sex. Because you never were."
The tears, which you had barely managed to keep under control, threaten to surface again. You hold them back by pressing your lips together.
"And why now?" you ask, not quite trusting him. "Why right when it feels like I’ve already grieved, when I had already blocked you, when I was finally trying to move on with my life?"
"Because when I saw you leave the dorm that night," he answers without hesitation, "after what I said about Mingi… and then I saw that you had genuinely disappeared. That this time you really might not come back. I realized I was playing at losing you bit by bit. And that if I kept going like that, I was going to succeed."
He looks at you with a sincerity that almost hurts.
"And losing you as a friend was already killing me. Imagining losing you entirely…" he shakes his head. "I couldn't handle that."
The silence that follows isn't comfortable, but it isn't the same as before either. It’s not the silence where everything is an evasion. It’s a void waiting for a decision.
You uncross your arms without realizing it. You feel the weight of everything: of the year you’ve been dragging this out, of the arguments, of the good nights, of the bad ones, of the last few months without speaking.
"I’ve hated you a little," you confess, quietly. "These past few months. For keeping quiet. For being jealous. For being a coward."
"I deserve it," he admits, making no attempt to justify himself.
"And I’ve missed you like crazy," you add immediately, because that is also true. "It hurt that you weren't there. I tried to… " you make a face. "I tried other people. And it only made me feel worse."
His gaze softens, but he says nothing. He lets you speak.
"But loving you doesn't erase what happened," you continue. "It doesn't erase that you made me feel small, that you disrespected me, that you vanished when I needed you to at least be my friend the most. That doesn't just reset with an 'I love you.'"
"I know," he says right away. "And I'm not asking you to reset it. Or to say yes right now. I just… want to give you the truth I didn't give you before. What you do with it… is up to you."
You bite the inside of your cheek. You think.
You think of the boy opening the studio door for you with a lost look in his eyes. Of the leader, the perfectionist, the stubborn man who locks himself away to work until the early hours. You think of the friend who used to tell you his insecurities. You think of the man who told you "mine" without daring to say "I love you."
And you think of yourself. Of how much you’ve been forgetting who you are just to accommodate his doubts.
"If I do this," you begin, and you already know you’ve made a decision, at least to try, "it has to be different."
He holds his breath.
"I can't go back to that limbo," you go on. "If we're going to be together, we're together for real. All the way. I'm not going to ask you to shout it to the world, I know perfectly well what your job is and what it implies. But I do need to know that, at least in our own lives, I'm not some shameful secret or a half-hearted option."
He nods quickly.
"I don't want you to be a secret," he says. "I want you to be a part of my life, not a corner I hide away."
"And there's one more thing," you add. "Your jealousy. I am not going to back down or justify going out with my friends, laughing with people, living my life anymore. If you can't handle that, we might as well leave it right here."
He swallows hard, but he doesn't back away.
"I’m going to work on it," he answers. "I’m not going to promise you that I won't have moments of insecurity, because I’d be lying. But I do promise you that I won't use them to attack you ever again. And if I screw up, I want you to tell me, not swallow it down."
You study him, searching for the slightest trace of self-delusion.
You don't see absolute certainty. You see fear. You see doubts. But, for the first time, you also see a clear choice: he is choosing something, even if it gives him vertigo.
"And if I say no?" you ask, one last time. "If I tell you that I can't, that it's just not in me…? Are you going to keep pushing, or are you going to leave me alone?"
He bites his lip, thinks, and answers with an honesty that completely disarms you:
"It will hurt like hell," he admits. "But I would leave you alone. I don't want to be anything in your life that isn't good. If being with me only hurts you… I’d rather learn to live with that, even if it’s hard."
You stay quiet. The weight of the choice falls on you.
You know you could close the door right now, leave it at a "thanks for the truth, but no." It would be a clear, clean ending, even if it hurts.
You also know you could leap without a net again, trusting that now, at least, both of you know exactly what’s at stake.
You realize, with a sort of tender exhaustion, that you still love him. That neither the slammed door, nor the blocking, nor the date with someone else, nor his jealousy have erased that. They’ve just covered it in layers of fear.
"I don't know if I'll be able to forgive you for everything all at once," you say at last. "Or if I'll be able to trust you one hundred percent starting right now."
"I'm not asking you to," he answers quickly.
"But I do know," you continue, "that if we don't try for real now, I’m going to spend my whole life wondering what would have happened if you’d just had the courage sooner."
His eyes widen slightly. Hope creeps in, restrained.
"So…" you sigh. "We can try. For real. Just this once. All the way. If we screw it up again, if we go back to hurting each other like before… then that's it. No more second, third, fourth chances."
His voice breaks a little as he answers:
"I won't waste it."
You take a step toward him. It’s tiny, but it’s everything.
"One more thing," you add, almost with a tired smile. "I never want to hear you say a line like the one about Mingi in front of anyone ever again. Never again."
Shame flushes across his face.
"Never again," he reassures you. "I swear."
He is right in front of you. Close, but still not touching you. It’s strange: you’ve been so physically close before, yet now this single meter of distance feels like an ocean.
"Can I…?" he begins, barely lifting his hand toward you, without quite brushing against you.
You nod.
His palm finds your cheek with a softness that contrasts with everything your story has been up to this point. There is no urgency. There is no possession. Just a trembling, almost reverent touch.
He looks at you as if you were something he doesn't want to break ever again.
"I love you," he repeats, quieter, just in case you hadn't believed it before.
You close your eyes for a moment, leaning your cheek against his hand. It’s not complete forgiveness, it’s not forgetting. It’s a first step.
"Don't screw it up," you whisper. "Please."
"I don't plan to," he replies.
When he kisses you, for the first time in a long while, there is no anger, no fear, no running away. There is care. There is clumsiness. There is an implicit promise to go slow, even though you know each other's skin by heart.
You don't know if it's going to turn out well. You don't know if months from now you'll look back and think you were brave or you were foolish.
The only thing you know is that, for the first time, you are making a choice with all the information on the table. And he, for the first time, is too.
The rest, only time will write. And this time, both of you are going to be wide awake while it does.
Warnings: captivity, mention of death, guns, wounds (you know what you're reading with a pirate au), no smut here just kisses.
A/N: I'm a sucker for pirate x siren fics and who better than hongjoong for a pirate au?
The sea stretched out like a dark mirror under the heavy gray sky. Captain Hongjoong stood at the wheel of The Aurora, his hands firm on the worn wood. His black coat flapped in the wind and his sharp eyes scanned the horizon. The crew moved around him, checking ropes and sails, their voices low and careful. They had sailed these waters before, but never this close to the siren rocks. Everyone knew the stories. Songs that could pull a man’s soul right out of his body. Hongjoong didn’t believe every tale, but he wasn’t stupid enough to ignore the warnings.
"Keep her steady" he called out, his voice cutting through the wind. "We’re not here to play games with the sea."
The men nodded. They trusted him. Hongjoong had led them through storms, fights and narrow escapes for years. He was small in height but carried the weight of command like it was nothing. His red hair, tied back, caught the weak sunlight that broke through the clouds. Right now, though, his face was set in a hard line. Something felt off.
You swam far below, hidden among the jagged rocks that rose like teeth from the seabed. Your tail flicked slowly through the cold water, scales catching faint light in shades of deep blue and silver. The ship above was too close. Humans always came too close. You had watched many ships pass, singing just enough to scare them away. But this one felt different. The captain on deck moved with purpose, not fear. You decided it was time to remind them whose waters these were.
Your lips parted. The song started low, like a whisper carried on the waves. It grew stronger, wrapping around the hull of The Aurora like invisible hands. The notes were sweet but dangerous, promising calm seas and hidden gold. You poured your frustration into it. These pirates had no respect for the deep.
On deck, the effect was immediate.
One sailor dropped his rope and clutched his head. "Do you hear that?" he whispered. Then louder "It’s beautiful…"
Hongjoong’s head snapped toward the sound. "Cover your ears!" he barked. "Tie yourselves if you have to! Don’t listen!"
But it was already pulling. The ship turned slightly off course, drawn toward the rocks. Another sailor, eyes glassy, climbed onto the railing. Before anyone could stop him, he jumped. The splash cut through the song for a second. Hongjoong cursed and ran to the side, grabbing a pistol from his belt.
"Get him back!" he shouted to the others. Two men rushed forward with ropes, but the song grew louder. You could feel it working. Your tail moved faster as you swam closer to the surface, hidden just under the waves.
Hongjoong aimed at the water and fired. The shot cracked loudly, sending a spray of water up. "I said tie yourselves down, damn it! Move!"
The crew scrambled. They grabbed thick ropes and lashed themselves to masts and railings. One man fought the pull, tears in his eyes as he fought the urge to follow the song. Hongjoong tied a rope around his own waist, keeping one hand free for his pistol. He fired again into the sea, hoping the noise would break the spell.
You felt the bullets cut through the water near you. Anger flared hot in your chest. These humans dared to fight back? You let the song rise even higher, sharper, full of command. The ship groaned as waves pushed it closer to the rocks.
But Hongjoong was stubborn. He kept shooting, each crack echoing across the water. "You want a fight?" he growled under his breath. "Come and get it."
The song faltered. You had never met a human who fought this hard. Most crews fell quickly. This one was different. You pushed harder, swimming nearer to the surface. Your voice rang out clear and strong.
Then one of the fishing nets trailing behind the ship caught on something. You felt the sudden tug on your arm and tail. Panic shot through you. You twisted, trying to break free, but the net was strong and tangled fast. The more you struggled, the tighter it wrapped around you. Your song cut off in a sharp gasp as water rushed into your gills wrong.
The ship slowed. The song had stopped.
Hongjoong felt the change right away. The heavy pull in his mind lifted. He shook his head hard and looked around. "Is everyone alright?" he called. The men answered shakily, still tied down. One was crying from the effort of resisting. The sailor who had jumped was being pulled back aboard, coughing seawater.
Hongjoong untied himself and moved to the stern. "Haul in the nets. Something’s caught."
The crew worked together, pulling the heavy, wet ropes. You fought every inch, claws tearing at the thick cords, but your strength was fading. Air. You needed the surface. Your tail thrashed, but it only made the net worse.
Finally, the net broke the surface. The men gasped and stepped back as they saw what they had caught.
You. A siren. Your upper body looked almost human, with wet hair clinging to your shoulders and sharp, angry eyes. But below your waist was a powerful tail, scales gleaming blue and silver, fins torn slightly from the struggle. Small cuts marked your arms where the net had dug in. You bared sharp teeth, hissing at the humans staring down at you.
Hongjoong pushed through the crew, pistol still in hand. His eyes widened for just a second before his face hardened again. He had heard stories, but seeing one up close was something else. You were beautiful in a deadly way. Dangerous.
"Captain" one sailor whispered "we should kill it. Sirens bring nothing but death."
You glared up at the man who spoke, then locked eyes with Hongjoong. He was the one in charge. The one who had shot at you. Hatred burned in your chest. These pirates had trapped you like some common fish.
Hongjoong stared back, unflinching. He could see the fury in your gaze. You didn’t look weak. Even caught, you looked ready to tear them apart.
"Lower it onto the deck" he ordered. "Carefully. Don’t get too close."
The crew used poles and ropes to drag the net over the railing. You hit the wooden deck hard, water spilling around you. Your tail slapped against the planks, trying to find water again. It was too dry. Too open. Fear mixed with your anger, but you wouldn’t show it. You snapped at the nearest sailor, teeth clicking loudly.
"Back off!" Hongjoong shouted. He stepped closer, keeping his pistol ready but not pointing it directly at you. "What are you?"
You didn’t answer. Instead, you lunged as much as the net allowed, trying to bite his leg. He jumped back just in time. Your teeth grazed his boot.
"Feisty one" he muttered. There was no smile on his face. This wasn’t a game. You were a threat. One that had almost wrecked his ship and taken one of his men.
The crew muttered nervously. Some wanted to throw you back. Others wanted you dead right there. Hongjoong raised a hand for silence.
"We’re keeping her" he said.
A few men protested. "Captain, that’s madness!"
He turned to them, voice steady and cold. "She knows these waters better than any map. Sirens guard secrets: paths, wrecks, treasures. If we can get her to talk, she might save us more trouble than she causes. Tie the net down tight. Get a big tank ready. We’ll put her in seawater and watch her close."
You thrashed harder, tail slamming against the deck. The sound was loud and wet. "Let me go" you finally hissed. Your voice was rough from the struggle, but it still carried that strange, melodic edge. "You stupid humans. You have no idea what you’ve done."
Hongjoong crouched a little distance away, looking at you directly. "And you have no idea who you’re dealing with. Attack my ship again and I won’t be so kind."
Your eyes narrowed. Kind? This was kindness? Being dragged onto a ship like a prize? You hated him. The way he stood there like he owned the sea. Pirates like him took whatever they wanted and left destruction behind. You had seen their kind sink ships and leave bodies for the currents.
He watched you for a long moment. The crew worked fast, bringing over a large wooden tank they sometimes used for storing fish. They filled it with seawater from buckets, working carefully around your snapping teeth and thrashing tail. It took several men to lift you, net and all, into the tank. Water splashed over the sides as your tail finally had room to move again.
You submerged as much as you could, gills flaring with relief. But the tank was small. Cramped. Nothing like the open ocean. You pressed your back to the wood and glared up at Hongjoong, who stood at the edge watching.
He crossed his arms. "You’re going to tell me about safe passages through these rocks. And anything else I ask. In return, you get water and food. Try anything and we’ll see how long a siren lasts on dry wood."
"I’d rather die" you spat.
Hongjoong’s expression didn’t change. "That can be arranged. But I think you’re smarter than that."
You wanted to lunge again, but the tank walls stopped you. Instead, you showed your teeth in a silent snarl. He stared right back, eyes hard. Neither of you looked away. The air between you crackled with dislike. He saw a monster that almost cost him his crew. You saw a thief who stole your freedom and treated the sea like his own playground.
The crew gave the tank a wide berth. They whispered as they cleaned up the deck and checked for damage from the near crash. Hongjoong stayed nearby longer than the others, making sure the ropes holding the tank were secure. Every few minutes, his eyes flicked back to you.
You didn’t speak again. You just watched him with pure hatred. Your tail flicked angrily, sending small waves over the tank edge.
Hours passed as the ship sailed away from the dangerous rocks. The sun began to set, painting the sea in reds and oranges. Hongjoong finally gave orders for the night watch and walked over to the tank one last time.
"You got a name?" he asked.
You turned your head away, refusing to answer.
He shrugged. "Doesn’t matter. You’ll talk eventually."
With that, he walked off toward his cabin. But you noticed he left two men to guard the tank from a distance. Smart. You already planned your escape. The first chance you got, you would drag this arrogant captain and his ship down.
Yet as the stars came out, the tank felt smaller. The dry air stung your skin when you rose too high. You hated how helpless you felt. And you hated him most of all: Hongjoong, the pirate captain who had looked into your eyes without fear and decided to keep you like a captured weapon.
He sat in his cabin, staring at an old map, but his mind kept going back to those furious eyes in the tank. A siren on his ship. Dangerous. Useful, maybe. But mostly dangerous. He wouldn’t let his guard down. Not for a second.
The night settled over The Aurora. The ship creaked softly on the waves. Inside the tank, you glared at the stars above, already plotting how to make the captain regret this day. On deck, Hongjoong stood for a moment looking at the tank before heading below.
The next morning brought clear skies but tense air on The Aurora. The ship cut through the waves with steady sails, moving away from the siren rocks and into open sea. Hongjoong stood on deck early, checking the horizon and giving orders in his usual sharp way. His red hair was tied back neatly and his black coat looked freshly brushed. He acted like nothing had changed, but everyone knew better. The large wooden tank near the stern held their new passenger and the whole crew felt it.
You stayed mostly underwater in the tank, your tail curled tight in the limited space. The seawater was already starting to feel stale. Your arms ached from the cuts the net had left and your gills burned a little when you breathed. Being trapped like this made anger boil inside you. Every time the ship rocked, you thought about breaking free and dragging it under.
Hongjoong walked over after breakfast. He carried a small stool and sat a safe distance from the tank edge. Two crew members stood guard farther back, eyes wide and nervous. They had heard too many stories about sirens pulling men to their deaths.
"Morning" Hongjoong said flatly. His voice was calm but carried command. "Ready to talk?"
You lifted your head just enough for your eyes to show above the water. You glared at him without speaking.
He sighed. "Fine. Let’s start simple. What are the safe passages through the western reefs? We’re heading that way in a few days."
You stayed quiet. Your tail flicked once, splashing a bit of water onto the deck near his boots. He didn’t flinch.
"Or maybe you know about the old wreck near Black Shoal" he continued. "Gold still down there?"
Nothing. You turned your face away and submerged again.
Hongjoong’s jaw tightened. "This doesn’t have to be hard. You help me, I keep the water clean and give you fish. Simple deal."
You burst up suddenly. "There is no deal with thieves like you" you hissed. Your voice still had that melodic ring, even when filled with hate. "You trap what you don’t understand and call it useful. The sea will take you for this."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes hard. "The sea takes everyone eventually. But right now, I’m the one keeping you alive. Call me what you want. Just answer the questions."
You showed your sharp teeth in a snarl and ducked back under. Hongjoong waited a few more minutes, then stood up and walked away. The guards looked relieved when he left.
This became the pattern. Every day, usually in the late morning, Hongjoong came to the tank. Sometimes he asked about currents, hidden coves, or places where merchant ships passed without strong guards. You gave short answers when you answered at all. "Dangerous." "Avoid the fog banks." Or nothing. Most times you stayed silent or snapped mean words at him.
The crew avoided the tank completely. They whispered when they walked past. One young sailor dropped his tools and ran when you once rose quickly to look around. They called you monster under their breath. No one offered you extra food or kind words. Only Hongjoong came close and even he kept his distance after that first day when your teeth nearly caught him.
On the third day, you tried to escape.
The tank had thick ropes holding it steady against the ship’s movement. While most of the crew was busy with sails during a light wind shift, you used your claws to work at one of the ropes near the bottom. Your fingers were strong from ocean life. You tore and pulled quietly, keeping your head low so the guards wouldn’t notice right away.
By afternoon, one side of the tank shifted. Water sloshed heavily. You pushed hard with your tail, trying to tip it over the railing. The wood groaned. A guard finally shouted, "Captain! It’s trying something!"
Hongjoong ran over fast. He saw the damaged rope and the leaning tank. Without hesitation, he grabbed a fresh line and looped it around the tank to secure it again. You thrashed wildly, water flying everywhere. Your tail slammed the side, cracking one board slightly.
"Stop it!" Hongjoong yelled. He pulled the rope tight with help from another man. His face was red with effort and anger. "You want to drown us all? Or just yourself when this thing tips?"
You hissed loudly. "Better than staying here like a pet fish!"
He finished tying the new rope and stepped back, breathing hard. Water dripped from his coat. "You’re not a pet. You’re a problem I chose to keep. Act like this again and I’ll chain the tank shut completely."
Your eyes burned with fury. "You have no respect for the sea. You sail like you own it, taking and taking. One day it will swallow you."
Hongjoong wiped water from his face. "And you attack anything that moves near your rocks. We’re not so different. Both survivors." He paused, then added coldly "But I’m not the one in the tank."
He walked away, leaving you breathing fast and frustrated. That night, the crew repaired the tank with extra wood and iron bands. They gave you even more space to avoid you.
The second escape attempt came two days later. This time you waited until night. The deck was quieter, with only a few men on watch. You had saved your strength and worked on the ropes again, slower this time. Your claws cut through fibers bit by bit. When one guard dozed off against a barrel, you pushed with all your power.
The tank rocked hard. Water spilled over the sides in big waves. You nearly got your upper body over the edge before the noise woke everyone. Shouts filled the deck. Boots pounded wood. Hongjoong appeared from below deck, shirt half-open and pistol in hand. His hair was messy from sleep.
He took one look and jumped in to help the guards pull the tank back upright. "Damn it, siren!" he growled. "Hold still!"
You fought them, claws scraping wood and nearly catching an arm. One sailor yelped in fear. Hongjoong shoved his shoulder against the tank and used his full weight to steady it. His face was inches from yours for a moment. You could see the tiredness and frustration in his eyes.
"Enough!" he snapped when the tank was secure again. The crew tied even more ropes this time. "You’re hurting yourself more than us with this."
You were breathing heavily, scales drying in patches where water had spilled out. "I don’t care. Let me go."
He stared at you for a long moment. Something in his look shifted just a little: not kindness, but maybe understanding of your fight. Still, his voice stayed cold. "No. Not until you prove you won’t sink us the second you’re free."
The arguments grew sharper after that. Every questioning session turned into small fights. Hongjoong would ask about a sea path, and you would reply with venom.
"You pirates destroy everything" you said one afternoon. "Burn ships, steal lives, leave bodies for the fish. Why should I help you?"
"Because your life is tied to this ship now" he shot back. "If we go down, so do you. Or do sirens not care about their own survival?"
You splashed water at him on purpose. It hit his chest. "I care more about the sea than my own skin. Unlike you."
He wiped it off without reaction. "Monster."
"Thief" you replied instantly.
These words became common between you. Monster and thief. The crew started to notice how Hongjoong spent more time at the tank himself. He said it was to watch you closely after the escape tries, but it also meant the guards could rest more. He brought a chair some days and sat with maps, asking questions while pretending not to care about your silence.
Days passed like this. The ship sailed on, facing normal rough waters. Winds picked up sometimes, making the tank slosh uncomfortably. You grew quieter as time went. Not because you softened, but because the water in the tank was getting dirty. Salt built up wrong. Your skin felt tight and your tail moved slower. Energy drained from you faster than it should.
Hongjoong noticed on the eighth day. He came for his usual questions and saw you lying low in the water, eyes half-closed. Your usual sharp glare was weaker. Scales that once shone bright looked dull.
He frowned. "What’s wrong with you?"
You didn’t answer at first. Pride kept your mouth shut.
He stepped closer than usual and looked carefully. "The water. It’s not fresh enough." It wasn’t a question. He turned to the nearest crewman. "Bring new seawater. Buckets. Now."
The man hesitated, scared to get near. Hongjoong gave him a hard look and the sailor hurried off. Soon, fresh cold water was poured into the tank in heavy splashes. You felt relief immediately as it mixed and cleaned. Your gills opened better. Strength trickled back.
Hongjoong watched without smiling. "Don’t think this means anything. I need you alive if you’re going to be useful."
You lifted your head. The hate was still there, strong as ever. "Cold as always, captain. Changing water like you change your mind, only when it helps you."
He crossed his arms. "Keep talking like that and I’ll let it go bad again."
But he didn’t. From then on, he made sure the water was changed more often. Sometimes he even did part of it himself when the crew was busy. He stayed cold and distant, never speaking gently. No smiles, no soft words. Just practical actions. You noticed but didn’t thank him. Instead, you gave slightly longer answers during questions. Not full help, but less silence. A few real details about currents slipped out because the fresh water made thinking easier.
Still, the dislike ran deep. One evening after a water change, another argument started.
"You act like the sea belongs to you" you said, voice low. "But it doesn’t. It’s wild. You humans just borrow it and break it."
Hongjoong looked out at the darkening waves. "I borrow it to survive. My crew needs food, coin, freedom. The world doesn’t give that for free. Not to men like us."
"Men like you take it anyway" you replied.
He turned back to you. "And creatures like you kill without warning. We both do what we must."
The words hung between you. No agreement, but no more shouting either. Just tired truth. He left shortly after, and you stayed in the tank watching the stars. Your body felt better with the cleaner water, but the cramped space and the constant eyes on you still burned.
The ship continued its journey. Storms threatened in the distance some days, and Hongjoong would glance at the tank as if wondering if you knew more about them. You wondered too: about this stubborn captain who refused to kill you or set you free. Hate still filled most of your thoughts, but a tiny crack of curiosity appeared. Not liking. Just... noticing.
Hongjoong felt the same in his cabin at night. He studied maps and thought about the siren in the tank. Dangerous. Annoying. But tougher than he expected. He wouldn’t admit any softening, not even to himself. She was still a monster. He was still her captor. That was the simple truth for now.
The days after the second escape attempt settled into a careful routine on The Aurora. The ship moved steadily across the open sea, heading toward busier trade routes where merchant ships might carry good loot. Captain Hongjoong kept his focus on the horizon and his crew, but he still came to the tank every day. The questions continued, though they felt less like demands now and more like tired conversations. You answered a little more each time, mostly because the fresh water he made sure to provide kept your strength up. But the cold looks between you stayed the same.
You still hated the small tank and the way the wooden sides pressed in on your tail. The crew still walked wide around you, whispering about the monster on deck. Hongjoong still called you dangerous in his mind. Nothing had really changed. Or so it seemed.
One afternoon, dark clouds gathered fast on the edge of the sky. The wind picked up, whipping the sails and making the ship rock harder. Hongjoong shouted orders from the wheel. "Reef the sails! Secure everything!" The men rushed to tie down barrels and ropes. The tank shifted a bit with the waves, and you held on tight inside.
Hongjoong glanced over at you a few times while he worked. He noticed how your tail moved restlessly. The water in the tank sloshed high with each wave. You looked tense, not just from the motion but from something else.
As the storm grew closer, the sea turned rough. Waves crashed against the hull, sending spray over the deck. Rain started to fall in heavy sheets. The crew tied themselves down again, just like they had near the siren rocks. Hongjoong fought the wheel, his red hair plastered wet against his head. His black coat clung to him, soaked through.
You rose higher in the tank, gripping the edges. The currents below felt wrong. You knew this kind of storm. It hid dangerous pulls near underwater ridges not far ahead. If the ship stayed on its current path, it could hit them hard.
"Captain!" you called out over the wind. Your voice carried strong, even through the rain.
Hongjoong turned his head sharply. He looked surprised to hear you speak first. One of the crew near the tank flinched at your voice.
"What?" he shouted back.
"The currents" you said quickly. "Turn starboard, more than you think. There are hidden rocks pulling strong under the waves. Stay left and you’ll tear the hull."
He stared at you for a long second, water running down his face. Trusting you went against every instinct. You had tried to escape twice and clearly hated him. But the sea was roaring louder now and his gut told him the path ahead felt off too.
"Hard to starboard!" he ordered the crew. "Adjust now!"
The men fought the sails and rudder. The ship groaned as it turned. A big wave hit the side, nearly knocking everyone off their feet. You ducked low in the tank as water poured in from the spray. Your warning had come just in time. The ship missed the worst of the pull, but the storm still battered it hard.
For hours, the wind howled and rain pounded. Hongjoong stayed at the wheel, shouting commands without stop. You stayed alert in the tank, calling out small corrections when the currents shifted. "Deeper water that way!" or "Avoid the white caps!" He listened each time, though he never thanked you out loud. The crew shot nervous looks between you and him, but they followed his lead.
Lightning cracked across the sky. One sail ripped loudly. A barrel broke loose and rolled across the deck before a sailor caught it. The ship tilted sharply once and you felt your tank slide a dangerous inch before the ropes held. Hongjoong grabbed a line and steadied himself, eyes flicking to make sure the tank stayed put.
By the time the storm finally eased, night had fallen. The waves calmed to a heavy roll. The crew moved slowly, checking for damage. Two men had minor cuts and the ship had taken hits: cracked railings, lost supplies washed overboard and sails that needed heavy repair. Fresh water stores were low and food was getting short.
Hongjoong walked the deck, assessing everything. His face looked worn out. He stopped by the tank last. You were still there, tail moving slow in the now messy water mixed with rain.
"You warned us" he said. His voice was rough from shouting all day. No smile, but no anger either.
You looked up at him. "I didn’t do it for you. If the ship breaks, I die too."
He nodded once. "Fair enough." He paused, then added "But you could have stayed quiet. Let us hit the rocks."
You didn’t reply. The hate was still there, but yelling felt pointless after the long fight with the sea. He looked as tired as you felt.
The next morning, the ship limped along under patched sails. Supplies were a real problem now. Hongjoong gathered the crew. "We need fresh water and food soon. Any ideas?" His eyes moved to the tank.
You stayed quiet at first. Then you spoke. "There’s a hidden cove two days east if you follow the bird flights. Fresh stream, some fruit trees on shore. Not many humans know it."
The crew murmured. Hongjoong studied you. "Why tell us?"
"Because I want off this ship" you said plainly. "Sooner we fix it, sooner maybe you let me go."
He didn’t promise anything. But he changed course toward the cove. Over the next two days, he came to the tank more often. Not just for questions about paths, but to update you on the ship’s condition. He brought better fish than usual, fresher catches from the lines they put out. He even poured extra clean seawater without being asked.
"You’re not trying to bite me today" he noted one evening as he set down a bucket.
You ate a piece of fish slowly. "The tank is still too small. But the water is better. That’s something."
He sat on his stool a bit closer than before. "Why do sirens stay near those rocks anyway? There's plenty of open sea."
You flicked your tail lightly. "Because humans come and destroy. We protect what’s ours. Why do you steal from others?"
Hongjoong looked out at the water. For the first time, he answered more honestly. "I wasn’t always a pirate. Navy pressed me in when I was young. Bad officers, worse orders. I lost friends to their greed. One day I took a ship instead of following their rules. Now I choose my own path. For my crew. For freedom."
You listened without interrupting. His words didn’t erase what he had done to you, but they painted a different picture than just a thief. "Freedom" you repeated. "Yet you keep me trapped."
He met your eyes. "Yes. And you’d still sink us if you could."
The words were true. The dislike hadn’t vanished. But the sharp edge felt duller. You didn’t snap back right away.
The ship reached the hidden cove the following afternoon. Tall cliffs hid it well, with calm water inside and a small stream running down to the sea. Trees grew thick on the shore. Hongjoong sent men in small boats to fill barrels with fresh water and gather what fruit and wood they could. He stayed on deck, watching both the shore and the tank.
You pointed out safe spots to anchor and warned about shallow spots near the cliffs. He followed your directions carefully. When the boats returned loaded, he made sure some extra fruit came near your tank. Not a gift exactly, but practical.
That night, the crew rested easier. Small fires on shore lit the dark, but most stayed on the ship. Hongjoong sat near the tank again after checking on repairs. The air felt quieter.
"You stopped trying to hurt me when I come close" he said.
You stayed half-submerged. "Fighting takes energy. And you change the water more. It helps."
He gave a short nod. "You helped in the storm. Saved us trouble."
Silence stretched for a while. Not comfortable exactly, but not full of hate either. You asked something you had wondered. "Why not kill me at the start? Most captains would."
Hongjoong rubbed his tired eyes. "Because I saw something useful. And maybe because you fought hard. Reminded me of my crew. Stubborn."
You almost smiled at that, but didn’t. "I still hate this tank. And pirates."
"I know" he replied. "I still see a dangerous siren who almost took my ship."
The uneasy peace settled between you. The next day, while the crew worked on fixing more damage, Hongjoong let you give directions from the tank as they explored the cove edges. You told them about safe shellfish spots and which seaweeds were good. In return, he made sure your tank got a full clean and refill with cove water mixed in.
It was small steps. He no longer yelled during talks. You no longer tried to splash him on purpose or call him thief every time. The crew noticed the change too. They still feared you but stopped whispering as much when Hongjoong was nearby.
One evening as the sun set over the cliffs, Hongjoong stood at the rail close to the tank. "We’ll leave tomorrow. Head for better repair spots."
You rose up a bit. "There’s a calm current path north from here. Avoids more storms."
He looked at you. "Thanks."
The word felt strange between you. Not warm, but real. You didn’t reply with hate. Just a small nod.
The hate was still present, deep down. You wanted freedom. He wanted control. But the wall between you had cracks now. Less sharp words, more careful watching. You stopped seeing him only as the enemy who trapped you. He stopped seeing you only as a monster to use.
The ship sailed on from the hidden cove with better supplies and patched sails. The Aurora felt steadier now, but the crew stayed watchful. Hongjoong kept his routines tight. He checked the tank every morning and evening, making sure the water stayed clean. You had grown used to his footsteps approaching. The sharp hate from the first days had faded into something heavier and quieter. You still wanted freedom, but the constant fighting had worn down. Hongjoong no longer looked at you like just a threat. He watched with careful eyes, like he was trying to figure out a complicated map.
Days passed with small talks. He asked about the sea life you knew and you gave straight answers without much bite. In return, he told short stories about old voyages, never softening them with nice words. The crew noticed the change but kept their distance. They still feared your tail and teeth, but they no longer whispered monster as loudly when Hongjoong stood nearby.
One clear afternoon, the lookout shouted from high above. "Ship on the horizon! Flying black flags. Coming fast!"
Hongjoong grabbed his telescope and climbed to a better spot. His face hardened. Another pirate ship, bigger and heavier armed than The Aurora. They had crossed paths with this crew before, ruthless men who sank ships for sport and left no survivors. This was no simple merchant chase. It was trouble.
"Battle stations!" Hongjoong ordered. His voice rang clear across the deck. Men rushed to cannons, loaded pistols and readied ropes for boarding. The ship turned to face the threat, but the enemy had the wind advantage and more guns.
You rose up in the tank, sensing the sudden tension. The water felt too still for what was coming. "What is it?" you asked when Hongjoong passed close.
He stopped briefly. "Old enemies. Bigger ship. This might get ugly." He didn’t ask for help, but his eyes flicked to you with a question he wouldn’t say out loud.
The enemy ship drew nearer. Cannon fire started soon after. The first shots hit the water nea, sending up tall sprays. Your tank shook with each boom. Hongjoong stood at the wheel, shouting commands while shots flew. One cannonball tore through a sail. Wood splintered nearby. A sailor cried out from a wound.
You gripped the tank edges, tail thrashing. If this ship went down, you went with it. But more than that, after weeks together, you didn’t want to see these men die uselessly. Not Hongjoong either. The dislike had softened enough that the thought stung.
"Captain!" you called loudly over the noise. "Use me. My voice. I can confuse them."
Hongjoong turned fast. Sweat and gun smoke marked his face. He hesitated only a second, then nodded. "Do it. But don’t turn it on us."
He ordered two men to carefully lift you from the tank with ropes and nets, keeping you near the rail but still in reach of seawater. Your tail hung heavy in the air for a moment before they lowered you partly over the side, holding you secure. The open air felt strange and wide after so long.
You took a deep breath and began to sing. The notes started low, then built into a powerful wave. This wasn’t the simple pulling song from the rocks. It was sharper, meant to twist minds and create fear. Illusions of rocks ahead, of storms suddenly rising, of their own ship breaking apart. Your voice carried across the water, strong and clear.
On the enemy ship, chaos followed. Men clutched their heads. The helmsman turned the wheel the wrong way, shouting about ghosts in the waves. Cannons fired off target. Their captain yelled orders that no one followed. The bigger ship slowed and veered, giving The Aurora room to fight back.
Hongjoong’s crew took the chance. Their cannons hit true now. Ropes flew and a few brave men boarded the enemy in the confusion. Hongjoong led from the front, pistol in one hand and sword in the other. He fought hard, small but quick, dodging blows and striking back. You kept singing, even as your throat grew tired and the sun beat down on your drying scales.
The battle turned. The enemy ship pulled away after heavy losses, their crew too rattled to continue. Cheers rose from the crew as the threat sailed off damaged. Hongjoong returned to the rail, breathing hard, blood on his sleeve from a shallow cut. He looked at you still held at the side.
"Enough" he said. "You did good."
The men lowered you back into the tank carefully. Water rushed over your skin, bringing relief. You sank low, exhausted but alive. Hongjoong stayed nearby as the crew celebrated with what little rum they had left. He cleaned his wound and gave quiet thanks to his men, but his eyes kept returning to the tank.
That night, after the deck grew quiet and stars filled the sky, Hongjoong approached alone. The guards had been sent to rest. He carried a thick rope and a small lantern.
"You earned this" he said simply. "I’ll let you swim near the ship. Tied, so you don’t go far. But free from the tank for a bit."
You stared at him, surprised. No tricks in his voice. Just a careful offer. You nodded once.
He secured the rope around your upper body with strong knots, then helped lift you over the side with the same care as during the fight. You slipped into the cool night sea. The open water felt like coming home. Your tail moved freely, powerful strokes carrying you alongside the slow-moving ship. The rope kept you close, tied to a sturdy post on deck. Hongjoong sat on the rail, legs dangling, watching.
You swam circles, diving and surfacing, washing away the tank’s stiffness. After a while, you came up near him. Water dripped from your hair. The moonlight made your scales shine soft silver.
"Thank you" you said. The words felt new between you.
He gave a small nod. "You saved us today. Could have let them win and hoped for your freedom in the mess. But you didn’t."
You rested your arms on the hull near him. "I thought about it. But I’ve seen how you run this ship. Not all bad. Not like the others."
Hongjoong looked out at the dark water. "We talked about hard choices before. The sea doesn’t forgive easy. I lost my first crew to men like those today. That’s why I fight the way I do."
You listened quietly. "I lost my shoal to human nets and spears years ago. That’s why I stayed at the rocks. Singing to keep them away. Until you came."
The shared words hung soft in the night air. No anger now. Just truth. He shifted closer on the rail, looking down at you in the water. The rope allowed enough room that your face was near his."You’re not what I expected" he admitted. "When I pulled you from the net, I saw only danger. Now... I see someone who knows the sea like I never will."
You met his eyes. The hardness had left them. "And you’re not just a thief. You carry your crew like family. Heavy weight for one man."
Silence stretched, comfortable this time. The ship creaked gently. Waves lapped at your tail. Hongjoong reached down slowly, his hand stopping near your cheek. You didn’t pull away. The slow burn of weeks had led here, not sudden fire, but quiet warmth.
He leaned in. You rose higher in the water. Your lips met in a careful kiss. It was brief, almost testing. No rush, no big promises. Just the press of salt and skin, warm despite the cool sea. His hand touched your wet hair lightly. You felt the roughness of his palm from years at sea. When you parted, neither spoke right away. The moment felt real, not corny or forced. Just a small step after all the tension.
Hongjoong straightened, clearing his throat. "Didn’t plan that."
"Neither did I" you replied, voice low. A tiny curve touched your lips, not quite a smile but close.
He stayed on the rail while you swam more. You talked quietly about lost things: the friends he buried at sea, the quiet deep you missed. Hard choices that shaped both of you. He told you about the map he chased, not for gold but for a place where his crew could rest without always running. You spoke of currents that led to hidden gardens under the waves, peaceful spots humans never reached.
After an hour, he helped pull you back aboard with the rope. Your body felt refreshed but tired. He made sure the tank had fresh water before you settled in. No big words of love or freedom yet. Just practical care.
The next few days followed the same careful pace. Hongjoong let you swim at night twice more when the sea stayed calm. Each time, talks grew longer. You learned the weight on his shoulders as captain. He saw how the tank still cramped your spirit. The kiss wasn’t repeated right away, but the memory sat between you like a shared secret. Small touches happened: his hand steadying you during a lift, your fingers brushing his arm when pointing out stars.
The crew sensed the shift. They stopped avoiding the tank as much. One even nodded at you when passing. Hongjoong remained the captain, firm with orders, but around you he softened in small ways. Extra fish. Longer conversations. No more monster or thief labels.
One evening, as the ship cut through calm waters, you both sat in quiet. You in the tank, him on his stool nearby. Stars above, gentle waves below.
"I won’t keep you forever" he said after a while. "But I can’t just drop you near rocks either. Not after this."
You nodded. "I know. We’ll find a way. Slow."
He reached over and touched your hand where it rested on the tank edge. The contact felt steady. The kiss from that night lingered in both your minds.
Hongjoong stood eventually, giving orders for the night watch. You watched him walk away, red hair catching lantern light. The sea stretched endless around you.
The sea changed its mood again as the ship pushed forward into a new stretch of water. The waves looked normal from a distance, but everyone on board knew better. This area was known for shifting currents and sudden shallow spots that could rip open a ship’s hull in seconds. Hongjoong had studied the old maps the night before, but maps only told part of the story here. The real danger came from what moved under the surface.
Hongjoong stood at the wheel from early morning, his hands steady on the wood. His red hair was tied back tight against the wind. His black coat hung open and his face showed the focused look he always wore during hard sailing. The crew moved around the deck with extra care. Ropes were checked twice. Sails were adjusted often. No one spoke much. The air felt heavy with worry.
You stayed low in your tank near the stern, tail curled to fit the space. The water was fresh from the last change, but the tank still felt small. You watched the waves carefully, your sharp eyes catching patterns most humans missed. The surface rippled in ways that told stories about what lay below. Strong pulls here, shallow rocks there. After everything that had happened, you no longer wanted the ship to break. Not completely. But you also didn’t fill the silence with extra words.
The first signs of trouble came mid-morning. The ship started to drift slightly off the planned path. Hongjoong corrected the wheel, but the pull underneath grew stronger. A sailor at the front called out "Currents are fighting us, Captain!"
Hongjoong’s jaw tightened. He glanced toward your tank but said nothing. You rose up enough to see better. The water ahead looked calm on top, but you knew it hid a dangerous cross current that could push them straight onto hidden rocks.
"Keep left by ten degrees" you called out clearly. Your voice carried over the deck without shouting. "Then straight for a bit. The pull eases after that."
Hongjoong heard you. He didn’t turn to look or ask questions. He simply gave the order. "Helm, ten degrees to port. Steady as she goes." The crew jumped to the sails and rudder. The ship responded slowly, fighting the water. You watched the waves closely. When the ship lined up right, you gave another short call. "Hold there. No more turns yet."
The men worked in silence. Ropes creaked. Canvas snapped in the wind. The ship moved forward, inching through the tricky spot. One wrong move and they could lose speed or worse. You kept your eyes on the sea, calling small corrections when the currents shifted again. "A little right now. The shallow spot is widening to the left." Hongjoong repeated the orders right away. No thanks. No long looks. Just the work of getting through.
Time passed slowly. The sun climbed higher, beating down on the deck. Sweat mixed with sea spray on the crew’s faces. Hongjoong stayed at his post without break, his shirt sticking to his back. You felt the tension in your own body. Guiding from the tank was strange. You could not swim ahead to check, only watch and remember the sea’s patterns from years of living in it. Each call you made came short and direct. Nothing extra.
By late morning, they faced a wider dangerous zone. The currents swirled in circles here, creating spots where the sea dropped suddenly shallow. The ship rocked harder. A barrel slid across the deck before a sailor caught it. Hongjoong barked orders to secure everything. You lifted higher in the tank, water sloshing around you.
"Slow the sails" you said. "Drop speed by half. Steer straight between those two dark patches on the water. Stay exactly in the middle."
Hongjoong nodded once to his first mate and passed the commands. "Reef the main sail! Hold course as told." The crew moved fast. The ship slowed, cutting through the water with more control. You kept watching. When a new current tried to pull them off, you called again. "Push the rudder a touch starboard. Now hold." The adjustment worked. The ship slipped past the shallow danger with room to spare.
The crew breathed a little easier after that section, but no one cheered. They still felt wary around you. Some shot quick glances at the tank, remembering the early days when you thrashed and tried to escape. But today they followed your words because Hongjoong trusted them enough to use them. He kept his focus on the sea and the wheel. No personal words passed between you.
The afternoon brought even trickier parts. The sun glared off the water, making it harder for the men to spot dangers. Hongjoong wiped sweat from his eyes and kept scanning ahead. You stayed alert in the tank. Your tail moved restlessly as you read the waves.
Each time you spoke, it was only the needed directions. No stories. No questions about how he felt or why you helped. Just the sea and the ship and the careful work of moving forward.
Hongjoong’s arms must have grown tired from hours at the wheel, but he didn’t show it. He called for water for the crew and kept the pace steady.
Hours dragged on like this. The sun moved across the sky and the tricky waters seemed endless. You grew tired from constant watching, but you didn’t stop. The tank water warmed a little under the sun, yet you stayed focused.
Near misses happened twice more. Once, the pull tried to drag them sideways toward a sandbar you spotted by the way the waves broke. You called the correction just in time. "Hard left, then quick right to straighten!" The rudder turned fast. The ship groaned but cleared it. The second time, a sudden shallow spot appeared closer than expected. Your voice rang out sharp. "Drop anchor drag for a moment to slow! Then full right!" Hongjoong ordered it immediately. The crew worked together and the danger slipped behind them.
By late afternoon, the worst of the tricky stretch started to ease. The currents grew steadier. The water looked calmer ahead, with deeper blue showing safe passage. You gave one final set of directions. "Stay on this line for the next hour. No big turns. The shallows end soon."
Hongjoong passed the order. The ship sailed on. The crew slowly relaxed their tight shoulders. Some wiped their faces and drank from water skins. The tension that had filled the deck all day began to lift. They had made it through without damage or loss.
As evening light turned the sky soft orange, the ship reached fully calm waters. The waves rolled gentle and predictable. Hongjoong finally stepped back from the wheel, rolling his shoulders. He looked toward the tank. You met his eyes for a brief moment. He gave a single nod. It was short and plain. Thanks, but nothing more. No words. No long talk. He turned and gave quiet orders for the night setup. The crew moved to light lanterns and check the ship for any small wear from the long day.
You sank lower in the tank, tail relaxing for the first time in hours. The guiding had taken all your attention. No fights had broken out. No personal talks had happened. Just the necessary work of moving the ship safely through the currents. The crew still kept their distance, wary as always, but relief showed in their faces as they prepared supper and rest.
Hongjoong walked the deck once, checking everything. He passed near the tank but only glanced to make sure the ropes holding it were still tight. Then he moved on to his cabin for charts and rest. The day had tested them all, but your directions had helped carry them through.
The morning sun rose over calm waters, casting a golden light across The Aurora. Supplies had grown low after the long days through tricky currents. Fresh water barrels rang hollow when tapped and the food stores showed mostly empty crates. Captain Hongjoong stood on deck early, scanning the horizon with his telescope. A small, quiet island lay ahead, exactly where you had pointed out days earlier. Low hills covered in green, a hidden stream and trees heavy with fruit. It looked peaceful from afar, no signs of other ships or trouble.
Hongjoong gave clear orders without wasting time. "Prepare the boats. We go ashore for supplies. Water, wood, fruit, fill everything we can carry. Move quick but careful." His voice carried steady command. His red hair caught the light as he turned to watch the crew work. No one argued. They knew the need was real. Men gathered ropes, axes, empty barrels and empty sacks. Two long boats were lowered over the side with splashes.
You stayed in your tank near the stern, tail moving slowly in the water. The island sat a short distance away. You had mentioned this spot before as a safe place during one of the practical guiding moments. Now the ship anchored in deeper water just outside the shallows, the chain rattling loudly as it dropped. You watched everything from your position, the wooden sides of the tank limiting your view but not stopping you from seeing the main activity.
Hongjoong oversaw the loading himself. He checked each boat for balance and made sure weapons were carried in case of unexpected animals or other dangers on land. He did not come close to your tank for questions or talk. His focus stayed on the work. The crew climbed down into the boats, about ten men per boat and began rowing toward the sandy shore. Oars dipped rhythmically into the sea. The boats grew smaller as they moved away from the ship.
The deck felt quieter with most of the crew gone. A few men remained aboard for watch duty, including the ones who still kept nervous distance from your tank. They checked ropes and mended small tears in the sails. You kept your head above water part of the time, observing the island and the boats. The sun climbed higher, warming the deck planks and making the tank water feel slightly less cool.
Time passed slowly on the anchored ship. The distant sounds of axes chopping wood carried faintly across the water. Birds flew over the island hills. You could imagine the men filling barrels at the stream and picking fruit from the trees. Hongjoong paced the deck occasionally, telescope in hand, watching the shore. He gave short commands to the remaining crew but nothing directed at you. The day centered only on the supply run.
After a couple of hours, the first boat returned loaded. Barrels of fresh water sloshed heavily. Bundles of wood for repairs and sacks of fruit sat stacked carefully. The men looked tired but satisfied as they tied the boat and began hauling goods up with ropes and pulleys. Sweat shone on their skin. They worked in steady rhythm, lifting one item after another onto the deck. Hongjoong directed where each barrel and bundle should go: water near the main hold, wood for later fixing, fruit in shaded spots to last longer.
The second boat stayed longer on shore, gathering more. You stayed watchful from the tank. The sea around the island had some tricky spots on the return path, especially with loaded boats riding lower in the water. But for now, everything moved without issue.
Midday heat settled in. The remaining crew on deck drank from small water rations and kept working. One man wiped his brow and glanced your way once but quickly looked away. No words were exchanged. The focus remained on unloading and preparing for the next trip back from shore.
Then the second boat started its return. It moved slower, heavy with more barrels and wood piled high. The men rowed with effort, the boat sitting deeper than before. You spotted the danger before they did. A hidden sandbar lay just under the surface in their path, visible to you by the slight change in wave patterns and water color.
The boat hit it suddenly. The front scraped hard and stuck fast. The men shouted in surprise. The boat tilted dangerously to one side. Heavy barrels shifted, threatening to tip everything into the sea. One sailor nearly fell overboard as the balance broke.
"Sandbar!" one of them yelled back toward the ship.
You rose higher in the tank, gripping the edge. Your voice carried clear and loud across the water. "Push off with oars on the left side! Use the tide, wait for the next swell and row hard right. Paddle backward first to loosen, then forward on the deeper side."
Hongjoong heard your call from the deck. He repeated the instructions immediately without adding anything else. "You heard her! Push left, wait for the wave, then right and back!"
The men in the boat followed fast. They jammed oars into the sand and pushed as the next small wave lifted the boat slightly. The hull groaned but moved an inch. You watched closely and called again. "Harder on the right now. Keep the weight centered. Avoid the lighter color water ahead, that’s shallower."
They adjusted their efforts. Oars splashed and strained. The boat rocked but slowly broke free from the sandbar. No barrels were lost. The tilt corrected and they rowed clear into deeper water. Relief showed in their movements as they continued toward the ship. The successful push had saved the supplies and the boat from worse trouble.
The boat reached the side of The Aurora soon after. The crew on deck helped haul the goods up with even more care. Hongjoong stood overseeing every lift, making sure nothing slipped. The men worked harder after the close call, their faces showing new respect for the guidance that had come from your tank. They still kept distance from you, but their steps moved with more confidence now that the supplies were safe.
Loading continued through the afternoon. Barrels were secured below deck. Wood was stacked neatly along the sides. Fruit was sorted and stored where it would not spoil quickly. The crew made multiple small trips up and down, tying everything tight against future waves. The ship sat lower in the water with the added weight, but it felt fuller and ready for the next leg of the journey.
You observed it all from the tank. No extra calls were needed after the sandbar incident. The rest of the work went smoothly. The sun began to lower, painting the sky in softer colors. The last items came aboard and the boats were hoisted back onto the ship and secured.
Hongjoong gave final orders for the day. "Check all lashings. Make sure nothing shifts tonight." The crew moved about, tightening ropes around the new supplies. They checked the hull from the sides where possible and made small repairs with the fresh wood. Everyone focused on the tasks. The successful run had lifted spirits, but the work came first.
As evening approached, Hongjoong finally walked toward the stern. He did not stop for conversation. Instead, he directed two crewmen to bring fresh seawater. Buckets were lowered over the side and hauled up full. They poured them into your tank one after another, refreshing the water completely. Cool, clean sea flowed around you, washing away the warmer stale parts from the long day. You felt the relief in your scales and gills but said nothing. Hongjoong watched to make sure the job was done right, then nodded once to the men. He moved on without speaking directly to you.
The deck grew calmer as night came closer. Lanterns were lit at key spots. The crew prepared a simple meal with some of the new fruit, their voices low and tired but less worried than before. They had gathered enough to last many days. The ship felt prepared again.
You settled deeper into the refreshed tank water. The supply run had taken the full day. The only real event had been guiding that one boat off the sandbar at the right moment. Everything else centered on gathering and securing the goods. No long talks happened. Hongjoong stayed focused on his captain duties. The crew moved more confidently around the deck now, knowing the stores were full.
Stars began to show in the darkening sky. The anchor held steady. The Aurora sat ready near the quiet island, supplies loaded and checked. The slow progress of days continued in these practical ways. You closed your eyes, listening to the gentle lap of waves against the hull. The tank felt better with the new water. Tomorrow the ship would sail on, carrying everything gained today.
Hongjoong made one last round of the deck before heading to his cabin. He glanced toward the tank briefly as he passed, making sure the ropes were still secure after all the activity. Then he continued on. The day ended with the ship fuller and the crew rested for the night.The supply run had tested them in small ways, especially with the sandbar, but it finished successfully.
The ship sailed on calm seas that night, the water smooth like dark glass under a sky full of bright stars. The Aurora moved gently with a light wind, the sails barely full but steady. After the long supply run and the days of guiding through tricky currents, the crew felt worn out in a good way. They had eaten a simple meal with the fresh fruit from the island, shared a few quiet stories and then turned in early. Lanterns were dimmed low. Only the night watch stayed up, two men walking the deck in slow circles, their voices soft so they wouldn’t disturb the others. The ship creaked peacefully, like it was finally resting too.
Hongjoong waited in his cabin until the deck grew completely quiet. He had washed the salt and sweat from the day, changed into a clean shirt and sat thinking for a long time with an old map unrolled in front of him. But his mind was not on the next course or hidden treasures. It kept going back to the tank at the stern. To you. The siren he had pulled from the net weeks ago in anger and fear. The one who had hated him with sharp teeth and cold eyes. The one who had slowly changed everything.
He stood up, picked up a thick rope and a small lantern and stepped out into the cool night air. The two men on watch saw him and nodded but stayed far away when he waved them off to the front of the ship. This was private. Hongjoong walked to the tank alone, his boots quiet on the wood. You were already watching him approach, your head above the water, scales catching faint lantern light in soft silver and blue.
He stopped at the edge and looked at you. No orders. No questions about paths or dangers. Just a long, steady look. "Come swim" he said simply. "I’ll tie the rope so you can move near the ship again."
You nodded once. The days of small steps had led here. The tank still felt cramped, but you had stopped fighting it every moment. Hongjoong worked carefully, looping the strong rope around your upper body with knots that held firm but didn’t cut. He helped lift you over the rail with steady hands, the way he had done a few times before. Your tail slipped into the open sea with a soft splash. The cool water wrapped around you like an old friend. Freedom, even if only for a short time beside the ship.
You swam slowly alongside the ship, the rope keeping you close. Hongjoong sat on the rail, legs hanging over the side, the lantern beside him casting a warm circle of light. He watched you move through the water, your powerful tail making small waves that lapped against the hull. For a long while, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the gentle waves, the creak of the ship and the distant call of a night bird. Stars reflected on the dark sea like scattered diamonds. The air felt peaceful.
You dove under once, then came back up near him, arms resting on the hull. Water dripped from your hair down your shoulders. Hongjoong looked down at you, his face calm in the lantern glow. His red hair moved a little in the breeze. The hard captain look had softened around the edges over time. He still carried the weight of command, but tonight it seemed lighter.
"The sea feels good tonight" you said quietly. Your voice had lost most of its old bite. It was just honest now.
He nodded. "Calm like this doesn’t come often. We earned it after those currents and the supply run." He paused, looking out at the stars. "You helped make it possible."
You stayed quiet for a moment, thinking back. The memory of being pulled from the net felt far away but still clear. "I hated you at first" you said. The words came slow and true. "When the net caught me and I woke up on this ship, all I saw was a thief who took my freedom. A pirate who shot at me and locked me in a tank like a caught fish. Every day I wanted to drag the whole ship down."
Hongjoong listened without interrupting. He rubbed his hands together slowly, feeling the rough calluses from years of ropes and wheels. "I know. I saw it in your eyes. You looked ready to tear my throat out. I didn’t blame you. I thought you were just a monster from the stories. Something dangerous that almost cost me a sailor and nearly wrecked my ship on those rocks."
He shifted on the rail, leaning a bit closer. The rope allowed you to stay right below him. "But days turned into weeks. You stopped thrashing so much. I stopped calling you monster every time I walked past. The water changes, the small help during the storm, the guiding through the currents… it added up. You became more than a threat. You became someone I started to listen to. Someone I respected."
You looked up at him. The lantern light made his face warm and real. "I saw the weight you carry. The way you stay at the wheel for hours, making sure your crew is safe. You told me once about the navy and why you became a pirate. I remembered that. You’re not just taking for yourself. You fight for them. For a kind of freedom. It made the hate feel heavier. Harder to hold onto."
The night stretched around you both. The ship moved forward at a gentle pace. Waves whispered against your tail as you floated there. Memories came one by one, filling the quiet talk.
"I tried to escape twice" you said with a small breath. "I damaged the ropes and rocked the tank. You got angry, but you also made sure the water stayed clean when I started getting weak. You didn’t have to do that. A real thief captain would have let me suffer or thrown me back half-dead."
Hongjoong gave a short, tired smile. Not big or bright, just real. "I told myself it was only because I needed you useful. But that wasn’t all of it. Watching you fight so hard… it reminded me of my own early days. Stubborn. Angry at the world. I couldn’t kill that. And after the storm when you warned us and the battle where you used your voice to save us, I stopped pretending. You’re part of this ship now. In a way I didn’t plan."
You reached up and touched the hull near his hand. Your fingers were cool and wet. "I see the good man under the pirate coat. The one who checks on his crew first, who studies maps late at night so no one gets hurt. I care about that man. The hate turned into something else. Something warmer. I want to keep sailing these waters with you. Not trapped. But together."
Hongjoong looked down at your hand, then covered it gently with his own. His palm felt warm against your skin. "You’re not just a siren I captured anymore. You’re the one who knows the sea better than any map. The one who makes me think twice before charging ahead. I respect you. Deeply. And it’s more than respect now." He paused, his voice dropping lower. "I love you. Simple as that. After all the sharp words and cold days, I love the strength in you. The way you softened but never broke."
The words hung in the night air, true and quiet. No big dramatic speeches. Just honest feelings that had grown from the slow burn of weeks together.
You felt your chest tighten in a good way. "I love you too, if what I'm feeling is love, like I think it is" you said. Your voice was steady. "The captain who trapped me but also gave me clean water and listened when I spoke. The man who kisses carefully and shares the quiet moments. I love the weight you carry and the freedom you fight for. We can find a way. Maybe I swim free sometimes but always come back to the ship. Or we sail together, finding spots where both our worlds meet."
Hongjoong leaned down slowly. You rose higher in the water to meet him. Your lips touched in a longer kiss than the first time. It was warm and unhurried, full of the weeks of tension finally easing. Salt from the sea mixed with the taste of closeness. His hand moved to your wet hair, holding gently. You pressed closer, one arm resting on his shoulder. The kiss spoke what words had already said: care, respect, love. When you parted, both of you stayed close, foreheads nearly touching.
The ship continued its calm path. Stars watched overhead. Hongjoong stayed on the rail for a long time. You swam small circles beside him, the rope allowing enough room to move but keeping you near. You talked more, remembering details from the journey.
"Each day took a piece of the old hate away."
He nodded. "And left room for this. I don’t know what the future holds exactly. More fights maybe. More calm nights. But I want you in it. We’ll figure the tank and the sea. Find hidden coves where you can swim free for days if you need. But the ship will always be a home you can return to."
You felt peace settle deep inside. "Yes. Together."
The night grew later. The watchmen stayed at the front, giving you both space. Hongjoong helped pull you back aboard after a while, careful and strong. He made sure you settled comfortably in the refreshed tank water. Before he left, he touched your cheek once more.
"This is the end of the hard part" he said. "The start of something better."
You watched him walk toward his cabin, the lantern swinging softly. The stars shone brighter as the ship sailed on.
summary: Jongho was everything you weren’t: ambitious, diligent, promising—all in all the perfect law school student. Naturally, your chaos didn’t fit into his prearranged life. Not for long, anyway. Your silly little relationship was never meant to last. So how come you couldn't seem to move on? Of course, being grouped together for a semester-long assignment didn't exactly help your case.
tags: exes2lovers, law student!au, hurt/comfort, y/n lowkey has an inferiority complex, jongho is slightly possessive, best friends woosan (bc i love making them y/n's besties), some side characters from tbz/skz; warnings: alcohol consumption, throwing up
wc: 9.2k
a/n: this is my fic for the live alive collab hosted by @sungbeam! honestly i'm just so glad to have made it (or, well it's half past midnight in my time zone but i tried my best i swear t-t) i was really hoping my time management would be better for this, but honestly life wasn't really having it. either way, i hope you enjoy this story & pls check out the other fics for this collab!!
and also @ beam - thanks for letting me be part of this sweet collab. i'm glad to have had a good reason to write (and actually finish!!) something. love you lots<3
masterlist | collab masterlist
So maybe you'd overestimated what a two month break could do. You’d thought you'd use all that free time really well, to eat healthy and exercise and read more books. You’d also thought you'd be well ahead of all the assignments due during the break. And most of all you’d thought you'd come back after the break as a changed woman who is definitely not still hung up on her boyfriend that she broke up with right before the semester ended.
Reality however looked quite different: You'd eaten too much pizza, barely left the house, binge watched not only one but two TV shows, barely finished your assignments on time and spent an embarrassing amount of time crying over your boyfriend. Needless to say, you were most definitely still hung up on him.
Consequently, going back to school left you with mixed feelings. It all came down to a simple list of pros and cons, and you weren’t sure which side was weighing heavier.
Pros:
Getting away from your nagging parents.
Seeing your friends again.
Spending a fun last summer with them.
Cons:
Seeing Jongho.
Your friends are his friends too.
Whatever fun activities are planned, he’ll inevitably be there too.
It wasn’t that you suddenly hated him (surely, life would be easier if you could). But just the mere thought of facing him again ripped your heart in two. His words were still ringing in your head like he’d said them just yesterday. ‘Might as well end it now.’ As if it barely even concerned him. And just like that, it’d been over.
While it felt suffocating to be at home, you wanted to prolong your return as much as possible. For one to avoid Jongho for as long as you could. And then also to avoid your friends, most importantly your best friends. Because you hadn’t told them about the break up. You’d just pretended everything was fine right up until you sat in your train home. And then, the moment it had left the station you’d crumbled pathetically, sobbing so hard that a woman sitting in the seat before you handed you some tissues.
Of course you knew you couldn’t keep the break up a secret forever, but somehow talking about it was scary. Talking about it would make it real. Talking about it would maybe prompt your friends to tell you that you’d been stupid and that it was your fault, and you weren’t quite ready to hear that yet. Still, you couldn’t just postpone it all indefinitely and take the semester off, so you arrived back at the dorm one day before the lectures were starting again. Your room looked the way you’d left it. You hadn’t bothered taking any of your personal bits down while you were away, just packed what you needed and left—but when you set foot inside now, you were starting to regret that. You’d never noticed how much space Jongho had taken up in your room. There were pictures of him and you and your friends all over your pin board, along with tickets from when you’d been to the theater together. On your desk was a clover he’d given you before one of your exams (three leaves, not four, despite his best efforts to find one), that you’d pressed and safely displayed in a tiny picture frame. And then of course, on your bed, right next to your pillow was that teddy with its tiny head and broad shoulders that he’d gifted you for your last birthday and that you’d always joked looked exactly like him.
You wanted to throw it all away just so you didn’t have to look at it anymore. Instead, you curled up in bed, jeans and all, and cuddled that teddy close to your chest. You buried your nose in the soft material, pretending you could still smell him on it, when really it only smelled like you.
You must have fallen asleep at some point, because you woke up in the middle of the night, still in the clothes you’d worn all day, and with a terrible headache that kept you from falling asleep again. Since it seemed you weren’t going to catch much more sleep anyway, you stepped outside. The halls of the dormitory had been noisy and bustling earlier, everyone eagerly greeting each other and catching up after the long break. But now it was eerily quiet. Maybe everyone had suddenly come to respect the curfew, or maybe they’d decided to take it easy tonight since lectures would start tomorrow, and there’d be a huge party to kick off the semester on Friday anyway.
As you wandered the corridor, it took you back to the last day before the break. You’d aimlessly wandered back then too, unable to sleep after your conversation with Jongho, but not able to cry either. Not yet, anyway, because it hadn’t sunken in yet. It’d felt surreal at the time, like you half expected Jongho to show up at your dorm the next day to inform you that the break up was of course not actually happening. You could picture it so well, him standing there first thing in the morning, early enough to still catch the 9 AM train to his family home, making sure to tell you that you’re still dating, so you wouldn’t have stupid thoughts while on break. Jongho was like that, preferring clarity over leaving you guessing. That day though, he hadn’t shown up, and maybe that was a way of making things clear, too. You’d watched the clock ticking away, 9 AM passing you by, but you’d still held onto some hope until the afternoon, when it was time for your own departure. And even then, a delusional part of you was thinking maybe he’d show up at the platform to apologize and he’d hold you so close and you’d hug him right back, and he’d tell you to let go because you’d miss your train, but you wouldn’t even care because all that mattered was that Jongho still loved you.
It was only when the train had started departing and the people at the platform started blurring behind the window as you passed them by, that it finally sunk in. Jongho hadn’t come. He’d let you leave just like that, with a two month break ahead of you to cement the fact that you’d broken up. He was no longer your boyfriend. And with that realization came the tears, and it seemed they hadn’t really stopped since then.
By the time you wandered back to your room, it was already getting light outside, the sunrise dying the sky in shades of pink and purple that were too beautiful to match your mood. You closed the blinds to shut them out and sunk back into your bed.
It seemed sleep had eventually found you again. In fact, you slept so deeply that you didn’t hear any of your three alarms and completely missed your first lecture. Luckily, you had a really good friend, and he wasn’t shy to remind you when you met him at the cafeteria in between classes.
“You’d be so doomed without me,” he said instead of a greeting, “but of course, your best friend in the world made sure to answer roll call for you and even signed you up for the group project.”
“Thanks, Wooyoung,” you set down a cup of coffee in front of him as a means of compensation, “I owe you my life.”
“You really do. That prof is no joke, you know?”
“Yeah, yeah,” you sighed, taking a sip of your own cup.
“What’s been up with you anyway? We’ve barely heard of you all break. San was this,” he made a pinching motion with his fingers, “close to borrowing his mom’s car and driving over there to make sure you’re still alive.”
“That’d be a 10 hour ride.”
“That’s how much we love you.” Wooyoung rested his chin on his hand and eyed you intensely, “So, will you tell me what’s up?”
“I’ve been stressed out over the assignments?” You already knew it was a poor excuse before he called you out for it.
“I know that’s not it. Just tell me. I promise it will be okay.”
All his silly jokes and teasing aside, Wooyoung was a good friend and a good listener. But it still felt hard to put the words out there. It made you fell as if you were sitting in that train all over again, watching the people and the platform disappear, and your relationship with them.
“We broke up,” you finally said, immediately taking another sip of your coffee hoping it could wash down the taste of heartbreak lingering on your tongue.
You raised an eyebrow at him, “Who would joke about something like that?”
He shrugged, “You’ve become pretty unpredictable, so who knows?”
“Oh, yes, I’m an enigma.” You rolled your eyes and the little banter helped you shove your actual feelings aside, pretending it all didn’t phase you as much as it really did. Wooyoung looked at you for another moment, clearly seeing right through you, but not commenting on it.
“But, uhm, if it’s true, then I have some sort of bad news for you,” he admitted reluctantly, his expression sheepish.
“Spill.”
“So, uh, remember how I said I signed you up for the group project?”
“No.”
“It’s supposed to be groups of four—”
“No, Wooyoung, please.”
“And San and I didn’t know—remember? You kept this incredibly relevant information from us, your best friends in the world—and we had to make a decision—”
“No, no, no—”
“It just made sense to group up.”
Great. Amazing. Splendid. You were stuck working on an assignment with your ex-boyfriend. all. semester.
“How is this my life?” You dropped your head in your hands, “And how come he didn’t protest either?”
“Ah, right,” Wooyoung seemed to only realize now that you were lacking this information, “Jongho wasn’t present either. Saved his ass during roll call, too, but I guess that’s not really of much interest to you.”
“No, Jung Wooyoung, it is not of much interest to me in the face of this whole group project disaster.” Though, you did have to admit that it was highly unusual for Jongho, ambitious, diligent Jongho, to miss a class unexcused.
“Understandable,” he nodded, “But maybe we can still switch groups?”
“Who would even switch with me? I don’t have other friends.”
He grinned. “But I do. Changbin is in that class too, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind taking your place. And he’s grouped up with Felix, you know Felix, right?”
You do know Felix. You like him too, though you wouldn’t go as far as to call him a friend. Still, being grouped with sweet, kind Felix would be much better than having to spend the whole semester working with Jongho.
“Would you ask him?”
“Anything for my bestie,” Wooyoung looked at you with an encouraging smile, “I’m sure it will work out just fine.”
Maybe switching groups wasn’t all that big of a deal, or maybe Changbin just liked Wooyoung enough to agree easily—either way, just two days later your friend assured you that the groups were changed without any issues, and Felix had even notified the professor of the changes already. He generally seemed to have taken up some kind of leading role, because you received a message from him that same day, informing you that the group had agreed to meet up the next Tuesday to make a plan for the semester, and asked if you could make it as well. Tuesday was fine with you, and honestly, even if it weren’t you would’ve tried your best to adjust your schedule to them out of gratitude for taking you in. According to Wooyoung, aside from Felix it was Eric and Sanha in that group, and because they were close to Jongho, you’d already talked to them quite a few times back when you’d still been dating. You remembered them as being pretty friendly and fun to be around and you just hoped their friendship with your ex-boyfriend didn’t make things awkward. Though, even then, it seemed like a much better choice to work with his friends instead of the man himself.
Maybe it was that silly optimism of yours that jinxed your demise. Because surely enough, when you stepped into the café across campus on Tuesday, the guy sitting next to Eric at the table Felix had reserved looked uncomfortably familiar: It was Jongho. Even from a distance and a slightly awkward angle, you recognized him right away. His dark brown hair, the black frames of his glasses, the neatly ironed collar of his shirt. It didn’t make sense. Why would Jongho bother showing up to the meeting of your project group? Even if he was friends with Eric and Sanha—shouldn’t he have the tactfulness to stay away after you went as far as to switch groups (something you were safe to assume wasn’t only in your interest, but his as well)?
You wanted to turn around and leave, maybe send a message that you’d suddenly started to feel unwell, or at least come back with a little delay in hopes Jongho would’ve left by then, but before you could do any of that, someone called your name.
“Hey there!” Felix greeted you with a bright smile, looking genuinely happy to see you again. He had a tray in his hands, four cups you noted, which meant either they’d already ordered for you as well, or a certain guest was planning to stick around for at least one coffee. You hadn’t seen Sanha around yet either, which filled your stomach with a feeling of unease.
“Hey,” you nodded awkwardly, “do you need help carrying that?”
“Nah, don’t worry. Just follow me, the rest is already there,” he naturally leads the way towards the dreaded table, “I hope you don’t mind we ordered for you,” he added, “Matcha with oat milk.”
“Oh.” Your gaze lingered on the cup you assumed to be yours, “Thank you.” Jongho must’ve told him your usual order. How else would Felix, or Eric for that matter, know? And despite the anger you still felt about Jongho being there in the first place, knowing he cared enough to order for you, knowing he cared enough to remember, awakened something else in the depth of your stomach. You quickly pushed it aside. It was just routine, it didn’t mean anything. Felix must’ve asked him if he knew your order, and he must’ve replied automatically, without giving it much thought or care. (But didn’t that have its own value too? Didn’t it feel inherently meaningful that your habits have become so ingrained in his very being, that he could recite them without thinking?)
“Y/n!” Eric pulled you out of your thoughts as you approached the table, a wide grin on his face, “Man, it’s been ages since I’ve seen you last, how have you been?” He got up and hugged you so naturally and friendly, it made you wonder if he even knew about the break up. You didn’t dare to ask though, didn’t want to bring up that awful topic so you just hugged him back, told him you’d been great and left it at that. You sat down across from him, next to Felix and at the biggest possible distance from Jongho. You’d wanted to glare at him, ask him why the fuck he was here, but now that you were actually close enough to talk to him for the first time since the end of last semester, it suddenly felt hard to even look at him. So, you focused on your matcha instead that Felix had placed in front of you, appreciating the latte art that fittingly almost looked like a clover.
“When’s Sanha joining us?” You asked, trying to come off as casual and relaxed and driving home that air of nonchalance by taking a sip of your drink.
“Oh, you didn’t know?” Eric sounded surprised. “Him and Jongho switched groups.”
You choked so badly on your matcha you almost spat it in his face, and gratefully accepted the tissue that was handed to you, before even realizing it was Jongho who handed it to you.
“It’s a good thing though,” Eric easily continued, “I love Sanha, but I think with Jongho in our group we have a pretty good chance of getting an A+, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” you were still barely able to breathe, “Right.”
You tried your best to keep it together while Eric and Felix were there, focusing on the project and assigning tasks for everyone until the next meet up. The moment they left though, and it was just you, who’d purposely lingered, and Jongho who, for some reason, had stayed behind as well, you exploded.
“What the fuck?!” You hissed, quiet enough not to make a scene, but not holding back any of the anger seeping into your voice.
“Someone’s angry, huh?”
You wanted to spit in his annoyingly composed face. How could he remain this calm? Did seeing you again not phase him at all?
“Of course I’m angry! Why did you change groups?!”
He shrugged, “I could ask you the same, no?”
“You could’ve at least said something! Then I wouldn’t have bothered switching!”
“You didn’t say anything either,” A grin slipped onto his features, “And considering these are my friends, couldn’t you have anticipated this to happen? Did you maybe want to work with me?”
Maybe you hadn’t thought this through. Why hadn’t this occurred to you? But then why didn’t he tell anyone? If not you, why not at least Wooyoung and San? After all, it concerned them, too! You shoved the last of your notes into your bag, not caring at all about the way the paper crinkled beneath your fingers.
“Whatever, guess I’ll just have to change back.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m sure the professor will love that. He already seemed mildly annoyed about switching the groups once, I’m sure doing it again will leave a great impression,” he handed you your ballpoint pen that you hadn’t realized was still laying on the table, “We’ve already distributed tasks anyway, just roll with it. Switching now will just make more work for everyone.”
He was right. Of course, he was right. Perfect, smart Jongho tended to be right about everything. Guess you were stuck with Jongho in your project group, again.
“Don’t kill me for saying this, and I do feel so sorry—but this situation is also kind of hilarious,” Wooyoung looked at you with mirth in his eyes, while San next to him was slurping up his ramyeon without much care.
“No, I absolutely will kill you, how is this hilarious?!”
“I mean—both of you switching groups to avoid each other and then ending up in the same group again? That must be some crazy fate.”
“Yeah, right, fate, or maybe a certain someone,” you stared him down extra hard, “isn’t as close to his friends as he thinks he is, or else I’m sure Changbin would’ve told you about this and we could’ve avoided the whole mess.”
“Honestly,” San intervened, mouth still full, “even Changbin seemed surprised when Sanha showed up to the group meet up. Jongho must’ve just given him the time and place and left it at that.”
Huh. “That’s—weird.” Jongho was usually a bit more…organized? Than that? Normally, he would’ve at least given someone in his group a heads up, wouldn’t he?
“Hm,” Wooyoung hummed, a small encouraging smile on his face, “I suppose he’s struggling with the break up just as much as you are.”
That thought honestly made you feel a little better. You weren’t the only one having a hard time. Jongho was struggling too. Why else would he have bothered to switch groups in the first place?
“To be honest though—I’m still confused about the break up. I get if you don’t want to talk about it, but it feels so sudden. Weren’t you still all over each other at the end of the semester? What happened?”
“Yeah,” San echoed as he finished the last of his noodles, “What happened?”
You chewed on your lower lip, unsure what to say, “It’s just…. He’s an ass?”
“Oh, god,” Wooyoung’s jaw tensed, “if he cheated on you I’ll literally kill him.”
“No!” You sighed. “He didn’t cheat.”
“Thank god, I’m not ready to defend someone in court,” San let out a breath of relief, “Especially not for murder. Because, legally, this wouldn’t even be manslaughter.”
“It’d definitely be manslaughter. It’d be all the heat of the moment, a non-malicious crime of passion. Not that I’d be dumb enough to get caught.”
“It would not be manslaughter,” you agreed with San, “but there’s no killing happening anyway. As I said, he didn’t cheat.”
Wooyoung didn’t seem really convinced as he eyed you critically. “Then why? What happened?”
“It just wasn’t meant to be,” you shrugged, unable to meet his gaze, in fear he’d see right through you and the fact that the break up was all your fault. “Why are you so surprised? You didn’t even like him when we first started dating.”
“I didn’t not like him!”
“You called him a stuck up prick.”
“A silver spoon snob, too,” San added.
“Why are y’all ganging up on me?” He huffed in offense, “And that was all just because I thought I needed to protect you! Before I knew how cute he actually is behind that serious face.”
“You date him then.”
“Nah, my bestie’s ex is off limits.”
“Right,” you rolled your eyes at him, “If that’s all that’s stopping you, then you have my blessings.”
Wooyoung grinned, “Don’t regret that later when you’ll inevitably want him back.”
“I won’t.” What a stupid lie, when you’d never wanted to break up in the first place. But what right did you even have to want him back?
“Besides,” Wooyoung added, “until I hear a proper reason for the break up, I doubt the legal validity of it. In my books you’re still married until proven otherwise.”
“Isn’t the fact that we both wanted to avoid each other so bad we switched groups proof enough that we’re over for good?”
“Nice try, mittens. You switched groups precisely because you’re not over at all.”
Working in a group with Jongho was exhausting. Eric had a point—chances of getting an A+ with Jongho wasn’t unlikely, after all he was a perfectionist. Unfortunately though, he made that everyone’s business. As you analyzed the case your group was given for the assignment, he nitpicked every little detail, to make sure you weren’t missing anything. And maybe, under different circumstances, you could’ve appreciated it. Jongho wasn’t usually rude or harsh about his criticism, just honest. But with everything that had happened between the two of you, it felt hard not to take every little comment personally. Even when you knew his criticism was valid, you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling like he was judging your work more harshly than anyone else’s out of the grudge he held for you. So, you argued back, pathetically defended your stance as if it was a client you knew all too well was guilty and yet pleaded innocent.
“The buildings shared a wall, Neighbour B should’ve informed Neighbour A before tearing it down,” Jongho calmly stated and you knew he had a point. You knew, and yet—
“It was B’s property, why would they have to inform anyone about a decision that only concerns their building?” you shot back, less calm, less collected, less fit to be a good lawyer.
“It does concern the other party, though. They suffered damages,” Jongho frowned, and you could tell by the expression on Felix’ and Eric’s faces that they felt uncomfortable, but you couldn’t bring yourself to back down.
“It’s not like A would’ve had any right to stop them, so why make a big deal out of it before anything even happened? It wouldn’t have changed anything!”
“Right,” he huffed, “Why bother talking about things, when the decision was already made, huh?” Something flashed through Jongho’s eyes, bitter, hurt, angry.
Felix cleared his throat, “Uhm, guys, are we still talking about the case?”
The mask of indifference returned to Jongho’s face, “Obviously.”
“What else would we be talking about,” you added, but your voice was barely convincing. Truthfully, you didn’t know. It didn’t feel like it.
Once the group session was concluded you hurried to pack up your things, this time not at all interested in staying back with Jongho again, but it seemed you weren’t getting much of a choice. The second you’d stuffed everything into your back, you bid them farewell and rushed out of the café, but Jongho easily caught up to you.
“Let’s talk.”
“I don’t have anything to talk about,” you replied with a dry voice, starting to make your way towards the campus.
“Well, then just listen. Because I have something to talk about.”
You rolled your eyes but still stopped and turned around to look at him. “Let’s hear it then.”
“I know we broke up,” he started and it felt like the worst way to start a conversation, honestly, “But that doesn’t mean you can sabotage the group.”
“I’m not sabotaging anything.”
“You get snippy whenever I criticize anything.”
You want to kill him. For a brief moment you feel like maybe, breaking up was the right choice. “Maybe your criticism isn’t all that great, Jongho, ever considered that? Maybe you are not actually smarter than everyone else.”
You didn’t truly believe what you were saying but he was stunned for a moment and then, to your surprise, shrugged. “Fair enough. Still, I’d prefer not to have arguments in the group that feel so personal.”
“Well, I’m sorry for having feelings. Not surprising that you can’t relate to that though.”
His face hardened ever so slightly, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that just because you can pretend the break up didn’t happen and are completely fine, the same doesn’t have to apply to me.”
“Well, just because I’m not dealing with it the same way as you doesn’t mean I don’t care at all!” His face was gleaming with an anger so intense, it might’ve scared you under different circumstances. But right now you felt smug about finally breaking his mask of calm indifference. It was satisfying. Maybe you couldn’t make him love you, but you at least still mattered enough to make him angry.
“And besides,” he continued, “Y/n, you broke up with me! You don’t get to talk to me like that.”
And he was right. It was you who'd said the words first. But you'd never meant them, not really. You'd just felt so inadequate, like a stain on Jongho's perfect life. He'd always been just a little bit too perfect to be a real person; prestigous family, flawless CV, perfect grades, and despite all that somehow still a loveable personality. You on the other hand were lacking both brains and ambition, only studying law to somehow satisfy your parents despite knowing they would never be satisfied anyway. And then, when Jongho had gotten a job offer at a renown law firm at the end of last semester while you struggled to even get internships, you'd felt you'd lost your place next to him once and for all. So you'd asked him to break up, not because that was what you'd wanted, but because you'd hoped he would stop you and assure you of your right to remain by his side. But instead, when you'd spit your stupid lies about how we'd never last in the real world anyway, he'd just huffed a laugh. Sure, he'd said, Might as well end it now.
You swallowed around the lump clogging your throat. “Maybe I broke up, but you sure had no qualms agreeing to it."
"What?” He let out a sarcastic laugh, “Should I have begged for you to stay?"
"Yes! Yes, you should have!" A timid ‘why didn’t you?’ hung in the air, unspoken.
There was defeat in his voice when he finally spoke up again, "You didn't want me, y/n."
He couldn’t be further from the truth. "I always wanted you." You’d just needed assurance, needed to know he wanted you enough to fight for you. But he didn’t.
In your peripheral vision, you spotted Felix and Eric coming out of the café as well. Felix headed down the street, but Eric was coming your way. Jongho must’ve spotted him too, by the way his demeanor seemed to change at the blink of an eye. It was a subtle shift, maybe not even noticeable to anyone else. But you noticed in the way he let go of the tension in his jaw, in the way the anger disappeared from his eyes.
"Then you shouldn’t have broken up with me," was all he said, calm, definite, the end of a conversation. And of course he was right, as he always was: you shouldn’t have. But why didn’t he call you out on it? Why didn’t he say you don’t mean that, so you could’ve said you’re right, you always are. But maybe the fact you wanted him to take responsibility for your behavior, wanted him to make up for the mistake you made, was one of the reasons he’d decided to go along with it instead.Because who would want to date a person like that?
"All good?" You heard Eric ask as he approached the two of you.
"Yeah, no worries." Jongho’s response barely reached you, like the tears welling up in your eyes were clogging your ears, too.
Right. You trailed behind them, not particularly caring about joining their conversation and rather focusing on keeping yourself from crying. No worries. The words rang in your head like they were mocking you. As if all of this meant nothing, was nothing to worry about. But maybe those were his true feelings. Might as well end it now, right?
When you got out of your last lecture of the day, still sorta out of it, you were suddenly met with a bubbly Eric jogging up next to you.
He grinned, “Did you enjoy the lecture as much as I did?”
“Uh, yeah, totally.”
“I especially loved the part where he talked about penguins.”
Why would your criminal law professor talk about penguins? “To be honest I was only physically there,” you admitted sheepishly and Eric laughed.
“Yeah, I could tell. I was sitting like, right behind you. You didn’t even notice.”
“Sorry,” you scrunched up your face in apology.
“Nah, it’s fine,” he naturally fell into step with you, “Are you headed home?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Got another lecture.”
“I see.”
For a moment it was quiet between the two of you, before Eric picked the conversation back up, “What are you doing Thursday?”
You raised an eyebrow, “Am I supposed to be doing something on Thursday?”
“My roomie and I are hosting a party, you should come.”
“I—uh,” your brain was already coming up with an excuse, but Eric wasn’t done talking yet,
“It seemed like you could use some distraction? And Jongho already said he wouldn’t be there, don’t worry—you know how he isn’t one to go out on a weekday.”
Neither am I, you wanted to argue, but Eric was right, wasn’t he? Maybe you could use some distraction. You yearned for a night of dancing and laughing and partying and not thinking about your ex.
“I’ll think about it?”
“Nice!” He grinned widely, “I’ll text you the address. Oh, and you should bring your friends along too—Wooyoung and San, right?”
“I just said I—” but he suddenly seemed to be in a rush to get to his lecture,
“I’ll see you there!” he said as if it was already a sure fact, and perhaps it was.
“Yeah, sure,” you sighed and watched him disappear, before you fished out your phone and opened the group chat.
Party on thursday @ eric’s you texted and it didn’t even take a minute before the replies came in
woo: noice
san: pregame at our place?
woo: U can come by at 6 y/nnie
The party was nice. The music was good and the people were friendly enough that it felt easy to mingle. Felix was there, too, as well as Changbin who immediately roped Wooyoung into a round of beer pong. They played against some of his friends that you didn’t know at first, before you were convinced to go up against them together with Eric’s roommate, Juyeon, in the next round.
Unfortunately you weren’t gifted at all and Juyeon wasn’t gifted enough to balance it out. You let out a sigh as your ball once again bounced off the rim of a cup before ultimately falling onto the table.
“We’ll get the next one,” Juyeon assured, but you both knew there wouldn’t be a next one, unless Wooyoung missed his shot too. He and Changbin already had you down to the last cup, and you could already feel the slight dizziness of the alcohol in your body.
“Hope you’re still thirsty,” Wooyoung teased with a grin as he lifted his hand to aim. You wanted to say something back, but right then someone walked through the door behind him. Jongho. What was he doing here? It was so unlike him to go out during the week. Why would he suddenly change things up?
His gaze flitted over the people in the room.
Wooyoung made his toss. The ball hit the rim of the cup, circling it once, twice.
Jongho’s eyes landed on you.
The ball dropped into the cup.
Juyeon said something consoling. Wooyoung and Changbin celebrated with a loud cheer and a tight hug. You felt like throwing up.
The winning team slid their remaining cups to your side of the table, while Jongho averted his gaze and made his way over to the kitchen area. You grabbed the first cup and downed it, hoping to swallow the sick feeling along with it, then the next and the next until there wasn’t a single one left. There was cheering and hollering, but you didn’t listen, nor did you care, because all that mattered was that Jongho was here.
“I could’ve emptied some too, you know? You didn’t have to drink by yourself,” Juyeon looked at you with a mixture of surprise and worry.
“I was just so thirsty?” You forced and laugh and wanted to playfully nudge his side, but the movement made you lose your balance that you only regained by grabbing onto the edge of the table, “Oh, oops,” you tried not to slur your speech, but you suddenly realized how drunk you were. It made you feel pathetic and embarrassed.
“Are you okay?” Juyeon’s hand hovered over your back, not quite touching you but ready to steady you if needed.
“I—uhm,” you still felt so sick, probably more so than before, because, unsurprisingly, beer wasn’t the best medicine for an upset stomach. You blinked, slowly. The world was spinning.
“I think you could use some fresh air,” Juyeon concluded and you just nodded stupidly. He led you towards one of the closed doors in the apartment, a bedroom, you realized, and then towards the full height window, that turned out to be a balcony door as you got closer.
You let out a marvelling “Oooh” as he opened the door and maneuvered you onto the bench outside.
“Wait here, I’ll get you a glass of water, alright?”
You nodded and somewhat registered him leaving, but your eyes were fixed onto the blinking lights of the city that laid before you like a carpet of stars. It was really beautiful. There was a flowerpot in the corner. Maybe you had to puke.
Jongho was on his way home when Sanha called him. He already figured it would be about Eric’s party before he even picked up—he’d seen the messages in their 00z group chat. He picked up with a sigh.
“Why are you even bothering? You know I won’t come,” he said instead of a greeting. Jongho didn’t like going out during the week, especially if he had an early lecture the next day like he did tomorrow.
Sanha huffed and Jongho could see his grin before his inner eye.
“What?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to change your mind,” his friend replied. Jongho could hear music and voices in the background, Sanha must’ve already arrived at Eric’s.
“How so?” He doubted there was anything Sanha could say now to make him come running, but he couldn’t deny that his curiosity was piqued, if only ever so slightly.
“Y/n is here.”
Jongho stopped in his tracks. That couldn’t be. Why would you be at Eric’s party? When he asked Sanha that exact question, the other seemed a lot less irritated by the fact.
“I suppose she was invited?”
“But why?! And why would she come?!”
“She probably accurately assumed that you wouldn’t come.”
No, fuck that. Jongho was definitely going. He had to. He turned around on the spot and walked back towards the bus station with quick steps. He wouldn’t make the next bus, but the one after it should work. “I’ll be there in 15, maybe 20 minutes.”
Sanha let out a laugh at the other end of the line, “I knew you’d say that. After all you even made me switch groups just to be on the s—”
“Shut up,” Jongho interrupted him, “Don’t talk about that when you and the whole world are at Eric’s right now. I don’t really need anyone to know.”
“Mhm,” Sanha hummed, “Just remember you still owe me that coffee.”
“Yeah, sure,” Jongho rolled his eyes. He’d reached the main street now and he could see the earlier bus at the intersection. As expected, he wasn’t going to make that one unless he ran.
“By the way, when did y/n get so chummy with Juyeon? Did they know each other?”
Jongho felt the breath being knocked out of his lungs, “What?”
“They’ve been talking for quite a while now, and she’s been laughing a lot. Since when is Juyeon funny?”
“He’s not.” Jongho hastened his steps, eyes fixed on the bus getting closer. Actually, he could probably still make that one.
“Right? Anyway it seems they’ve teamed up at beer pong.”
You sucked at beer pong. You’d probably get drunk. Or Juyeon could play the gentleman and drink for you and make you fall for his stupidly pretty face and tall frame. Yeah, no.
Jongho fell into a jog before he straight up started running while the bus was rolling into the stop. He made it just in time before the doors closed.
“You good?” Sanha asked when he heard his heavy breathing through the line.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there in ten.”
“Ten suddenly?”
“Caught a bus earlier than expected.”
Sanha laughed. “Someone’s desperate.”
“Just shut up and have a drink ready for me.”
“Of course. See you in ten.” There was still amusement in his voice. Sanha seemed to be having a lot of fun at his expense.
When he arrived he marched right into a game of beer pong—Wooyoung and Changbin against you and Juyeon. Sanha was right, the two of you seemed chummy. Why? Since when? Did you get to know each other during the break? Your eyes met his for a brief moment. You seemed shocked, as if you truly hadn’t expected Jongho to be here, and if he was being truthful that hurt a little. A part of him had entertained this secret fantasy that maybe, possibly, you came tonight hoping to see him. After all, Eric was his friend. It made sense for Jongho to be here, more sense for him than for you. But you looked truly caught off guard with your wide eyes. And also a little drunk; Jongho could tell from the slight redness on your cheeks and forehead. It was cute—
He tore his gaze away. He needed a drink. And so did you it seemed, because he could see you emptying one cup after the other from his peripheral vision. He hadn’t wanted Juyeon to be your shining knight, hadn’t wanted you to have a chance to witness Juyeon’s cool side. But now, seeing you drink them all by yourself made him angry too. You were clearly drunk already, why was no one drinking for you?
Sanha pulled him out of his thoughts as he held a cup under Jongho’s nose.
“Your drink, as promised.”
Jongho took a huge swig of whatever was in there, “Yeah, thanks.” It left a slight burn in his throat.
“You just arrived and you already look ready to go home.”
“Well, I didn’t expect to walk straight into that.” He nodded towards the beer pong table. Juyeon’s hand was at the small of your back. The plastic cup crinkled under Jongho’s tightening grip.
“Easy, cowboy, you know you’re not y/n’s boyfriend anymore, right?”
Jongho shot him a death glare, “You know as well as I do that that whole break-up was bullshit.”
“I don’t think I’m equipped to have an opinion here,” Sanha replied vaguely, taking a sip of his own drink, “but whatever the case, you’re not back together.”
“Yet,” Jongho corrected. His eyes followed you as Juyeon led you away and Jongho had been at this apartment often enough to know the room you were just entering was Juyeon’s bedroom. His cup got crushed further beneath his fingers. That asshole. You were clearly way too drunk to consent.
“Hold this for a second,” he shoved his mangled cup at Sanha and then took big strides through the crowd of the party guests towards the door you just disappeared behind. Before he reached it though, it swung open again and Juyeon came out, almost stumbling into him. “Oh, sorry,” He looked slightly startled but seemed to catch up on Jongho having purposely followed him when the latter didn’t budge.
“Y/n is quite drunk,” Juyeon said as if it was a good explanation.
“I saw that,” His response was unnecessarily harsh, something he was aware of, but didn’t care to change.
“She’s out on the balcony. I was gonna get her some wa—”
“I’ll take care of it,” Jongho interrupted.
Juyeon seemed unsure for a moment, probably figuring out in his head if Jongho, the ex-boyfriend, could be trusted to take care of you, but ultimately nodded, perhaps driven by the insight that he himself, an almost stranger to you, was definitely a lesser choice. “Let me know if you need something e—”
“I won’t, thanks.” Jongho was already on his way back to the kitchen area to get a glass of water for you.
“Maybe take a bucket with you as well—”
“I can handle it.” Jongho didn’t know himself to be this snippy. But alas.
A few minutes later, he stepped out onto the balcony, glass of water in one hand and a big mixing bowl in the other (how was he supposed to know where they kept their buckets? And Eric was god-knows where and he definitely wasn’t going to ask Juyeon, because despite having been wrong about him taking advantage of your drunk state, he still felt somewhat upset just looking at the guy).
You were sitting on the bench, hugging one of the seat cushions to your chest as you stared into the night sky. You didn’t immediately turn your head to look at him, and even when you finally did it seemed to take you a moment to register that it was him. You blinked slowly, your gaze dropping to the glass in his hands and then back up to his face.
“Juyeon will bring me water,” you said and even though Jongho knew it was probably just because you were drunk, he was surprised by the softness in your voice. It’d been a while since you spoke to him without any underlying anger. Not that he’d been much better, though.
“I told him I’d do it.”
“Why would you?” Your speech was slightly slurred.
“Why wouldn’t I?” He handed you the glass and took it without letting go of the cushion, which made it look quite cumbersome. Still you managed to take a sip before trying to hand it back to him.
“Have some more,” Jongho suggested and you did so without complaints. He sat down on the bench next to you, on the side without a cushion, and wondered what he was doing here.
“Are you disappointed? That I showed up instead?”
You didn’t look up from the empty glass as you carefully placed it on the ground in front of your feet, only for Jongho to put it on the window sill instead to make sure you wouldn’t accidentally break it.
“No,” you finally replied.
Relief washed over him, as well as a sense of reason. If you didn’t mind him being here, if you didn’t prefer someone else taking care of you, then there was nothing wrong with him doing so.
“I puked into the flower pot,” you admitted out of nowhere, in between tiny sips of water, and Jongho was so caught off guard he let out a laugh. In a petty bout of jealousy he thought that Juyeon deserved the vomit in his flower pot.
“I missed that.”
He raised his eyebrow, “Missed what?”
“Your laugh.”
His chest hurt. “You don’t have to miss it.” You can have as much of it as you want. I’ll laugh all the time if that makes you come back.
“No, I do,” you closed your eyes and leaned back against the bench, “I can’t help myself.”
He wanted to hug you but he knew he couldn’t, so he just remained silent and looked at you.
Your eyelids fluttered before you opened them again, an odd determination in your eyes. You shoved the pillow aside and it fell to the floor. “Can you take me home?”
“Of course.”
He took your hand and helped you up from the bench and when he realized how wobbly you were on your feet, he wrapped one arm around your waist to steady you. He grabbed his things and your jacket on the way out, and then you were already in the elevator down. You didn’t run into anyone of interest (aside from Sanha who met his gaze with a raised eyebrow) and he was glad for that. He didn’t want to explain to anyone why he was here, why he was taking you home, and what he wanted even less was to hand you over to Wooyoung or San, who would surely think it was better for them to take you home. And maybe it was, but Jongho didn’t want to hand you over to anyone, didn’t want to give up this fragile moment of peace between the two of you.
When you stepped outside the building you took a deep breath, as if you hadn’t breathed fresh air in ages, as if you hadn’t just been on the balcony.
“This is nice.”
“Mhm,” he hummed.
“I’m gonna be sick,” and without warning you hunched over and puked in between the trash cans. He tried his best to keep your hair out of your face and slowly rubbed your back until you were done. It was gross, obviously, but a part of him felt nostalgic. It made him feel like your boyfriend again. Like a few semesters back, when you hadn’t quite figured out your tolerance yet and ended parties like this more often than not. And he would take care of you until you felt stable enough to walk home, and when you didn’t he’d carry you on his back and you’d whisper silly little I love you’s into his ear. As he rubbed your back, he wondered when you’d said it last, and if he’d hear it again.
He wiped your mouth with a tissue and gave you the bottle of water he’d still had in his backpack to let you rinse your mouth.
“Better?”
You nodded, “Better.”
“Can you walk?”
You seemed to consider for a moment, as if you were contemplating the correct answer, before you finally shook your head. He huffed a laugh. “Fine then.”
Jongho crouched down in front of you, the way he’d always done, making it easier for you to get on his back. His chest felt tight when you wrapped your arms around him.
And then he started walking, carrying you home because it wasn’t terribly far from here, and because that was what he’d always done. He felt you snuggle into him, tucking your face into his neck, and it was such a small gesture, something he’d considered so normal that he’d barely even noticed it, but now it felt like the world.
“Why didn’t you beg?” You mumble into the collar of his hoodie.
“What?”
“Why didn’t you say no? You could’ve—you could’ve just said no.”
“Hadn’t you already made up your mind? Weren’t you going to tear down the building either way?”
You shook your head, he assumed, and the movement of your hair felt ticklish against his skin. “I just—I wanted you to want me.”
“What kind of nonsense is that?” He looks straight ahead at the streetlights cutting through the darkness. “You know I wanted you.”
“But that’s different. You wanted me in a college way, not in a future wife way.”
It sounded so ridiculous he wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t, because this was about you and about his relationship and it was too important to laugh, no matter how ridiculous. “What does that mean?”
“It means you would’ve always left me, so I did it first.”
“Are you serious right now?”
“Yeah,” you snuggled further into his neck as if your words weren’t even contradicting that display of affection in the slightest. Though, in your drunk and tired eyes it was probably more about being comfortable and less about showing any kind of affection. “You have your whole life ahead of you after all.”
“Y/n, we’re the same age.”
“But your future is worth more than mine.” You said it so matter of factly, like a truth you’d always known and secretly held onto, and maybe that was the most shocking part. Jongho stopped walking. He even almost dropped you, but remembered to hold on just in time.
“That’s bullshit,” he replied, but he already knew you’d disagree. You’d disagree and then explain to him the ways in which you were right, give arguments that had never even occurred to him. He’d never even considered the value of his life or future, nor had he ever thought to weigh it up against yours. And by what measure, anyway? What made a future more valuable? Who decided that?
You, apparently.
“It’s not. You’ll have your fancy,” you were interrupted by a hiccup, “job and drive a fancy,” another hiccup, “car and I will just,” another, “be me.” The last word slipped from your lips like an insult. “You would’ve left me anyway.”
“I wouldn’t have,” he insisted, “There is no just you. There is you. And I like you.”
“You used to love me, though.”
He did let out a small, huffed laugh now. “And I would say that I still do, if I thought you wanted to hear it.”
“I want to hear it.” Your breathing sounded really calm now, as if you were on the brink of falling asleep.
“I love you.”
He heard the sleepy smile in your voice as you replied, “Me too.”
The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the excruciating headache that only got worsened by the shrill sound of your alarm. You groaned and aimlessly fumbled with your phone until it finally stopped. This was why you didn’t like going out on weekdays.
After another ten minutes of drifting back to sleep, you tapped your phone screen to check the time. Almost 9. Fuck. You were going to miss the lecture. When you closed your eyes once more, hazy memories came back to you. Playing beer pong. Puking into Juyeon’s flower pot. Someone giving you water. Someone holding your hair. Someone carrying you on his back. Someone saying he loves you.
Jongho? You suddenly felt awake. Did that actually happen? Did you just dream it?
A message popped up on your phone screen.
Jongho: we need to talk
Double fuck.
You didn’t want to, but you forced yourself out of bed and into your shower. There’d been painkillers on the nightstand that you’d swallowed down with a big gulp of water and you thought they were already helping. When you finally got dressed and ready to go, your lecture was already halfway over. But you weren’t driving to campus for that lecture anyway.
You sat down on some stairs and waited for Jongho to come out. You needed this talk, as much as he did, probably. But you dreaded it too, confused by your own patchy memories and scared of that small hope inside of you getting crushed again. Still, you waited.
He didn’t smile when he spotted you, but he didn’t look upset either. It was something else, like insecurity and openness, feelings Jongho didn’t tend to wear on his sleeve.
“How are you feeling?” he asked when he plopped down beside you.
“Hungover.”
He chuckled, “I can imagine.”
“Scared, also.”
He frowned, “Of what?”
That you didn’t mean what you said yesterday. Or worse, that it was just a dream. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say that. Not even now, so you shrugged instead.
He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on his own hands. Speaking didn’t seem to come easy to him either, and it made you feel closer to him, reminded you that he wasn’t this perfect entity but rather also just a person.
“Did you mean what you said yesterday?” he finally asked.
You didn’t remember half the things you said. “Which part?”
“All of them. That you wanted me to stop you. That you thought I’d be leaving you anyway,” he took a small breath, “That you love me.”
It felt like a now or never type of situation. If you weren’t going to be honest now, when would you? So you nodded. “Yes.”
“All of them?”
“...Yes.”
Jongho turned to look at you and there was so much hurt and vulnerability and desperation in his eyes, it almost made you feel sick to look at him because you knew this was your fault.
“I wasn’t going to leave,” he said and you think he said something like that yesterday too.
“I’m sorry,” you replied because it was the only thing you could come up with, “I’m sorry for not trusting you.”
“And I won’t leave now, either, if you don’t want me to.”
Your eyes widened, unable to quite grasp the meaning of his words.
“But you can’t break up with me again. Not unless you mean it.”
Tears were welling up in your eyes, and you knew you were still on campus and it wasn’t the best place to get emotional, but you didn’t care. “I’m sorry,” you whispered again with a wobbly voice.
“That’s not an answer.”
You sniffed, “I won’t. I won’t break up with you again.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He let out a breath, as if he’d been holding onto it for a long time.
“Good.” He took your hand and intertwined your fingers and it felt so good, so reassuring, so much like home to be connected to him like that again. He stared at your hands long and hard and it made you think he was probably thinking about the same thing. But then he said “You know your future isn’t actually less valuable than mine, right?”
You almost felt ashamed. Like a child that’d messed up. You knew the answer would be Yes but it would also be a lie, so you stayed silent.
“And to be honest, I’d much prefer to think of it as our future anyway.”
Ours. That sounded pretty nice. It sounded like a shared apartment and getting groceries and taking vacations together. It sounded like building a home. It sounded like being together.
“I’d like that.”
A smile spread on his lips before he connected them with yours. “Good,” he said again.
“Good,” you repeated.
masterlist | collab masterlist
thx for reading! pls consider reblogging & commenting <3
you and park seonghwa, petty rivals since the third grade, can't stand the sight of each other. at least, that's what you both claim. sometimes, getting the truth out of two stubborn people just requires turning up the heat. ❧
▷ genre, warnings. nc-17. academic rivals 2 lovers, college au, by definition this is a slow burn, swearing, drinking, angst, moms comparing you to other children </3, petty rivalry bc why r they like this in college it's been 12 YEARS—, kissing at some point i promise, STEM </3, business major slander (it is justified for this character LOL), i spent two whole paragraphs describing how seonghwa gets out of a pool, like one suggestive line, slice of life, gets a little sappy at the end, brief mention of blood
▷ word count. 30.4k (ao3 link)
▷ associated tunes. the winner takes it all (abba), lemon drop (ateez), angeleyes (abba), i think i'm in love (kat dahlia)
a/n: this is my submission for the live alive! collab!! go check out everyone else's fics too <3 pls enjoy!!
SOME THINGS WERE JUST meant to ruin your entire day.
“0% chance of rain, huh?” you muttered wryly as you stared out at the torrential downpour with a scrunched nose.
“Good afternoon, Aurora County! It seems that our region has been hit with an unexpected storm. Get your umbrellas and raincoats out, everyone—especially if you're in the KQ University area—we’ll be in for a very wet evening,” came the voice of the news anchor from the local channel. It was broadcast on the small flatscreen hoisted up in the corner of the corridor behind you. He sounded all-too jolly for the current state of your world.
You let the front door to the sociology building slam shut behind you—not before it whipped one last gust of air conditioning at your back—leaving you to the storm, the heat, and your own devices. How the hell were you supposed to walk home in this?
The day had commenced rather uneventfully, as most mundane days in the middle of the week did. Spring quarter was in full swing with midterms creeping up faster than you could run out of this obscene amount of rain.
You racked your brain for any friends with a car who might have still been on campus. There was a decent chance there was someone around who could give you a ride back to the house, right?
BEEP BEEP!
You nearly flew out of your skin at the sound of a car honk going off down the steps from where you stood. In this small back street on campus, there weren't many cars that passed by who weren't instructors or TAs.
You squinted out into the heavy downpour as the passenger window to the silver sedan rolled down. “Oy! Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna let me drown before you get in here?”
“Wooyoung?” you shouted back, disbelief stark on your face. If he was in the passenger seat, then who was…
There was a blur of dark hair behind Wooyoung's head in the driver's seat, and you cursed under your breath. It didn't matter; all that mattered was that you got out of this rain. Any friend of Wooyoung's was a friend of yours.
You made a mad dash down the stairs and out to the street with your hand shielding your eyes and your head ducked to keep from being blinded by the fat splotches of rain. You crashed into the backseat of the car, hair slightly damp, skin a little damper. The AC was blasting from the front vents, blowing back a mixture of Wooyoung's signature oak and vanilla-bourbon, as well as a hint of something softer and sweet from the driver's side. AOA's Miniskirt shimmied out from the speakers under the loud accompaniment of the rain drumming overhead as you clocked the C-3PO Lego figurine on the dash.
“Hey, thanks,” you exhaled out sharply as you maneuvered around to deposit your backpack at your feet and get yourself strapped into the seat. Your eyes went to the driver's side, eyeing the dark hair at the back of his head. He looked familiar—
“If you don't buckle your seatbelt in ten seconds, the car will start yelling at you,” drawled a voice that made your stomach drop.
Swiftly, that realization shifted into a hot flash of annoyance, one that made your nose wrinkle and the corner of your mouth dig into your cheek with disdain. The C-3PO made sense all of a sudden. “Oh,” you droned as your seatbelt clicked into place, “it's you.”
Wooyoung's head hit the back of his seat with a loud groan. “Please, God.”
“The rain is waiting for you if you'd prefer that to me,” Park Seonghwa said to you through the sharp slant of his eyes in the rear view mirror. You didn't need to see his face to hear the saccharinity lacing his words like venom. “It wasn't my idea to—”
“Enough!” Wooyoung screeched, fingers digging into his hair. “You two are so loud sometimes, and that's coming from me!”
You folded your arms over your chest in the manner of a petulant child. You had been in the backseat of Seonghwa's car a total of five times—and you would attest to everyone you knew that it was at least somewhat unwilling each time.
“Sorry,” both you and Seonghwa grumbled under your breaths. At this rate, you knew how annoying yours and Seonghwa's pettiness could be to your friends. It was something that couldn't be helped, even at the ripe age of twenty-something—some things just could not be forgotten. And some people were just meant to ruin your day.
Wooyoung loosened a sigh from his breath that sounded so akin to your mother's. “Yeah, yeah. Let's go, I'm hungry.”
Seonghwa tugged the car into drive and the wheels peeled away from the curbside.
The drive from campus to where your house was located wasn't a long one by any means. Walking took far longer than driving, and if it wasn't raining like the world was ending, you wouldn't have minded the walk. You stared out the window to your right, watching the university district pass by behind a curtain of raindrops chasing one another down the glass pane.
“So I'm guessing this means the car wash fundraiser is gonna be cancelled,” Wooyoung piped up after the last song ended. The synthesizer of the next song began to drift out from the speakers.
You turned to look at the back of his head in front of you. “Oh shit, you're totally right,” you said. “I mean, the rain kind of beat us to it.”
There was a click of a tongue from the driver's seat. “Sucks,” he muttered. “I was looking forward to raking in more cash than you, Ln.”
You didn't bother to hold back a roll of your eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Park,” you shot back. A spare raindrop rolled down from your hairline, and you reached up to swipe it away just as it dribbled down the side of your face. When you glanced up to meet Seonghwa's eyes in the rearview mirror, he darted back to look out the front windshield, as if burned by the eye contact—or from being caught.
“Aish,” Wooyoung muttered. “I think we all know I'm the moneymaker of our society.”
A snort fell from your lips, and Wooyoung let out a squawk of indignation. “What was that?” He twisted around in his seat, hands clutching the back of the headrest as he scowled back at you. “Say it to my face, Ln.”
You grinned. “Yeesh, so much of my last name today. You know you boys would have lost, right?”
The three of you had all been a part of the same pre-health student society since the beginning of your college careers. In kind, that meant that you also orbited similar social circles. You and Seonghwa had known each other the longest out of everyone here, having hailed from the same high school, the same community, and the same goddamn neighborhood block. (The universe had it out for you, truly.)
As the end of the school year was rolling around, your society was due for its standard round of fundraising. The idea that the leadership came up with before Spring Break had been that of a car wash fundraiser in bathing suits, and a competition between whether the guys or the girls could raise more money. One could always count on the male gaze, right? But now that this unexpected and early summer storm hit your county this week, it was doubtful that the fundraiser would still go on.
You could hear Wooyoung rolling his eyes through his voice. “I guess leadership is gonna pivot to that speed dating idea then, huh?”
“Changing the subject now, are we?”
“Shut up!”
Your mood remained afloat the entire rest of the drive.
When the car began to slow as it neared the apartment complex Wooyoung lived in, you began to gather your things along with him. The rain had yet to let up, but your educated guess told you that you could make it down the street without your backpack flooding.
Seonghwa slid into an empty space along the front curbside, and Wooyoung was already hollering his gratitude, shoulder shoving his door open.
“Hey, where are you going?”
You stopped just before you opened your own door, your backpack half on and making you sit at an awkward angle. You turned slightly toward the man who had spoken up and met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “I'm leaving?” you replied.
His eyebrows furrowed. “But you don't live here.”
Even Wooyoung stalled outside the car as the rain pummeled the top of his hood. “Yeah, Yn, you don't live here—”
“Wooyoung, can you please close the door before half the car gets wet” —SLAM— “thank you.” Seonghwa saluted to his friend through the passenger window as Wooyoung shouted something unintelligible from outside. The rain made it impossible to hear him, but he didn't wait to repeat himself, and ducked his head while sprinting for the apartment door.
The driver returned his attention to the front. “I'm driving you to your house,” he said, and signalled to get out onto the street again.
“You don't have to do that. Your place is, like, the opposite direction—”
“It's just a block away,” he countered. “Do you not want to be dropped off right outside?”
You deflated slightly. You definitely did, but was it not inconvenient to drive further up the street when his own living situation was back the way you just came? You could understand stopping at Wooyoung's apartment because it was in the middle, but enduring not one, but two U-turns in the congested, stormy university streets was not something you were wishing on anyone. Even Park Seonghwa.
He took your hesitation as your answer. “That's what I thought.”
Whatever. If he wanted to drive the extra block, the extra two U-turns, and spend the extra time in the congested rain with people who didn't know how to drive, then that was his prerogative.
The car was silent for the next three minutes, barring the radio being played at a low volume. Just as he said he would, Seonghwa pulled his car right up into the driveway of the house you shared with six other girls.
He let the engine stall as you maneuvered your second backpack strap over your shoulder. “Thanks,” you said quietly, hand lingering on the door handle.
Seonghwa carded a hand through his hair absentmindedly. “Yeah, sure. I'll see you at Trivia Night then, I guess.”
“See you when I wipe the floor with you again, you mean?” you asked as you climbed out of the car, holding an arm over your head.
“Close my goddamn door, Yn—”
Your laughter was interrupted by the slamming of his backseat door and muted by the downpour.
Trivia Night was held every Thursday evening in the basement of the anthropology building. It was the only classroom available at your required hours equipped for all of the society's needs; plus, its projector was still in working condition and it certainly beat the chemistry laboratory building's No Eating policy.
As a handful of the society's members gathered once again, it was beneath the dense storm clouds of the region's recent summer-like showers. This evening's theme was Homeostasis, an apt topic to study when the temperatures lately were far greater than any this city had ever endured in mid-April. When the sky wasn't unleashing the floodgates of Hell over KQ University, it was inflicting a diabolically humid atmosphere.
“Do I really need to know the technical term for your hair standing erect?” Choi San groaned as he waved a hand at the screen, while the traumatic rhythm of the Kahoot theme song distressed everyone in the room.
Society President, exhausted fourth-year, and medical school-hopeful Kang Seulgi had her boots propped up on the desk at the front, crossed at the ankles. She tossed a chip into her mouth. “Hey,” she said and pointed at him, “don't come cryin’ to me when you see 'piloerection’ on your MCAT and you can't remember why it's relevant.”
From the back row of the desks, Song Mingi hollered out, “Can we switch to physics yet?”
A wave of groans swept through the room in a unanimous objection. The third-year math major widened his eyes at the reaction to his words, expression screaming, 'What'd I do?’ His desk neighbor and best friend, Jeong Yunho, wheezed and slapped a hand onto Mingi's shoulder.
“The only person who actually prefers the physics questions is you, Mingi,” Seonghwa teased from where he sat a few desks to your left. As the only person who had ever ventured past calculus, Mingi was, in turn, the only person in the room who favored math-based topics and was also good at them.
Mingi shrugged his shoulders helplessly and gesticulated wildly between Seonghwa and you. “I can't help that you and Yn suck at math.”
You whirled around in your chair. “Hey! Why am I being pulled into this?” you asked, mouth agape.
“Because you and Hwa have been neck-and-neck for first place for the past twenty questions!”
“It's only 'cause I'm letting her catch up,” came Seonghwa's flippant reply, feigning boredom as he glanced down at his phone screen.
Your head snapped over him so fast, you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “Oh, you're letting me catch up?”
He met your gaze like a challenge, mouth curling into the kind of smirk that made your heart pump (with absolute malice, of course). “I said what I said.”
“Alright.” Kim Hongjoong clapped his hands from the seat beside Seonghwa while sending his own friend a pointed look. “Seulgi, if you'd please just—let’s move on.”
Seulgi blinked, her chip-equipped hand freezing mid-air. “My show was just getting started.”
“You're so messy,” snorted Soyeon as she slapped a palm over her mouth. She turned to you and placed a placating hand on your arm. “Sorry, babe.”
Your mouth pursed together in an unamused pout, but you were far from being actually offended. Any agitation you might have felt would only be aimed at the guy a few desks down from yours who had yet to wipe that audacious smirk off his face. As your friend and housemate Ronnie liked to remind you, sometimes it felt as if you and Seonghwa bickered like cats for fun. You could not disagree more; the pettiness between you was far more serious than you were proud enough to admit.
Seulgi smiled to herself and shook her head, then clicked something on her keyboard. “Oh, before we move on, I thought we'd take a brief commercial break and talk about our upcoming fundraiser.” She muted the Kahoot theme, and the entire room seemed to deflate, all tension seeping out of your postures.
The tab switched to the one on the far left, revealing a PNG of a graphic copy-and-pasted into a document. You leaned back in your seat, loosely folding your arms over your stomach, as you picked out the words “bracelet-making” and “matchmaking.” The idea was not something you had seen or heard of on campus yet, and you found yourself nodding absentmindedly. Bracelet-making was cute.
“Leadership has decided,” said Seulgi as she wiggled her salty fingers at the screen, “that since the weather has so graciously ruined our plans for this weekend, we would move onto phase two of our fundraising and postpone the car wash idea.”
“So we're not going forth with the speed dating thing?” Wooyoung piped up from somewhere near San, Yeosang, and Jongho's seats.
Madam President shook her head. “Nah. Well, we're just not advertising it as speed dating; it's more like 'friendship matching’ and making friendship bracelets. The student association doesn't like the idea of actual matchmaking for some reason. We'll just be pairing everyone who decides to participate through this” —she scrolled down to highlight a hyperlink— “form. Anyone can join for an entry fee of eight dollars, which includes all of the bracelet-making materials, too.”
Lee Chaeryeong lifted her hand slightly to catch Seulgi's attention. “And this is not happening this weekend, right?”
“No, it'd be too fast of a turnaround, so it'll be hosted two weeks out. Any other questions?”
“What’re your pairing criteria?” Seonghwa posed.
Seulgi shrugged. “That's for me to know and you to never find out. And Hongjoong is sworn to secrecy, so don't even try.”
You chuckled to yourself, glancing over in the pair's direction. Hongjoong was shaking his head and smiling as Seonghwa nudged him in a joking attempt to coax an answer out of him.
When there were no more questions for the moment, Seulgi nodded her head and switched back to the Kahoot host screen. “Remember to repost the announcement on your Instagram stories, or I will make you suffer during our next Trivia Night. Okay! Next question…”
The remainder of Trivia Night went as anyone could predict: you and Seonghwa tied for first place. No one was surprised.
As members began to trickle out of the room following adjournment, it left only a select few. Soyeon, Seulgi, Yunho, Mingi, and Jongho remained; all five of whom surrounded the instructor's desk at the front of the room that Seulgi occupied to share her bag of chips.
Seulgi gestured at Soyeon with a vague wave of her chip. “I’m surprised you didn't go home with Yn. Don't you guys share a house?”
“Yeah, but my friend Miyeon's got this rehearsal she's wrapping up soon,” said Soyeon, “so I told Yn to go back before me since she has some things to do.”
“Oh, wait. Don’t you guys have that biochem exam coming up?” Jongho chimed in.
Those around him, barring Seulgi, groaned altogether and Jongho snickered. Though most of the third-years in the society were actively enrolled in a biochemistry course, not all of you were in the same section. You, Soyeon, and Seonghwa were in an earlier section, while everyone else had a later section. Both sections were taught by the same professor, though, so both sections’ pain was quite similar.
“Don't remind me,” Yunho grunted and he slipped another chip past his lips. “That’s what I'll be working on all weekend now that we don't have the car wash fundraiser.”
“Speaking of,” Mingi piped up, nodding to Seulgi, “how are you planning to make pairs for the bracelet-making thing?”
The president narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head. “Just because you brought me muffins last week, Song Mingi, does not mean I'm gonna let you pull anything out of me.”
“Okay, but” —Yunho raised his palm, tongue jammed between his grin— “can you at least tell us if you're gonna put Yn and Seonghwa together?”
“So you want whoever's near them to suffer?” Jongho asked incredulously.
Yunho's smile only widened. He lifted both hands now in a gesture. “C'mon! I can't be the only one tired of their back-and-forth. They can't really hate each other. Soyeon” —he shot a finger gun her way, catching the girl mid-chip— “you have to know something about this. You live with Yn.”
Soyeon finished chewing her bite, her expression screwing up into something both contemplative and frankly, disturbed. “I mean, I don't know what you expect me to say…”
“Well, does she bring him up a lot? Because I feel like Hwa definitely brings her up in conversations.” Anyone who was close to Seonghwa could name at least five instances where the man in question spontaneously inserted your name into the conversation. Outsiders who were unfamiliar with your dynamic would think too naively that he was talking about someone he didn't see as his academic rival since the goddamn third grade. (Yunho still shook his head at that. And they called him Mr. Overcompetitive?)
“Yes, but it's to, y'know, complain about him!”
Jongho cocked his head to the side. “We're not counting that then?”
Both Seulgi and Soyeon replied at once, “It's complicated.” They whipped their heads around to look at each other, then bursted out laughing.
The boys present could only blink at them.
“Okay, okay,” Soyeon said through a last huff of laughter, “I do have to admit that there's no way she engages in these verbal sparring matches all the time with him for fun. Maybe I'm delusional, but she… looks at him.”
Yunho thumped his fist against the desk. “So does he! Look at her, I mean.”
“Third grade until now is a long time for a slow burn arc,” Seulgi mused.
“It's about goddamn time though.”
Soyeon waved her hands around to stop the conversation. “Now wait a minute, I'm not saying that she has feelings for him—”
Yunho grinned. “You're not,” he agreed, “but we're just putting two and two together. If you think about it, if they actually just liked each other, wouldn't that make a lot of sense? All the bickering is just foreplay!”
“Good grief.”
“I'm just saying!” he exclaimed with a laugh. “I think Seulgi should pair them up for the event, so they'll finally realize that the only tension between them is—”
Soyeon put a hand to her brow. “Don't say what I think you're gonna say.”
“I think they need to make out and get it over with.”
“If they can get over their massive egos first,” Mingi pointed out unenthusiastically.
From her president's chair, Seulgi sucked the remaining salt and crumbs off her thumb and forefinger in deep contemplation. Since the moment you and Seonghwa set foot in this society, there was a feeling prodding at the back of her mind about the two of you; one might call it a hunch, a sixth sense. Maybe you claimed to hate each other's guts, but maybe there was a chance to smooth out that wrinkle and get you both to shut up.
There was another smile curling onto Yunho's face as he regarded her from across the desk. “You have a plan,” he said. It wasn't a question.
Seulgi merely shrugged. “Maybe I do.”
When you were first entering into university—and even when you were still in high school—people’s favorite fearmongering tactic when you expressed your desire to go into medicine was that organic chemistry would suck the life right out of you. Truly, you wondered if the fear they ingrained in you was what made you ace the series last year, or maybe if it was just because Park Seonghwa was in your class.
You were beginning to suspect that the latter was the case, considering biochemistry was not even half as bad as you were expecting it to be.
“Your flashcards must be magic or something,” Soyeon grumbled beside you as she peered over your shoulder at the Quizlet deck you flipped through. The two of you were amongst the school of other students in your biochemistry course loitering outside the examination hall, cramming last minute knowledge into your already-packed craniums. iPads, textbooks, and notebooks were splayed out and poured over; you were certain someone had even brought a tea light to pray over.
You finished the deck you were on, drumming your fingers along the seam of your pants to give your nervous energy somewhere to go. “They're not magic; I just become a hermit when exam weeks come around,” you replied. None of this information came natural to you, and the curve of your spine could attest to the amount of hours you spent hunched over your desk, grinding notes and problem sets.
Soyeon hummed, unconvinced, to herself. She had her own notes she was scrolling through on her tablet, a worried furrow between her brows. “Is it weird that I have a bad feeling about this exam?”
Your stomach twisted at just those words. “No, I feel it too,” you muttered. You shivered then, as if an evil breeze just blew against your neck.
Your eyes coincidentally wandered elsewhere in the building lobby and met the gaze of a familiar opponent.
“Nope,” you drawled as the man approached where you and Soyeon lingered, “it's just Seonghwa.”
Soyeon muffled a laugh by squeezing her lips together and she gave your shoulder a light shove. “You're so petty, oh my god.”
Seonghwa lifted one perfect brow when he drew closer, lowering his headphones to hang them around his neck. “Should I even hazard a guess at what you just said about me?” he asked you directly, understanding full well that Soyeon was not the culprit.
You wrinkled your nose at him. “I have faith that you know.”
Soyeon coughed loudly. “So, Hwa, how're we feeling about this midterm?”
A sigh fell from his mouth and it was a haggard sound that you could relate with down to your exhausted bones. He raked a hand through his hair, eyes flitting to you before going back to Soyeon. “It's… hit or miss, I think,” he said, almost as if he were picking the words carefully.
“That's how we're feeling, too,” you added in with an absent-minded bob of your head. “Dr. Chung has been in a bad mood lately.” This statement was paired with a grimace while you hissed through your teeth.
“I hear you've been locking in hours at Quill all weekend, Ln.”
Quill was the colloquial name of KQ University's largest library, a frequent haunt of students during Finals Week because it was open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It had also practically become like your third home over the last few years of your undergraduate career. Truly, that reading room had seen far too much of you. “Are you asking around about me, Park?” you queried.
He flashed you a wry smile. “Don't flatter yourself,” he quipped. “Everything I learn about you is against my will.”
“But you still listen to it, right?”
“Know thy enemy,” he replied simply.
(Soyeon observed the two of you with a new set of eyes. After the conversation shared between five members of the Yn and Seonghwa Need to Get Over Themselves Club, she hated to admit that she was actually seeing Yunho's point—and she hated to admit when a man had a point. There was always this inkling wriggling at the back of her mind that there must have been something deeper between you two, but she knew what it was like to not be able to stand the sight of someone.
The difference in this case was that, as much as you both claimed you loathed the sight of one another, you could not keep your eyes off each other.)
Soyeon leaned her elbow onto your shoulder and flashed the screen of her tablet at the both of you. As much as she was fascinated by this little observational study, there was an exam she needed to pass. “Can we go over glycolysis again? We have five minutes before they let us into the room.”
You and Seonghwa snapped out of your previous conversation. “Shit,” you muttered while pocketing your phone, “yeah, let's go over it.”
Five minutes later, the doors to the Gwang-Yin Hall opened to allow the flood of students into its bowels. The mass shuffled into the spacious room in an unorderly fashion, a mass of nervous jitters and panic that would eventually tighten into a yarn ball only unwoundable by one's graduation date. Even then, the stress would only continue to mount rather than vanish.
All one could do was trudge on.
Two hours later, your hand was cramping and the digits on the clock projected upon the screen were getting closer and closer to zero. Your knee shook under the tiny wooden desk, palms and fingers sweating as you scanned through your answers and fixed one last response.
“Time! Pencils and pens down.”
A mishmash of curses and thumps rattled throughout the lecture hall. You heard sighs and coughs and calculators slam shut (which was weird because you didn't need a calculator on this exam); paper fluttered as exams were passed to the ends of rows and TAs came by to sweep them up. The professor was yelling at someone to stop writing, but you were already folding the desktop between the seats and shuffling out of the row.
Your brain hurt, fuck.
As you made your way toward the exit, your peers were already finding their friends and exchanging answers. This was arguably worse than the exam itself. You tried not to listen to them—what if your answers were different? What if the answer you got wasn't even in the same ballpark?
Exhaustion weighed down on your body from all the stress you'd accumulated over this past week and weekend. You raised your head to let your eyes surf through the crowd. Where was Soyeon…
Your eyes did not snag on Soyeon, but they did catch the back of a familiar head. He was closer to the exit than you were, and you maneuvered through the masses to reach him.
“Yo” —you appeared at Park Seonghwa's side just as you both shoved out into the disgusting and muggy April morning.
He sent you a look, eyebrows pursed in surprise. “Yo,” he said back.
“Thoughts?”
Seonghwa sucked in a breath that sounded very much like a hiss. “Hit or miss, as I said,” he drawled. “I'm not in the mood to compare answers though, Ln.”
“Me neither. I kind of need caffeine though,” you thought aloud. It was only the beginning of the day, after all. You still had to get through a lab and one more lecture before you were due at the university hospital for a volunteer shift.
“That sounds… super good right now actually.” Seonghwa's eyes went from you to the phone in his hand. “Where are you headed?”
“Physics lab,” you grunted with a scrunched-up nose.
His expression shifted. “Oh,” he said. “The wave simulator one?”
“Yeah, the one they made us learn beginner Python for.”
“It's easy,” he told you with a flick of his wrist. “My group finished early and left with like, an hour to spare.”
You cocked a brow at him. “Easy for you to say. You went to that Comp-Sci camp in high school every summer.” You didn't know what inside you suddenly thought to speak the words in your head, but they were out in the open now. Maybe you really were tired—in what reality did you even suggest that he was better than you at something?
Seonghwa made a sound that was suspiciously akin to a laugh. Disbelief filled his face; he shifted a foot toward you. “You remember I went to fuckass Comp-Sci camp?”
“Don't get ahead of yourself,” you quipped, squinting one eye at him. Maybe you should not have said that, but there were worse places to be stuck. “My mom just would not shut up about it.” Just like how she would not shut up about how much better Seonghwa was doing in his academics, and in general. The comparisons had gotten so out of hand when you were kids.
He bit his cheek. “Don’t worry, Ln, my mom wouldn't shut up about how you tutored first graders after school everyday. If that makes you feel better.”
Your mouth curved into a frown, albeit incredulously. How much did your mom tell his mom? Neither you nor Seonghwa asked to be pitted against each other, but the dynamic had been ingrained in the two of you like a bad habit, and bad habits died hard. “It's whatever,” was all you managed to say. You shouldn't have brought it up.
Seonghwa looked as if he was going to say something. His mouth opened, then snapped shut, his mind changed. “Yeah, it's whatever.”
In seventh grade, Seonghwa's bike broke down along one of the worn trails behind the school that would take him toward the block you both lived on. The situation ended up with bloodied and scraped-up knees, and an equally bloodied and scraped-up ego, because you had watched it happen in real time.
Middle schoolers were not known for their empathy, but you saw the watery silver lining his eyes as he angrily shoved himself to his feet, tugging his bike along with him. He could barely step without his legs trembling.
Maybe your mom had just reminded you that he won the science fair again, but it didn't exactly feel right to abandon him on this trail, of all places. You slowed your bike to a stop next to him and met his glare with defiance.
“Just leave me alone.”
“So you don't want a ride home?”
He scoffed. “Not from you. I don't need help.”
You could have growled with all of that middle school girl rage. “Get on the dang bike, Seonghwa. You're bleeding.”
He glanced down at his shins. Dark red streamed from the open wounds as if he'd just survived some chainsaw murderer, not Mother Nature from the height of a bike. Seonghwa glanced back over at you on your bike, the foot bars on the back wheel. He couldn't meet your eyes as he abandoned his vehicle on the path and propped one foot onto the corresponding bar of yours. “If I hear you talking about this at school—”
“Yeah, whatever,” you interjected, rolling your eyes. His fingers dug into your shoulders and you felt his weight press down on the wheels. You propelled your foot off the dirt trail and pumped your legs to make it up the small hill ahead. He could do his worst for all you cared.
“Good afternoon, Aurora County! It looks like we're in for another stormy week. Forecast says to expect showers through to the weekend with highs of about 86 degrees Fahrenheit—” SLAM.
You brought an umbrella to your sociology lecture this time.
The accessory popped out like a parachute as you launched it above your head, wincing as raindrops went flying in all directions. The outside world remained a living sauna—hot and wet and miserable. Nobody asked for this.
You paused to select a playlist to listen to, then commenced what you expected would be a long trek in the rain. Wednesdays were usually what you considered your break days; they acted as somewhat of a pause during the middle of the week to give you a moment to breathe. In the morning, you had a very relaxed bioethics seminar, and in the afternoon, it was your sociology lecture. There was a reason you loved Wednesdays—
BEEP BEEP!
Déjà vu washed over you like rainwater being splattered by a car racing past. The familiar silver sedan rolling up next to you in the street sealed the deal.
Park Seonghwa lowered the passenger side window only partially. “You need a ride?”
“Are you purposefully driving down this way or…?” This week and the week before were the only times you ever saw him drive on this road. What class did he even have before this?
“The main road that gets to North campus is closed for reconstruction, remember? They roped it off two weeks ago.” He deadpanned at you, unamused. “Of course, I'm driving this way on purpose.”
You made a face at him. “You don't have to be chivalrous.”
“So that's a no?”
“I don't need a ride from you.” As if it would help your case, you waved your hand up at your umbrella with a flourish. “I have coverage.”
His expression somehow seemed to flatten further. “Get in the car, Yn.”
Your reputation as a Seonghwa hater was suddenly in danger if you got into this car. You had an umbrella, good tunes, and a free afternoon. It was Wednesday, a good day.
You got in the car.
“This could be considered kidnapping,” you hummed with no real malice as you wrestled your umbrella into its closed position, then shut the door.
Alright, Drama Queen. He rolled his eyes and pulled the car forward. “I regret everything.”
As soon as you settled properly into the seat, you realized where exactly you found yourself. The AC was blowing a cool and comfortable breeze at you, rustling up the smell of his flowery-coffee cologne. The song playing on low from the stereo was one that settled on the tip of your tongue, a name you could only remember when you saw its title on the navigation screen. And then there was that damned C-3PO Lego figurine stuck to the dash.
Seonghwa was less than a foot away from you with only the center console separating you. The two of you have sat closer to one another—there was that spelling bee tournament in third grade, that school assembly in sixth grade, that Science Olympiad competition in tenth—but all of those had been assigned. This was something you did on your own, just as you had run after him post-exam yesterday, just as he had walked up to you and Soyeon pre-exam.
You fiddled around on your phone and tucked your earbuds into your backpack, antsy to forget where you were and the choices you'd made.
He coughed. “So,” he said, dragging out the vowel, “how was the physics lab yesterday?”
There was a sudden spike of anxiety in your chest from the question, even though the lab itself had gone pretty okay yesterday. It was as if your body was gearing up for another cat fight on its own, as it seemed to do frequently around him. “Fine,” you said. “I really don't know why they made us do a whole workshop for learning Python, though, when all we did was change two numbers around.”
“Yeah,” he chimed in with a sigh, carding a hand through his hair as he made a turn, “me neither. It was helpful if you wanted to make more advanced adjustments though.”
“Oh.” You couldn't help but think: how much more was Seonghwa learning or gaining from each lab because he had a slightly better foundation than you did in code? There would undoubtedly be future lab situations where you would need to know some kind of code in more depth, but… You dashed the thought away; you could look into an online course later. It would be fine. “You have your physics midterm next week, too, right?”
He grunted, the corner of his mouth pressing into his cheek. “Unfortunately. You?”
“Same.” You glanced out the passenger side window. “Seulgi's probably gonna give into Mingi's demands tomorrow night—for physics questions, I mean.”
Seonghwa chuckled something low. “Yeah,” he agreed with a grimace, “a nice reminder of what we're in for. Maybe this time, I'll even let you beat me.”
You arched a brow at him, unimpressed. “You'll be so low on the rankings tomorrow, you'll never forget what gravity feels like.” A bold statement from someone who could barely punch the right buttons on her calculator. Then again, while Seonghwa went to Computer Science camp, it didn't necessarily mean he was good at math… or computer science. He just knew slightly more than you.
(Maybe it was time to actually look into coding classes.)
“Speaking of gravity.”
Curious, you lifted your head to look at him.
His eyes darted off the road briefly to meet your gaze, before settling on the rain-slicked streets, the car's wipers swishing back and forth over the windshield. “My mom keeps asking about you,” he said, the words coming out terse as if he had to rip them out of his vocal cords.
What did that have to do with gravity?
“Ah,” you vocalized. His mom asks about you, too? You didn't necessarily find yourself in too many situations like this—situations wherein you had time for a full-length conversation. Truth be told, your mom enjoyed asking about Seonghwa, too. “Tell her what I tell my mom about you.”
His brow flicked up when he glanced at you this time. “And what's that?”
“That you're fine—I mean, doing fine.”
The car paused at the red light, the rain continuing to drum overhead. His stare bored into the side of your head, and you couldn't understand why your pulse suddenly leapt. Your heart was doing sprints—no, cartwheels—as his lips pulled into a cheeky sort of grin. You chalked up your racing heartbeat to annoyance. He did have an infuriating face. “How fine am I, Ln?”
Was it hot in here? You could have sworn the air conditioning was on.
You looked back at him blankly and held your poker face for as long as physically possible. “Check your ego, Park.”
The only reason he broke away was because the traffic light turned green.
As a responsible pre-health student with an impending physics midterm, you were stuck in the library on a Friday afternoon. The weeks seemed to tear by fast in the spring quarter, and you weren't sure you could keep up. Rain, as forecasted by the oh-so-helpful Aurora County weatherman, battered the windows of Quill Library, creating a comfortable white noise that nestled between the gaps of your headphones’ shoddy noise cancelling function.
You stretched your arms over your head and pulled your spine up toward the ceiling. That was another practice problem set completed, and yet, you still felt worlds away from where you wanted to be.
With your head raised, you made a cursory scan of your surroundings. In this area of Quill, the tables were slightly larger, big enough to fit four people comfortably, as well as any and all work those four people might find themselves tackling. You were this table's lone occupant, but there were other tables lining the window down the length of this wall of the library, too, all taken up as well. Midterm season made this place popular, no matter the time of day.
It only made sense then that when you turned your head in the direction of the hallway, you made direct eye contact with a pair of fellow students who were undoubtedly in search of an open table, as well.
Kim Hongjoong seemed to physically float at the sight of you—or rather, the sight of your nearly empty table. Seonghwa didn't so much as smile. (You had been seeing a lot of him recently.) The latter had no choice but to follow the former over to where you sat, their wet sneakers tracking over the grey carpet.
You shifted one ear of your headphones. “Hey?”
Hongjoong had his palms pressed together in a prayer position. “Please tell me no one else is sitting here.”
You were tempted to say that Seonghwa might have to go find alternative seating, but even then in this seating climate, that might be too harsh of a joke. “I'm doing well, too, Joong. How are you?” you teased him with a small smile. You made a flourishing gesture to the empty seats across from you. “Yeah no, be my guest.”
“Thank you,” he said, waving Seonghwa over before squeezing into the seat closest to the window. “And sorry, we just had the worst time going through the tables in the reading room. I had no hope.”
You and Seonghwa made brief eye contact as he slid into the seat across from you. “I figured by the defeat on your face,” you mused to Hongjoong. “I just got lucky 'cause my bioethics lecture got out early, so I thought I'd find a place to plant for the afternoon.”
Hongjoong bobbed his head as he rummaged for his iPad in his messenger bag. “Sounds like a plan. I'll probably only be here for a couple hours, really, and then I've got this club meeting to go to.” He nudged Seonghwa with the back of his hand, forcing the man to take out one of his earbuds. “Your plans: go.”
Seonghwa's eyes widened slightly as Hongjoong caught him off guard. His eyes darted to you, then back to his friend. “Uhh,” he said and scratched the side of his jaw, “not sure. I'll see how this goes.” He gestured to the notebook and laptop he'd just pulled out, the notebook cover labeled with a Post-It note that read Phys upside down.
“Yeah,” you drawled with a nod, eyeing him.
“Oh, Yn” —Hongjoong caught you before you moved your headphones back into place and you were lost to the world of fluid mechanics— “Seulgi's hosting a house party tomorrow night. Are you coming?”
Your face lit up with surprise. “That's a little last minute, isn't it?”
He shrugged with a sheepish grin. “You know her,” he replied helplessly. “I know a handful of people from the society will be there—plus, a lot of other people she knows. You should bring your housemates!”
“I dunno, Joong… I do have that midterm on Monday.”
“I already know you'll be studying all weekend,” he parried. “It'll just be for a few hours. You can swing by for a little, catch up, and then head home in time to get enough sleep to cram on Sunday.”
You abhorred that he knew your habits, sleeping and studying. Attending a house party the weekend right before a physics midterm was not a word to the wise, but if people from your society were going to be there, then perhaps they weren't too worried about their exams. It would be a nice, little break from all of the studying you'd been doing lately, as well as a reward for locking in.
Instead of giving Hongjoong a direct response, your eyes flickered to Seonghwa who was pretending like he wasn't listening. “Is he going?” you asked, jabbing the end of your pen in his direction.
“I'm right here,” he muttered.
Hongjoong shrugged. “Don't let a man stop you from having fun, Yn.”
Now that was a word to the wise. You felt your mouth pull into a smirk. “You are so right,” you said to him. “But I'll still have to let you know. If today goes well, then maybe you'll see me.”
A couple of hours came and went, and so too did Hongjoong. He rushed off to his club meeting, wishing both you and Seonghwa luck with your studying.
And then there were two.
You both continued to study independently and silently for a few more hours, coexisting in the same space of the library. At some point, the rain outside had quieted to a misty hush and the majority of the crowd had filed out to spend their Friday evening doing something less depressing.
By the pulsating at your temples, you figured your brain had enough for one afternoon. This session hadn't gone too terribly, you decided, as you drummed your fingers against your notepad. Your eyes lifted up to the man still seated across from you; Seonghwa's cheek was pressed against his fist as he scribbled something out into his notebook before checking it against his calculator.
He felt your flighty gaze, eyes ensnaring yours before you could look away again. “Need something?” he asked, voice slightly hoarse from lack of use.
“Not from you,” was your automatic quip.
He made a show of looking around at the sparsely-populated area of the library. “Well, then you must be looking at a ghost,” he said back with a saccharine sort of smile.
You wrinkled your nose at him before deciding to actually close the lid of your laptop. “I'm going to go now.”
“No one's stopping you.”
“You're not leaving?”
He cocked a brow at you, the hand with his pen stopping on his page. “Just because you are? What do you think I am—obsessed with you?”
The scoff fell out of your mouth before you could stop it, but the heat swarming your cheeks and neck also appeared without permission. “No one mentioned anything about being obsessed with me. I was just asking a question; it's a Friday night, after all.”
“Well, I'm currently on a date with physics.”
“Oh, so you do get action.”
Seonghwa smiled. “More than you, that's for sure.”
“And you say you're not obsessed with me.” You had no idea how the conversation unfolded in this direction, but you were throwing your things into your bag with fervor—anything to get away from him and whatever you were talking about now.
When you picked up your bag, you tucked the chair close to the table. Seonghwa kept his eyes on his laptop screen, cheek against his fist, pen tick-tocking against his finger.
You were only a couple steps away when you heard him say, “See you at the party.”
You whirled around with your mouth open in retort, but you didn't actually know what to say. How could five words evoke such a visceral reaction inside your chest? He heard your response to Hongjoong earlier; he couldn't just assume you would go.
You turned back around without saying anything, and you swore you heard him snicker under his breath as you left. You would not be going to that party, just to make a point.
So maybe you were going to the party.
In your defense, it was not your idea. You were doing it in support of your roommate and good friend Ronnie, who heard her current campus crush was going to be there; thus, the seven of you in the house were going to all attend for a few hours in solidarity.
“It's warm tonight” —a skirt flew at your face, faster than you could realize or catch— “so wear this. You've only worn it, like, what? Once?”
You sputtered as you whipped the skirt out of your eyes and mouth, your expression screwed up in disdain as Ronnie tore your half of the closet apart in search of a suitable top to match. “It’s not like I’m the one about to see my crush,” you said as you lifted the skirt up in front of you to inspect it. Indeed, you had only worn the simple, pleated black garment a total of one time, and you had forgotten it existed ever since.
Ronnie eyed up a big graphic tee in her hand, stripped it from its hanger, then tossed it at you.
“Veronica Shim, I swear to god—”
“Sue me for being nervous,” she squawked. She walked over and grabbed you by the shoulders. “I just need to busy myself before my hands shake so hard, they fall off.”
You peeled the T-shirt she had thrown at you off of your head. “I’m going to get dressed,” you promised, “and then I will let you do my makeup—”
“I love you.” Before you could respond, she was already halfway across the room again, tearing through your makeup box instead. When Ronnie was nervous, there wasn’t very much that could calm her down unless she was physically doing something. It was what made her such an adept physical media artist—the ceramics studio saw her face as often as the library saw yours. The bedroom you shared was covered from ceiling to floor in the origami she folded, from little paper stars to intricate flowers that had taken her days to make.
You were exceptionally fond of her, but if she threw another clothing item at your head, you might lose it.
In about an hour, the seven of you were piled into Lillian's minivan on the way to Seulgi's house. Each passenger, sans Lillian, had each taken a shot of soju Soyeon had found at the back of the kitchen pantry. Suffice to say, Ronnie was ready to actually talk to her crush and you were all prepared to have fun for the first time since midterms started.
You could already hear the music bleeding out from Seulgi's place, accompanied by the warm buzz of laughter and chatter. It was a smaller house at the end of a cul-de-sac a few blocks from where you lived. The driveway and surrounding streets were already chock-full of cars, so Lillian dropped everyone off in front of the house while she and Seeun went to find an open parking spot.
You, Ronnie, and Soyeon had your arms hooked together as Seulgi's housemate Irene let you in. The party was well under way—with it being a little past nine o'clock—and you could already spot some familiar faces in the crowd.
“Wow, it's hot in here,” you shouted over the addicting bass kick of some early 2000s song. There were far too many bodies shoved into the living room; in no way was this within the building’s occupancy capacity.
Ronnie squeezed your hand before letting go. “I just saw my friend Renjun from my design principles class!” she exclaimed, throwing her thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “I'm gonna go say hi.”
“Okay, have fun!”
Soyeon tugged you in the direction past the kitchen, toward the stairs. “Mingi just texted—apparently they're in the basement and they have tequila shots.”
“You had me at shots,” you replied back with a grin.
Soyeon let out a hoot of approval, and the two of you turned the corner to take the stairs down into the basement below. As you descended into the bowels of the house, you unconsciously tugged the hem of your skirt down. You were definitely not tipsy enough to be unaware of your flashing risk.
There was still a handful of people in the basement, but it was considerably less congested than upstairs. There was even a fan hoisted up into the nearby corner blowing a draft of wind—not cool wind, but wind nonetheless—down over the basement occupants. Closest to you were a few people surrounding a pool table, while the far end was outfitted with a relaxed layout of rugs, blankets, bean bags, and pillows for people to lounge about in. The latter was where your society members were, their voices and laughter already familiar to you.
Wooyoung was the first to notice yours and Soyeon's entrance. He waved his arm at the two of you, careful not to knock off a very flushed San from his other shoulder. “Oy! Look who finally decided to show up.”
“Had to wait for this one to get home and eat dinner first,” Soyeon said with a thumb pointed in your direction, her lips blowing a raspberry.
You threw her a look of betrayal. “If someone had just called me, I would have been home faster!” You made a cursory scan of the people currently present, eyes looking for no one in particular, or maybe just someone to sit next to.
You happened to make eye contact with Seonghwa at one end of the loosely-formed circle, his legs crisscrossed, hands braced behind him. Hongjoong was on one side of him, but the other side was occupied by a girl you did not recognize. She was not from the society and she wasn't someone whom you had seen at a social function before either.
Before your face could visibly show your confusion, you were tugged down next to Wooyoung.
A clear shot glass was handed over to you, equally clear liquid sloshing over the rim, and it came as a packaged deal with a roughly sliced lime wedge. “Here” —Wooyoung placed one in each of your hands— “you can finish San's shot.”
“I can finish it!” San cried from his other side, lips pouty and face red as tomato soup.
Both you and Wooyoung gave him the same expression. “No way.”
You took one for the team (San), and dunked the shot back, following it swiftly by the lime between your teeth. You grimaced at the initial burn, but it subsided the longer you sucked on the lime wedge.
“Yah, both Soyeon and Yn need extra shots,” Yunho hollered from his seat between Mingi and Lia. He grinned as he liberally poured two more shots, one in a teacup and one in a miniature beaker.
You took the lime out from your mouth. “Says who?”
“Says me!” Seulgi chimed in, clapping her hands. “Minimum two shots to stay in the circle—”
“Unless you're driving,” Jongho called out.
“Truuue,” Seulgi agreed with a nod in his direction. “So drink up, ladies.”
Who were you to argue with your host? You were already technically two shots in, thanks to your light pregaming, but you weren't about to complain. The shot glasses were passed around the circle to where you and Soyeon were seated, and you both dutifully paid your toll.
Just as you finished, you felt Wooyoung sling one of his arms over your shoulders. The movement seemed to make your world spin just a little bit more. “Guys, we should play Hot Seat!”
“Ooh, like the game we played in middle school?” Chaeryeong asked.
“But I don't want my seat to be hot,” San muttered, lips curving into a frown.
You cooed at him, reaching around Wooyoung to pinch San's cheeks together in one hand. “Oh my god, you're so cute. How many drinks have you had?”
(From across the circle, Seonghwa's nose wrinkled. He leaned over toward Hongjoong's ear, muttering, “He's not that cute, is he?” He had certainly thought it to himself a few minutes ago, but that was before you said it out loud.
Hongjoong turned his head, face contorted into pure incredulity. “You're… kidding, right?”)
San’s frown deepened as he slurred, “Only two.”
“And that's the way it's gonna stay,” Wooyoung declared, patting his friend on the head with pursed lips. “Personally, I think Hot Seat is befitting of our current situation. You know, apparently, we're supposed to get a heatwave these next few weeks?”
Soyeon tipped her head back in a groan. “Dude, I cannot take any more of this! I can't even tell if I'm sweating or if it's from the rain.”
“Tell me about it,” Seulgi grumbled. “At this point, we'll need to start planning for the postponed car wash fundraiser on top of the bracelet-making one.”
“Why are we talking business at a party?” Mingi cut in. He had one elbow resting on Yunho's shoulder while the other hand raised a red Solo cup of his poison for the night to his lips. “Let’s play Hot Seat.”
“Take a shot for every question you don't want to answer?” you asked, glancing around the circle.
Only murmurs of agreement met your ears, and someone chimed in with a suggestion of three questions per person.
As the one who proposed the game, Wooyoung had the honor of going first. The only issue was that Wooyoung was the closest thing to an open book out of the entire group; it was hard to find a topic he would feel hesitant to answer out loud. Wooyoung's turn on the hot seat slipped by as fast as a summer breeze, and the baton was passed onto you (to give San a fighting chance, of course).
“Well, this should be good,” you chuckled, hoping your nervousness didn't shine through too much. Maybe an additional shot would actually help you.
Soyeon's grin lit up her face. “Ooh, I've got one!”
“Oh no.”
“If Kim Hongjoong and Jung Wooyoung were each being dangled over a pit of lava—”
Both Hongjoong and Wooyoung jerked to life at the same time from opposite ends of the circle as everyone else erupted into laughter. “Now wait a second!”
“—who would you choose to save?”
You covered your smile with your hand and ignored Wooyoung's eyes burning two holes into the side of your head as best as you could. “Well, that's not fair; I need context!”
Soyeon shrugged. “To save the world, I guess.”
“To save the world?” You let it sink in. “Can't I drop both of them in?” you jested, guffawing at Wooyoung playfully shaking your shoulders and Hongjoong shouting his dissent from across the circle. “Okay, okay! Sorry, Hongjoong—you’re going in the pit!”
“I knew I was your favorite,” Wooyoung sighed and draped himself over your shoulders.
“Her answer was coerced!” Hongjoong flashed you a wry and petulant smile as Seonghwa placated him with a pat on his back. It said everything you needed to know: you would pay for this. “You should've taken the shot, Yn.”
“I've got a question” —Yunho cut in, and there was this boyish sort of smile on his face with an impish twinkle in his eyes. You knew him well enough not to trust that look— “do you actually hate Seonghwa?”
Half the group shot wide-eyed stares at Yunho, with Mingi shoving him in the shoulder, while the other half had their attention darting curiously between you and Seonghwa. There was a smile of disbelief that crawled onto your face as your immediate reaction; your sympathetic nervous system had jumped into high gear, as well, making your heart pound and palms sweat.
What kind of question…?
You tried not to glance in Seonghwa's direction. “Hate is a… strong word,” you drawled, dragging out the syllables of the latter half. Your fingers played around with the empty shot glass sitting on the rug in front of you, index tracing the rim.
“You’ve gotta answer the question, Yn,” Yunho prompted, the smile on his face only widening.
“Yeah, answer the question, Ln.”
That had your head turning. Seonghwa did not look away when you met his gaze, and you couldn't tell from this distance if that was pure stoicism in his face, or if there was something else hidden there. The blood in your veins thrummed, simmered. His tone was so annoying though. This question was so annoying. Who asked this kind of thing in a group setting, let alone when you were barely even drunk?
You picked up the shot glass and wiggled it in the air. “Pour me one.”
A group-wide groan erupted in this corner of Seulgi's basement, cleaving the tension wide open. You ignored everyone’s playful shouts of dissent, their urges for you to hurt Seonghwa’s feelings and bruise his ego with your honesty; you insisted on the shot, and because Yunho was a little butthurt, Mingi took over the role of Keeper of Tequila and poured you one.
You drained the shot with ease—better the bitter burn of fermented agave than the bitter burn of truthful words. (Maybe you just didn’t want to confront the very words you had already spoken, that ‘hate’ really was too strong in describing what you felt for Park Seonghwa.) It was the coward’s way out, but the night was still young and you were still in the hot seat.
The last question you were dealt was dutifully delivered by Kim Hongjoong, as was prophesied by your disservice to him in your earlier answer. He asked if you had really cheated during the Trivia Night three months ago about plant physiology. It had been a point of great contention back then, and it didn’t truly matter in the grand scheme of things; plant physiology night was “for fun,” but everyone here owned at least one competitive bone in their body.
As everyone leaned in, expecting a horrible scandal to be confirmed, you said, “No, but I know who did.”
The group howled once more—you wouldn’t be surprised if the goddamn neighbors could hear you all at this point—as they hounded you for answers. They were answers you wouldn’t give, however, because you had fulfilled your turn on the hot seat.
You leaned back onto your palms and the tension in your shoulders loosened slightly now that you were no longer in the spotlight.
A loud giggle cut through all the noise around you. From across the circle, the girl you did not recognize was laughing into her palm, Seonghwa's mouth still moving as he muttered something under his breath so only the people around him heard.
Your face fell. “He's not that funny,” you grumbled to Wooyoung, since Yeosang was busy answering a question on your left.
Your friend snorted loud enough that glances were thrown his way.
“Just admit you're mad you can't hear what he's saying,” he said to you, keeping his volume low enough this time so only you were privy to his words.
What an egregious take! It was hotter than hot, scalding even. “Why would I be mad that I can't hear him? If anything, I'm pissed he's right in my line of sight.”
Wooyoung only lifted a brow at you, his mouth curving into his cheek while he smirked, unconvinced. ‘Jelly,’ was what he mouthed at you in exaggerated movements.
You huffed and shook your head. No way you were mad or jealous.
Park Seonghwa was drunk. At least, he was pretty sure he was on the cusp of tipsy and drunk—inebriated would be an apt term. The room was spinning; that was one standout symptom he was experiencing at the moment. Dim, amber lights swirling with the faces and basement walls around him, voices he recognized. Hongjoong would have definitely added that he giggled way too much to be Sober Seonghwa. It was settled then: he was drunk.
“Guys, be honest with me” —that was San’s voice… no. No, wait. That was definitely Wooyoung’s. He swore he saw his mouth move— “who do we think is gonna get married first out of all of us?”
The group had dwindled down considerably following the conclusion to the game Hot Seat. Though the space taken up remained the same, the blob was far more deformed now. One could not call it a circle if they had even an ounce of integrity.
Seulgi lifted her beer bottle to her lips. “Not me,” she drawled with a snort.
“I think Lia,” said Soyeon.
There was movement next to Wooyoung, and Seonghwa watched you wag your finger in Soyeon's direction. Your head was on Wooyoung's shoulder, alcohol-induced drowsiness hitting you while it was making him think things. “Mmh,” you agreed, “but I raise you: Jung Wooyoung.”
Hongjoong loosened a sound from his lips that made Seonghwa giggle again. “Yah, now you're just doing it on purpose!”
“I can hype up my bestie, Kim!”
“Yeah!” Wooyoung chimed in. “Let her hype me up, Kim!”
“Alright, but,” Yunho said, mouth already stretched in a grin, “he couldn't even ask out his work crush, remember?”
Wooyoung's eyes shot wide open. “Oy—the work environment at Gap was just not confession-friendly! It was actually anti-romance.”
Cutting through Yunho's snickering, a slightly-flushed Mingi raised his fingers for his turn. “Let's not sleep on the real secret romantic, Mr. Choi Jongho.”
A murmur of agreement swept around the group as all eyes went to the only truly sober member of the blob. Jongho lifted his can of ginger ale to his lips for a small sip, but shook his head as he did. “I don't know where you're getting this misinformation from.”
“Wait, no! Mingi's right,” you piped up, even sitting upright to gesture with your arm at Jongho. (Seonghwa shifted in his spot, jerking as you moved. His inhibitions were… not in the building.) “You would totally be in a long term relationship for years and not tell anyone until you're sending out Save the Dates!”
“Exactly,” Seonghwa suddenly said, nodding his head. Oh—people were looking at him—did he say that out loud? He could agree with you sometimes; he just didn't often agree with you aloud. “What?”
Hongjoong blinked at him, his eyebrows scrunched together, lips parting slightly before he pursed them, as if deciding against whatever thought wanted to breathe air.
You were the only one not looking at him like he'd just sprouted another head. There was that familiar neutrality, a slightly warmer version of the crinkle-nosed brattiness that drove him up the walls.
“You guys are weird,” he muttered and flicked his eyebrows up, then took a swig out of the half-empty soju bottle parked between him and Hongjoong.
“What if I think Yn will get married first?” These were San's first, sober words since he had woken up from a brief nap; but considering what he said, maybe he hadn't quite reached sobriety yet.
Everyone's attention flipped to the opposite side of the group again, Seonghwa included. The question was cold gutter water that splashed over him from the street, and any haziness disappeared in an instant.
“No fucking way,” both you and Seonghwa said at once.
Time stilled.
Yunho reacted first, leaning his chin onto his fist. He used his other hand to gesture between you two. “Interesting. Explain.”
Seonghwa leveled his gaze with yours. "I'm not claiming anything. I just don't think she'll be the first to get married.” He clutched the bottleneck in his hand, the glass hanging midway between the ground and his mouth, his elbow propped on top of his knee while he watched your reaction.
“The feeling's mutual,” you replied tersely, a thin smile spread on your face. “What was it you said the other day? That you were on a date with physics?”
“Well, I definitely wasn't on a date with you.”
Out of Seonghwa's periphery, Hongjoong slapped his hand over his mouth.
There was a warm thrill beneath his skin as your eyes narrowed at him. “Funny, 'cause everyone here knows I would rather retake calculus than even think about going on a date with you.”
“I’m touched, Ln, really.”
“Oh, there they are!” Heads turned in the direction of the voice. It cut through all of the buzz and chatter down here in the basement. Seonghwa's mind was yet to be at its sharpest still, but he was able to recognize the familiar faces of two of your and Soyeon's housemates, Seeun and Lillian. They bumbled over, arms linked and faces flushed with the spirits they had consumed tonight. “Yn, Soyeon—we’re stealing you!”
“Recruiting,” Lillian corrected Seeun with a pointed cough. “We are recruiting you to take over the pool table over there.” She thrust an arm in the direction of the opposite end of the room.
Seonghwa took an absent-minded sip of his drink as your friends tugged you and Soyeon to your feet, then stole you away from the group and whatever this conversation had turned into. The conversation blurred into something about long-term relationships again, drifting further away from the initial marriage inquiry and to something more palatable for a bunch of young 20-somethings.
The liquid in his bottle was drained, then replaced by another. To hell with that physics exam on Monday, he supposed.
Hongjoong passed him a glance. “Are you… gonna slow down soon?”
“Maybe after this,” Seonghwa muttered with his lips at the bottle rim. His eyes kept on wandering over toward the opposite end of the room to where you stood at the pool table; and the more he drank, the harder it was for his consciousness to drag his focus back to the people around him.
Your laugh cleaved through any self-control he had left. He leaned back on one hand, catching how you tugged down the hem of your skirt with an instinctive motion, before taking the pool cue from one of the guys there—
“Hwa” —he heard his name, but his head was slow to turn. Seulgi was smiling at him, and maybe if he hadn't had this last bottle, he would have noticed the knowing tilt of her expression— “what about you?”
“Hm?”
“Anybody you're interested in?”
Seonghwa's skin warmed as if he had just been caught. “Not really,” he answered and straightened from his previous position. He resisted the urge to look, to reveal every single one of his cards with one, stupid look. How he managed to bite his tongue this time was a miracle, but if anybody asked him again, he might admit his answer would be “the girl in the skirt.”
When the Parks moved to your neighborhood in the third grade, your mom and Seonghwa’s mom became fast friends. The comparisons did not start immediately, but they were always there, lurking in the shadows of the upstairs hallways, in the whispers echoing from the kitchen when the “adults were talking.” There was almost an instant competition between your mothers on who could praise the other’s child best.
Subsequently, it was not uncommon to find yourself at your new rival’s house. Dinner or lunch or an afternoon snack was often offered at one another’s houses—oranges and peaches washed and sliced with precision, bikes abandoned on the wooden porch (your house) or at the side gate (Seonghwa’s house).
You had only ever been in Seonghwa’s room once, and that was seven years later, in the tenth grade. He was reluctant to let you into his safe space and you were reluctant to be in his space, but your mothers insisted, and their voices dropped into hushed tones as you both disappeared up the stairs in silence.
Seonghwa wordlessly opened the door to his room, and you were whacked in the face by the amount of things there: on the walls, filling the shelves, tucked away in boxes on the floor. It was an explosion of pop culture paraphernalia you were actually familiar with, but the one that was represented the most was—
“I’m more of a Star Trek person myself,” you said, leaning toward a fully-assembled Lego version of the Millenium Falcon.
Seonghwa hung close at your side, hovering, his arms crossed over his chest while he watched you carefully. “Nobody asked.”
You stuck your hand up at him with the Spock salute, index to middle finger and ring to pinky finger.
That drew a half-scoff, half-laugh from his mouth. He shook his head. “You’re such a nerd.”
“As opposed to…?” You straightened and put your arms out to gesture around you at his whole room. There were about a million weird things that tenth grade boys could be into, but there was a huge chunk of you glad that this was his chosen obsession. Star Wars or Star Trek, you would pick a nerd over a creep any day of the week. Not that you would pick him of all people…
“If you think I'm going to say you have a point,” he began.
“You don't have to say it,” you finished for him, turning to inspect the Tai Fighter on a lower shelf. “I already know that I do.”
You could hear him roll his eyes. He seemed to do that a lot. “Can’t believe you like Star Trek better.”
You snorted, twisting around to peer up at him from your squatting position. “What? You can't handle that I have a different opinion?”
“No, I just thought you'd have better taste,” he replied airily.
Something within you paused at that. Though only a flippant parry at your own quip, you thought to yourself how ironic it was that you actually preferred the Star Wars franchise over the Star Trek franchise.
The only reason you bantered with him about it and stood your ground playing the Devil's Advocate was to breach that obvious discomfort you both bore coming in here. Bickering between you was natural, familiar… and the truth behind your words that day would be something you swore you would never reveal to him ever.
“You’re trying to figure out what Seonghwa got on the exam, aren't you?”
You jerked your head to the forward direction and slid down in your seat, moving your pen back over your notebook. Seonghwa was seated on the far right side of the hall, whereas you and Soyeon were somewhere in the middle. There was no way you could see minute details from this distance, but you could certainly try to read his body language from here. “...No, I'm not.”
Soyeon flashed you a sidelong glance that spoke volumes on its own. “Yes, you are. Your eyes aren't very subtle, you know.”
“They're not?”
She snorted, the sound loud enough only to draw the attention of the person seated on her other side.
The week had dragged by at a snail's pace, compared to the prior week and weekend. As soon as you were released from your physics midterm on Monday, it was as if the world set its playback speed at 0.5. Perhaps it was the swath of heat that had descended upon the city that made everyday double in length. With no more gray skies and buckets of rain, the inhabitants of Aurora County were left to not only the unbearable heat, but the wrath of the sun, too.
Unfortunately, now that midterm exams were mostly completed, all that was left to do was await the scores. The atmosphere in your biochemistry lecture this morning had been suffocating in despair over the scores released yesterday afternoon. As customary, your professor was taking the beginning portion of lecture to review exam statistics and frequently missed questions.
Soyeon grumbled under her breath as she pulled her tablet out from her bag. “I think he should have curved it more,” she grunted, logging into the class-wide polling system. “Those questions about the Krebs Cycle were so stupid.”
“Yeah, they were way out of left field,” you agreed. You hadn't done half bad on this past exam, but you weren't about to rub it in. It didn't mean you were the one who fucked the curve or anything; it only meant that you somehow ended up just a little above the average. Maybe those extra hours spent in Quill had been for something.
“Are you going to the meeting tonight?”
You shook your head, glancing between the screen and your own notes as you scribbled a big question mark in the margins by a note. “No, I picked up another shift at the tutor center,” you replied.
As today was Thursday, usually the society would hold a Trivia Night, but Seulgi had made the executive decision to meet about this weekend's bracelet-making event instead. It was a more relaxed meeting meant for celebrating the end of midterm exams, while chatting about any last minute details for the event. You had already informed Seulgi in advance that you wouldn't be able to make it.
Soyeon let out a low whistle. “Another one?”
“Yeah,” you said with a helpless shrug. “But it's to make up for the shifts I missed to study. Apparently, the Gen Chem classes still have an exam next week.”
“Damn. Sucks to be them.”
You grinned and shook your head. “As if we weren't them once.” There had been a time when the lot of you in your pre-health society treaded through the murky and dark waters of the general chemistry series. Venting about the ridiculously-convoluted lab procedures and steep exam curves were rites of passage, at this point.
As Dr. Chung, your biochemistry professor, continued on with his planned lecture for the day, you leaned your cheek against your fist, gaze drifting back over to the right side of the hall. At some point, you were only half-tuned into whatever Chung was saying; the rest of your attention was worlds away.
You hadn't seen Seonghwa after your sociology lecture yesterday, but then again, it hadn't been raining and you had to linger back to chat with your professor about a lecture topic. If he had passed through that alleyway again, he hadn't said anything.
Suddenly, the back of the head you were staring at turned over his shoulder.
He hit his target dead-on, and his eye contact made you shudder out of your daze. Seonghwa made an exaggerated face so you could see it from that distance. What?
You stuck your tongue out at him, then forced yourself to look forward at the board. (Though, that sixth sense you had could tangibly feel his eyes roll at you.)
When the lecture ended, you and Soyeon moved out of the lecture hall with the current of your peers. You were so engrossed in making sure you weren't walking into anybody, you nearly missed the man that fell into step beside you.
“What's your deal this time, Ln?”
You perked up in surprise at the sound of Seonghwa's voice and him. Where he was seated, he should have been clear out of the building by now. He must have hung back then. “I have no idea what you're goin’ on about, Park.”
One of his brows quirked upward at you as he shouldered the door open. “You are not getting away with burning two holes in the back of my head.”
“You know,” you said, feigning thoughtfulness as you tapped your chin, “maybe I can—”
Seonghwa peered around you at Soyeon. “What'd she want?”
“I’m not getting involved,” she declared. She raised her palms up at the both of you, shaking her head vehemently. Once you had all descended the stairs to the pathway below, she began stepping in the direction of her next course. “See you, guys!”
With Soyeon respectfully bowing out, it left you and Seonghwa. Again.
He looked at you expectantly.
“I just wanted to know how you did on the exam,” you said with as much nonchalance as you could muster. “No biggie.”
Seonghwa crossed his arms over his chest. “How did you do on the exam?”
“Fine.”
“Well, so did I.”
You nodded. “Cool. Good talk!” You swiveled on the ball of your foot and prepared to take off, but he was swift to latch onto the top handle of your backpack.
“Hold it” —he turned you back around just in time to catch the irritation cross your face— “are you going to the meeting tonight?”
He stopped you for this? “No, I'm working.”
Something flickered in his expression; it was nothing you could label clearly. It was probably just his initial surprise. “Oh. Sucks.”
You nodded again, mouth pressed together. “Yup. See you on Saturday for the fundraiser then.”
“Yeah, see you.”
How interesting that he cared to even ask that, you thought as you went off to your physics lab. Then again, one could ask that of any instance you or he inquired about the other’s movements. At some point, it had become some convoluted game of chess; though, the older the two of you became, the way in which you played the game shifted. It was less capturing the other's pieces to get to checkmate first, and more so flirting with the idea of check. No matter—any lingering curiosities regarding one Park Seonghwa was dashed away and replaced by the remainder of your day.
And just like that, it was Saturday.
The pre-health student society had managed to snag use of a local cafe space for the event, probably thanks to Seulgi’s friend of a friend working as a shift supervisor there. It was of a cozy-modern design complete with smooth, white countertops and furniture, cute character mascots painted on the walls, and complete with the all-encompassing scent of roasted coffee. A late Saturday afternoon found the place packed to the brim with students, not just for your event, but general college students milling by for a weekend treat. It seemed to attract even more people to the event itself though; poor Hongjoong and Taeyong were asked to run to the nearby craft store a few blocks over to purchase some necessary stock of thread and beads.
The cafe was alive with the buzz of chatter, the clanging of coffee-making, and the dull sounds of acrylic beads dribbling off the sides of tables. In all definitions, the event looked and sounded like a success.
“How does anyone do this for fun? Oh—shit—”
You wanted to jump off a roof. Or maybe stick your hand in that canister of boiling milk by the espresso machine ten feet behind you. Or just be anywhere but here. Across the small, two-seater table from you was a man you had only seen in passing and never properly interacted with. He was not a member of the society, so you could only imagine that he was a mutual friend of one of your society-mates. After this dreadful afternoon was over, you were going to find out who this man was connected to and—
“Can you catch that for me? Thanks.” Justin—your partner for the afternoon—took the beads from the center of your palm and squinted his eyes as he tried to string them on his piece of electric blue thread.
The issue wasn’t that he couldn’t make a bracelet for shit; the issue was far more personal than that. “Yeah, sure,” you said quietly, trying to ignore the fact that the pair right next to you kept sending glances over at your table. To make it worse, that very pair was Park Seonghwa and that girl from Seulgi’s party last Saturday. Your adept eavesdropping skills managed to pick up that she was vaguely connected to Seulgi through one group project they completed together in a freshman year dance class. (Why was it always Seulgi?)
You straightened, tying off the little loop you had made with a few seed beads. Maybe you should try making conversation again. “So, uhm,” you began, “you mentioned that you’re taking an econ class about… foreign markets?”
The guy nodded. “Yeah, Economics in Cold War Foreign Trade—it’s kind of interesting, actually.”
Oh. Economics wasn’t really your forte, but if he was passionate about this subject, then it would at least make for an engaging conversation. You can work with this, Yn. “Then I’d love to hear more. What’re you guys currently learning?”
“You know, like the drive of U.S. actions during the Cold War,” Justin said with a shrug, not really looking up from his bead struggle. “People always forget that a major part of our foreign policy back then was driven by this need to dominate global markets and defend against communism. I mean, sure there was that thing with Guatemala” —he paused his ramble and spared you a glance— “but you don’t seem like the type to be interested in that.”
Your hand movements paused, your facial features twitching into a confused smile. “I’m sorry?” What was that supposed to mean?
He looked at you again. “I just mean,” he said, “that you don’t look like the kind of person who would understand the nuances of that whole situation.”
For a pregnant moment, you just stared at him. Was he being serious? “You could… give context,” you drawled, curling back all of the rage slowly mounting up inside of you like a tea kettle. “That’s why I asked.”
“Oh.” Justin’s eyes darted back down to his hands and he let out a laugh, the kind of sound that someone made when they were uncomfortable. “There are just a lot of terms, y’know, that I’m not sure you would understand—”
Your eyes went to the ceiling for a second. “Okay, just stop,” you cut in and waved your hands in an accompanying gesture. Why was this fucking business major talking down to you?
The table descended into silence, and your counterpart mercifully shut his mouth. You didn’t know what was more embarrassing: hearing this man effortlessly shut down any will you had left, or that the only other people who were privy to this conversation was Seonghwa and his event partner. Their conversation was much lower in volume, but you’d overheard the occasional chuckle.
You resisted the urge to huff; this was the worst.
“Listen.”
You spoke too soon. When you glanced up from your beads, it was not at the man directly across from you, but the one who sat diagonal to you one table over. You swore he just rolled his own eyes.
Justin, stupidly, continued. “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. I don’t really go on dates with nerds—”
“Who said you’re on a date?”
“Who said we’re on a date?”
Both you and Justin whipped around to the table beside you. You could recognize that first voice even with your eyes closed and your body running on fumes. Incredulity, embarrassment, and perhaps even gratitude warmed the skin of your neck and face as you and Seonghwa made brief eye contact.
“Sorry?” Justin stammered. “This isn’t your business, dude.”
Your eye twitched again. He wasn’t even talking to you. “Hey!” You snapped your fingers at Justin like he was a dog, and at this point, that was an insult to dogs everywhere. “It isn’t his business, but he’s right. We’re not on a date, and the only reason I even put up with you was for the sake of my society’s event.” Not to mention that you were giving him the benefit of the doubt, something he clearly didn’t deserve.
“If it’s not a date, then why the fuck’s it called matchmaking?”
Seonghwa rolled his eyes again before narrowing them into twin slits. “Didn’t you read the flyer, dude? We’re making fuckass friendship bracelets.”
Justin fumbled with the thread in his hands as he struggled to come up with an adequate retort. If your blood wasn’t still simmering from his previous statements, you might have laughed at the way his face flushed, flustered by the lack of support he was getting while Seonghwa backed you up. In his fidgeting, every single bead he managed to string over the past fifteen minutes escaped from their thread, skittering to the floor with the likeness of a thousand dust mites scattering from a sudden beam of light. “Fuck this,” he huffed, throwing down the sad piece of string onto the table. “Can’t believe I paid for this shit.”
He pushed out of his seat, the movement causing an ear-piercing SCREECH to tear through the cafe. A few curious and concerned eyes followed him as he stormed out of the establishment. You half expected him to trip over one of the fallen beads he hadn’t bothered to pick up. (If karma was real, that would have happened.)
Your gaze met that of Seulgi’s, who had been strolling around, socializing and monitoring people’s progress during the event. She hustled over, eyes wide as her head flicked between you and the door swinging open. “What happened?” she asked, not accusatory, but rather greatly concerned.
“He was a prick,” Seonghwa answered matter-of-factly while crossing his arms over his chest.
“He said some not-nice things,” you followed up. The steam in your ears was gradually dissipating, in turn, clearing your vision of your own ire. “Who’s friend was he?”
Seulgi frowned and stood with a hand braced on the back of your chair and the girl next to yours. “I could’ve sworn…” her voice trailed off as she scanned the room. Then a curse tumbled out from her mouth, a hand slapping against her forehead. “Goddamn it,” she said, “your partner was supposed to be Lee Jeno—you know, Taeyong’s friend? He sat down at the wrong table, ugh. JENO!”
You all turned. Across the cafe, a dark head of hair perked up from one of the tables, his eyes as wide as the bottom of a coffee pot from the sound of his name being barked out.
You grimaced. “Hey, Seulgi, it’s fine—”
Seulgi waved her hand. “No, no. I should have micromanaged him; he saw the letter J and went with it! My plan,” she groaned. Despite her initial dismissal, she did not go off to scold Jeno or bring him to his original assignment; she merely turned back around and pinched the space between her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Yn. This should have never happened.”
You nodded your head with pursed lips, unsure of what to say. “It’s not your fault, really.” One could not control the audacity that emerged from a man’s mouth.
“Oh my gosh, wait. Let me find someone else for you to sit with.”
“Seulgi” —Seonghwa’s voice drew your attention back to him— “she can just join our table. It’s fine.”
You startled and shook your head, glancing between him and your society president. Become the third wheel to Seonghwa and Sydney (that was her name, if you remembered correctly)? You would rather waltz into the oncoming traffic outside the door. Hadn’t you had enough social anxiety for today? “That’s okay! I really don’t think I’m up to doing this any longer. Can I just, like, monitor or something?”
Seulgi licked her lips. For a long beat, you truly believed she would refuse you. “Okay, yeah,” she said whilst nodding her head. She made a sweeping gesture with her hand as she took a step back. “I was just about to give Taeyong a break from the supply table, if you wanna do that.” How could you ever doubt your easygoing, existentially-exhausted senior?
You pushed out a sigh of relief. The chair legs scraped against the wood floors as you stood, sending any nearby beads tumbling further into motion. “Let me pick up these beads though before someone breaks a leg,” you joked.
“You don't have to—”
“Don't,” Seonghwa cut in and practically waved you away. “Just leave 'em. No one's gonna trip; we'll get them later.”
He sent you a pointed look at your balking and the sternness there sent your toes curling. It wasn't only firm, but you swore there was a tenderness there, too. It was an action not meant to boss you around but to remind you that you did not have to be the one to pick up some asshole's mess.
You gripped the back of your chair, then slowly rose from it, nodding. “Right,” you whispered.
Seulgi led you over to where Taeyong was, all the while apologizing profusely for Jeno's lack of literacy for his own name. You dutifully replaced the vice president at his post, falling into an easy rhythm of organizing beads into small, metal trays, keeping threads from knotting if they were returned, and doling out the appropriate materials.
As the event passed on, you could feel the side of your head tingle, a phantom ache. When one was burned by the sun, the target area of skin often felt distinctly hot and irritated upon touch. You glanced up in the direction of said sun, catching only the movement of Seonghwa's head as he engaged in conversation with Sydney across from him.
You feigned a look away, watching from the corner of your vision as his stare touched you once more. An abrupt bout of tightness flared up in your chest, nerves inflamed and sensitive. Why was he looking over here so much? It had to do with what happened.
For the remainder of your time, you kept your eyes to yourself and tried to ignore the instincts compelling you to meet his gaze.
By the time Seulgi and Taeyong brought the event to a close, the sky had already fallen to darkness, the merciless sun sinking beneath the fold of Earth's horizon. You and the other members of the society made quick work of cleaning up all your messes—it turned out that nearly every table had spilled a handful of beads at some point. You felt a little less horrible about your own situation.
You grabbed your bag from the employee's room in step with Soyeon. “Oh my gosh, wait I have something to tell…” your voice trailed off, vision snagging on the person heading for the exit door. A lightbulb clicked on in your head. Right.
“I'll meet you at home,” you promised her with a hand grazing her shoulder. There was something you needed to do first.
Soyeon's brows twisted at your actions, but she sputtered a good-natured laugh anyway. “Okay? See you at home.”
“Yo—Park! Wait up,” you called after his retreating backside, his body nearly completely over the threshold of the cafe door.
Seonghwa paused in the doorway, angling slightly to watch you catch up to him and keep the door open. “What’s up?” he asked before letting the door fall behind the two of you.
The evening outside was temperate, comfortable. Though the heat remained, it was no longer stifling like its sister, Daytime. Rather, the warmth settled over your skin as a thin shawl with no breeze interrupting. By many definitions, this was a perfect summer’s night despite it still being in the midst of spring. The streetlights flickered to their ‘on’ positions, painting the pavement a nostalgic sodium-orange up and down the university district.
You fell into step beside him and his pace slowed slightly as the two of you walked in the northerly direction toward your separate houses. “I just,” you began, the words needling at the back of your throat like an itch, “wanted to say thanks—for speaking up for me back there.”
Seonghwa glanced at you briefly. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his cargo pants, keys clinking against his thigh with each step he took. “Oh. Well, it was kind of the bare minimum, and that dude was being a class A jackass, so…” his voice trailed off as he took a hand out to rub the back of his neck. He stole another glance at you. “Are we cool? I mean,” he amended, “are you okay? What he was saying was just” —he pushed out a sharp exhale— “not nice, as you said before.”
You pursed your lips in memory of Justin’s words to you. “Yeah, I don’t know. Of course, it struck a nerve at the time, but it was more so that I couldn’t believe that he was actually saying those words.” You laughed, the sound coming out breathy and incredulous. “He was not only stupid, but blatantly ignorant. He was entitled, insensitive, and a fucking piece of shit.”
“I won’t argue with any of that.”
“You better not,” you jested.
You nearly stopped in your tracks. Was this the first time that you and Seonghwa were conducting a conversation of this nature, ever? Of course, both of you had your share of asshole run-ins, but you were never close enough to really have a meaningful conversation about any of it—not the awful people in your lives, not the way your moms made you unofficial rivals, and not the fact that neither of you could get over yourselves for two seconds. It had to be that you were seeing him way more often this quarter compared to every other quarter. Yes, that had to be it.
The silence between you two became too comfortable. The warmth in the air was too comfortable. The oscillating distance between your bodies as you walked side by side was too…
You cleared your throat. “I would choose a nerd over a douchebag any day of the week,” you mused in an attempt to keep the conversation alive. Anything but whatever this was.
Seonghwa released a sound that was akin to a laugh or a choke; you couldn’t tell. “Right,” he murmured. He fiddled around in his right-hand pocket for a moment, and you could hear the fabric rustling. Then it stopped, his head turning away from you like he was changing his mind. “Not to agree with you three times in one day, Ln, but same.”
“High score?” you chimed in weakly.
He faced you again, the amber warmth of the streetlight becoming his backlight, a halo. You couldn’t see his expression clearly with the shadows in the way, but maybe there was a smile there that beheld a softness you didn’t want to believe in. “Yeah, sure. High score, you dork.”
There were moments in time when you decided to be a good person. Objectively, it was more accurate to describe yourself as a good friend—or if one wished to be even more particular—a doormat. Case in point: agreeing to run a phone down to the college’s natatorium when that very building was a good forty-five minute walk from your house on the opposite side of campus. If you took the bus, it might shave your estimated time of arrival down to twenty minutes, or increase it up to an hour, depending on the bus line. Even worse, temperatures were pushing the mid-nineties in Fahrenheit, and the phone's owner was none other than Park Seonghwa.
You were doing this for Mingi and the chocolate chip muffins his mom made—at least, that was what you were telling yourself.
The bus beneath you rattled and squealed with every stretch of road it traversed. Rather than cutting through campus itself, it made a grand loop around its perimeter, catching the students and faculty who were forced to trek to the further reaches of campus rather than its heart. You fiddled with the phone in your hands; his case was a chrome silver vinyl plastic mimicking a quilted fabric. It was an interesting choice, one that you yourself wouldn’t have made, but in your heart, you knew it certainly encompassed his tastes. You scrunched your nose up as you turned it around and the screen lit up, sensing the presence of a face in front of it.
The device didn’t accept your face ID, of course, but you were left staring at the notifications on it. There were one or two text messages from names you vaguely recognized, a message from some group chat labeled “PSYCH202,” and a notification from some mobile game. A thought popped into your head, and you slipped your own phone out from your pocket, weighing the two devices before you.
What were you called in his contacts?
Ding! —Your head shot up and your body jerked in reaction to a particularly rough pothole in the road. “Next stop: East Paradigm and New World Street.”
You twisted in your seat to yank the yellow cord hanging along the side of the bus, eliciting a softer ding! to echo throughout the vehicle, followed by the words STOP REQUESTED displayed at the front.
It was a sign, you decided, to not try your little experiment.
When the bus came to a teetering stop at the E. Paradigm and New World stop, you called out a thanks to the bus driver before taking off in the direction of the natatorium. There was a paved pathway that broke off from the main road and bordered by smartly-trimmed bushes. It wound down the hill, and framed the glorious face of the KQ University indoor pool perfectly. Its wave-like rafters created a lengthened dome akin to the back of a seashell. Between the sandstone frame were pieces of cerulean blue-tinted glass to compliment the off-white building. You did not often find yourself in this area of campus, but you couldn’t deny that the natatorium was a spectacle of its own.
There was a slight pang in your chest, something like nostalgia or bittersweetness—resonating and heavy. It came with that distinct, sinking feeling in one’s stomach of “what could have been.”
You entered into the front doors of the natatorium and sighed at the swath of air conditioning that fell over you. Curiously, there was no one stationed at the reception desk; your original plan had been to drop off his phone here and head out, but with no one present for you to hand it to…
“Great,” you muttered under your breath and made your way to the doors that led deeper into the building.
When you swung open this set of doors, however, your body seemed to deflate at the utter weight of damp, all-encompassing heat in the inner pool chamber. You heard in the winter, when the weather was frigid and snow littered the ground, the floors and pool water in here were actually heated. Why they did not think to turn off the heat during a goddamn heatwave was beyond you. The grander space reached high above your head with the most appropriate acoustics to echo the sounds of water splashing, whistles shrieking, and voices chattering. You brushed a hand through your hair as sweat already began to bead on the back of your neck—you had only been in here for two seconds.
Where the hell could he be? You scanned the immediate area, eyes darting to any male with dark hair and a punk attitude.
According to intel you’d gathered from friends over the years, Seonghwa worked as a lifeguard here. It made logical sense; he was a member of your high school swim team, but was not particularly interested in swimming competitively in the collegiate league. Lifeguarding was not only a good way to continue swimming, but it also provided him with an income and a Basic Life Support certification.
“Hey, you’re Yn, right?”
You blinked, turning to find a shirtless man walking up to you. He had dark hair, too, but none of that so-called punk attitude you were searching for. His abs though… You coughed and fixed your eyes firmly on his face… his bright, smiley face. “Do I know you from somewhere?” was what came out of your mouth instead of something intelligent.
To his credit, he only chuckled. “Kind of,” he said with a sheepish grin, “I’m Mingyu. I don’t know if you remember me, but I went to Pledis Academy.”
You rifled through the files of memories in your brain, referencing the name, the face, and the school. His face had grown more mature since you last saw him, but he was definitely no longer the scrawny swim star you remembered. Recognition flooded into you and a smile stretched across your face. “Oh, shoot! I do remember you, Mingyu, oh my gosh. How have you been? You look” —you regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth, and you awkwardly trailed off. Of course, he looked good, but that was not why you were here. Get it together!— “great,” you finished, clutching Seonghwa’s phone with both of your hands now.
Mingyu laughed again, ducking his head as he swept a hand through his hair. “Oh, thanks—and you, too,” he swiftly added. “I can’t believe we haven’t bumped into each other all these years.”
“Yeah, that’s crazy,” you agreed, nodding your head. “It’s a pretty big campus.”
“Right? But you’d think we’d see each other at least in passing or at parties,” he said. “I don’t know why I never saw you out with Seonghwa.” Mingyu froze, as if someone had just pinched him (probably his own conscience). “Are you two still—I didn’t know if you were still together or not—”
Your smile hardened into an awkward rictus. There were plenty of people who misunderstood yours and Seonghwa’s relationship, but Mingyu? He knew you both from your high school days, when you were undoubtedly more hostile toward one another. You were suddenly reminded of your primary purpose for being here. “Oh, uh, we were never together or anything,” you drawled. Before Mingyu or you could fully let the mutual uneasiness settle into the grooves and heat of this room, you piped up, “Speaking of: have you seen Seonghwa around? He left his phone” —you lifted the silver-quilt case up as evidence— “at a friend’s and I was asked to deliver it.”
“Ah!” Mingyu’s tell-tale signs of discomfort erupted right in front of our eyes, everything from his adorable stammering to the physical turning of his body as he searched for a way out of this conversation. “Rightrightright! I forgot that Yunho sent me a text as a heads up; it completely slipped my mind.”
The expression on your face softened in sympathy. “It’s all good,” you assured him. Your brows twisted together, though, as you walked back his words. “Yunho told you? I didn’t know you knew each other.”
He bobbed his head in an affirmative. “Yup. We met through Hwa in freshman year, actually.” Mingyu swiveled over his shoulder and leaned closer to you so he could point out the far end of the pool. “He should be over there.”
Oh, easy.
You followed Mingyu’s line of sight toward the far end of the pool, and had to catch your own jaw before it dropped. Nope, not so easy.
As a former member of your high school girl’s swim team, you were no stranger to seeing people come out of a pool; but one thing you had concluded about it was that there was no person on earth who could get out of a pool completely elegantly. So then why the fuck were you gawking at the way Park Seonghwa had just appeared out of the water? As soon as his dark brunet head broke the surface, he was brushing the water out of his eyes and sliding one hand over his face to drag any remaining liquid out of the way. The pool water slipping off the slopes of his muscular back gleamed in the clear sunlight that shone through the glass panels far above as he swam freestyle over to the edge of the pool.
You hadn’t even realized that he had something clutched in his hand, something that he was swift to pass over to a little boy and his mother crouched at the poolside. He nodded and smiled as the mother spoke to him, her hand tapping her son’s shoulder, likely to thank Seonghwa for his service.
With the mother and son pair walking off, he braced his hands against the warm pool deck and pushed himself up and out of the water. Pool water cascaded down each crevice and slope of his body, catching on the folds of his swim trunks and his stomach muscles, before smacking against the concrete. He easily swept a foot onto the deck to stand up, and he brought his hands up over his face and through his hair again.
His gaze lifted from the weight of yours, and you wondered why the hell the temperature of the room just shot up ten degrees.
“Oh, he’s seen us,” chirped Mingyu as you pointedly looked away. He began to wave at Seonghwa with that beam so akin to a golden retriever. “Hwa! Look who’s here!”
Yeah, I think he’s seen who’s here, you thought to yourself while mustering up your pride and swallowing everything else in your mouth down. What the hell was wrong with you? You’d seen drenched, shirtless guys before—you were freaking standing next to one already! Granted, he wasn’t drenched, but you had also witnessed Seonghwa in the pool plenty of times in high school. You needed to get a grip—
“Well, this is a surprise,” he said when he was within earshot. Droplets of water continued to run down the surfaces of his body and leave wet footprints in his wake. Seonghwa eyed you with the stoicism you were used to, one that almost broke you out of your flustered state. (It had to be the heat and humidity in here. It had to be.) He inclined his chin at you and folded his arms over his chest. “I’m guessing Mingi or Yunho sent you.”
“Yup.” You thrust out your arm to give him his phone. “It was for the chocolate chip muffins Mingi’s mom makes.”
Seonghwa’s eyebrows lifted, unimpressed. He didn’t take the phone. “Yeah no, I didn’t think you did it out of the goodness of your heart or anything,” he drawled and turned away. “You’re gonna have to hold it for a few more minutes, though; I need to dry off before I electrocute myself.”
You made a face at his back, and with a wave to Mingyu, you strode after him. “Hello? Dude, you know that’s not how it works.”
“Do educate me, Ln,” was his flippant response. He went straight for a small alcove in the far left wall, one with two doorways facing each other—a women’s and a men’s locker room. You halted abruptly when he did, his hand pressed against the door to the men’s side. He sent you a look and his mouth was curved in a half-smirk. “This is the locker room, by the way. If you want a peek, I think you should ask first.”
You could have choked on your own oxygen. “I—I knew that! And I didn’t want a fucking peek, you perv.”
He merely laughed and disappeared into the locker room.
You were left to your own devices in the diabolical humidity of the inner natatorium. Absent-mindedly, you lifted your hand up to feel the back of your neck, the sides of your face, before swearing at the warmth just beneath your skin. With Seonghwa deserting you to dry off and, hopefully, put on a goddamn shirt, (all for a phone) you found something to entertain yourself. There was a bulletin board tacked on the wall between the doors littered with a myriad of posters and flyers and schedules. A section of the wall was dedicated solely to a set of polaroid pictures of each individual staff member, Seonghwa included. (It was a decent picture of him—decent.) This seemed to be a trend for all the businesses associated with and surrounding the school.
Your eyes roved over the media with mild interest, tucking knowledge of an intermediate level water aerobics class held on Saturday mornings, and noting the old flyer for lifeguarding auditions forgotten on the board. As the summer break crept up on all of the students, faculty, and inhabitants of the university town, the pool here needed to prepare by training a new class of lifeguards.
Faintly, you heard the door to your left yawn open, then close with a soft thump. “Thinking of brushin’ up some skills?”
You glanced over at him before turning your attention back to the poster you were reading. There was a light blue towel draped over one shoulder, his bare chest barely covered by a black tank top, and his dark hair still appeared slightly-mussed, the strands arranged in artful chaos. “Nah,” you said, “just curious. I'm not here much.”
“I know.” He stepped closer and stood beside you, sharing your view of the board.
The heat from his skin radiated against your arm and you fought the urge to lean toward him. Why would you want to go closer to more warmth anyway? You cleared your throat, passing his phone between you two a second time. “You should be glad I don't show my face here a lot. I might embarrass you in your own element,” you jested as he finally accepted his device from you.
A low chuckle slipped from his mouth. “You think you're so funny, huh?” he mused.
You were one breath away from whipping back something smart—or something stupidly obvious like “Because I am”—until his body casted a shadow over you. Sunlight had no choice but to gleam around the sides of his head and broad shoulders. Your breath caught in your throat, prey in a metal trap, as he leaned closer. (Prey had more survival instinct than you, at this moment.) Every contraction of your thoracic cavity was shallow and strained, lungs filling with the scent of him, all chlorine and sweat and musk.
“What—”
“Do it then,” he murmured, mouth level with your ear, “embarrass me.”
Then he grabbed the clipboard from behind your head and straightened as if nothing happened.
Your mouth went dry, and you swallowed to hopefully regain some of your dignity. What the hell… The words that you so easily wielded in his presence had retreated to the recesses of your brain, tucking themselves behind the featherlight weight of his breath at your ear and the heat of his gaze. Cowards.
Seonghwa cocked a brow at you as he flipped past one of the sheets of paper on the clipboard. “I know I’m pretty to look at, but don't you have places to be?”
Fuck, did you have places to be? “Right,” you drawled, making a show of squinting one eye at him. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of your face from your hairline, and his eyes lifted from the clipboard momentarily. You instinctively swiped the droplet away; you needed to get out of this infernal torture chamber. “Bye, I guess. Also, keep an eye on your fuckin’ phone, dude. This is the only time I’m playing Delivery Girl.”
He leaned against the alcove wall as you began walking away, his arms folding over his chest. “Yo, Ln.”
You threw him a look over your shoulder. “What is it now?”
“What time do you work until tonight?”
The question nearly had you running into some kid in an inflatable duck floatie. Your eyes widened as he swerved around you, and you parked yourself to the side of the room, as far away from the edge of the pool as you could. Your face contorted into confusion. “Who wants to know?”
Seonghwa said, “Hongjoong does.”
“Then Hongjoong can text me like a normal person?” A frown etched itself onto your face. You had no quarrel with Hongjoong, even if he sustained the tiff between you from last Saturday’s party. It was strange, though, that Hongjoong would think to get this little tidbit of information through Seonghwa of all people. Weird connections were being drawn in your head, and you weren’t sure what to make of them. “Whatever. Tell him that I get off at nine.”
He sent you a small salute before hooking the clipboard back into its place on the wall. “Aye-aye.”
You shook your head as you walked off, careful to avoid any wet puddles left in the textured concrete. Today was strange, to say the least; it had to be the heat.
You spoke too soon. The day only grew weirder.
“Good evening, Aurora County! Seems to me like we’re not quite out of the woods with this summer storm.” There was a crackly laugh cutting through the decade-old speakers in your earbuds before Aurora County’s favorite (and only) weatherman continued, “We’ll be braving another bout of showers tonight, and then it should be clear skies and beach weather here on out ‘til June—”
“—and then he said to me, ‘I don’t really go on dates with nerds!’” you recalled in a voice that was deeper and more stupid-sounding than your normal voice. Your hands gesticulated in time with your narration, fingers waving around to overstate the complete absurdity of it all.
Kim Doyoung, your senior and the tutoring partner who got stuck with you on this late, rainy night shift, twisted his facial muscles into the dictionary definition of disgust. You wondered what one had to do to gain facial flexibility the way Doyoung could scrunch up his entire face like so. “No fucking way.”
“Yes fucking way!” you exclaimed and threw your hands into the air. The movement ripped your earbuds from your ears, and you discarded the wires in a haphazard heap on your laptop keys. There was no use in keeping quiet; at this point, the two of you had Quill Library all to yourselves, unless you counted the student librarians chained to their reception desks in the lobby. “And you know what’s crazy? Guess who was sitting right next to us.”
Doyoung’s eyes were so wide, you could see your reflection in the whites of them. “Who?”
“Seonghwa—and that girl from Seulgi’s party on Saturday!” At this point in the evening, Doyoung was caught up on all of your so-called “lore” from this past week. You nodded your head with vigor when he started slapping his leg. “Exactly. And when this asswipe says his piece, both me and Seonghwa say at the same time, like, who said this was a fricking date? Then, Justin starts getting on Seonghwa’s case, for some reason, and I snap at him. He says some bullshit about why it was called matchmaking if this isn’t a date, and Seonghwa reminds him that the flyer actually says ‘friendship bracelets’ instead.” You gestured with your hand, adding, “Of course, with more snark.”
“But of course,” Doyoung replied with a downturned mouth. He took a sip from his thermos, wincing at the steam wafting out of its mouth. How that coffee was still scalding after four hours was a mystery to you. “Wait, so Seonghwa spoke up for you?”
“Yup,” you said. You leaned your cheek against your fist as his question fully digested. “I guess it’s a little strange to think about, considering what you already know about our relationship. I mean, we kind of talked about it afterward and it felt weird to actually agree on things, for once.”
In an action that nearly had your eyes bulging out of your head, you watched Doyoung return his thermos to the table and place his hand on your shoulder. “Yn, I might need to hold your hand while asking this…”
Dread was the weight of an iron anchor sinking in your gut. It festered there, rusting, and it took far too much energy to haul it up out of the water. You grimaced, glancing at the hand on your shoulder, then back at him. “Please don’t.”
“Don’t you think you guys could actually get along if you got over yourselves?”
You blinked at him. “Is this a genuine question?”
His expression dropped into a deadpan in time with his hand slipping off your shoulder. “Yes, and I want a genuine answer.”
“Ah.” You scratched at your jaw, then reached over to pause the video that you abandoned earlier. You were tempted to make the joke of how The Emotionally-constipated Doyoung was actually prompting an emotionally intelligent conversation, but the thought dashed away as you fell into the gravity of his question. “Sincerely? Yeah.”
It had never been a question of whether you and Seonghwa could get along; it was simply that the dynamic between you had been tainted from the start.
You saw the lines of his face and the curve of his posture soften. “Then why don't you?”
You pulled your eyes away from him at the sensation of heat crawling up your neck. That was embarrassment in tangible form, your nervous system coming up to bat. “It’s complicated,” you said, and quickly tacked on, “and that's not a copout answer. It legitimately is like” —your mouth shut. How were you supposed to articulate this in a way that someone outside yours and Seonghwa's history could understand? “When we were younger, I couldn't see him as anyone but the person my mom thought was always better than me. It… screws with you, y'know? And it's not fair to Seonghwa or me that that is how we grew up looking at each other, but—I dunno. Our dynamic has always been like a cat fight and it feels weird if we're not at odds.”
“Because being each other's competition is what feels natural.”
Your head dipped. “Yeah.”
Doyoung loosened a sigh from the back of his throat and he shifted in his seat. “And you've never… thought about being friends with him? Bonding over that mutual pressure?”
“Not really,” you confessed. “When you're a kid who just wants your parents to be proud, you do what you have to. There were moments I saw him as someone other than the physical rendition of all my mother's expectations and my nightmares, though. I mean—we still grew up together.” There was a laugh, and then your voice dropped off a cliff. You sat stock-still for a moment and let the epiphany swallow you whole.
Your counterpart allowed the silence of realization to engulf you. Seonghwa was your mirror image in more ways than not. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that you were both just kids at the time, and that ultimately, you had grown up together. (But now you were older. Would you continue to look at him and see the past, or could you make room for the man he was growing into?)
In the corner of your eye, you spotted movement. Both you and Doyoung turned to the entryway of this area in the library, and it was as if the universe was about to call you out on your thoughts.
Doyoung looked back at you with wide eyes. “Speak of the Devil,” he whispered, head whipping back in Seonghwa’s direction, then to you.
You wanted to slap your hand to your forehead. “Please be chill,” you groaned quietly to him. Over Doyoung’s shoulder, you watched Seonghwa quietly take a seat on the outskirts of the seating area, furthest from where yours and Doyoung’s table was. Wait, wasn’t it Hongjoong who asked what time you got off work tonight? You peeked over at the time in the corner of your laptop—8:24PM. Huh.
For a minute or two, you and Doyoung simply let the clock tick away in silence.
Then there was a nudge at your arm. “Go ask him if he needs help.”
You jolted. “What? He doesn’t need help—trust me,” you hissed back. “He already took Gen Chem in freshman year and passed with flying colors.”
“I hate that you know that.”
Oh. You pursed your lips together. “Yeah, me too.”
Doyoung sighed and it was loud enough to echo against the high ceiling. He spun your chair around and practically shoved you out of it. “You've been deployed, Yn.”
“This is abuse of power,” you muttered, but gathered your body, ego, and all other accompanying parts, and rounded the table. You could not comprehend why your heart rate began to crescendo with each footstep you took in Seonghwa's direction. There had never been this kind of hesitation before—an uneasiness of suddenly being aware of too much—only an insistent balking to interact with the bane of your childhood.
Seonghwa didn't look up until your shadow sliced over his notebook page. It almost made your eyes twitch. “Funny seeing you here,” he drawled as he leaned back in his seat to peer up at you.
You arched both of your brows, unimpressed. “There is a distinct lack of Kim Hongjoong, I see,” you said and gestured around at the nearly-empty room.
“Yeah, well, he had a conflict.”
You rolled your eyes and slid into the seat across from him. “You could've just asked me. Y'know, like a normal person.”
“Sure I could've, Ln.”
“Anyways,” you muttered, scratching your head and then gesturing behind you in Doyoung's direction, “my senior's tasked me with seeing if you need help with anything. I told him you probably don't, because this is a general chemistry tutor session and—”
“Soyeon says you got full marks on the Krebs Cycle portion of the midterm.”
The words that just spilled out of his mouth were experiencing a traffic jam when entering your brain. When did he and Soyeon talk about that? Why would Soyeon tell him that? And why would he—it hit you.
Your face must have said it all, because Seonghwa was already taking up a defensive position by folding his arms over his chest. “Don't make a big deal out of this.”
You pressed a finger to your lips. “I'm not,” you swore, then lowered your hand to lace with the other over the table. You were telling the truth, as surprising as it was for both you and Seonghwa. In your youth, you would have been flooded with jubilation at the news that you excelled where he underperformed. But as you sat across from him in the harsh library lighting, you felt nothing but a light ‘Oh.’
You were expecting the warm satisfaction in your chest, the smug contentment making your fingers jittery. Those sensations never came.
Not so important after all, huh?
The side of his cheek shifted like he was biting the inside of it. “So no snarky remarks? No celebrating?”
Were you really so bad? You shrugged. “If that's what you want, I'll provide it. But—you know…” you trailed off in thought, an absent-minded laugh tumbling out. “I don't think we've ever admitted to each other our shortcomings directly. They've only ever been told to us through other people.”
Seonghwa's arms uncrossed, expression softening. “Yeah,” he said. “Right.”
You pressed your lips together and nodded. “It's cool that you came to me for help, though. I think I had a dream about this once—”
“Don't push it, Ln.”
A grin split your face just then—a true moment of jubilation—and you could have sworn something flickered across his own face.
You didn't push it. Instead, you and Seonghwa hunkered down in the corner of the room for the next couple of hours breaking down the target section. In the quiet, abandoned floor of Quill Library, rain drummed against the windows plastered with the dark night. At some point, Doyoung excused himself to head home, leaving you and Seonghwa beneath the grating overhead LEDs and the scratchy handwriting on the notebook passed between you.
The clock hands struck about ten o'clock when you decided to call it quits. Rain continued to batter the streets of the KQ University campus, and you stood beneath the large, stone archway that led into the library, watching the glow of the lights from inside scatter across the drenched cobblestones.
Seonghwa yanked his jacket hood over his head. “Hey, come on, I'll give you a ride home,” he said to you, nudging your arm with the back of his hand before gesturing to the left.
You were not about to argue when it was pouring rain at ten o'clock and you were without an umbrella.
The two of you crashed into your corresponding sides of the car, breaths fogging up the windows and mirrors, seats and backpacks and skin damp from either sweat or rain. You shook any errant droplets out of your hair as Seonghwa cranked the engine on. His phone connected to the car radio the moment he began backing out from his parking space, and the vibrant instrumentals of a Bruno Mars song came grooving out of the speakers.
Seonghwa turned the volume down, and you leaned back in your seat and watched the streetlights blur like watercolors against the car window.
“Thanks, by the way.” The glow of the stoplight was crimson red across his face. “I found tonight really helpful.”
You pursed your mouth as you traded glances with him. “Yeah sure, man,” you said. “I'm glad you found it helpful. I think I'm just surprised you even—I dunno—asked me of all people.”
He passed you another glance as his visage turned bright green with the traffic light. “You know I respect you, right?”
“Are you okay?” you blurted out. “Like are you dying or something?”
Seonghwa rolled his eyes so hard, you were sure he could see his brain up there. If he wasn't driving, you knew he would be hitting his head against the steering wheel. “Good grief, Yn, I'm trying to be sincere.”
You coughed, shrinking down in your seat. “And I'm being sincere too,” you retorted. “We haven't been this civil toward each other since—”
“Never?” he offered.
“Yes,” you said. You shared yet another look before he returned his eyes to the road. Your own gaze went to the lone C-3PO figurine on his dash and you balled up your hands in your lap, wondering how they had gotten so clammy. “I—respect you, too.”
“How badly did it hurt to say that?”
Your head whipped around. “Now who's being the insincere one?”
Seonghwa chuckled and the corner of his mouth curled up. “Touché,” he said. “I’m being serious though. I wish…”
You swallowed as you stared out the front windshield. It didn't take a therapist to fill in the blank: I wish we hadn't started off how we did. I wish we grew up differently. I wish we had grown up as friends.
The car tires crunched slowly over the rainy gravel outside of your house a few minutes later. The front windows still emitted a warm, familiar light from within, signalling to you the consciousness status of some of your housemates. The windshield wipers continued to thunk, thunk, thunk away at the ceaseless rain against glass as you prepared yourself to cross the driveway without cover.
You stopped just as your fingers curled around the door handle. “By the way, isn't your guy missing his guy?” you asked, wagging a finger in the direction of C-3PO. You were, of course, referring to R2-D2, the blue and white droid renowned for its resourcefulness and adorableness.
Seonghwa shifted in his seat, eyebrows lifting in pleasant surprise at the question. “Oh,” he said, “well, I guess I just haven't found the right moment to get him.”
Ah. You tugged the door open. “‘Night then,” you chirped, and flashed him with the Spock salute.
“You're such a fuckin’ nerd, oh my god—”
You threw your head back in a cackle as you slammed the car door, then bolted for your front porch.
In the eleventh grade, you bombed a Science Olympiad competition. The Science Olympiad was a high school organization you had been a part of since the moment you stepped foot onto campus in freshman year. As a junior, you were a seasoned professional, an ace card in the deck, a valued player in the roster—until you fumbled every event at this specific meet.
To your credit, most of your teammates also met failure or mediocre success; but that was not something your mother cared about.
Park Seonghwa knew this fact like the back of his hand. He had recognized the sheer panic in your eyes during each event, the harried nature of each attempt to reconcile your mistakes mid-event, the defeat and anxiety pouring out of you in energy that could not be contained in that high-tension ball you called your body.
The bus ride home had been dead silent. The car ride in his mom's car was filled only by the muffled sounds of the world passing by. The worst part was seeing you at school the day afterward. You didn't only look exhausted, you looked sapped—of energy, a will, everything. He never said anything; he didn't have the heart or the balls to.
When the clock hit four on the dot, marking the beginning of after school practice, Seonghwa gathered in room A08 along with the rest of your teammates. He barely tuned into whatever the president was saying because your seat across the room was empty and they were taking roll call.
“I'll go look for her,” he offered as soon as your name was called. His stomach twisted into a painful knot, knowing. Maybe you weren't friends, but it didn't mean he couldn't try to save you some dignity. Seonghwa was already up and out of his seat before anyone else could acknowledge or offer assistance.
There were a myriad of possible places you could be and he would check all of them, barring the girl's bathroom. You had to still be on campus, though, because he saw your bike still locked up when he passed by. You would not have gone home at this hour—at least one of your parents would be home, thus, making it the last place you wanted to be. Minutes flew by as he zipped around different spots on campus. He peeked into other open classrooms, asked your band friends if you were in any parts of the music building, and ducked into alcoves around school grounds. The couple of times he called your number, it went to voicemail immediately; there was no point in trying to text you.
When he reached the swimming pool on the far end of campus, his hopes were not high. He had even broken a sweat, the skin beneath the collar of his hoodie warm and damp from perspiration. You had quit the girl’s swim team last year after an incident with the asshole coach, and it didn’t make much sense that you would hide here of all places. Seonghwa was in no place to judge you for quitting, but your parents miraculously accepted it as long as you took up another extra-curricular. From what he heard, you were tutoring now.
As he stepped foot onto the barren, outdoor pool deck, he paused just as he opened his mouth to call out your name.
The sound of a gasp cleaved through the air—not a gasp of surprise, but a gasp for air. A broken sob rattled after it, followed by another, and another, a cascade of ruin and emotion that no one needed a label for.
Seonghwa froze in place. The distinct feeling that he was intruding swept over him. What if it’s not her, he thought and slowly crept closer, toward the sound. He would make sure that you—or whoever it was—was alright.
But as he took his measured steps, he spied a familiar head of hair around the furthest corner of the locker rooms building. He recognized the red stripe running down your track pants, the pair that you wore on Thursdays when you had your racquet ball class. Your shoulders trembled like a city on a fault line, a fissure in the earth that was once the unbreakable resolve he knew you to possess.
He had never seen or heard you cry before, let alone like this—like every single pressure point had conspired together to finally make you crack. He despised it, hated it. Out of all the people he knew, he never believed you could be broken.
Seonghwa backed away. He didn’t make his presence known to you and he would never bring it up again. This was your private moment; he was probably the last person you wanted to see. He made his way back to the meeting room with a discomfort filling up his chest, and that presented itself outwardly as solemnity.
His teammates all glanced up at his return, and the president asked, “Where is she?”
“She’s fine,” Seonghwa replied while sliding back into his seat. “She just needs a minute.”
“But we have to tighten up on practice—”
Seonghwa’s expression hardened. “Give her. A Minute.”
The president’s mouth snapped shut, and nothing further was said on the matter. However, fifteen minutes later, heads turned again to watch you stumble into the classroom while wiping your cheek, your eyes no longer red and your breathing back to normal. Seonghwa tried not to stare as you muttered out an apology and took your seat across the room from him. You shouldn’t have to apologize, he thought.
He tried not to flinch when he remembered what your crying sounded like; tried not to let the anger he harbored at your mother fester into his own tone when he spoke; and tried not to mention at all that he had caught you at a moment of weakness, because if there was anything that would make you feel worse, it would certainly be that.
There were many things you could read about Jeon Soyeon. After living with her for a solid three years and suffering a glorious amount together through the trenches that were pre-medicine weedout classes, one might say you forged a bond only few could relate to. It was one of the primary reasons you believed that she had been itching to ask you something for an entire week.
You broke away from the lineup of dish detergents on the shelf before you, their rainbow of labels plastered with claims of killing 99.9999999% of grease molecules on your dishes to varying degrees of truthfulness. “Alright,” you said, whirling on your friend and roommate, which caused her to freeze up like a deer in headlights. “Just spit it out already.”
Soyeon’s hands lifted in surrender. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do not make me resort to unsavory methods.” The bright white LEDs above your head washed the entire store in their light, illuminating the company’s specific shade of red plastered on the walls to contrast the white of everything else.
“It’s just that…”
“Uh-huh,” you muttered, turning back to the shelf to pluck your house’s choice of dish soap from the shelf. The translucent blue liquid sloshed inside with a slightly higher viscosity than water, but looser than hand soap. You dumped the bottle into the red basket hanging from your arm filled with the other items you and Soyeon were tasked with retrieving by your housemates.
“Doyoung told me that Seonghwa came to the tutor center during one of your shifts last week.”
You paused in the middle of the aisle, then recovered your stride and continued out into the main walkway. Was everybody talking to everybody but you, all of a sudden? “Yeah,” you drawled, sending her a narrowed-eye look from over your shoulder, “and by the way, I can’t believe you told him that I got the entire Krebs Cycle section right.”
Soyeon deadpanned at you and fell into step beside you as you began to wander in an aimless direction around the store. “In my defense, he asked first! I had a feeling about his score, and you know that I’m not gonna miss out on a chance to brag about my friend, so I told him about just that section.”
In truth, you weren’t upset that Soyeon disclosed this information to Seonghwa. Of course, it would have been different if you hadn’t done as well on that section, but it ultimately led to that strangely civil evening between the two of you. Since then, there had been two weeks’ worth of society gatherings and Trivia Nights, all of which passed by relatively normally, excluding the fact that the jabs you and Seonghwa exchanged were a little less biting. Not that anyone had pointed it out yet though.
You made a turn into one of the many toy aisles in this section of the store. “So what about the tutor center?” you asked, beelining to the Lego sets on the shelves.
“Getting you guys to talk about your feelings about each other is like pulling teeth,” she groaned behind you.
“I mean, a straightforward question helps,” you mused. (‘Straightforward,’ you advocated for, until someone like Jeong Yunho asked you the most straightforward question known to man and you declined to answer in exchange for a tequila shot.) You shoved your hands into the pockets of your shorts and eyed the Lego replicas of real life items: a typewriter, a flower vase, a human-sized Boba Fett helmet—
“Well, have you ever thought that you’re projecting your attraction for Seonghwa as a dislike for him instead?”
Your hand came to a stop. (Was there a tequila shot you could drink now?) What was with everyone asking you about your relationship with Seonghwa lately?
“See!”
“No, no, no—I can answer this! I can answer this,” you spluttered out defensively. You could see Soyeon bracing her hands on her hips next to you while you maintained your focus on the number of Lego bricks labeled on a box. “I can’t believe I’m being interrogated in a Target shopping aisle,” you muttered under your breath, blowing an errant piece of hair out of your eyes.
“Okay, I don't think I've ever thought of it in that way. Maybe there's some cognitive dissonance there with associating him with a lot of the negative things in our past, but—I don't know! He’s… sure, I think he is an objectively decent guy, but he’s not my type.” When you faced Soyeon, she had her arms crossed this time, an eyebrow arched. “I’m guessing you don’t agree,” you huffed.
“I really don’t want to bring up your Hinge history” —you opened your mouth to fire back a retort, but she held up her hand to stop you— “and I won’t. But consider that maybe your obsession with the two of you being in the same league has a deeper meaning than simply his being the bane of your childhood. Like, you guys have so much common footing, and I’ve gotta be honest, girl—you look at him and talk about him a lot.”
Your mouth curved into an elongated frown. You didn’t look at him ‘a lot,’ right? Not so much that it was obvious… right? If anything, the reason you looked at him so much was because—well, even you couldn’t come up with a bullshit excuse for that one. If you supposedly couldn’t stand the sight of him, then why were your eyes always drawn to him like a magnet with the force of the Earth’s poles? Even gravitational acceleration could not beat the speed at which you found him in a crowded lecture hall.
The loud buzzing of a phone tore through the white noise buzzing from the overhead lights. It made you jump out of your skin, and you fumbled around in your pockets to take out your phone.
The caller ID glared up at you like the universe’s favorite joke: Park Vader.
Soyeon peered over your shoulder and snorted. “I forgot you called him that; you’re such a dork, Yn.”
“What?” you lamented. “I thought it was clever, ‘cause he was my sworn enemy!”
She shook her head to herself as she turned around and walked a straight line out of the aisle. That left you alone with the buzzing phone in your hands, the caller on the other side undoubtedly waiting, too. You couldn’t remember the last time you received a phone call from him. Was it that one time you lost half the group during a society outing? Or was it high school graduation when he couldn’t find where his parents had gone?
You brushed those thoughts aside and accepted the call. “Hello?”
“Hey, are you free right now?”
“Uhh yeah,” you dragged out, peering around you for anyone in the vicinity. You kept the call off speaker despite no one being near. “Did you need something?”
The sounds of paper flipping and crinkling met your ears through the speaker. In your mind’s eye, you imagined him propped behind his desk and rummaging through his notebook graffitied with ballpoint pen. “That question about which substrate the antagonist functions most closely to…?”
Your brain flicked on its lights and you mentally rifled through the files labeled with ‘Biochemistry.’ Something caught your eye at the other end of the aisle, and you tucked the phone between your ear and shoulder. “Oh,” you said, “it’s succinyl-CoA because the compound inhibits the formation of citrate. The other options can be involved in the inhibition of the Krebs Cycle, but ultimately, succinyl-CoA is the only one that’s involved with the actual condensation into citrate.”
A sigh erupted from his end of the call, his breathy tone tickling at your ear and making you think of the goddamn natatorium. He was quiet for a second as you scoured the shelves lined with Lego figurines of characters from movies. The dull scratching of his ballpoint pen was loud enough for his microphone to pick up; it was a soothing sound.
“I probably could have known that from straight-up memorization, huh,” he finally said.
You removed a box with an R2-D2 figurine from its hook. “Maybe,” you conceded. “You can only memorize so much until it gets to a point, y’know, where knowing the basics and applying them is more useful than committing every little detail to memory.” Five bucks? This tiny thing should be two dollars maximum, you thought, but tossed it into the basket anyway.
He must have heard the resounding crash of weighted cardboard and gravity, because he was quick to pipe up, “Where even are you right now?”
“Target,” you answered simply. “Soyeon’s somewhere around here, too.” The statement was paired with a swivel of your head—wherever she had wandered off to, you hadn't a clue.
“Oh, did Seulgi make you guys go get stuff for the car wash thing tomorrow?”
“Nah, this is all Lillian's doing,” you replied with more mirth than resentment. “Errands in exchange for coming to support us by bringing her minivan tomorrow.”
An indignant sound crackled into your ear. “That's gotta be cheating.”
“Sorry, that I have friends, Park,” you quipped back, snickering. “Get ready to have your ass handed to you.”
“By you? Not a chance.”
You hummed absentmindedly, dallying toward the end of the aisle to begin your search for your friend. “Not by ‘chance,’” you corrected, “but by the army of our girls in bikinis.”
“Is that including you?”
You made a face. “Duh. Wait why—”
A chuckle resonated through your ear, the heat from your phone meshing with the warmth in your cheek. “See you and your bikini tomorrow, Ln.”
“Seonghwa, what the—” He hung up.
Your face ignited as you ripped the phone out from between your ear and shoulder. As expected, the End Call screen grinned back up at you. There was no way you heard what you thought you heard… but then again, there had been the pool before that, and the other car ride way before that…
Soyeon appeared from around the corner with her phone facing upward as if she herself was just on a call with someone. She peered at you curiously, her brows crinkling together. “Are you okay?”
“I think Seonghwa's been flirting with me, Soyeon,” you said. The phone was still hot in your hand. His goddamn contact was still on the screen.
She raised her hands up to the ceiling as if in prayer. “Oh, thank Mother Seulgi, you're finally awake.”
Seulgi's cul-de-sac was busier than Greek row during Rush.
Perched up high in her second story bedroom window, you could breathe in the expanse of bodies milling about, the cars slowly rolling into the dead-end street, and the dozens upon dozens of buckets and sponges piled high with mountains of soap suds. The pre-health society's car washing fundraiser was well under way, even beneath the scathing wrath of the late spring sun.
“Good morning, Aurora County!” you heard the weatherman's voice carry through one of Seulgi's roommate's radios in the house. They were probably holed up in their room down the hall, deep in a cat nap and unaware of the party around them. “Well, it's gonna be another hot one today. Temperatures are looking to soar to the mid-nineties and hundreds by late afternoon. Make sure to stay hydrated and apply that sunscreen, folks!”
You had been finishing up with some preparations inside the house while everyone else was busy getting the event started. You might have missed the moment everyone tore off their shirts and hosed the first car, but there was plenty of time for one more.
Every conversation that had transpired last night replayed freshly in your mind as you sped down the stairs and out the front door. If you were to be wholly honest, you weren't sure where your head was. This was new to you—the idea that the tension between you and Seonghwa could be anything but a rivalry. Your pulse throbbed at the junction of your throat and jaw, your palms clammy as the midday sun roasted you from even the shade of the porch.
“Yn! Get your butt down here!” came Chaeryeong's shout, her arm flailing around to beckon you over to the Chevy SUV at the mercy of her water gun.
Soyeon cupped her hands around her grinning mouth: “And take that shirt off before I do it for you!”
You let out a loud laugh, descending the porch step by slow step, teasing your fingers at the hem of your T-shirt. “Don’t any of you have manners? Where's my 'please?’”
“Please” —your head whipped over to find Wooyoung lounging in a nearby lawn chair, his shirt unbuttoned and splayed out on either side of him, eyes boasting a pair of heart-shaped glasses, and shooting you a toothy grin— “take your shirt off. For me, of course, and definitely not for anyone else.”
You guffawed, fully amused. “For you, and only you, my friend.”
“That is the goddamn spirit—oop! Gotta go!” Wooyoung rocketed out of the chair as Seulgi came barreling out of the garage fifteen feet behind him, a menacing scowl fixed on her face and a slipper raised over her head.
“Get to work, Jung Woooyoung, or so help me!” Seulgi huffed as she stood on the lawn just before you, hands braced on her jean short-clad hips. She turned halfway toward you. “Ready to rake in some money, Yn? Taeyong and the boys have gotten a headstart, but it won't help them for long,” she said, the grin on her face filled with more teeth than sportsmanship.
“Yes, ma'am,” you chirped dutifully.
She pointed in the direction of a cobalt blue sedan rolling into the lot near the entrance of the cul-de-sac proper, where you saw Lia already stationed. You sent her a salute, stole a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses off a nearby table, and jogged across the street toward Lia. The latter gladly welcomed you to the area she affectionately called “The Griddle,” thanks to the fact that she was in the flat, open expanse of the street. Her only reprieve was the big, floppy sun hat crowning her head and maybe the clipboard tucked under her arm.
She waved over the sedan to an open spot in front of one of the other houses, and to your surprise, as they rolled down the window, you were met by a familiar face.
“Long time, no see, Mingyu,” you greeted pleasantly, leaning over the window sill. You nodded in hello to the guy sitting in the passenger seat, as well.
Mingyu beamed with a kind of boyishness that made you nostalgic for high school, a rare feat. “Hey, Yn,” he said. “My friend Seungkwan and I thought we'd come to support.”
Seungkwan, the passenger, waved to you with a bright energy. “Nice to meet the girl Mingyu hasn't stopped talking about.”
“Aish—shut up, dude!” Mingyu stammered, cheeks darkening from his friend's exposé.
You giggled, the sound spilling out of your mouth from the slight second-hand embarrassment and feeling a little flattered. Sure, Mingyu was good-looking and seemed like a regular Prince Charming, but you weren't sure he was someone you were interested in at this moment. (Or was exactly your type, as Soyeon would say.) Your smile was cordial, bordering on polite. “Ah well, thanks for coming out to show your support. We really appreciate it.”
“Of course!” he was quick to recover. “Do you guys want us to sit outside and wait, or…?”
“Either is fine,” you said with a shrug and took a couple steps back toward Lia. You needed to locate a bucket and sponges and maybe even a hose before you could get started. “Make yourselves comfortable, guys.”
You shimmied your way over to Lia's side. “Hey, is there any extra soap and water around here?”
Lia hissed through her teeth and tapped her chin with the back of her pencil. “Ooh,” she murmured, “you know what? Let me find someone who can get you that—”
“I got it, Lia.”
Your heart palpitated, your lungs seized. For some reason, his voice sounded rough around the edges, and there were only so many instances when you could use heat as an excuse for delusions like this. You swore to god that Park Seonghwa just appeared out of nowhere, setting two buckets of sudsy sponges at your feet, but not before peering at you through long lashes with the intention to make you feel warmth from a source other than the sun.
His shoulders were already well bronzed in his tank top, the fabric loose to give his skin room to breathe. He carded a hand through his damp hair and looked you up and down. “I was promised a bikini.”
You blinked, and for a moment, you nearly forgot who you were. The attitude came zipping back in a second. “Actually, you were promised a proper beating.”
“I could deal with that, too,” he drawled back, arms braiding across his chest.
(Lia quietly excused herself, likely to go run off in Soyeon and Seulgi's direction with the freshest of news. It was almost too easy to give you both privacy; how obsessed did you have to be with one another to forget that the world continued on when you were together?)
You flashed him a saccharine smile and bent slightly to pick up the buckets he’d delivered. “Well, thanks for the stuff. I'm gonna go clean Mingyu's car now.” Before he could even process what you said, you were already walking yourself back in the direction of your assigned car. Somewhere behind you, you registered the sound of Yeosang calling out for Seonghwa to help with a new car coming in.
When you reached the sedan again, you set the buckets by the driver’s side, the car now left to its own devices while Mingyu and Seungkwan loitered on the curbside nearby.
“Yn, d’you need help?” Chaeryeong jogged over in her sandals and flipped her hair over her shoulder with a big grin on her face. The water gun she wielded earlier had disappeared.
“Definitely,” you said back, nodding. You took the heart-shaped glasses off and handed them to her. “Hold these, please.”
Your fingers once again met the bottom hem of your T-shirt. A familiar sensation warmed at the side of your head akin to a light burn. Your eyes wandered in the direction of the stare that seared into you, and your pulse throttled up against your skin when you made eye contact with Seonghwa from across the street. He had the door of his newest vehicle propped open and half his body drenched from chest to waist already, but he halted any activity as if he sensed what was about to happen.
You didn’t know what was wrong with you, but you held his stare while you tugged your shirt up and over your head. Immediately, your skin breathed a sigh of relief at being freed from the fabric incubator that was your cover-up. You tossed the garment onto the side of the road where a drink cooler had been left.
Chaeryeong suddenly coughed and leaned toward you, passing the sunglasses back into your hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Seonghwa look so intense.”
That phantom burn continued to flare against your head. You stole a quick glance back in that direction, your heart rate rocketing when you caught the way his eyes flickered over the expanse of exposed skin framed by a baby blue bikini top.
“Then you should see how locked-in he gets when doing exams,” you joked to Chaeryeong. It was a pathetic attempt at dismissing the fluttering in your stomach.
She shot you a look, her mouth pursing. “No, girl, I think he wants to do you like one.”
If there was one way to get you to shut up with haste, it was that. Your jaw snapped shut before it could fully unhinge. No way. Nowaynowaynoway—you hiked your sunglasses up on top of your head to push your hair out of your face. All of a sudden, you were hyper-aware of the presence across the street from you; and for the first time, it wasn’t because you were solely looking to school his ass at something. When had you become so conscious about him looking at you?
You forced the thought to the back of your mind; in fact, you shoved it under a mental floorboard, hammered it in with a mental nail, and draped a mental rug over it. There were more important things to deal with at present and who were you if not a champion of absolute focus?
It truly proved to be a challenge for your mental faculties. As the late morning simmered into high noon, you and your society-mates must have cleaned about a few dozen cars. If the pre-health society did not collect at least a couple thousand in donations by the end of the day, you would declare your retirement. The heat was beginning to wear on you and everyone else, the sun’s rays beating down from above while the hot asphalt beneath discharged heat waves, completing a proper assault on two fronts.
You swiped the fat droplet of sweat rolling down the side of your face with your arm, despite it mixing with the layer of perspiration already settled atop your skin. You, Soyeon, and some of the other girls just finished up with a fraternity brother’s dirt- and dust-slicked truck, and were making your way back toward home base.
Soyeon slumped one of her arms around your shoulders before her head came tumbling down next. “Man, the tan lines we’re gonna end up with are going to be diabolical,” she whined. “And right before summer, too! What am I supposed to do in a backless dress and my body’s in three different shades?”
“I don’t know, but you’re still hot regardless of how many shades your body is,” you mused back with a cheeky grin. The two of you stood within range of the front lawn sprinklers, which had been so graciously activated by one of Seulgi’s housemates. You had already spotted some of the boys making full use of the cool water when they took their break earlier.
“Have I ever told you I love you?”
You chuckled and patted her head, your movements sun-soaked and lethargic. “Love you, too, babe.”
A high-pitched yelp pierced the air and the sound echoed against the surrounding houses of the cul-de-sac. You and Soyeon tracked the noise to the boys’ side of the street, where Wooyoung was scrambling away from the group like his ass was on fire, his hair and body dripping wet. The culprit, it seemed, was Yunho, of all people.
“Oh my god,” you mumbled, “who let Yunho have the hose?” A small chuckle left your throat as you watched the chaos unfold. The wicked, toothy grin slathered over Yunho's face was enough to tell anyone in the vicinity that he meant Business.
The trajectory of the hose spray continued on down the line before it reached the side of a black four-wheeler. Someone shouted from behind the trunk, before Seonghwa and Hongjoong emerged, their bodies sopping wet from head to toe.
“Yah! Jeong Yunho,” Hongjoong cried with a shaking fist before flicking off the water from his arms and legs.
But your attention fixed upon the man next to him with the magnetism of an MRI scanner to a slab of metal. You couldn't rationalize how the world slowed, but when Seonghwa yanked the black tank top—drenched and clinging to every crevice of his body—over his head, it definitely happened in slow motion. He shook out his dripping wet hair and scooped it backward and out of his face with one hand.
Your head whipped away before he could notice you were watching—or drooling, for that matter. (What was wrong with you? You swiped at the corner of your mouth to thumb away the saliva there.) If anyone asked, the reason your face and neck were so warm was because of the burning ball of plasma reigning over your heads.
You heard your name being called out from your left, and you and Soyeon waited for Seulgi to come to a stop by you both. “Hey, what's up?” you asked her.
There was a clipboard in her hand, similar to the one Lia had been holding onto earlier. “You remember where my laundry room is, right?” When you nodded an affirmative, she continued, “Would you mind doing me a huge favor and grabbing a stack of the smaller towels on the rack in there?”
“Oh, I'll go with you,” Soyeon piped up.
Seulgi made a sound that had both you and Soyeon freezing in place. A beat of silence passed between them, almost like telepathic communication.
“I just remembered” —Soyeon gave your shoulder a squeeze and began stepping away in the direction of a nearby cooler— “I was gonna go restock some of the coolers with White Claws. Sorry, Yn!”
“Thanks, Yn!” Seulgi chirped. “Remember that the laundry door has a weird lock—”
You sent her a thumb's up. “I remember,” you assured her, then made your way up the porch steps. You shook your head with a scrunched nose. That was… interesting.
The laundry room was infamous for its dysfunctional locking mechanism. You and the girls from the society had plenty of slumber parties in this house, and thus, knew very well that the laundry room in the basement would slam shut and jam on the inside. There was always a little doorstop to keep it open, but at times, the house's occupants would remove the doorstop if one of the machines were running.
You wormed your way through Seulgi's house toward the basement entrance, cutting beneath the stairs and into the house's foundation. The small fan blew out over the room with a gentle and low breeze, and afternoon sunlight poured in through the slim windows.
The laundry room door was tucked away on the far side of the room, and you paused just outside the door. Huh. It was closed.
Carefully, you pulled it open and peeked inside. No machine was running. You yanked the cord by the door to turn on the small strip light overhead; you couldn't spot the Ditto Pokémon doorstop either.
“Don't be stupid,” you muttered to yourself, and closed the door while you went around the basement to look for a replacement doorstop. You made a loop around the basement and checked the cabinets by the pool table, eyeing a folded chair shoved in haphazardly with the pool cues.
The chair was chosen, and you propped it open between the door and the doorjamb, preventing yourself from being locked inside. “Why is this door so goddamn heavy,” you pondered aloud, scrutinizing the way the weight of the laundry door pushed the folding chair until it was flush against the doorway.
Whatever. That would be fine for now.
You clambered in through the opening and went straight for the rack at the furthest end of the room. How many towels was Seulgi asking for? If it was the small ones, it might have just been for drying the cars, perhaps…
Your thoughts slowed as the sound of footsteps resounded against the basement stairs. You glanced upwards, then back toward the door.
Thunk, thunk, thunk—then, “Ln? Yn, you in here?”
Brows crossing, you straightened. “Seonghwa?”
Sure enough, Seonghwa's head of damp hair appeared through the opening. His gaze flickered from the chair between the door and the wall, then back up at you. “Seulgi said you might need help.”
“Oh.” So she didn't want Soyeon helping, but now Seonghwa was down here? There was something fishy going on… You turned back to the rack. “I mean, it's just towels.”
“Is there not a lot of them? She said there was a lot.” There was a soft shuffling sound, followed by a hollow clank as the chair was moved.
Shit. You whirled around, eyes widened as you watched him slip inside and set the chair aside. “Waitwait—don’t let it” —SLAM— “close!” A screech loosened from your throat as the wood vibrated from impact behind Seonghwa.
Your counterpart, to his credit, stood stock-still with his eyes blown wide. If he were a bunny rabbit, his ears would have been pressed flat against his head. “There… was a reason that chair was there, huh,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Yes,” you sighed deeply. You dragged a hand down your face as you racked your brain for a solution. “It's fine. You didn't know about the door.”
“I'm sorry, I—that’s so stupid. Why haven't they called their landlord about this?” He rattled the doorknob to no avail, pink dusting his cheekbones as he tried to find some imaginary way out of the laundry room.
“Do you have your phone on you?”
Seonghwa patted his pockets, then groaned. “Fuck,” he swore, raking a hand through his damp hair, “I took it out of my pockets earlier because I didn't want it to get wet.”
Dread curdled in your stomach and you leaned your hip against the drying machine. “Same here.”
The two of you averted gazes as the reality of your situation sank in. Your only hope was the fact that both Seulgi and Soyeon knew of your whereabouts and were bound to come looking for you should you not turn up in a reasonable amount of time. For a moment, you tilted your head back and stared up at the popcorn ceiling. Out of all the people you could have gotten stuck with, of course, it would be Park Seonghwa.
Your conversation over the phone last night sparked in your head, along with the stares you had been exchanging all day. You glanced over at him, his bare back now pressed against the door as he stared at the floor in thought; but he raised his head to meet your eyes. “What?”
“Can you—can I ask you a question and will you answer honestly?”
He stared at you for a moment, then ducked his head. “Yeah, sure. Shoot.”
“Have you been… flirting with me?” As soon as the question left your mouth, you wished so badly to reel it back in. Oh, the utterly horrified tightening in your chest—was this a physical symptom of embarrassment?
The room was quiet enough to hear the muffled sound of the outdoor speakers driving their sound waves through the ground. You really hoped he didn't laugh. You wouldn't laugh if he confirmed it, but if he laughed, you would probably just about die of embarrassment. (But maybe you were willing to risk that. If what Soyeon talked to you about last night had any grounds, maybe there was a small part of both of you that was misinterpreting everything.)
Seonghwa's posture tautened and he pulled his shoulders back as if bracing himself. “Maybe I have been.”
“Oh.” You had not been expecting such a straightforward answer.
He seemed to register your daze in a certain way, and he began moving toward you. “Is that an issue for you?” he asked lowly, his head tilting to the side while he eyed you.
You cleared your throat, shook your head. “No,” you whispered.
“It's not?” he murmured. He was closer now, close enough that if you extended your arm, your fingers would press up against the broad expanse of his chest. “So you're not uncomfortable?”
“Uncomfortable? I wouldn't say uncomfortable,” you babbled as he took another step closer. “It's just that I'm not used to hearing something like that from you, addressing me—”
“So you're saying I should do it more often?” Seonghwa's lip twitched with the ghost of a smile. “To get you more used to it, I mean.”
When did this become an interrogation of you? Didn't you ask the first question? (Had he always been so close? You'd never seen abs this close before.) “Okay, stop!” You pressed your hands to his clavicle bones, and despite realizing you were touching the firm and bare flesh of his chest, you did not remove your hands. “What are we doing?”
He cocked his head to the side, eyeing you. The smile stopped ghosting you and curled up into his cheek. “We're having a conversation about flirting, Ln. Do keep up.”
You couldn't help yourself from rolling your eyes. It was like holding a lighter under a fuse, and you yanked your hands away from him as if you’d just been burned by a hot stove. “I'm flustered, not stupid!” you sputtered, fumbling desperately for an ounce of dignity because it had never been this easy for Seonghwa to get you like this, right?
“I never said otherwise,” he said, chuckling. His chin inclined at you, hands bracketing on either side of your body upon the washing machine your back dug into. “You’re a smart girl. What do the combined symptoms of dilated pupils” —his finger tapped the bridge of your nose— “rapid pulse” —another tap by your carotid artery on the underside of your jaw— “and shallow breathing” —a graze over your sternum— “suggest in this specific context?”
The answer materialized in your throat as a lump and you forced it down. Your eyes strayed to his mouth, unable to help yourself, but this action was swiftly mirrored by the man in front of you. In all the years you knew him, you had never seen him from this proximity before—you never let yourself. (Had his lips always been so pink?) Any attempt at closeness was always replaced by an exchange of barbed wits.
Your brain did the only thing it knew how to when it came to him. “God, you're such a fucking nerd,” you spat, then grabbed his face and kissed him.
He made a sound against your mouth—surprise, by the way his feet stumbled, knees knocking against yours and the washing machine—then recovered, leaning into you with purpose, hands finding purchase on the bare skin of your waist to yank you closer.
You decided he made the faint remnants of Coors Light on his tongue taste sublime. You suddenly couldn't get enough of it. Your arms hooked around his neck, fingers burying themselves in the hairs at his nape. Every cell in your body was geared toward this man, and this man only—your air exchanging with his, pulses pounding near in sync.
For once, your brain wasn't thinking. It wasn't thinking about what was happening outside that door, it wasn't thinking about how long you might be stuck in here, it wasn't thinking about ways to get out of here. Why would you want to get out of here? The heat conducted between your bodies could power the goddamn street for all you cared; the sensation of firm muscle against your stomach was enough to send you spiralling.
Seonghwa cupped the side of your jaw and coaxed your head back, your mouth further open. “Holy shit,” he rasped, voice worlds past Gone, then devoured you whole.
Holy shit, indeed. A whimper tumbled out from the back of your throat as you were pressed harder against the metal of the washing machine. Your mouths seared against one another like a brand, soft and breathy sounds seeping out from between you two, indistinguishable. Out of all the people in the world, how did kissing this man feel this right? Were some people just meant to ruin your life—ruin you—in more ways than one?
When you broke for air, his lips chased yours briefly, the string of saliva a physical attachment between you. For a moment, it was only heavy panting, eyes shut, noses bumping one another.
Reality did not settle like the hot humidity of summer on skin; it rolled in with the impending doom of thunder clouds. Literally.
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM—a herd of stomps shook the walls around you, then were quickly followed by knocks so horrendously violent, one might believe that there was a murderer on the other side. “Yn, Hwa? Are you guys alive in there?”
Why would they have the decency to knock? Hands went to Seonghwa's chest and you forced some space between you two. You avoided his stare as you furiously fixed your hair and willed your mouth to look anything but kissed. “Yeah, will you open the damn door, Yunho?”
The laundry room door was hauled open, and on the other side was a handful of familiar faces, all quirked into curious expressions as they peered into the small space. They took in both of your appearances—no one needed to say anything.
“Towels,” you said aloud, your brain finally toggling on. You whirled back toward the back shelf and began loading your arms with the small towels Seulgi had asked for. (There was a sense prodding at the back of your mind that she never really needed them, but you would choose to do anything rather than confront the decision you just made.)
Seonghwa called your name as you passed by. Your lips burned as you continued walking.
Seonghwa's head no longer housed a brain, but a film projector constantly rewinding and playing a specific, 15-minute cut.
The fundraiser had long since concluded with Seulgi and Taeyong comparing values to determine that the girls had indeed raised more money. Everyone was free to return home, or loiter around Seulgi's house like a bunch of freeloaders. Some, like himself and Hongjoong, decided to dip back home for a quick shower and a nap, then return in time to meet everyone back here for a movie.
You were not one of the people who returned.
He sat in the driver's seat of his car, a beaded bracelet warming in his palm. Every time he rewound the past, he came to similar conclusions: he egged you on, but you kissed him first. He reciprocated the kiss and he was sure you seemed into it. Maybe he had been wrong.
No matter what Hongjoong said to soothe his ego, Seonghwa was still left with this pit in his stomach. Should he not have touched your relationship? Since that night at the library, there had been less distance between you; he had been making progress. He needed to talk to you about it, perhaps apologize. You initiated the kiss, but you were allowed to change your mind. You were allowed to be swept up by the heat of the moment.
His eyes fluttered shut for a moment. When he opened them, he loosened his jaw with a sigh, tossed the bracelet into the cupholder, and replaced it with his keys. Go home, sleep on it, call her tomor—
The passenger side door opened and shut. The car filled with light notes of jasmine and bergamot and pear—the smell of summer and you.
He couldn't comprehend what was happening before you clunked something onto the dashboard next to his C-3PO. He blinked; it was a Lego figurine of R2-D2. (There went his steady heartbeat.)
You stared at the figurine you had placed, your hands settling into your lap. Your hair was still slightly damp, and the amber streetlight right outside your window casted a diabolically divine glow across your profile. “I thought it was time the spot was filled,” you said.
Seonghwa glanced between R2 and you. “Ah,” he replied, swallowing, “thanks.”
“I've always liked Star Wars better than Star Trek,” you blurted. “I just kind of… said all of that that one time because you seemed so on-edge about me being in your space.” You shook your head and picked at the skin on your fingers. “I don't know why I'm saying this.”
His brows furrowed slightly at your confession. This whole time… Why were you saying this now? The epiphany hit him in the chest, a blunt force that might have sent him stumbling if he were standing. There were so many layers to this confession. He looked at the R2 and C-3 figurines again; the pair was finally complete.
“Why didn't you tell me?” he inquired with a voice barely audible. It was one thing that you never outwardly judged him for his love of Star Wars or Legos, but it was another thing entirely that you claimed to be a Star Trek fan and allowed him to tease you.
“I convinced myself it was right for the time,” you said. A beat passed. “I'm sorry for basically running away earlier,” you continued on quietly. “I know I'm the one who kissed you first.”
“You don't need to apologize for that,” he murmured. “It all kind of happened really fast, and you know, it's okay if you didn't really mean it.”
Your head turned to look at him now—really look at him. He couldn't help but meet your gaze as opposite poles of a magnet did without fail. “I meant it. I don't know what it means, but I meant it. And I—liked it. A lot.” The latter was uttered with such fragility, such vulnerability; it was cupping a snowflake in your palms and hoping the natural heat of your body did not melt it.
(You had gone home earlier this evening to wash up and laid in bed with the taste of him taking up residence on your tongue. Staring at the ceiling had lost its appeal after the first hour, and it took the efforts of both Soyeon and Ronnie to drag you out of your mental prison.
“Did you like it?” they'd asked. “And don't say no just because it's Seonghwa and you have an ego; be honest with yourself.”
You sat there before them—scared, nervous, and embarrassed—but without a doubt in your mind as to the answer.)
Seonghwa wondered if you could hear the thrashing of blood in his ears like he could. He wondered if your heart pounded as vigorously as his did, if your mouth burned with the phantom of his, if you were confused by how you had gone on so long not seeing who was in front of you this whole time. (Because if he was being honest, you were the measure no one has been able to compare to in his head, in any capacity.)
“I liked it a lot, too,” he said. He would not let that snowflake melt, at least not by your hands alone.
Your eyes glimmered with silvery as they widened. “Oh.”
Seonghwa offered you a small smile, then cleared his throat as he remembered something. His eyes went to the discarded bracelet in the cupholder, and he fished it out with a sheepish wince. “I, uh, made you this awhile back” —he deposited it into your waiting palms— “'cause you weren't able to finish your own bracelet at the event.” Seonghwa had been fidgeting with that thing in his pocket that entire evening.
“So that's what you had in your pocket during the walk.”
He startled. “You noticed?”
The corner of your lip tilted upward into a semblance of a smirk. You scoffed. “I notice everything about you,” the words slipped out of your mouth before you could catch them.
The weight of them rested heavy upon both of you, but not uncomfortably. Seonghwa relished in the sudden way you avoided his eye contact, and he decided that one embarrassing line could be traded for another. He let out a small laugh. “I just chickened out because it sounded stupid to give it to you and say I wished we could start over.”
God, why did that still sound stupid? Everything coming out of his mouth was stupid. It was impossible to have a do-over with so much history between you two, but… wasn't it worth a shot?
You absentmindedly rubbed at the arrangement of beads and artful knots along the thread, your mind seemingly far away. He had made you a friendship bracelet, or was it a do-over bracelet, or was it far more complicated than either or those? “I don't think we could ever start over.”
His heart plummeted into his stomach. Right. Rightrightright.
“But I wanna try whatever this is.” You wrapped the bracelet cord around your wrist, looping it and tightening it to the perfect circumference. “I think we owe ourselves that much.”
A smile, so gentle and tender like the spring breeze, blossomed on his face. It was gladness in physical form. You couldn't help but break into a similar expression, and the thought occurred to him that you must have always had that smile. How could you know so much about each other and yet, nothing at all? What were you supposed to do with so much history?
It was a lot like layers of skin peeling away from a healing sunburn. All that damage caused over the years might take just as long to turnover, but who were either of you if not up for a challenge?
Not bad for a couple of nerds.
a/n: they tied for first place in the "who will get married first" debate by the way. pls remember to reblog + comment if u enjoyed !!
► 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 - king!San x fem!reader ◄
► 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎/𝙰𝚄 - historical and royalty au, cursed trope, angst, slow burn, tension, San is cold and a bit mean but only in the beginning, magic, generalised dark themes, not-so forced proximity, engagement, sacrifice, power imbalance, San got so darn sweet here it was driving me insane, downbad!San (stand up, my guy) ◄
► 𝚁𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐/𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 - PG-18+ so MDNI!!! vomiting (San was unwell), slight mentions of blood (from injuries) , kinky smut, possessive!San, making out, nipple play, exhibitionism, pussy eating, fingering, rough sex, cum on mouth and face, cum play, choking on cum, standing up sex, cowgirl, missionary, breeding kink, clothed sex, dacryphilia, degradation, marking kink, slight sadism and masochism (just squint), creampie, unprotected sex, (DO NOT DO THIS) ◄
► 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 30.8K words (sorry Topaz) ◄
► 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 - San ruled a kingdom buried in snow, rumoured to be cursed, where people cannot leave once entered. The snow was harsh, unforgiving, never melted, and it only took but never gave. He was cursed king with a cursed land, and you were engaged to him not out of love, but to steady the crown that nobody respected due to fear. He treated you with coldness and formality, reinforcing the rumours that he was incapable of warmth, let alone affection. But as the truth of the curse unraveled, so did your understanding of the man you were meant to marry, and now one question remained - is San the cursed one or was he the one who cursed the land? ◄
► 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 - This is my submission for the KSS Frost & Fire Exchange event for @sanjoongie (surprise!) who made that beautiful moodboard and wrote me a fic in return. I really tried my best here and I'm sorry it got so long, your moodboard looked a little too good to not have crazy plot in there. I genuinely hope you like this, I'm actually terrified ah.◄
► 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - @0rangemilk @ginger-mingi @ruubyrubes @oddracha @jaytheatiny @roxannecos @juicy-red @cheolliehugs @sunnysidesins @jjongbearshoney @midnightrebel1028 @mallielovssyou @jenluvzen @lovebuggjoy @mingiblossoms @crybabydollette @mustardmilkshake @asesinas @minyunsan-kitten ◄
He was a king with a crown of gnarled bones.
At least, that’s what they all said. An eye isn’t an eye because you look at it - it’s an eye because it looks back at you and we don’t see things as they are; we see them as we are.
“What of the other kingdoms?” His voice traversed the vast hall, echoing against the stone walls of the Great Halls. He was impassive, nonchalant, but make no mistake, for his presence blanketed the entire expanse of the room.
You stood obediently off to the far side of his throne, almost unseen, but there nonetheless, just patiently waiting until the meeting was done. It was hard not to stare at the enigma that was Choi San. It wasn’t that he called for everyone’s attention just because he was the king, rather, he demanded it.
He didn’t need it either. He just had it. Even a sliver of his shadow had everyone’s attention. Hell, even his footsteps sounded different from the rest. San wasn’t domineering nor commanding because he wore a crown. He was dominant because the air bent around for him.
“Word travels fast, my liege. I reckon it’s already reached the kingdoms up north like that of Wonderland and Horizon,” Park Seonghwa reported, reverence in his tone as he addressed his King. “I could send the troops to check out their militia and perhaps where their loyalties lie.”
Your eyes momentarily fleeted towards Seonghwa. The High Marshal was an honourable and proper leader, a skilled military man who led the kingdom’s armies in multiple battles and wars not many have had the guts to, and you knew he had San’s utmost respect. As if sensing eyes on him, he briefly met eyes with you, smiling in courtesy, before training them at San once more.
“No need,” San droned, raising one hand, halting motion that meant to stop even your inner thoughts. Such was the power he wielded. “The risk is too high for so little reward.”
He paused, tilting his head to the side, looking out the large window that overlooked the vast majority of the castlegrounds that were covered in nothing but thick snow. Melancholy was clear in his eyes, though he tried to cover it up with something steely.
He stood up from his throne slowly, deliberately as his eyes scanned the entirety of the room, leaving no space from anyone to breathe under his suffocating gaze. His fur-lined cloak that draped over his shoulders shifted with him, following his every movement as he began to walk off, the finality of his steps leaving no room for anyone to argue with him.
“Rest up, Seonghwa,” he said, the words low but echoing, as if the castle itself carried his voice forward for him. “The troops as well. You’ve done me well.”
Seonghwa blinked before inhaling sharply. He trudged forward, brows furrowed. “Your Grace—”
“I said,” San murmured, barely audible, but it was there. Everyone heard it, and the air shifted into something sharp as his voice tilted into a quiet warning. “Rest up.”
You gritted your teeth, composing yourself to stop the shiver that threatened to travel up your spine. This…you will never get used to this - to him. His words drifted through the Great Halls and they held weight enough to crush whatever protest Seonghwa thought he could muster.
San continued forward, not bothering to look back as his footsteps got closer and closer until he was almost in front of you. Immediately, you bowed, bunching your dress up in your fists as you lowered your head slightly.
One would expect that as the king’s betrothed that he’d give you the same curtsy, or at least acknowledge you, but the way he completely ignored your existence was what you got. You were used to it. You had anticipated it, even. What a pity on your end, really.
As San passed you to walk away, his eyes briefly met yours, and by God, were they cold and indifferent. His gaze was earth-dark, not empty and not grounding, like land that dried up anything that grew on it.
What you weren’t expecting, however, was for him to stop halfway to address you. You tensed, this has never happened before. You tried to hold eye contact, but couldn’t. You couldn’t stand the way he stared at you because it always made you flinch. It was dark and dangerous.
“What are you doing here?” San questioned tersely, voice carrying a hint of irritation he tried to hide with courtesy. “Where’s Hongjoong?”
Hongjoong was your guard. “Your Majesty,” you mumbled through the intimidation. “Forgive my impudence. I was merely wondering if I could invite you for a cup of tea—”
“Answer my question,” he interrrupted, cutting you off cleanly like a blade that just hit fresh grass. His eyes were narrowed, unblinking and unyielding.
“My King,” Choi Jongho, the King’s royal advisor, whispered subtly. “Perhaps we ought to calm down, the people are looking our way—”
San lifted one finger, effectively silencing his own advisor with a subtle threat that carried the promise of ruin as if he’d already planned his end if he let one more word out. All while his eyes were still on you. “Hongjoong,” he repeated. “Where is he?”
You swallowed, your tongue suddenly heavy. “Hongjoong didn’t need to accompany me,” you said carefully. “I was on my way to see you, Your Majesty, so I dismissed him.”
San stilled, and so did you. He wasn’t pleased with your answer, but he didn’t look the least surprised by it. In fact, he didn’t even care. “I see,” was all he said, and the way he uttered it sounded more like an afterthought rather than an acknowledgement.
Then, he started walking past you again. It wasn’t dramatic, he had just already decided you were not worth another second of his attention. You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to bow to him once more as heat and shame traveled to your face at his blatant dismissal of you.
It wasn’t because you feared him. You stopped fearing him a long time ago, and if you were being honest, you never had any reason to fear him or be intimidated by him to begin with simply because he barely acknowledged your presence, anyway.
“Do not loiter around the Great Halls,” he spoke, cold and uncaring. “Next time, send a message if you have something you wish to tell me. You serve no purpose being idle around here.”
You were used to his disdain he reserved solely for you, but still, that stung more than you let on. It was the way he said it, too, that made you feel worse. It was meant to haunt your thoughts, the kind that followed you even after he was gone.
You stood there, hands clasped, head bowed, letting the echo of his footsteps fade down the corridor. You felt a hand to your shoulder and it was Jongho. He gave you a tight-lipped smile that was meant to comfort you, squeezing your shoulder once as his eyes shone with that familiar pity that everyone also gave you when the king talked down on you like he always did.
“Don’t take it to heart,” he said with a small sigh, eyes on the corridor that San had turned. “He’s…it’s not like that, he didn’t mean it like that.”
You hummed, nodding out of courtesy. “I suppose,” you mumbled, barely audible. “Just like the tens of thousands of times he’s done it.”
Because you did try, you always did. You tried doing your part to get along with the man you were going to spend your earthly years with in this castle, and you had hoped foolishly that he'd meet you halfway all the time, but all you’ve been getting was contempt. Mingi stayed silent, for even he cannot deny that you were right.
“Let me accompany you to your chambers, my lady,” he kindly offered. “Supper will commence shortly. I would suppose you’d like to rest for a bit before then.”
“There is no need,” you mumbled quietly, smiling softly. “I can find my way back. And I’m going to have to decline supper for tonight, my appetite has gone away. Would you be so kind to send our dear chef my regards? Yeosang’s food is always splendid, just not tonight, I’m afraid.”
Jongho frowned, hesitant, before sighing. “As you wish, my lady. I bid you a good night.”
You curtsied quickly, turning the other direction to walk away. However, instead of going to your chambers, you chose to turn to another hallway, opting to take a walk to clear your head and your muddled thoughts.
The massive window at the end of the corridors always fascinated you. It was where you went when you had to think and today was no exception. You glanced outside, watching as endless snow fell from the sky. The hallways felt colder to you. San felt colder. Much colder.
A couple of months ago, you wouldn’t even dare dream stepping inside a palace, much less the one that San ruled. You still remember the first time you arrived and the first time you laid eyes on the man you were about to wed, but always put a wall in between you.
Poverty and famine had struck the lands where you were born and raised. You were used to it - born into it - but at least there was once a time where you lived on a quaint farm with your parents. But alas, famine chooses no one. It takes and takes, and your parents were no exception to that fate.
And you tried to sustain the farm, tried your very best to make the best of yourself under the dire circumstances you were handed, but it wasn’t enough. Drought had struck the land, crops died, and plague had seemingly struck what little poultry and bovine you raised. It was painful, but you had to leave your farm and village all together. You weren’t going to die along with it.
It wasn’t easy; none of it was. You had just lost both of your parents and your hometown all in the span of a month and you were a lone traveling girl looking for the next best thing without falling prey to thieves and vagabonds looking for their next victim.
But there was only so much you can take. Food was scarce, begging wasn’t an option any longer, and the streets weren’t the most conducive place to sleep most nights. Winter was coming and the chills weren’t helping your sore feet and empty stomach.
Giving up wasn’t so terrible back then because at least, you could tell your maker that you had at least tried to survive - that you were a fighter who was just given a bad hand in life.
If you were going to perish from fatigue and hunger, though, you at least wanted to go where the air wasn’t thick with grief and suffering. If this was the end, you wanted it to be somewhere that at least looked like peace, even if you’d never quite managed to feel it.
And then, you remembered that there was a nearby kingdom that was rumoured to be surrounded with so much snow, it was impossible to see through it. You’ve never seen snow before. With your remaining money, you bought a horse and settled for the journey onto this unknown kingdom.
“Just a moment,” the man you bought the horse from stopped you just as you were about to leave. “Where did you say you were going again?”
You hesitated, not because you were keeping your journey a secret, but the look in this man’s face seemed to tell you that he knew and was just confirming if he heard you right. “That kingdom that’s nearby here,” you finally answered. “The one in the snow.”
His eyes widened in shock before they drooped with something akin to alarm and trepidation all at once. “Oh, dear child, must you go? Are you not privy to the curse that lay in that land?”
The Kingdom of Utopia, but nobody called it that; they say that if you utter even the kingdom’s name, then the curse that befell there would be placed upon you. Such a beautiful name for a place no one can speak out loud.
Such a contradictory name for something that was anything but utopia.
Because the snow never melted. Not in the summer, not under the brightest suns. Snow covered the entire expanse of the land and it made inhabiting it near impossible. Some believed that the snow swallowed flames, and some believed the kingdom had been punished by the heavens themselves. No one knew the truth, and no one dared to go and find out.
“If that is the case,” you wondered out loud as you loaded what little of your belongings on your newly purchased horse. “Then why don’t the people just leave if it was so cursed?”
“Because they can’t,” the man answered, shivering slightly, though not because of the breeze that passed. “Once you get in, there is no way out. The snow is so thick and harsh that your soul would be gone from your body way before your foot can even attempt to step out. The people are trapped in there, my dear. I suggest traveling somewhere else.”
You were startled out of your memories when you heard a cough behind you. You turned around, expecting to find a servant who was wondering what the future queen was doing loitering around the halls, but you sighed in relief when you saw who it was instead.
“I knew I’d find you here,” Wooyoung chuckled, bowing his head slightly in curtsy. “Sir Hongjoong was a tad bit worried when you didn't come back to your chambers, my lady.”
You smiled in fondness. “I just wanted a bit of space, is all,” you said with a small shrug. “I needed time to think about certain things.”
A certain someone, you didn’t want to say, but Wooyoung already knew. His smile dropped slightly, eyes shining with sadness only you knew what for. “I know you’ve heard this all before,” he began. “But you have to extend a bit of understanding towards His Majesty. He’s…been through a lot, my lady. I implore you to forgive him.”
“I am far from angry at him,” you softly replied with a sigh. “I…just wish he’d drop his walls with me once in a while. It was my fault, I was the one who bothered him.”
“Nonsense, my lady,” Wooyoung quickly spoke, shaking his head vigorously. “You are his betrothed, you are allowed to bother him. Worry not, it’ll get better in time.” He extends a hand to you. “Shall I escort you back to your chambers, then?”
You nodded, putting your hand on top of his. Everyone always rushed to defend San whenever events like earlier happen, and you get it, Utopia did have its reputation and rumours after all.
But that’s all there was to it - rumours. Tales that are passed through taverns and alleyways to spook or entertain a wandering traveler. It wasn’t to frighten you. You’ve experienced the true horrors of what an actual curse is, and it took away everything you loved and held dear.
These were the thoughts that you couldn’t help but think the entire time Wooyoung led you to your room; your journey where it all began and why sometimes, you couldn’t even be mad at San whenever he deliberately dismissed you.
The entire journey, you were beginning to doubt everything. The biting chill of the snowstorm that hit your skin was almost painful . You’d think that the cold would’ve numbed you by now, but no. The more you traversed the land and the nearer you got, the more prickling it felt. It was like the snow was slowly sloughing your skin off until it reached your bones.
The kingdom was near enough where you didn’t have to stop and camp, but it was too late to go back by then. Grief and stubbornness lead you to where you were, knee deep in so much snow, your poor horse had a hard time crossing through it. Your fingers throbbed, your jaw ached, and your eyes watered from the sting of air that wished to carve itself into you.
Maybe they were right, because this was no ordinary weather - this was the land, itself, warning you. Coldness like this was meant to resent anybody that dared challenge it, and you were the fool who looked it in the eye and took it, anyway.
By a long shot of miracle, somehow, you managed to make it, though you were barely hanging on to the fact that you at least wanted to see if you could find a place for your horse to stay. It was your fault that it was put in this situation anyway. If not for your foolishness, it would have still been in another kingdom where it was warmer.
You were falling apart, you could tell, your senses were beginning to dull, and your already weakened state wasn’t helping at all. You found an empty alleyway, and the moment you hit the wall, your knees gave out, puffs of visible breath leaving out your mouth.
This was the end, you could feel it. You took this time to actually look at your surroundings now that you’re not moving. It was hard to regret it now that you’re here. Snow was beautiful, there was no other way to describe it. The texture of it felt funny in your hand, too. You were expecting it to feel fluffier. Still, it didn’t diminish its beauty and you didn’t mind.
You could see the castle walls from where you slumped, the pale outline of it through the white haze, where it housed the darker side of the rumours you’ve been told right before you traveled.
It was the king. Choi San. He was the centre of the rumours right where it all began, the very reason why they say Utopia was cursed. Some say that he was a demon who brought on the snow to isolate his kingdom. Most believed that the land that the castle was built upon was sacred and that the Choi clan did not heed the warnings and sent this was the punishment - that the snow itself was the everlasting famine destined to freeze everyone in it.
But the cruelest rumour of them all was that San, himself, might have been the source of the curse. People say that he sold his soul for eternal youth and immense power so long as the kingdom around him froze.
You didn’t care, not anymore. All you wanted was to see something pretty before you went and this was more than enough for you. “Go on, pretty girl,” you whispered back then, patting the horse and encouraging it to find shelter. “You don’t belong out here. Go before you freeze.”
You shivered, feeling the cold even in your memories as Wooyoung opened the door for you with the practiced elegance of someone born to serve royalty. He helped you unfasten the heavier layers of your gown, and laid out your nightgown with gentle efficiency.
He turned away as you changed, always respectful and always giving you space, and when you slipped beneath the thick fur-lined blankets, he moved around the room to tidy what the maids had missed.
You watched him idly, noticing the flowers he was fixing in the embellished vase on your nightstand. Winter heathers. You knew of them from the occasional winters that hit your old village, the soft lilac bells that bloomed in spite of the frost that covered them and survived.
Something in the sight of them warmed you. This was one of the few things that made this cold kingdom bearable - there was always a different arrangement of flowers each night that Wooyoung fixed for you. “Thank you,” you murmured, smiling. “They’re beautiful.”
Wooyoung stilled for a heartbeat before offering you a soft smile. “I only arrange them, my lady,” he said lightly, brushing a petal with the tip of his finger. “I do not choose them.”
You lifted your gaze toward him, curiosity sparking. “Rest well, my lady,” he dipped into a graceful bow, opening the door to depart. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”
You lay still, the soft weight of the blankets warming skin that had once been thinned by cold wind and hunger. It was strange to experience all the good things that life was now offering you. Back then, you were ready to close your eyes for the last time; content with surrendering because fighting had simply become exhausting.
But fate, as always, had a way of intervening before you took even one more step toward surrender. You remembered watching as the horse trotted away. Satisfied, you tried to close your eyes, but you were confused when you saw a figure standing where your horse was.
And you were even more confused when they started bundling you up with multiple layers of clothing that felt heavy on your tired body, like the luxurious blankets covering you right now. It wasn’t enough to stop your teeth from chattering, but it was enough to keep you at bay for now.
“You’re not supposed to be out here. You’re almost at death’s door,” they mumbled, tucking the thick wool coat snugly on your body, sympathy lining their voice. “Where is your home? I will take you there. The storm is about to turn into a blizzard soon.”
You peeled your eyes open, realising that the person talking to you was a man. He was tall, decently good-looking, with eyes that naturally radiated tenderness as he stared at your pitiful form. And even in your state, you could sense that he was no ordinary man.
“A mage. Who would’ve thought?” You laughed to yourself feebly, staring into his surprised eyes. “And I’ve no home. I am but a wandering traveler who has given up on life.”
He paused, pity in his eyes that observed your face for any signs of jest and deceit. He sighed deeply, dropping down to a squat to meet your gaze. “Though I am curious as to why you’d choose to be in our lands, it doesn’t have to be like that. I can help you.”
You hummed, shaking your head. “I’m going to have to decline, kind Sir,” you sincerely declined. “If you want to help, maybe help my horse. I would hate for her to freeze in your lands.”
It was then where his face completely fell into utter despair at your words. He took his fur-lined head covering, gently putting it on you. Your heartstrings tugged seeing this random stranger’s act of kindness towards someone like you.
“Oh, you poor child,” he clicked his tongue, pursing his lips, his calculating eyes turning just a tad bit sharper. “Even in dire circumstances, you care about an animal rather than yourself. You’re something special. I’ll help your horse if you let me help you.”
“What’s the catch?”
He tilted his head, a soft smile spreading across his lips. “Smart girl,” he chuckled. “I have a proposition for you. We are desperate for help, you see, and I believe you’re the perfect person for it.”
He gets up, dusting the snow that had begun to line his pants, offering his hand to you. “Just know that even if you say no, I will still help you find food and shelter. Contrary to what the outsiders say…we’re not heartless monsters. How far would you go?”
You stared at his outstretched hand. Your heart was divided. This man didn’t give off any malicious aura and something deep in you told you to walk into the light he was offering. “Anything,” you said. “You’re asking a person who has nothing and everything to lose.”
His brows lifted with respect, a flicker of impressed astonishment softened the sharpness of his gaze. “Anything?” He repeated, quieter this time.
You nodded once. “Anything,” you confirmed. “Why me?”
His expression warmed, the corners of his mouth lifting with a kind of earnest admiration. “When I touched you earlier, I saw a small glimpse of your past,” he said, his eyes glowing unnaturally golden and fiery that it felt like looking straight into the flames of the sun, surprising you. “You’ve lost everything, yet you still chose to fight. That tells me everything I need to know about you.”
He extended his hand a little nearer. “One condition,” you said, taking his hand without hesitation. “What might be the name of the mage who decided to help a poor soul like mine?”
“You may call me Yunho,” his smile deepened with a touch of relief as he wrapped his bigger hand around yours, warmth instantly flooding your body. “Now, shall we change your fate?”
After a warm meal and even warmer clothes, you were all set. What you didn’t expect was for Yunho to take you inside the castle, leading you directly where you knew the ruler of the land would be. You stiffened and Yunho took great notice of this.
“I know this might be surprising, but I promise you, no harm will come to you. Not while I’m here,” he gently explained. “And I know that the rumours about My Majesty don't really help, but please believe me, none of them hold any merit. He’s not like that.”
But you didn’t have time to think about it, because Yunho was already opening the ornate doors of the throne room, his hand on your lower back as he led you inside. You wanted to ogle at the glory and beauty of the room, but your world stilled at the sight before you.
San.
He was seated upon his throne, looking every bit the ruler whispered about in fearful legends. The way he sat - still and predatory - gave the unsettling impression that he saw far more than what lay before him. His throne was illuminated with torches, yet somehow, he shone far more.
Your breath caught in your throat, not with fear, but with awe. He was enormous, both physically and imposingly so, his broad shoulders wrapped with wool and fur that was so white, it looked like he made it out of the very snow that covered his entire kingdom. His long legs were crossed, one elbow leaned on the armrest, a finger to his temple as he stared on.
He didn’t move, didn’t even blink nor shift his posture when you and Yunho entered. And he was unfairly handsome. With his sculpted jaw and high cheekbones that complimented the way his raven hair was pulled away from his face, he was the epitome of royalty. And his eyes - God, those eyes - they were dark and unreadable.
It was then that it hit you - you thought that storm outside was cold, but it was nothing compared to the man sitting before you.
“Jeong Yunho,” he said, his voice monotonous yet a lot more melodious than you thought. Such a juxtaposition, it was difficult to explain. “What is the meaning of this?”
He gazed at you once, but didn’t bother to greet nor acknowledge you, and you were completely fine with that. You didn’t know how you’d respond. Yunho bowed his head slightly. “I believe I have found the solution to our plight, San,” he gestures to you. “This is Y/N, she will help us.”
You raised a brow not only at the lack of title when Yunho referred to San but also at the mention of your name you knew for a fact you didn’t tell him. Silence enveloped the room before San spoke again. “She is not of this land,” he scrutinised flatly. “Why should she?”
The air tightened around you. You had no idea how he knew you weren’t from here. San uncrossed his legs, the gesture itself regal in all its glory, placing both his elbows on his knees before leaning forward. “Does she even know,” he continued, his gaze lingering on you for another second still devoid of warmth. “What she’s helping for, Yunho?”
He wasn’t challenging you, nor was he doubting you. He simply found your presence illogical and out of place, like you weren’t even supposed to be entertaining any of this. You fisted your dress, side-eyeing Yunho with nervousness because the king wasn’t wrong - you actually had no idea what you were doing here. God, you were such an idiot.
But what made it worse was San's indifference. You weren’t the only one surprised - he was too, it seemed. You weren’t the only one who’s given up every possibility out there.
Because San needed a bride, a queen to rule beside him. Not out of romance or even lineage, but more for desperation and legitimacy. San sat on the throne, yes, but he was but a king in title only. No other kingdoms wanted to acknowledge a king and a kingdom without a queen.
It was an ancient law older than the snow that blanketed the land, and the surrounding nations used that as justification to dismiss Utopia entirely, and used San’s half-recognised reign as a shield to reject him. They needed allies, an alliance, treaties, aid when the need arose, trade routes to sustain the people and their living - and they needed a queen to make it happen.
Yunho knew this. Everyone in the castle knew this. And it wasn’t like they didn’t try, because they did. They searched high and low both in and out of the kingdom and even the country as a whole just for that missing key to make San completely legitimate.
The problem lay in San’s complete isolation and rumoured reign. Princesses from neighbouring countries outright rejected the offer, noble daughters chose to flee to distant relatives, even regular people of foreign countries didn’t bother with a reply, and they all said the same thing - no one wanted to associate themselves with the cursed king and his frozen kingdom.
But there was one type of cruelty that cut deeper than the rest, because even the people of Utopia refused to marry him. Not the nobles, not the merchants, not the commoners. They simply didn’t want to share the fate of a king rumoured to be the heart of the snow.
And you - you who had simply wanted to find a beautiful resting place - you were never meant to be an option. Yet, here you were, standing before a king whose crown was true and real, but whose authority was hollow without any respect.
“You will be taken care of, treated fair and just with all the respect you deserve to have,” Yunho calmly explained albeit the hidden desperation that lined his eyes. “Please, Y/N, we really need your help. The lack of allies will always pose a danger to our people and the snow…our food supply can only rotate so much because we have no functioning farms.”
You bit your lip, thinking. Hours ago, you had completely resigned to your fate and now, you were being offered a second chance in life you would have completely leapt at had it been given to you weeks prior. It wasn’t even because you were chosen, it was because you were the only one who stepped willingly into the snow when everyone else fled from it.
But, at what cost and to what extent? On one hand, you meant what you said earlier - you had absolutely nothing to lose, but this time, you had everything to gain. But at the same time, you were about to bind yourself to a king nobody wanted to associate themselves with.
You lifted your eyes to look at the said king, almost jumping out of your skin when you saw that he was already staring back at you. He wasn’t glaring. He wasn’t even particularly expressive. He was simply looking; assessing and measuring something only he understood.
Though the intensity of it spiked anxiety in you, you found it fascinating. He was being handed the solution to his problems as a king on a silver platter and yet, he wasn’t the least bothered by it. Like he had truly given up and didn’t care for what was to come anymore. Exactly like you.
Your spine straightened before you even realized it. “Alright,” you whispered. “I’ll do it.”
Relief washed over Yunho’s features so strongly he almost looked emotional. “Thank you,” he breathed out, grabbing your hands. “Thank you so much, Y/N. You have no idea how much this means to us and the people of Utopia. We will be forever in your debt.”
He turned to San, practically pleading for approval with his eyes, but the latter didn’t move. He didn’t even look like he was breathing - he just stared at you.
And stared. And stared some more. He stared at you so long that the air completely became awkward and your legs actually started to ache from how long you were stared at. He stared at you long after the sun had started to sink into the horizon. It was long enough that Yunho started to fidget uncomfortably, letting out an uncomfortable laugh to break the silence. “Uhm, San—”
“Silence,” San muttered. It wasn’t even loud. In fact, he said it so flatly that it was almost astounding. “I’m thinking.”
You tried to swallow down the uncomfortable knot forming in your throat. You had no idea what he was thinking about, or why it took so long, or what he saw when he looked at you. But eventually, after one final, unreadable sweep of his eyes over you, San spoke.
“Once you stay here,” he said. “You can never leave. Literally. The snow will prevent you. Are you sure you want to surrender yourself to me?”
To me. The way he said it made your pulse spike. He wasn’t threatening you, by all means - in fact, it even sounds like he was giving you a way out. He simply stated it as an inevitable truth, as if stepping into his world meant stepping into his possession by default. You were about to belong to him, body and soul, and something about that made your insides feel hot and heavy.
“Does this mean I’ll never see what lies outside this kingdom anymore?” You asked, throat dry.
San’s eyes clouded with the first emotion you’ve seen in him ever since meeting him - hesitance, and dare you say, perhaps a little of hope somewhere in there. But, it only lasted for a second before his eyes flashed back to that indifference.
“You won’t survive it,” he said plainly, turning his head a little to stare at the never-ending snow that fell from the darkening sky. “No one does, and believe me, people have tried.”
Your chest tightened at the insinuation. The people have tried to flee and fail. Still, you have made up your mind. “I am willing.”
He leaned back on his seat, face unreadable, before settling into that stance where he was staring at you again. And after a terrifying heartbeat, he nods stiffly. “Very well,” was he all said before you were dismissed.
And true to his words, you were welcomed. Quite warmly, if you may say so, compared to the harsh winters that the kingdom enveloped you in. You were treated fairly like you belonged here, just as Yunho had said, given your own chambers and even your own personal attendant, Jung Wooyoung - a male since unfortunately, not one family wanted to send their daughters to even work in the palace, but that's alright for you. You loved Wooyoung, and he loved you.
You were even assigned a personal guard, Kim Hongjoong, a valiant man who had sworn his life serving you. A good man, a genuinely good one. A feast was held in your name, of the woman who had finally agreed to marry into the frozen kingdom. The chef, Kang Yeosang, personally made sure to serve your favourite dishes, which you appreciated.
Indeed, you were treated like a future queen. Or the woman destined to be cursed with the one and only Choi San.
He was a king with a crown of gnarled bones. The irony of it all lay in what everybody believed in, because we don’t see things as they are; we see them as we are. San wore a crown, but he was no king in his people’s eyes.
Except for his closest confidants and the ones who lived in the palace, the people who saw San saw differently. They followed but you can see the fear in their eyes. They have been so conditioned to believe that the reason the snow never stopped and why they can never leave was because of their own king, and that’s what they choose to see.
And as for San, you barely saw him, never really spending time with him other than talking about diplomacy and Utopia’s upcoming legitimacy as a kingdom. There were no gentle introductions and no attempts at familiarity with one another.
San never sought you out for anything beyond what was politically required. Every meeting he held with you was purposeful, efficient, and centered only on matters of state, and every time he did talk, he never really did look you in the eye, voice always teetering on that formal and clipped tone as if you were nothing more than an ally - which in hindsight, you were.
“You may do the wedding planning in whatever way you wish, including the theme if that pleases you,” San explained one afternoon, hands clasped behind his back as he stood near a window. “I do not expect you to be the perfect queen right on the get go, and that is fine.”
He stated it like a transaction, not a life-altering commitment. “Yes, Your Highness,” you mumbled, discomfort crawling under your skin at how stiff this entire exchange was.
Another time, he spoke to you about Utopia’s fragile diplomatic standing. “You will help stabilize the kingdom by simply existing by my side,” he said without malice, just pointedly, eyes on political letters he’s yet to send. He slides one to you, handing you a quill. “Sign this.”
You swallowed, grabbing the quill from his hand, freezing right after. Usually, he’d go back to whatever he was doing after making you do something politically inclined. That and he always kept you at a careful and deliberate distance every time, anyway.
However, this time, you took such a long time doing what he told you to do that he paused, gazing up at you with those sharp eyes. “Is there something the matter?” He asked, tone courteous and polite, but hollow and impersonal. “Something not to your liking?”
You avoided eye contact, not out of fear, but of shame, cheeks reddening against your will. “That’s not it, Your Majesty,” you mumbled, embarrassed. “I-I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how to write. I never had the opportunity to practice. My parents needed help with our farm back then.”
There was something so incredibly embarrassing and belittling about admitting your illiteracy in general, let alone in front of somebody as articulate and well-spoken as San. You sighed, rolling on your bed, the shame still fresh in your memory. It was a stark reminder of who you really were before Yunho found you in that alleyway - a peasant who struck gold.
San did not respond at first, only staring at you, arms crossing over his chest, shoulders sinking back into his chair. Then, he turns his head slightly to his left, to Jongho who you forgot was with you back then. “Call Mingi,” he instructed flatly. “Effective immediately.”
Jongho comes back with another man in tow, someone you’ve seen with San once in a while during his meetings. San gestured vaguely in your direction. “I have a task for you,” he said. “Teach her basic literacy, and teach her well. Include the laws of the land if you must and other foundational studies.”
It was said so bluntly that you felt heat rush up your neck. But it wasn’t his tone that bothered you the most, it was the way he spoke as if you weren’t even in the room, as though you weren’t standing right there. Then he added, “A queen must at least be able to sign her own name.”
You gritted your teeth, reaching over to touch the winter heathers on your nightstand gently to forget how San made that sound so harsh. “You are dismissed,” he ordered, flicking his fingers at you, already turning back to his documents, already forgetting the sting he didn’t even know he imparted at you.
You followed Mingi out into the hall, quiet and a little stiff. “Don’t take it to heart, my lady,” he murmured with sympathy as he guided you down the corridor. “His Majesty has a way with words that makes everything sound harsher than they actually are.”
You let out a breathy, embarrassed laugh. “I noticed.”
“He doesn’t mean anything by it,” Mingi continued gently. “He simply didn’t know how to soften his words…especially around you. That doesn’t mean he sees you as lesser.”
That, you believed in. You still do. You didn’t take it personally then, and you still didn’t take it personally now. You couldn’t because he was right - this was simply how San was. However, one thing he never did, no matter how standoffish he was, was belittle you.
San was the type of man who matched your pace but kept a respectful gap, enough that your sleeves never brushed whenever you walked beside him, always keeping you at arm’s length.
There were times where Yunho would try to leave you alone with him to build rapport, but San would just squint his eyes as if he had just been told something so insulting. “Unnecessary,” he would dismiss with a cold edge that cut deep. “No need to deceive ourselves into thinking this union would be more than anything but political. I have better things to do.”
He was brash, that much was true. And yet, despite all that, he never treated you poorly. He never raised his voice, never belittled your inexperience or mocked your illiteracy and never crossed any boundary you hadn’t explicitly offered.
None of this was meant to be romantic, and you reminded yourself of that often. Still, there were moments where his distance stung in ways you hadn’t prepared for. As cold as the kingdom was, there was something even colder about being wanted only for what you could fix.
You sighed, blowing out the candles plunging the room into darkness, the soft scent of winter heather relaxing your senses as you sank deeper into the pillows, your thoughts drifting away as your eyes started to slowly close.
You tried your best to fit in, but sometimes, it was hard to offer warmth to a man who was determined to stay frozen.
You supposed that Wooyoung mentioned that tomorrow was going to be a long day, because he was absolutely right in that regard.
You had made up your mind to stay and read in your chambers all day, but imagine your surprise when Jongho delivered a letter to you, the surprise growing bigger when you realised that San personally wrote it, almost passing out in ultimate shock when you read it and saw that San was inviting you for supper.
There you were, not knowing how to fully react as you sat at the end of the long table directly across San, who sat on the other end. You’ve never had a meal with San alone. Meals usually composed of you along with other nobles to discuss politics and diplomacy issues regarding the kingdom, but never like this.
You cleared your throat. “Your Majesty.”
His gaze lifted, sharp and immediate, like he had been waiting for you to speak all along. “Yes?”
You faltered, already shrinking under the weight of his gaze on you. “I would like to thank you for your generosity,” you said, sounding small in the vast dining hall. “I wasn’t expecting a summon, is all.”
San set down his silverware. He didn’t seem offended, it was more like he was choosing what not to say. “Should I assume,” he began, tone neutral, yet biting. “That a simple supper with me is too much to ask of you?”
Visible shock fills your features, your eyes widening slightly before controlling them just like Wooyoung and Mingi had taught you. “That is not what I mean, Your Grace,” you tried to explain, but he didn’t relent.
“We are to be bound together soon,” he huffed, not softening a bit. “I would like to reduce the unfamiliarity at least even though this is nothing out of necessity. Nothing more.”
Your chest tightened at the bluntness, at the clinical way he spoke his words. Everyone’s words suddenly echoed in your head - that San never intended cruelty, that he simply spoke sharply naturally, but sometimes, it was difficult to grasp. It was difficult to not let the words sting you.
A sigh left your lips, picking up your fork to resume eating. But before you could do so, you saw him pick up a plate that was in front of him, and with a flick of his wrist that was far too sharp to be gentle, pushed it towards you. It stopped directly in front of you and all you could do was stare at it confused before you lifted your gaze towards him.
“Well?” San raised a brow as if daring you to waste his time by not moving. “The food isn’t going to serve itself. Eat.”
You stiffened. The sentence sounded harsh, unnecessarily so, and it was so him. But then, so quietly you almost missed it, you heard him mumble under his breath, “The fish is still warm. I am sure it will please you.”
He didn’t look at you after saying it. He simply resumed eating while all you could do was stare at him, not knowing exactly what to feel. Hesitant, you took a piece of the fish, not expecting much, but the moment it touched your tongue, your breath stilled.
Because it was perfect. You didn’t mean it was perfectly seasoned or cooked, but because it was cooked and tasted exactly the way it was made back in your village before disaster struck. You never thought you’d ever experience this again and you didn’t know what to make of it.
A strange, aching warmth bloomed in your chest, so vivid you almost forgot where you were and who you were with. “How? This is…” you trailed off before you could stop yourself. Home, your mind automatically supplied, this tasted like home.
You gazed back at him, heart leaping when you saw he was already staring at you. His lips were pressed into a thin line, brows furrowed as if you were bothering him by asking. “Jongho had mentioned once that your village had plenty of fish,” he stated flatly.
You lowered your gaze to the plate again, heart thudding. “It’s very thoughtful of you,” you murmured absentmindedly, confused because you would have never mentioned something that personal to Jongho. You clearly remembered telling Wooyoung, though.
San scoffed under his breath, his dark eyes sharply lingering a moment longer on you than usual before he started eating again, effectively ending the conversation, leaving you wondering if he was uncomfortable rather than indifferent about the whole marriage aspect between you.
Nothing eventful happened the entire supper. There was no warmth, but there wasn’t any coldness either, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it did feel a little too hollow for your liking. The only thing in the air was the clinking of utensils and their scraping every time they hit the plate.
Dinner ended quietly just like you expected it to. “Thank you for the meal, Your Grace,” you stood, bowing your head politely at him. “I will be taking my leave now. I bid you good night. ”
You were about to make your way towards the door, careful not to step on your heavy lace-lined dress, when San’s voice rang through the hall. “Wait.”
You froze, not expecting it. The command cut cleanly through the room, it wasn’t loud nor urgent, but it sounded firm and absolute that your body halted by itself before your mind could catch up. You looked back at him, startled at the sudden call.
San hadn’t moved far; he stood with one hand resting on the back of his chair, posture regal even in stillness. His chin lifted imperceptibly toward the center of the table. “Take those,” he said.
You blinked, confused. He sighed, brows furrowing as he moved his hand this time to gesture towards the table again, perhaps irritated at the aspect of having to repeat himself. “The flowers,” he insisted, annoyed. “Take them. The arrangement, take all of them.”
You slowly turned your head, your eyes training to what he was pointing out. You raised your brows in mild surprise. Lenten roses. You didn’t even notice them earlier, too focused on San and the fish you ate with all delight.
“They will wilt if they are left here, and they would have been plucked out for nothing,” he spoke bluntly with that clinical precision you’ve come to know him for as if everything was nothing but a trivial matter. “If you appreciate them, take them. Otherwise they serve no purpose.”
You walked back to the table, trying not to flinch at San watching your every movement. You couldn’t help the warmth blooming in your chest as your fingers lightly touched the edge of each petal. You’ve always loved flowers, especially here where everything was white and barren. The flowers brought colour and joy.
You lifted the vase carefully, gathering the flowers in your arms. “T-Thank you, I will take care of them,” you whispered quietly, not knowing what else to say.
San didn’t reply. He only gestured one curt nod, already returning his gaze to the falling snow outside the window. There was something in his eyes then, something you couldn’t fully gauge, but before you could think about it, he was already walking away, closing the door behind him, leaving you to think about what you thought you heard him whisper before he left.
“I am sure you will.”
You left the dining hall with the lenten roses cradled gently against your chest, their subtle fragrance following you down the corridor, smiling to yourself, careful not to tug on the petals as they brushed against the material of your dress.
It was how Hongjoong saw you, the gallant knight beaming as he approached you. “My, what seems to make my lady smile like this?” His eyes looked at the flowers in your hands, eyes twinkling with understanding. “Those are beautiful. May I hold them for you while I escort you to your chambers?”
You smiled wider, appreciating the kind words. Hongjoong was one of the first people you met when you settled in Utopia. He was gentle, reliable, fiercely protective, and you found yourself being attached to him quickly. “How was supper with His Majesty?” He asked.
“It was good, thank you,” you answered truthfully. “A little stiff, and he’s…well, he’s him.”
Hongjoong nodded in understanding. “I know what you mean,” he exhaled, pausing a little in thought before he continued. “My Majesty…he’s carrying a lot. I would lay my life on the line for him. I know it’s hard to believe, my lady, but I can assure you he means well. He’s a good man.”
“It’s quite alright, Sir Hongjoong, I understand,” you said, pursing your lips. “I am here for one purpose only and I will fulfill it. What Your Majesty and I have is nothing short of political. He’s very decent to me so far, and I suppose he’s not required to go beyond that decency.”
But as you put the roses on your nightstand, replacing the winter heathers that have started to wilt, sometimes, you couldn’t help but imagine a different scenario; one where San’s eyes weren’t shrouded in frost, one where he might be that warmth in the midst of the snowstorm.
The thought of it made the tips of your ears red, heat spreading through your cheeks down to your neck. Snap out of it, you thought. The king was good-looking, devastatingly so, and admittedly, had the situation been different, he was actually your type.
Unfortunately, the lenten roses have also started to wilt. You would never admit that you noticed each stage of it, that every morning you checked the vase before you checked the mirror. You wouldn’t admit that it bothered you. Enough time had passed where you noticed that something had changed, both for good and bad reasons.
“I know it might not seem like it because, well, the snow,” Wooyoung chuckled weakly one morning, looking at the window with worry. “But Christmas always seems to bring out the best in people and we tend to celebrate it the best we can. I promise you’ll love it, my lady.”
The snow began to fall harder; harder than you’ve seen it. Christmas time apparently always brought the harshest storms, but it didn’t stop everyone from decorating the entire castle with the familiar hollies and tapestries that brought a little colour and life in the usually grey castle.
“I believe it,” you smiled, hanging some ivy and a couple of ribbons in your chambers, which Jongho had so kindly brought. “Do you…think the king will let me decorate his chambers?”
Both Jongho and Wooyoung froze, looking at each in worry before the latter cleared his throat. “Best to avoid His Highness during this time, my lady,” he said quietly. “His mood is particularly…delicate at this time of the year, especially.”
You raised a brow. Apparently, the storms weren’t the only thing that was harsh during Christmas. “What? Why? Does he not like Christmas?”
“It’s not that. He’s just crankier and unapproachable, that’s all,” Jongho admitted, avoiding eye contact. “Best not to test him, my lady.”
You tried to celebrate with everyone, noticing that everyone seemed to look forward to your presence every time you went around the castle. The servants seemed to be brighter in spirit, more than the usual, their smiles wider, the merry tunes of Christmas filling in the hallways that actually made you forget about your worries. You were actually happy for once.
“It is because Christmas actually gives the people a reason to like the snow,” Mingi patiently explained one day in the middle of your lessons. “And the queen’s presence gives the people strength, a pillar to look up on in the king’s absence.”
You weren’t good with reading and writing yet, but you were getting there. Christmas wasn’t an exception for you to skip out on your studies. Not that you minded, Mingi was a wonderful mentor and you genuinely did enjoy learning from the knowledgeable man.
“May I know the reason why His Majesty is to be avoided during this time?” You asked, holding your quill just like he taught you. “Everyone seems to refuse to talk about it.”
Mingi turns silent. After a while, he gently grabs your quill, handing you a book instead. “Shall we move on to economics, my lady?” He suggested, changing the topic, his eyes silently begging you to let the conversation go.
You faltered, mildly surprised at the blatant avoidance of the topic. You tried, you really did, not to think about San and respect what everyone kept saying, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore the elephant in the room. You nodded slowly, taking the book, and that was that.
Of course you’ve noticed that San was nowhere to be seen. The throne room was avoided like it contained the plague, itself. His study was left untouched and even Seonghwa didn’t dare enter it even for more military planning. The servants paled, pretending they had urgent business elsewhere, which always prompted either Yeosang or Jongho to personally deliver his meals.
Nobody was telling you anything. Whether it was because you were an outsider or they were doing it for your protection, you didn’t know. You were left in the middle of it and you couldn’t help but feel something twist deep in your guts.
Because this wasn’t normal avoidance. This was fear. It wasn’t the terrified kind, no, but the quiet, heavy, and trained kind - the kind that people develop after years of knowing exactly what triggers a man, and what doesn’t. And you didn’t know what to feel about it.
And of course, this was when you found yourself thinking of him even more. You asked yourself multiple times what happened to him and what made him dislike Christmas. At first, you thought it was because the snow fell harder on the already cursed, snow-covered land that people blamed on him, but seeing how the people acted, it was more than that.
Sure, San had always been especially cold and distant, his walls high and impenetrable, but he was never cruel and never raised his voice at anyone. He had always been intimidating, but you genuinely didn’t understand why this time was different.
What could make an entire palace walk on eggshells around their king? Why did everyone act like Christmas turned him into something dangerous?
Oh, how you wished you knew the answer to this before you started roaming around the castle, hugging your arms to yourself, absentmindedly walking aimlessly with all these thoughts.
Was it the storm that was making San hot-tempered, or was it San’s temper that was bringing on the storm and making it worse?
A heavy gust of wind rattled the castle walls and the frames that were hooked on them, snapping you out of your thoughts immediately. You looked around in worry, realising that you had ventured a bit too far in your absentmindedness.
Your anxiety rose when you also realised that you were near the currently forbidden area - San’s chambers. You’ve never even been in this section of the castle before and you sure as hell weren’t going to start now. Panicking, you quickly turned around to leave.
It wasn’t until you heard it, something spine-chilling enough that it made you stop in your tracks not to listen, but out of surprise and horror. You didn’t have to think hard or even turn around to know that the sound was coming from San’s room.
“Fuck. Fuck. M-Make it stop, please…”
Moans and grunts of pure, raw pain were to be heard all over the corridors, the sound of it echoing ghastly around the walls and bouncing in its agony. You paled, caught off guard, not knowing exactly how to react at what you were hearing.
You jumped up when a loud crash followed by a deep, menacing growl on top of pitiful whimpers resounded after. It was horrifying to listen to. You couldn’t help but put your trembling hands on your mouth, eyes widening at the prospect of San hurt, or worse, someone hurting him in the privacy of his own chambers. He sounded like he was getting tortured.
Panic arose in your head, but even then, you had to force yourself to think. What were you going to do? You had absolutely no idea what was happening behind that door and that, alone, terrified you.
Not the sounds, but the idea of it. What could bring a man like San - the controlled and measured king you knew, the one with walls so high, you couldn’t see through it, the man who barely blinked at his adversaries - down to something feral and desperate?
Do you run? Do you get Jongho? Seonghwa? Yunho? Anyone who knows what to do? And you were going to do exactly that. You pulled your skirts up, ready to sprint for help, but once again, you heard a noise. Something about the primal emotions in his tone tugged at your heartstrings. He was choking, the sound of it wet, low, and trembling.
But most of all, he sounded alone. He sounded terrified. You couldn’t leave him. Not like this. So against your better judgment, against every warning, against everybody who swore you shouldn’t even think about approaching San, and against the fear stuck in your throat, you moved towards his door, your hand already pushing it open.
Nothing could ever prepare you for the destruction that lay all over the room the moment you entered. Everything was in shambles and disarray. Your heart almost wanted to leap out of your chest as you inspected the room, trying to look for the reason why you were even here.
You didn’t see San. But you could hear him. You tried to follow his pained grunts, your feet moving to what you assumed was the bathroom, your insides turning upside down when you realised that he wasn’t just groaning - he was wretching his guts out.
The closer you got, the more distinct the awful, guttural noises became. Your fingertips brushed the doorframe, almost whispering to announce your presence so as to not startle him, but you stopped halfway when you dared to look inside.
San was on his knees, trembling and bracing himself on one arm, his head lurched forward as he gurgled out the contents of his stomach, or the lack thereof. Your heart squeezed painfully seeing the great, cold king of Utopia reduced to such a state.
His usually prim appearance was nowhere to be seen, his hair disheveled and sticking to his skin, damp with sweat, his shirt open to reveal his sculpted chest that convulsed violently as he heaved and coughed so hard that you thought that something inside him was about to break. His other hand clutched the locket he always wore so tight, veins started to pop from his arm.
But that wasn’t the thing that bothered you as much as it worried you. It was his eyes. They were wild, red, and bloodshot like he hadn’t slept in days - like he hadn’t been himself in days. Your heart cracked, not being able to stop the whimper that crawled up your throat.
His neck snapped up in your direction so quickly, you were terrified for a second, and he froze, eyes widening at the sight of you trembling uselessly by the doorway. For a split second, you saw something in those eyes other than coldness. You were the last person he expected to see.
And he tried to say something to you. You saw his lips part and you saw him process that you were here, in a place you absolutely shouldn’t be, but before he could do so, his body seized again, bending forward brutally to clutch his chest, shoulders curling inward against the pain.
You watched him stand up, feebly supporting himself by gripping the edge of the sink as his quivering legs tried to support his weight. He stared at you with those hazy eyes, almost glaring, using the back of his hands to wipe his mouth. “What are you doing here?” He snarled. “Where’s Hongjoong?”
Your body seemed to snap into action, step forward to try and help him. “Your Majesty—”
He slaps your hand away, but it was more of a poor attempt at it, limping past you with great effort. “I asked you a question,” he barked, angrier than you’ve ever seen him, slightly making you flinch. “You shouldn’t be here, didn’t anybody in this godforsaken castle tell you?”
He said it with such contempt, looked at you with so much scorn and disdain that you almost ran away with your tail between your legs, but when his trembling intensified, breath stuttering like his lungs couldn’t remember how to breathe, you made the split decision to surge forward, anyway, gripping his arm to help him walk.
“You’re not well, Your Grace,” you whispered, almost pleading. “Please, let me help.”
A small gasp leaves your lips as your hands wrapped around his bicep. He was warm, warmer than you expected, like sitting in front of a hearth to seek comfort. And he paused, staring at you. Truly staring with something unreadable in his eyes before he shoved you, or tried to.
“Don’t,” he tried to shove you again, his palm weakly trying to rip your hands away from him. His breath hitched, body swaying dangerously to the side before he leaned on the doorframe, eyes boring onto you sharply. “Leave,” he growled, jaw clenched, rage evident in his tone. “Just leave. You’re useless to me.”
It stung that even in his state, he was still pushing you away. You didn’t understand what was happening, and you had a feeling that you still won’t anytime soon, but when he started to stagger forward, you lunged forward to try and catch him before he hit his head on instinct. You didn’t need to know for now. San needed your help.
“Your Majesty, I’m begging you,” you pleaded desperately, pushing up on him and pulling him slightly to help him out of the bathroom. “Stop fighting me, please.”
“And who the hell are you to tell me what to do?” His hand fisted weakly in the front of your sleeve, as if to shove you away again. Instead, it simply trembled there, powerless.
You didn’t answer, grunting as you guided him towards his disheveled bed. He relents, albeit begrudgingly, sinking onto the bed, chest heaving, eyes glassy with exhaustion. You immediately get to work, finding something to use to wipe his sweaty skin and grimy face to relieve some of the tension that was troubling him.
The bed sank under your weight, and for a second, you hesitated a bit, but when you saw San breaking out in more sweat, the hesitation left. Gently, you dabbed the damp towel all over his skin. You stared from his temples, smoothing his hair out, wiping the residue off his lips as well, down to his neck, careful not to irritate him with the temperature.
You got all the way down to his chest, finally looking at it up close and being mildly surprised at the dark lines that littered all over it. They were black in colour, resembling tree branches that covered his entire torso. They didn’t look natural. Rather, they looked infected and cursed.
It was when San seemed to realise that you were looking at them. You flinched when he suddenly grabbed a blanket to cover his chest, harshly snatching the towel away from your hands to brutally throw it across the room.
It was a sudden burst of fury that seemed to sap all the remaining energy out of him. “Get out,” he rasped, voice shredded raw. His hand flew to the locket around his neck, one that you always thought was just a trinket or an heirloom. “Yunho,” his voice cracked. The moment he mentioned the mage’s name, the locket glowed brightly, pulsing with unnatural energy that made your skin prickle. “Yunho.”
It was magic. You knew it was. Nothing natural glowed like that. And the lines that were strewn all over San’s skin…those weren’t natural either. But they weren’t the angelic magic Yunho had.
Yunho burst in through the doors not even a minute after, panting and looking like he ran a marathon just to get here. His eyes widened in horror the moment they landed on the way San convulsed and shook under the sheets.
“San? Good Lord, San, what—” he began, eyes dropping into something that resembled agony, pity lining his features at the sight of his king suffering under whatever was happening to him. He was about to rush forward, but immediately halted when he saw you.
His eyes went even wider, horror and disbelief flooding every inch of his face. “Y/N, my lady,” he exhaled in utter shock, not even expecting to even see anybody, much less you of all people, to be sitting on San’s bed. “W-Why are you here?”
San grunted in pain once more, prompting Yunho to rush forward, assessing his king and the damage that he endured. Yunho’s face crumpled. “My lady,” he said over his shoulder without looking at you, tone gentle but firm. “Please. You must leave. Now.”
If there was anyone who knew what to do, it was Yunho. You watched him for a moment, watched his hands hover over the king’s body as they glowed blue, the magic flowing from his veins to transfer them to San. He was healing him, you reckoned.
“You must not speak of this to anyone, my lady,” Yunho said quietly, looking at you briefly before his eyes glowed into that familiar fiery light you remembered from when you first met. “And I know you have questions, questions I’m afraid I cannot give you right now, but for now…”
You didn’t need to be told twice. You quickly got up, hastily walking towards the door to let Yunho do his work in peace, but before looking back at San for one last time before leaving. He looked a bit better. His face was still ashen and pale, but at least he was now sleeping.
And it hurt. It was the precise way that Yunho knew what to do - it meant that this was a regular occurrence for San. This happened year by year. And you weren’t privy to what he was trying to tell you.
Pretend you didn’t see anything.
Days passed in a daze, long nights where you lay wide awake on your bed where sleep refused to visit you, hours spent where you did exactly the opposite of what Yunho expected of you - to forget what you saw in San’s chambers that day, all of the grizzly parts of it.
It just wasn’t possible. How could you just erase what fear you felt when you saw him on the floor? How could you forget the way his bloodshot eyes looked at you like you were the anomaly for finding him in that pitiful position? The way they widened in disbelief when he saw you just before gagging helplessly again?
And when you weren’t seeing him in your head, you were hearing him amidst the silence of your room. The sound of him vomiting was wet and brutal, the unpleasant hacking and heaving of his stomach as he retched out was all you could hear. You could never forget it.
And the only thing louder than the awful sound was the realization that San had been suffering like this alone.
He was all you could think about, and frankly, you were worried. You couldn’t concentrate on your duties and studies, your mind often flying towards the king you swore your life to, wondering if he was eating, worried if he was still in pain or if he was sleeping well.
A gentle cough startles you out of your stupor and you look up, finding Seonghwa’s gentle eyes trained on you. “My lady? Are you still there?” He asked. “You seem to be…distracted. We could always continue this discussion next time.”
You blinked, shame crossing your features. You were currently with the marshal, who took time off to discuss basic tactics to you as per San’s request for additional knowledge. Redness creeps up your cheeks, embarrassed that you were wasting Seonghwa’s very limited time.
“I am terribly sorry, Sir Seonghwa,” you sincerely apologised, bowing your head slightly. “I must be in a doozy. I’m afraid that my mind is elsewhere.”
He immediately waves his hands in flustered protest. “Please don’t bow to me, my lady. And this might be impudent, but,” he paused, looking around to see if the coast was clear, his voice dropping into a faint whisper. “Would this happen to be about what happened to His Majesty a week prior?”
Your brows raised in surprise. “You know.”
He sighed, deep from within his chest, before getting up to lock the door. He, then, gives a grim nod. “Only those closest to him do,” he admitted, crossing his arms, jaw tightening. “Including Wooyoung. He was His Majesty’s favourite scribe before he was assigned to you.”
You stared at him, having more questions than answers. And he knew this. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I was the one who had to haul Yunho out after he was done healing him,” he explained with another sigh. “It takes a lot out of him, you see. Magic has to come from somewhere, and mages usually use their own energy.”
“Then, what is going on with him?” You pressed, unable to hide the urgency in your voice.
But Seonghwa only exhaled, long and pained, and shook his head. You could see it that he wanted to tell you. His heart was far too gentle, too earnest for secrecy, but the loyalty he bore to San was carved into him more deeply than any oath. “If I were permitted to speak of it, my lady,” he said softly, “I would tell you everything I know. It’s not my place.”
There was one question that was bothering you the most, however. One where you were afraid of the answer. The question left your lips before you could stop it. “Is he sick?”
He shook his head with confidence without a hint of doubt or hesitation. “No,” he refused immediately. “It is not a disease…at least not the type you’re thinking of.”
Your stomach turned, not liking that answer at all. Seonghwa paused, leaning closer, his eyes filled with genuine worry. “You may not be queen yet, but I have already sworn my life to you, my lady, and I am saying this out of pure love and concern for you as your loyal servant. For your sake, do not return to his chambers.”
His voice dropped into something more hushed and it sent shivers prickling down your spine. “No matter what happens, no matter what you hear. Do not go back there.”
The snow started to let up after a few days, if only a little bit. While the kingdom was still covered in a white haze, the storm had subsided enough that everyone could at least walk out, including yourself.
“How curious,” you pondered while out and about on the castle grounds, hugging the fur-lined coat closer to your body. “I’ve been told that the storm was going to last another week or so. Today is a beautiful day, though, don’t you think so, dear Wooyoung?”
Utopia was a very beautiful kingdom even though the entirety of it was only white. “Yes,” Wooyoung replied, the corners of his lips lifted up tightly with what seemed more like force than mirth. “How curious, indeed.”
His eyes didn’t match the smile. They dropped almost immediately, dimming with a soft, far-off melancholy, his mind clearly somewhere else in thought. By the time you looked fully at him, he had already blinked it away, the tight smile still lingering. “Shall we go to your classes, my lady?”
You nodded, letting him lead the way. Today, you were determined to do well, but the moment you got in the library, you were met with a sight you were not expecting.
Because there was San currently in a deep conversation with Jongho. There were times that Mingi wasn’t available, so Jongho would substitute him more often than not, and once a week or so, San would supervise your progress. Today was supposed to be one of those days.
This was the first time you’ve seen San out and about, both since he’d secluded himself and since that day you accidentally walked by his chambers. You felt your heart going haywire at the sight of him. Both men haven’t noticed your arrival and you took this time to observe your king.
It was almost unfair how striking San looked when he was fully focused on something, especially whenever he held a quill to write something or handle paperwork. The sharp downturn of his brows, the lean line of his jaw, or the way his lips pursed into a small pout.
But it was unjustly unfair for him to still look this handsome even while clearly still recovering. And just like that, any attraction towards him went in the back of your head for now. He was pale, his eyes lined with bags that were purplish and almost black in colour, lips lacking in colour that made you worry. He was rigid, obviously trying to stand a little straighter than usual.
So much so that you were tempted to walk up to him to ask him if he was doing alright, but you knew better. Just then, as if sensing eyes on him, Jongho lifted his head and gave you a soft, pleased smile. “Ah, my lady, just. “My apologies. I didn’t notice you were here.”
San paused for a split second, jaw tightening, before ultimately deciding not to lift his head to greet you in acknowledgement, his attention solely on the paperwork as if you weren’t even in the room.
The entire lesson went by like that. It was the most awkward session of your life so far because while San didn’t acknowledge you in general, this was different. Usually, he would chip in a thought or two, ask you random questions that pertained to the subject, but this time, he was silent. You wouldn’t even know he was there if you didn’t see him earlier.
After half an hour, he got up and left. That in itself wasn’t unusual either, San never stayed the entire lesson anyway, but at least every time he left, he would politely, albeit stiffly, say his goodbyes to you or pass a small comment about you doing well on your studies.
And despite everything - your fear, your confusion, your unanswered questions - you felt your chest tighten. You watched him walk away, your spirits dampening at each step he took. Jongho took notice of this. “Did you want to run after him?” He asked. “He’s…well.”
You shook your head. But it didn’t stop there. Unfortunately, this continued for days. You would see him in his office, in the throne room, just him doing his regular kingsley duties like nothing ever happened, but he never acknowledged you. Not once. He didn’t speak to you nor even looked your way. You were like a ghost at this point, worse than strangers.
He was deliberately ignoring you, you soon realised. San was avoiding you like the plague, and of course, you knew why, but this didn’t stop you from thinking about him anyway. The more the days passed, the paler and more sickly he looked, and you couldn’t help but worry.
You couldn’t take it anymore. You had to check up on him. It was how you found yourself standing by his chambers again, knocking lightly on the door, whispering your arrival. When nobody answered, you breathed in, pushing the door open and hoping for the best.
Thankfully, there were no retching sounds to be heard. But unfortunately, the sight that met you was worse than you could have imagined.
There was San seated on his bed, shivering and trembling violently, one hand fisting the sheets he used to cover his entire body, while his other hand was pressed against his face, but it did nothing to hide the sight that made your stomach turn and your knees almost buckle down.
Thick streaks of red seeped from his fingers as blood seemed to spill from his nose, staining the smooth expanse of his pale cheeks. His breath came out in sharp, ragged wheezes, teeth clacking against each other to fight the cold tremors that plagued his body, and every breath he took, blood trickled from the corner of his lips, down the sheets.
Globs of red covered the sheets that it was hard to imagine that it was once white. You had never seen anything so grotesque in your life. “S-Sire?” You choked out, barely able to breathe.
He jerked at the sound of your voice. He lifted his head and your hands numbed, because his eyes weren’t just bloodshot - the white parts had entirely become red, like they were tinted with blood. For a moment, he didn’t even recognize you.
But the moment he did, it was like something primal in him came alive. “What the hell are you d-doing here?” He roared, feral, so loudly, you felt your bones rattle. You gasped at the intensity of it, caught off guard. “Get out.”
You closed the door behind you. “Your Maje—”
“Get out! Fucking hell, just get the fuck out!” His voice boomed. It felt like cold water was splashed on you. The expression he held on his face was one of delirium and ferality, and this was the first time you’ve actually heard San lose his temper like this or even raise his voice.
He lurched forward, body spasming, getting up to charge at you, the rage on him impalpable. Blood dripped onto the floor in steady beats from his nose. “I told you to stay the hell away from me,” he snarled, shoulder rising and falling in ragged breaths. “Why must you—”
Everything happened so fast. His arms gave out entirely, body pitching forward. You rushed to catch him before he hit the ground, hands sliding under his shoulders. “Please, you’re hurt and you’re bleeding,” you gasped despite every instinct screaming that you should run. “I can’t—”
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” He lashed out, swinging his arms. You yelped when he accidentally hit your shoulders, making you stagger backwards. “You stupid, stupid girl,” he spat. “Are you deaf or just highly incompetent? How foolish could you be? What part of…” he trailed off, wincing in pain. “What part of leave do you not understand?”
And maybe he was right. Maybe you were stupid. But it didn’t stop you from limping towards him anyway. “Please,” you whispered, hands up in surrender. “I want to help—”
“I said don’t come near me!” He barked, grabbing another nearby vase and throwing it on the floor in sheer anger. “You just never listen, do you? You think barging in here in a place where you’re explicitly forbidden makes you brave? No, it makes you a burden, you reckless—”
He cut himself off with a guttural groan, one hand flying to his throat as if he couldn’t breathe. That was it for you, you weren’t going to just simply watch. You surged forward, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Enough,” you breathed, voice trembling with resolve. “Just…stop.”
His arm jerked up to push you away, but it was no use. “The nerve of you, I am your king—”
You narrowed your eyes, not even letting him finish his nonsense. You grabbed his shoulders and with one pull, you hauled him forward with practiced force. Even through the haze, you saw his eyes widen with surprise, genuinely stunned at the show of strength as you dragged him towards the bed and laid him down whether he liked it or not.
“You are forgetting who I was before all of this,” you murmured calmly, trying to ease him onto the sheets. “I am a farm girl. I grew up carrying heavy sacks of grain and meat, Your Majesty. It was all I knew. You would’ve known how calloused my hands were if you touched them more.”
He wanted to argue, you could tell, but more than that, there was a look in his eyes that made you pause. He looked at your hands, then back at your eyes with a brow raised, and there was something in there. He looked mildly offended. Now, you didn’t want to assume, but if you were being honest, his eyes were clearly telling you he did, in fact, know.
You looked away, turning around to stop the butterflies in your stomach. You worked quickly, grabbing a basin and some towels and putting them on his nightstand and of course, he tried to resist at first, but eventually, the fight in him left and he went still, surrendering to your help simply because he had no strength left to give.
You wiped the blood from his eyes and cheeks, cleaned the streaks along his neck, cool cloth brushing over heated skin and every so often, he twitched or groaned. You urged him to sit up, finding the first shirt you found in his dresser to change his bloodied shirt, careful not to look at the dark lines that marred his chest for fear of him lashing out on you again.
You had to replace the water in the basin three times, spilling the now reddened water over and over again until his skin was free of blood and water no longer stained red. He stared at you the entire time you worked, emotionless, not saying anything.
“Are you comfortable, Your Highness?” You whispered, gently smoothing his damp hair away from his face.
He hummed hoarsely, nodding subtly, but he didn’t look away. He watched you with those hollow eyes you were used to and usually, it unsettled you, but instead, your stomach fluttered. He was too handsome for someone who had nearly collapsed in your arms. It wasn’t fair.
Suddenly, he grimaced, seizing as his entire body began to spasm, shivering even though it was pretty warm inside his chambers. You didn’t know what to do, so you didn’t. Instead, you quickly sat on the bed, gently positioning his head on your chest to let him borrow your warmth even though you weren’t sure it was going to help, holding him tight.
He stiffened, but gave up the fight once again once he probably realised how warm you were, how gentle you cradled his feeble body as your hands steadied his head. An uncalled memory striked your head. This reminded you of how your mother would comfort you when you were ill.
Without thinking, as if on instinct, you fingers began to comb his hair, swaying your shoulders to rock him tenderly like your mother used to do to soothe you. “It’s alright,” you hushed, finding the right rhythm to rock his quivering body. “I-I got you…”
You didn't know when the stinging behind your own eyes started, but you continued to rock him, anyway, hoping he didn’t feel the tears that fell from your eyes on his skin, or the way your voice cracked once in a while as you hummed a soft lullaby to accompany the soothing motion. You really didn’t know. All you knew was that it hurt to see him like this.
Eventually, the tremors eased, and finally, San went still, his head growing heavy on your chest as sleep finally caught up to him. His light snores filled your ears as whatever was causing all this loosened its grip on him temporarily to let him rest.
And you didn’t move, not until you were sure he was truly asleep. You didn’t want to anyway. And in the stillness that followed, your heart tugged painfully. This was the closest you’ve ever been to San and it was unfortunate that it had to be in these circumstances.
You didn’t realise how long you’d been sitting there, lost in your own thoughts, staring at his sleeping face. You were exhausted, your body was also becoming a little weary as the adrenaline came crashing down on you. You needed air.
You shifted, carefully lowering his head on his pillow so you could get up and let him have this rare moment of peace, but before you could get up, you felt his hand wrap around your wrist. Your breath stilled, mouth opening slightly in surprise.
And if that wasn’t enough, he tugged on it, too. It was weak and clumsy, but you felt it, anyway. He didn’t open his eyes, but his brows furrowed. “Stay,” he rasped, barely a whisper, voice rough with sleep, raw with excess use and fatigue.
Your breath came out ragged as you stared at his hand around your wrist, holding onto it as if you were his lifeline. And by God, you felt something then. Your chest fluttered warmly at first, before turning into heat that was too dangerous for your own good. You could barely breathe, it was like he had your heart in his hand, squeezing it slightly instead of your wrist.
You bit your lip, hesitant. Was he even coherent enough to know what he was asking for? You didn’t want to take advantage of it, but the thing was, you couldn’t bear to leave this room knowing that you were going to worry about him the entire night, anyway.
It was when he opened his eyes, barely halfway, but enough where you could see the familiar sharpness in them. “Stay,” he repeated, firmer this time. He wasn’t asking you, he was demanding you.
You nodded, lifting the covers and sitting back down on the bed, and the moment you did, he shifted instinctively towards your warmth, making your heart flip. Not even a minute later, his breathing evened out again and you let these warm, fuzzy feelings lull you to sleep.
But the next morning, all those feelings died. You were startled awake by someone shaking you violently. At first, you didn’t realise where you were, the unfamiliar setting of the room sending your head into a frenzy, but all of it came back to you when you saw San staring at you.
He looked somewhat better - better than you’ve seen him in a while, really. In fact, he was already in his royal attire. And he looked angry. Maybe that’s why his brows were furrowed together, face reddened in a way that only unbridled fury could bring.
You quickly got up, ready to tend to him in case he was still feeling unwell, your eyes automatically checking if there were specks of blood to be found on his shirt, relieved to see that there wasn’t any. “Your Highness,” you began, voice still thick with sleep. “Did you need—”
“Not another word. I don’t want to hear you, and I don’t want to see your face, you hear me?” San spoke with calm, deliberate venom, not giving you a chance to even finish your sentence. “Do you understand me? Or are you perhaps too stupid to?”
You were stunned into silence. His words landed like a slap to your face, each one of them precise and intentional. “P-Pardon?” You couldn’t help but let out, genuinely surprised at how scathing he sounded and it stung worse than anything last night.
He scoffed, tilting his head in mock fashion, a derisive smirk on his face. “You think you’re exceptional now that you’ve stayed here?” He seethed, eyes snapping to you with such lethal coldness, it halted the air in your lungs. “What, you think tending to me makes you important?”
This time, you were actually shocked, hurt filling your chest as you stood up to try and explain yourself. “I don’t know what you’re saying,” you breathed out. “I was just trying to help.”
“Oh, please, spare me,” he scoffed, eyes like cold glass. “You deliberately refused to listen to me when I told you to get out and not come back. You were like a stray animal that refused to get kicked out.”
He enunciated his words clearly, ensuring each word landed exactly where it would do the most damage. And he succeeded. You blinked, hurt prickling your chest. “This isn’t fair,” you said. “I was genuinely worried for your well-being. You know that’s not true.”
“No? Tell me, then. What do you call throwing yourself at me during my weakest moments?” He kept trudging forward and you kept staggering backwards, stopping when your back hit the wall, San effectively trapping you. “Or maybe you were just that desperate, crawling into my bed like some pathetic little thing.”
The words hit like a slap, You knew he was a little cruel in ways he didn’t mean, but this time, it was different. He meant every single thing. Of all the things he did and didn’t do, this was the one that genuinely hurt you the most. You shook your head quickly, eyes stinging, not even knowing what to say to that one.
You could have any other insults any time of the day, but being accused of being a desperate whore will be one you will never, ever accept. You grew up with absolutely nothing, almost gave up your life with less, but the one thing you refused to let go and get trampled upon was your dignity and integrity.
Bile rose from your throat as you tried to breathe through the pain in your chest, the pain so physical that you wanted to fold in on yourself. You looked up, ready to excuse yourself, but when you looked at San, his eyes were wide, mouth open, expression aghast with regret.
You realised, then, that you had already started to cry, hot tears falling in torrential streaks down your eyes, You choked, getting dizzy at the whiplash at the speed of how your mind caught up and it was when an agonised whimper left your throat before you could stop it.
“I-I didn’t mean what I said,” he backed up, raising his hand in an attempt to touch you but stopped himself at the last minute when he realised how deeply he shattered you. “Oh, God, I did not mean any of that, I did not mean to diminish your integrity like this—oh, God.”
But the damage was done. You hadn’t even realized you’d spoken those words aloud. All colour drained from San’s face and he looked so frightened by his mistake that it hurt to look at because he wasn’t even this frightened when he was bleeding out from his eyes and mouth.
“Y/N, stop, don’t cry, don’t, please,” he said, voice suddenly hoarse, almost breaking. “I didn’t mean those, I swear to you. Listen to me, I am so—”
You flinched at the sound of his voice, and that alone made him visibly flinch in return. You shook your head again, because you couldn’t hear this. Not right now. Not when his words were still ringing in your ears like a fresh wound.
You were determined to get away, but he held onto your wrist. “Don’t go,” he pleaded, raw and guilty. You tried to free yourself, but he held on. “Y/N, please,” he swallowed. “I won’t keep you, but let me call someone to send you back. You can’t…just wait, please.”
He held onto the same locket on his neck, the heirloom glowing slightly as San whispered to it, his hand never letting go of your wrist, not even when Hongjoong came in, eyes widening in concern at the scene he witnessed.
San’s hand finally loosened around your wrist, fingers trembling as they slipped away from your skin. “Take her,” he ordered the knight. “Use the hidden passage and let Wooyoung tend to her.”
He didn’t look at you as Hongjoong led you out. He couldn’t. His eyes were glued to the floor as if it physically pained him to lift them and you didn’t look back as you walked out of the room he had shattered you in, letting the door close between you like a final, heavy blow.
To say that you were still upset until the next day would be an understatement. Because how dare he? How dare he just say those words like he had every right to? Oh, you were mad. And it wasn’t even because you were looking for any sort of thanks for what you did; it wasn’t your fault you were worried about him.
You touched your chest as you brooded in front of your vanity mirror. It was, however, your fault for feeling something there. Something you didn’t want to think about when he held your wrist and told you to stay.
You shook your head to rid yourself of the thought, just in time to hear gentle knocking on your door. You sighed, pursing your lips, turning around to see a sheepish looking Wooyoung standing by the door, his hands behind his back. “I told you I did not want to be disturbed today,” you said.
“I know, my lady, but it is of utmost importance that I am here,” he replied, eyes twinkling. “I have something for you.”
Your frown turned into pleasant surprise when he finally brought his hands in front of him, a smile spreading across your face when you saw what he held. In his hands was the most gorgeous bouquet of purple hyacinths wrapped together with a thin strip of ribbon and lace.
“Oh, how lovely,” you gasped, excitedly taking them from him, bringing them closer to you and breathing them in. “They’re particularly difficult to find around, how did you acquire them?”
“I didn’t. They’re not from me. His Majesty had them curated especially for you, my lady,” Wooyoung replied softly.
Your fingers stilled around the stems of the hyacinths, the smile on your lips faltering, your expression of joy slowly being replaced to that of visible shock. “What?” You murmured before you could stop yourself. “He did? Are you sure?”
“Yes, my lady. He personally gave them to me for you. He even instructed me to arrange them properly,” he said, his expression softening, all traces of mischief gone. “He would’ve come personally, but didn’t think you would want to see him. Not after yesterday.”
Just when you thought that San couldn’t send your mind into shambles even further. Your mind spun, refusing to comprehend that the cold king of Utopia would even do something like this. You brought the flowers to your chest without realizing it, pressing them lightly against your heart as if to steady it.
“Thank you,” you said softly. “I’ll put them in the vase, myself.”
Wooyoung exhaled, releasing a breath you didn’t even realise he was holding. When he turned to leave, you caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. It was relief, tinged with sadness.
As you put the delicate flowers in the vase, it was hard to miss how carefully they were picked just for you. Each petal was perfect, free from bruising or any kind of marring. But more than that, why had he sent them anyway?
You had a vague idea. Behind all the walls he was putting up, was proof that San was actually capable of feeling regret. Somehow, that just hurt as much as the words he said because he knew what he said was wrong, yet, he chose to hurt you at the moment.
You reached out and brushed your fingers against the petals of the hyacinths. You weren’t completely ready to forgive him, but for the first time since yesterday, your anger wavered.
The next day, you woke up with a brand new bouquet that was even bigger than the one the day before. This time, they were forget-me-nots, which was fascinating to see in a bunch considering how tiny they were.
“Again?” You murmured, fingers hovering before gently touching one bloom. Wooyoung can only shrug, turning around before you see him smile.
San must be more remorseful than I thought, you pondered. You put them with the hyacinths, the anger in your chest still not subsiding, but simmering at least. And you thought that was that, but no, the flowers did not stop there, because San kept sending flowers for one week straight.
By the third day, they were white tulips. You stared at the pure and pristine blossoms, biting your lips, no longer just surprised, because there was something else accompanying it that made your chest oddly tight. You were flustered, and not just that, you couldn’t help the heat on your face that stayed for what felt like hours after receiving the brand new bouquet.
And you wanted to stay angry, you really did, because no matter how many flowers he sends, the words he said can never be undone anymore, but how were you supposed to do that when he sends avalanche lilies the fourth day so plenty, they spilled all over the place? The other flowers haven’t even wilted yet and here you were with new ones.
You stood in the middle of your chambers, struggling to find a place to put the vase that was overflowing with so much of the lilies. You turned around, helpless looking at a smirking Hongjoong who held another vase of the lillies. “I’m running out of places,” you laughed under your breath, equal parts overwhelmed and intimidated by how many flowers there were.
By now, the servants had stopped pretending not to notice. News had spread that the stoic and impassive king had been sending his would-be queen flowers everyday. The giggles and murmurs brought life to the castle and it was ridiculous how all of this had you smiling like you were a teenager all over again.
“These are lovely,” Mingi commented, laughing at the overwhelming amount of flowers in your chambers when he came for your usual classes. “Well, I have a delivery,” he handed you another bouquet, mischief in his eyes. “More to add to this garden of yours, I suppose.”
You felt your face warm up at his teasing remark. “I have no idea what you mean,” you mumbled, feeling your body buzzing with excitement as you took the bouquet of snowdrops from him. You held onto them the entire class and never let them go.
By the sixth day, you were awoken to the calming scent of lavender. You smiled without realizing it, opening your eyes to see Wooyoung and Jongho giggling to each other as they arranged the lavender all over your chambers, not knowing you were already awake - not knowing that you had begun to look forward to each flower that San sent your way.
Then, the seventh day came and this one was delivered a little differently. It had been nighttime by then and you were already starting to feel disheartened since there were no flowers yet, but as you were reading your book, Yeosang came in carrying a tray of food that had you salivating.
Not only that, they were generous heapings of food that you could tell were your favourites, and Seonghwa was hot on his tail carrying a modest but breathtaking bouquet of pink camelias. Yeosang laid all the dishes properly, not-so-subtly wiggling his brows at you playfully.
“His Majesty specifically asked for today’s supper to be special,” Yeosang said, his mouth curving into a knowing smile. “Catered to you, my lady. I hope the fish is to your liking, His Highness said you enjoyed it the last time you had it.”
Seonghwa placed the bouquet on your lap. “Looks scrumptious,” he commented, gesturing to the food. “His Highness was especially pleased when we told him we discovered a river that had trout in them while we were roaming the area. Immediately thought of you, my lady.”
Your throat tightened. You looked at the bouquet, fingers brushing all over the pink petals and they felt tender and more earnest than the other flowers he sent you, somehow more personal than the rest.
And then you stared at the feast for a little while longer when the two men excused themselves, tears threatening to fall from your eyes before you dug in, heart warm and as full as your chambers that were overflowing with flowers. You had to think about it at first, why this particular bouquet seemed to tug at your heartstrings the most more than the other ones.
The simplicity of it made it your favourite, but it wasn’t because of that - it was because all along, it seemed that San had been paying attention to you.
Seven different flowers for seven days straight, and not a single word. You wondered if this was San’s way of speaking when words failed him.
But that wasn’t how you usually handled things. No, you were the confrontational type. The very next day, you made up your mind to seek San, yourself. You didn’t want to let things fester, but the truth was, you wanted to see for yourself if the flowers meant something to him.
You found San in his study where you knew he usually was at this time of the day. You took a deep breath in, that little fear in the back of your head overtaking you, a bit scared that he was going to push you away, and rapped lightly on the door. When no one answered, you opened it slightly, peeking your head in before entering.
San didn’t even notice you, let alone hear your knock, busy with his paperwork. Your heart lurched as you stared at him. He looked better, the colours on his cheeks and lips were back. You cleared your throat to catch his attention.
San looked up, shock flickering briefly across his features before he schooled them back into neutrality. Still, he set his pen aside immediately. “Y/N—my lady,” he whispered breathily, standing up from his chair. “Please, come in. I’d hate for you to not feel welcome,” he paused, a slight frown marring his handsome face. “Where’s Hongjoong?”
“I’m alone,” you do as told, carefully closing the door behind you. “I wanted to thank you,” you said, straight to the point, voice steady despite the way your heart fluttered. “For the flowers.”
For a moment, he said nothing, most likely not expecting you to bring it up. “Were they to your liking?” San asked, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it though his face still retained that sharpness you’ve come to know him for.
You nodded with an affirming hum. “I did,” you replied with genuine sincerity. “They were very beautiful, all of them.”
His gaze dropped, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he audibly swallowed. “I’m pleased to hear it,” he replied, low and careful. Gone was the flatness in his tone, replaced by something just a little warmer. “Very pleased.”
“I will be cherishing them, Your Grace,” you smiled softly.
That earned you a look from him that lingered and remained unguarded. His eyes softened in a way that felt almost dangerous, one that had you holding your breath because you have never seen San’s eyes be this expressive not only towards you, but in general. And now that you knew he was capable of doing such a thing, you didn’t know what to do.
You broke eye contact first, not being able to take the intensity of his gaze. “W-Well, I’m afraid I have taken too much of your time,” you cleared your throat, lowering your head to hide the redness of your cheeks. “I shall be taking my leave—”
“Wait,” he stopped you, startling you a bit and apparently even himself. There was a long pause and you could only blink in anticipation. Finally, he exhaled. “About that night,” he began and your breath hitched. He noticed and his eyes glazed but only for a bit before going back to being impassive again. “The words I spoke were cruel, words I should have never said to you.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away, forcing himself to look you in the eye even though this was taking a lot out of him. “And for that, I am very sorry. I hope you can accept my sincerest apologies.”
And when he bowed low, that was all you needed to see. It wasn’t flowery and it wasn’t anything grand. But it was San, a king who was so used to being bowed to instead of the other way around. You felt the weight of his apology settle deeply in your chest.
“Also,” he continued when he stood up straight again. “Thank you for taking care of me the way you did, especially for staying and cleaning me up even though I gave you every reason not to. It was wrong of me to intentionally hurt you after all those.”
“I forgive you,” you reassured him. “Though I was very much hurt, everyone deserves a second chance. You do, too.”
Another silence fell, but this one was different. It was a little awkward because you’ve never really been alone with San without the entire exchange being political, but at least it wasn’t cold or heavy. Rather, you found yourself not minding it much. The silence was comfortable.
When he finally spoke again, his tone had softened further, almost hesitant. “It’s a lovely day outside the castle grounds,” he turns his head towards the windows before training them back on you, eyes fainltly dubious but fairly hopeful. “Would you do me the honours of walking with me and lending me your time, my lady?
You were stunned into silence. The way he asked it, the way his gaze lingered as though he were bracing himself for rejection. Your heart betrayed you before your mind could catch up. “I would love to, my king. ”
There was a very faint curve that tugged at the corners of his lips. It was very subtle, almost invisible but it was there, as he exhaled a soft sigh of relief. Then, he extended his hand, not breaking eye contact, and how can you reject him when he was actually offering and not demanding?
You began to lift your hand, but you stopped midair when you realised that you had no gloves on. San remained quiet, though you can see it on his face as realisation dawned. Your hands weren’t soft and dainty, all traces of femininity gone from all the years of farming.
“May I?” he asked gently, his voice lowered as though the moment itself deserved reverence.
At your nod, he gingerly reaches for your hand, his touch warm and surprisingly comforting at the lightest of contact. He hummed under his breath, stealing yours when he brushed his thumbs over the thick callouses of your skin and something burst inside your ribs.
“You have beautiful hands that have been through a lot,” he murmured. “You should be very proud of them. As I am.”
Your heart swelled painfully, emotion rushing in far too fast when he stilled his thumb, pressing them on your skin and that’s when you felt it - his own scars. Callouses met callouses, strength met strength, and instead of shame, you felt seen. He shifted closer and with an ease that felt almost intimate, linked his arm with yours.
If you were being completely honest with yourself, you wanted to scream. Your face was as red as a tomato - probably even redder - trying your best not to be too stiff as San adjusted his pace to match yours as you began to walk through the snowy grounds of the castle.
And by God, he was trying his best. San still felt rigid beside you, his steps a little measured and deliberate, but not because of duty, but because of consideration for you. This was the same man who always kept space between you, who never so much as let your sleeves touch during formal walks, and now he was walking with you like you were equals.
“I know I should have asked this before,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, looking your way, and you just had to blush - one because the way the sun hit the high points of his face made him look ethereal, and two, he was really, really trying and it was endearing. “But how are you liking Utopia? I…know there’s not much here. You can be honest—oh, wait.”
You frowned when he slowed. It was when you noticed that you were about to pass a narrow path, and not only that, the wind also started to pick up, the bite of it hitting your face rather painfully. Without saying anything, he angled himself to shield you from both the wind and the path so your dress wouldn’t be caught in the dirt.
You stared at him in awe, your cheeks warm and your pulse racing for reasons that had nothing to do with trepidation. He gazed at you, shoulders tense as he waited for your answer. “It’s quiet and the snow doesn’t pretend to be king, and I think that’s why I like it. Utopia doesn’t promise warmth. It promises survival, if you’re willing to stay and try.”
San stopped walking, turning fully to you, actually staring at you as if it was the first time he’s actually seeing you. Respect further softened his eyes, awe flickering in them. “I see,” he drawled, throat bobbing when he swallowed. “Yunho was right all along. Thank you.”
You wanted to ask him what that meant, but he continued walking then, aimlessly with no ending point in mind. He asked you more questions, like the books you read or what you did in your free time. He didn’t speak a lot, but when he did, he was very gentle with his words, very regal and proper. You reckoned that this was just how he was in general as a person.
And he listened to everything you said, never interrupting nor dismissing you. The walls were still there, unmistakable and tall, but you could see where he was pressing against them from the inside, trying to make room for you.
“And your lessons?” He asked earnestly. “Are they too difficult? I’m afraid I might have put too much pressure on you.”
“They are,” you admitted. “But nothing I cannot handle—”
“Your Majesty.”
You both turned around, not expecting to see Jongho whose voice cut through the moment. His brows were both slightly raised, eyes pleased as he inspected the both of you and San - walking side by side, arms linked - head nodding in approval, though it is replaced by sheepishness when he realised what he just walked into and interrupted.
San stilled, his eyes narrowing into slits as he stared at his advisor. The tenderness he had didn’t just disappear, it completely snapped out of existence as if the gentle man you were with the entire time was just an illusion. His body snapped into rigidity, face dropping into that impassive and unreadable coldness you were so used to seeing in him.
“Yes?” San gritted his teeth, tone sharp and clipped. It wasn’t apprehension–inducing, rather, the immediate change fascinated you.
“We have a budgetary meeting to be held half an hour from now, Your Highness,” Jongho meekly replied.
San sighed, mumbling quietly under his breath. “Send all the heralds. I shall be there,” he nodded, ever the king he was.
He turned, releasing your hand with visible reluctance. You didn’t think that the change in him could be more startling, but you were wrong. The hardness melted away, eyes warming, voice dropping into something gentle and almost apologetic when he started to speak to you.
“I apologise,” he pursed his lips. “It slipped my mind that I had prior commitments before this.”
You shook your head. “It’s quite alright, Your Highness. You have priorities you can’t ignore.”
“I hope that I may ask for your time again,” he added, and in a drastic turn of events, he lifted your hand to his lips, planting a brief, innocent kiss to it before he let go. “Soon.”
And that’s how he left you, standing still with your heart racing with cheeks so red, it would’ve been enough to melt the snow around you. You realised, then, that Choi San might have been far more dangerous like this compared to when he was much colder.
So maybe you were curious about San. You wanted to know the things he liked, what he did in his free time, and what made him tick. You chalked it up to boredom on your end, however, there was genuinely one thing you wished to know more than anything.
“Oh, hello, Y/N,” Yunho greeted with the warmest of smiles the moment you entered San’s study, lowering his glasses and setting aside the notes he held. “I’m afraid San isn’t here today. He’s currently with Seonghwa to inspect some disturbance up north of the territory.”
Now that you think about it, maybe this was the best case scenario. Yunho was easier to talk to than San, and from what you’ve seen, the two seemed to go way back. Maybe he could answer your questions better.
“You would be correct,” Yunho chuckled, crossing his arms with a smirk. “I’ve been with the Choi clan before San’s grandfather was even born, so you could definitely say we go way back.”
It was your turn to raise your brows. You raised them so high, you wouldn’t be surprised if they reached up your hairline. “First of all, you could read minds,” you blurted out stupidly before you could stop yourself. “And second, you don’t look a day over twenty-five.“
At that, he laughs heartily, his entire body rattling as the melodious sound of his contagious laughter bounced around the study. “So I have been told,” he chortled. “And you caught me at the most opportune time, too. Well, since you’re here, I could try to explain some things to you since there seems to be a lot in your mind.”
Yunho reached for a piece of paper, crumpling it into a small ball in his hand. At his touch, it began to glow, and when he opened his hand, tiny silver butterflies fluttered lazily in the air. He smiled when you gasped in awe, then at the flick of his wrist, they disappeared, a light drizzle of glitter left in their wake as proof of temporary life.
“Is this the same power you use to heal San that night?” You asked bravely, not sure if you were even supposed to ask but decided to go for it anyway.
Yunho hummed, eyes dropping at what you were trying to ask. “Very clever way of prying information out of me, I’ll give you that,” he chuckled. “But yes, you could say that.”
And just like that, the air turned a little more serious. You hesitated for a little bit before asking again. “His Highness…what was that that night?”
Yunho exhaled slowly, the lightness draining from his expression as he turned fully toward you. “You weren’t meant to see that,” he said quietly. “You weren’t meant to be there at all.”
Your fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeves, bracing yourself. “What you witnessed,” he continued, choosing his words with care. “Is something that predates you, me, even this kingdom as it stands.”
Your heart dropped then and there. Not because of fear, but because you were hoping to hear something else that did not confirm the fact that, indeed, was suffering all this time. “So,” you started, trying to steady your voice. “The rumours about him being cursed...”
“You saw the markings on his chest,” he said instead, eyes steady on yours.
Your breath hitched. He didn’t deny it. “How it began and what caused it,” he continued, turning his head to stare at the light snow falling from the sky through the window. “That is San’s story to tell. What I can tell you is that we’re trying our best to stall it. I would use my powers and San would lend me his energy since it takes a lot out of me to do this.”
Your shoulders slumped before you could stop yourself. “But today…?”
“Just me,” Yunho said gently, and then smiled knowingly. “You look disappointed.”
You flushed instantly. “I-I was just curious.”
“Right,” he drawled, his smirk widening. “Well, a little birdie told me that you two were getting cosy the other day walking around the castle grounds.”
“We are to be married soon,” you defended yourself weakly. “Surely, it’s fairly normal to familiarise with each other before then, don’t you think?”
“Mhhm. And surely, San didn’t have to send you different flowers everyday and make a show about it,” he laughed. “They were quite difficult to find, too. He was so adamant about them.”
You pouted, cheeks burning. “He was being remorseful. I’m sure you’ve heard what happened.”
“Sure, but what about the ones before those?”
You paused, caught off guard. That definitely caught your attention, because unless you were remembering wrong, you were positive you’ve never received anything from San before. And Yunho, it took him a minute, but his eyes widened in genuine surprise when he saw that you had no idea what he was talking about.
“He’s been giving you flowers long before the recent ones, Y/N,” Yunho carefully explained. “Do you not remember? Wooyoung would either arrange them for you or you’d already have them before you woke up. I know because I’d make them and transport them in your chambers.”
The room spun before you. Of course you remember those flowers, they were the only source of happiness and comfort you had for the longest time since they were the only colour you’d see in contrast to the greyness of your surroundings. And to think that San has been sending them to you all along had you dizzy.
“I-I had no idea,” you breathed out. “I genuinely had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Yunho sighed. “But it’s not your fault, he’s not a very showy person, as you can already tell,” he paused, locking eyes with you firmly. “San is a good man, just a little more reserved and closed off especially with what he’s been through. Here, take this.”
He proceeds to pluck a book from the shelf behind him and give it to you. “Read it when you’re alone, but for now, just know that that man you saw that night was not and will never be a representation of who San is as a person.”
You remembered the blood, the tremors, the way his voice had broken despite all that fury. Your throat burned. “I know,” you said. “I just genuinely wanted to help him, that’s all.”
“And he knows that,” he replied softly. “But you have to understand, he hates being seen like that because that’s not him. He has a habit of saying things he doesn’t mean because he’s so used to enduring things alone simply because he’s long forgotten how to ask for help. Like that morning when he made you cry.”
You cringed internally, not wanting to remember the hurtful things he had said, but waiting to see where Yunho was going with this. “There’s no excuse, and he’s already tormented himself for it, but the reason why he was angry…tell me, did you go through a secret passage?”
You raised a brow in mild surprise, nodding in confirmation. “Right. You had basically spent the night with him. Unmarried. He didn’t want the nobles seeing you and shaming you for it.”
You froze, the realisation striking you harder than you expected, but Yunho wasn’t done yet. “Unfortunately, fear can look like cruelty sometimes,” he smiled, forlorn. “You’d be surprised at how soft San actually is if you paid attention. Him assigning Hongjoong to you was probably the biggest telltale sign, Y/N.”
You were torn between knowing and not because you were terrified that once you knew, this would forever change the way your heart beat. Still, you looked up anyway, listening.
“Hongjoong was Seonghwa’s lieutenant,” Yunho gently explained. “His best fighter. San trusts very few people with his life. By placing Hongjoong at your side, he didn’t just give you protection, he created a hole in his own defenses.”
Suddenly, memories clicked into place with painful clarity. San’s sharp tone whenever Hongjoong wasn’t with you like that one morning when you asked him for tea. Still, you didn’t want to believe it. “I-I don’t understand.”
“He’s not angry when he sees you alone without Hongjoong guarding you. Never was,” he said, gauging your reaction carefully. “He’s worried you’ll get lost. Terrified, even, that you’d lose your way and accidentally find yourself out in the snow and freeze to death.”
Silence followed. You only hoped that Yunho couldn’t hear how your heart betrayed you by beating too loud inside your chest. “Pay attention to him next time, yes? Pay attention to his eyes. He’s got that look in them he doesn’t even know he has when he’s staring at you.”
The moment you got out of there, you quickly ran to your chambers, opening the book that Yunho gave you. At first, you were confused because there was nothing but illustrations of flowers and their names, but when you looked closely, your blood ran cold. This wasn’t just a book - Yunho handed you a floriography book. The study of flowers and their meanings.
You swallowed, knowing exactly what Yunho was trying to tell you without outwardly speaking of it. You turned the pages of the book, racking your head for flowers that San had given you prior to the recent ones. And then you remembered the winter heathers. Your fingers quickly scanned the book, until you found them.
Winter heathers, known to thrive where other plants cannot. Symbolises independence and self-reliance. When given, it is meant to say: Your beauty stands out even in the coldest times.
You almost dropped the book with what you just read, fumbling it clumsily in your hands. You couldn’t believe it, was that how San looked at you even back then? And, then you remembered the lenten roses he made you take that one dinner.
Lenten roses carry quiet strength, consolation, and comfort with every petal. When given, it is meant to say: Your strength endures even in the deepest winter.
San made them seem like an afterthought back then, something whose potential he did not want to waste. You turned the page with a shaky exhale, desperate to find more meaning in the all flowers he’d given you.
The first one was the purple hyacinths. You will never forget that one because that was the first of many that he gave you.
Purple hyacinths: I bloom with remorse and I ask for your forgiveness.
A breathy exhale leaves your throat. The flowers were his way of speaking to you when words failed him. Your fingers lingered on the illustration longer than necessary, a dull ache spreading through you before you turned the page again.
Forget-me-nots: I cannot forget the hurt I put onto you.White tulips: I ask for forgiveness and hope we can begin again.
It was unsettling, how the sincere meanings of the flowers were earnestly making their way into your way, inching earnestly in every corner. You were about to turn the pages again when your eyes narrowed at the small text at the bottom.
Oftentimes, different flower combinations convey messages. For example, purple hyacinths, forget-me-nots, and white tulips together mean: I know I hurt you, I haven’t forgotten, I’m sorry.
By now, breathing was lost on you and each page you turned made it difficult to do so. You were so confused because the Choi San you had in mind was someone who viewed you as a person he needed for his kingdom’s legitimacy - someone dispensable and someone he didn’t need to get to know as a person even though you were going to spend your life with him.
Avalanche Lily: I bow in humility for my mistake.
Snowdrop: I hope for a new beginning with you by my side.
Lavender: I can’t stop thinking about you, near or far.
Pink Camellia: I long for you tenderly, and I long to be near you again.
Or so you thought. Now, you didn’t know what to think. You thought you knew who San was. A hollow laugh left your throat because all this time, you had mistaken his walls for apathy. San had never been cold - he’d been soft all along. You just haven’t learned how to read between the lines yet.
You pressed your lips together, but the sting only grew worse, creeping into the corners of your eyes. You blinked once; twice too late. A tear slipped free, landing on the page. You sucked in a shaky breath, hastily wiping at your face with the back of your hand.
You shut the book, setting it aside to do something you’ve never done before - embroidery. That night, you spent the majority of it embroidering San’s initials on a small handkerchief, taking the time to be precise and make it look at least decent considering it was your first time doing it.
You didn’t know what possessed you. All you knew, the more you sewed, your fondness for San kept growing tenfold. By the time you were done, you had probably pricked your fingers a thousand times, but you smiled, proud of what you’ve done, hoping he’d see the beauty in what you’ve created, just like he saw the beauty in you when you couldn’t even see it in yourself.
You had been contemplating on how you were going to give San the handkerchief that you embroidered. The adrenaline had worn off then and now the thought of giving it to him had you embarrassed all over, anxious whether giving it to him will be too forward.
But you didn’t have to think too hard. You were about to head out for a walk when a knock on your doors interrupted your plans. “Y-Your Highness,” you breathed out, surprised to see San on the other side. “What brings you here?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer, just staring at you like he couldn’t believe that you actually opened the door for him. His composure was perfect, face emotionless and almost cold, but after that conversation with Yunho, you noticed something immediately - it was the way his gaze flicked away before settling back on you.
You wanted to melt into a puddle of endearment then and there especially with how red the tips of his ears were. Oh my goodness, you thought with quiet astonishment. He’s shy. He’s so shy and he’s trying to make himself look like he’s not.
“I was wondering,” he cleared his throat. “Hoping, if I can ask you for your time again? I would like it if you joined me for tea.”
Well, you certainly weren’t expecting that. For a moment, you hesitated, your mind reminding you of that one time you tried to invite him for tea and coldly rejected you. But this time, as you stared at his hopeful face, you couldn’t help the butterflies in your tummy. He was trying, he really was, and you could feel it.
“Lead the way, Your Grace,” you smiled before you could second guess yourself.
You felt the butterflies multiply when you linked arms with him again as he led you through the halls to one of the smaller dining rooms, opening the door for you before you could reach for them, stopping shortly by the door in awe at what you saw.
The table was beautifully set, but what caught your attention was the large array of tea laid out in neat rows. You looked at him, brows lifting in quiet disbelief.
San cleared his throat, gaze immediately dropping to the floor as if it held something fascinating. “I wasn’t sure which you preferred,” he said, straightening his back in an attempt to save face even though the faint pink dusting his cheeks betrayed him. “So I asked for all of them.”
You had to purse your lips together tightly in order to not laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all. “I see,” you chose to say, pulling the chair so you could sit down. “Thank you, Your High—”
“No, wait, allow me,” he stopped you, gently prying your hand away from the chair so he could pull it for you to sit down. Your cheeks were redder than his by this point. “San.”
“P-Pardon?”
He sat across you. “Please, call me San,” he repeated, eyes soft, tone warm. "This might be too much to ask, but will you please do me the honours of letting me hear my name from you?"
He was right - it was too much to ask because you didn’t know how to say his name without giving your true feelings away. But his gaze never wavered and he waited patiently like he’d wait forever to hear it from you without demanding it.
“San,” you said at last, softly, as though speaking it too loudly might break something fragile between you.
The effect was immediate. He tilted his head as he stared at you, face still that same cold, indifferent king that had people trembling with fear at the mere sight of it, but his eyes told a different story. They twinkled, bright and sincere with genuine contentment.
You broke eye contact, afraid you might explode on the spot with how hot you felt, reaching for a random tea blend without even looking to give your hands something to do to distract yourself. You were about to lift the teapot when you felt San’s hand lightly stop you.
“Let me do it,” he offered, grabbing the pot to serve the both of you. Your eyes widened, aghast at what you were witnessing. He was the king, for God’s sake. You were about to protest when he shook his head. “I insist. Please, I want to do this for you.”
“You truly didn’t need to do all this,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly.
“I want to,” San replied simply. “If it brings you even a moment of comfort, then it was worth it to me.”
As if that wasn’t enough, you watched as he put a small dollop of honey in the tea instead of the usual sugar cube. You wanted to cry. Yunho was right all along, San did pay attention more than you thought because you did prefer honey in your tea over sugar. He slid the cup towards you with both hands, watching as you took a sip.
“Is it good?” He asked expectantly. “I hope it’s warm enough and not too sweet.”
You smiled, taking another sip, not missing the way his eyes shone. “It’s perfect.”
The conversation naturally flowed from there, especially now that you knew a little more about San. Whenever he noticed that your plate was almost empty or you were almost done with your cup, he would take it upon himself to refill them for you, all without looking away from you as you talked.
And he listened, truly listened to everything you said as if the words you uttered were the gospel, itself. He was empathetic, too, eyes dropping into something somber when you mentioned the plague that took your parents from you, transforming into respect when you told him how you endured alone before settling your way into Utopia.
“I used to enjoy tea with my parents,” you said absentmindedly. “Do you enjoy tea?”
He stared at you, opting not to reply, but the fondness in his eyes was unmistakably there. He didn’t say much, but when he did, it’s like his true goal in life was to leave you breathless. You suddenly remembered what you had in your hand the entire time. Your finger tightened around the handkerchief anxiously. “San,” you murmured. “I have something for you.”
His brows knit together as you placed the folded handkerchief into his palm. He unfolded it slowly, eyes scanning his initials, tracing them as if they were sacred. He was about to say something, but closed his mouth when he touched the tiny detail you sewed next to it.
He narrowed his eyes to inspect what it was, and when he did, he looked up, eyes wide. Not exactly startled, but in disbelief yet soft and warm in a way you’ve never seen before. “An edelweiss flower,” he murmured. “Do you know what it means?”
You nodded, a serene smile gracing your face. Of course you knew what an edelweiss meant. You had spent countless hours looking for a flower whose meaning you wanted to convey; spent an exorbitant amount of time studying it so you could embroider it neatly onto the cloth.
My feelings match yours and I will brave the cold with you.
For a while, he did nothing, staring at the handkerchief with unreadable eyes, hands tightening around it once or twice as his mind traveled elsewhere. But then, he smiled fully and openly, unable to stop himself. That was probably the moment the world stopped for you, because that smile…you will never forget it for as long as Utopia stood on its grounds.
Without a word, he reached across the table and took your hand, warm and sure, his thumb brushing over your knuckles like it belonged there. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to, as a genuine, helpless smile reached his eyes.
You didn’t need to say anything either as your fingers laced with his. You’ve already told him everything you needed to as the both of you sat quietly in the room, letting the tea grow cold, the snow falling gently outside bearing witness upon you two.
Things went back to normal after that, but at the same time, some things have definitely changed between you and San especially after that afternoon tea session.
For one, you had tea with him at least three times a week, most of it because he would literally clear his schedule out just to make time for you. Secondly, and probably that made your heart beat wildly, the flowers never stopped. San would still send one every single day without fail.
You had no idea how he was acquiring them, especially because he had sent some flowers that you knew could not survive the harsh snow of the kingdom, though Yunho’s exhausted demeanor and tired, sunken eyes should have been an indicator to you.
There were some things whose change was gradual, however. San and you went back to your duties, especially the politically inclined ones. It definitely sent you for a whiplash since you were slowly getting used to the sweetness he’s been showing you lately to the point that you had forgotten how utterly intimidating San was as a king and a ruler.
But the thing that would immediately make you blush that most was when the rare, inopportune moments where he would give you a subtle smile and nod in between those sessions.
The change definitely wasn’t immediate, but it was there, just like Yunho had said. It wasn’t something you noticed on the get go since San had gotten so busy again that you began to assume that he barely noticed you.
But this time, you actually tried to really pay attention like Yunho said because this time, you started to notice that he actually did watch you. And once you noticed it, you couldn’t unsee it. Which begged the question - had San always been like this and you were just gullible?
The first instance was when you were with Mingi at one of your classes, San supervising in the background as usual as he did his own work, quill in hand, signing document after document. As Mingi lectured away, something tugged at you. And you didn’t mean to do it, but in the soft blur of your peripheral vision, you saw it and your breath hitched.
Because San was already looking at you, quill still in hand. And that was the thing, subconsciously, you knew he had a habit of pausing once in a while, but you didn’t know it was because he was watching you.
And it should have unnerved you, especially because he literally stared at you the entire study. His expression was neutral, yet alert as he literally stared at everything you did with that look in his eyes, and he stared long enough that you felt it all the way down your spine.
The second was when you were with Wooyoung when you were looking at a catalogue of some winter apparel since you needed more. As you were fitting in some of them, you noticed a shadow lingering in the reflection of the mirror. San was silent, literally almost invisible if you weren’t paying attention, which was how he probably got away with it before.
But there he was, arms folded as he stared at the way the coat hung on your shoulders. You tilted your head curiously, looking back at him and making direct eye contact. Strangely, San looked away, pretending that he wasn’t even staring to begin with, eyes drifting to the window to watch the snow outside as if he’s never seen them.
You had to commend the effort. You bit your lip hard, trying not to burst out laughing, but Wooyoung didn’t even bother hiding it, laughing so hard that he had to clutch his stomach and lean against the clothing rack for support. “I never thought I’d see this day come,” he cackled. “Oh, that was a tragedy if I ever saw one, my lady. I’m surprised it took you this long to notice.”
You felt heat rush from your cheeks to your neck. So, apparently, everybody knew San had been fondly watching you from afar all along except for you. “I don’t know what you mean,” you squeaked. “San–uh, His Majesty wasn’t staring. Perhaps, just inspecting what’s proper for me.”
“Of course not,” Wooyoung smirked, eyes dancing. “His Majesty was simply…deeply invested in the structural integrity of winter apparel.”
San cleared his throat softly from where he stood near the window. When he turned back, his expression was back to that menacing and domineering one, even shooting Wooyoung a warning look, yet his ears were unmistakably pink.
“That coat,” he cleared his throat. Before, you would have mistaken it for something that lacked emotion, but now, it was clear that it was restraint. “It fits you. It keeps the wind out.”
You mumbled your thanks and his gaze lingered a second longer than necessary, soft and fond, before he turned away again, pretending very hard that the snow outside was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.
But the most damning thing was when you were in a council meeting, one that was held in the Great Halls along with the other nobles, both comrades and the usual ones who opposed royalty in general.
San sat on the end of the meeting table while you sat on the far end, the regality dripping off of him effortlessly. He looked distant and dangerous, face painted with so much calm. From the outside, he was the very image of intimidation, the untouchable king straight out of everyone’s nightmares. Even the ones who loathed royalty kept their voices measured.
But you knew better. Now you did. Because his eyes were on you, measuring and assessing, and no one suspected a thing. It was subtle enough that anyone else would’ve missed it, but not you. No, never you. You were used to feeling his eyes on you now; craved it at this point, even.
Because how can you not when he held the handkerchief you gave him like it was the only thing that kept him going in this dreaded meeting? Ever since you gave it to him, he never not had it with him. He took it everywhere, displayed it on the breast pocket of his royal garment even if it looked so out of place.
“Three deaths in three days. Always the lowest. The poorest of the poor, never the blessed,” San’s eyes narrowed, dark and brooding. “What does that tell you?”
One councilman shifted. “That they don’t know how to stretch what they’re given, Your Grace.”
“Wrong,” San said flatly without looking at him. “It tells us that someone is using the food budget for the poor and pocketing them. Shadows don’t stay in the dark forever, gentleman. ”
You watched as his hand held the handkerchief a little too tightly in his hand to rein his anger in. People often mistook his stillness for indifference. In truth, his mind was racing, trying to figure out what his next response was going to be.
Everybody in the room froze, but not you. Even when San looked like he was about to explode, he still had the handkerchief in his hand and he didn’t just hold it - he also adjusted it, smoothing the creases with his thumb. It would have been comical if you weren’t so touched.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he began, hand gesturing at each person, the same hand that held the cloth. “Come nighttime, there will be an internal audit of every noble who even breathed in the fund’s direction. If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear. If you are not…well.”
His mouth curved, humourless, setting the handkerchief on to the side to brace his hands on the table to lean forward. “You are going to learn what it’s like to starve under my watch. Just like the people who you had stolen from.”
The councilman nearest to San, however, thought it was a good thing to try and change the topic. “T-That’s, uh, quite a fine piece, Your Grace. Unusual for king to keep on hand, though,” he stammered, his hand already reaching for the cloth San had set aside. “May I—”
“Don’t.”
It was just a word and it made everyone’s breath still, including yours. A loud thud resonated around the room when San’s hand deliberately came down over the cloth. San lifted his gaze then, and whatever lived behind his eyes was cold, sheer, ancient anger.
“If you touch that,” San sneered. “You will discover how merciful starvation is compared to what I’ll do to you.”
The man recoiled, stuttering apologies, and for a fleeting second, San’s eyes met yours. He nodded, a silent reassurance. He folded the handkerchief neatly and tucked it into his coat, close to where his heart would be if he were brave enough to admit that’s why he put it there.
“Meeting adjourned,” he murmured. “Before my patience is tested further.”
No one needed to be told twice. You stood up amidst the rush of the people trying to escape San’s brewing wrath, but as you do, you felt your dress suddenly getting yanked backwards, gasping softly when your balance faltered, Hongjoong barely able to stop you from falling.
A councilman, one of the few who looked down on your modest background as a farm girl, accidentally stepped on your gown. Irritation flashed on his face and without even apologising, he steps aside, causing your shoe to come undone from your foot to slip a few feet away.
Heat flooded your cheeks. Your gasp had caught people’s attention, and by now, everyone’s eyes were on you. Before you or Wooyoung could bend down to retrieve your shoe, San was already there, hand on your waist. You blinked at how fast he was considering you were far.
“Are you alright?” San whispered tenderly as if the room didn’t just witness him almost unleashing his fury earlier.
More heat crawled up your face, though this time it was for a different reason. “Y-Yes,” you said. “My shoe, I just need to—”
You couldn’t even finish that sentence. San was already kneeling in front of you, your shoe in his hand while the other still steadied you. “San–Your Grace,” you hissed in mortification, panic creeping in instantly. “Please, get up, this is embarrassing. Y-You don’t have to…”
Your sentence died in your throat when San looked up at you, a slight smile on his face, expression soft in a way only you will ever get to witness. “I want to,” he reassured in spite of the way the room silenced at the exchange between you two.
Because the Choi San was on his knees. The King of Utopia was kneeling. Your head spun as you watched him brushed away the imaginary dust on your shoe before guiding it back on your foot, touch gentle and almost reverent like you were worthy of lowering himself for.
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the room. One scandalised councilman spoke out. “Y-Your Grace,” he stammered, incredulous. “This is unbecoming of you. A-Are you doing what we think you’re doing?”
San raised a brow, turning his head slightly. “Yes,” he replied as he adjusted your shoe, ensuring it fit comfortably before rising to stand again, arm snaking around your waist and pulling you close. “Does anyone have a problem with that?”
No one answered - no one dared to. You stared at San, tears threatening to fall from your eyes at what he had just done. This wasn’t some sort of show to assert his dominance in court, this was a deliberate message he was sending to everybody who was here to witness it.
You were to be respected. You were to be protected. You were his future queen. You were his future wife and you were utterly his. It was strong, because San’s words were the law and they were absolute. If the nobles defied this unwritten rule, they’ll get what’s coming for them.
Your heart swelled painfully as San glanced back at you, his expression still hard and fearsome, but his eyes, his eyes always told you a different story. You couldn’t help the genuine smile that crossed your face as he led you out, because you were more than alright.
It wasn’t that you were treated badly to begin with, but ever since that day in the meeting room, you could tell that everybody looked at you differently. It wasn’t anything remarkable and you would have missed it if you weren’t looking up close.
The thing that made it obvious to you was that it didn’t come from the people who already knew you; it came from the nobles that used to oppose you. Every time you passed them, they all had varying looks of respect, uncertainty, and acceptance. There was no in between. It was odd.
“Is it wrong that this feels more unsettling than outright disdain?” You chuckled while you were having tea with San again, sipping on the tea he had chosen for you this time.
He hummed, not really replying immediately, but you caught it - the tiny smile he tried not to show when you closed your eyes and sighed in contentment after that sip. “When you’re used to something, the change might be unsettling at first,” he said, words wise yet concise.
“I would suppose so,” you whispered quietly. You knew he heard you considering that he was seated close to you. Now that you think about it, the more tea sessions you have, the closer he keeps sitting towards you. You definitely weren’t complaining.
Tea times with San were the highlight of your day. The both of you didn’t even do much, just basked in each other’s presence, but it was peaceful and it just felt right. San still didn’t talk much, his face still dark and indiscernible, but his eyes lingered on you a little longer, almost fond with adoration.
The air around him wasn’t any lighter, but it was gentler, and they became warmer the moment his eyes would meet yours. He poured the tea himself, adjusted the cup so the handle faced you, nudged a small plate of sweets closer without saying anything. His facade never broke, expression still carved in stone, but his actions always said otherwise.
Every so often, his gaze would drift to the window, where the snow had begun to fall just a little faster than usual. Nothing alarming, just enough to notice. His jaw would tighten once in a while but every single time, he would turn his undivided attention back to you.
The contrast would make your chest ache both with warmth and something you couldn’t name yet because even when the world outside unsettled him, he always turned back to you.
Until he didn’t, and the snow began falling at a rate so alarming, no one even dared to look at the windows for fear that the snow would swallow the entire palace this time. Tea times lessened and San would look more fatigued, more worn down somehow that you actually had started to worry if he was going to get sick.
The thought of him being in that position again where he could barely help himself. You didn’t even want to think about it. Today was one of those days where San had to cancel tea with you and you were left in your room, staring at the snow from your windows falling at a troubling rate.
It was one of those things that unfortunately, you couldn’t do anything about. Such was the curse of Utopia. That is, until you noticed the situation from beyond - the servants getting sick from the cold, worries from other good nobles of commoners passing from severe frostbite, vendors having to pause their livelihood from the severe storm.
You had to do something about it. One good thing that came out of San's fondness of you was that when it came to politics, he actually listened to you, took your points into consideration in what to do even if he’d end up doing something else along the way.
“You are my soon-to-be wife,” he’d say. “My other half and the half of the kingdom’s future, not some ornament hanging beside me. I also reckon two brains are better than one.”
It was how you found yourself being led by Jongho to the meeting room, the same one San defended you from. You were about to enter when Jongho’s arm shot up in front of you in alarm, distress clear on his face.
“W-What’s the matter?” You asked, now worried as well.
Jongho put his finger on his lips, using his other hand to push the door open very, very carefully, and you immediately understood why. Now, you’ve never heard San raise his voice before, but you wish you never did.
“Y-Your Majesty,” one of the few good and brave nobles, stood near San, with a pleading look in his eyes. “It is for the best, look at our kingdom, it’s buried in snow. If we don’t give her—”
“No,” San snarled, both hands slamming against the table with abnormally inhuman strength. The sound echoed violently, nothing like the controlled authority you were used to. “I said no.”
“But, Your Grace, the snow will swallow Utopia whole—”
“Heed our request, sire. This is what Lady Y/N is here for—”
“It is for the greater good, one sacrifice for the greater good of the entire kingdom—”
Several nobles spoke at once, but San wasn’t having it. His shoulders were tense, breath heavy, until he couldn’t take it anymore. “Enough!” He growled, swiping everything on the table down to the floor. “Enough. I do not want to hear it, I refuse to hear any of it.”
Nothing was left untouched in his fury - scrolls clattered, ink spilled, quills broke. The room went deathly silent. Even Jongho didn’t dare breathe beside you, and you couldn’t even begin to think why you kept being mentioned in the conversation.
“This is non-negotiable, do you hear me?” San snapped, voice raising another octave as he was hunched over the table. “If I see any of you attempt to even touch a hair on her head…if I hear any of you so much as talk about doing it…”
He paused, chest heaving in the severity of his own anger, a deep, unsettling laugh crawling up his chest. “I will end you. I will erase your bloodline. I will kill you.”
The threat, itself, should’ve made you nervous, but something else made your heart pound, instead - San’s entire arm and neck area. Dark, cursed branches of blackened veins creeped from his hands, all the way to his arms and neck area, spread across like a rotten disease. The same ones you saw on his chest one time.
An involuntary gasp leaves you, prompting San to turn his head towards you, and you stopped breathing completely when you saw his eyes. They were dark - literally and figuratively. They were entirely black, no whites left as darkness seemed to swallow both his eyes. And they were now staring at you.
When San realised it was you, however, his anger seemed to vanish instantly. When he blinked, his eyes were back to normal and only the branches on his skin remained. “Y/N,” he exhaled, uttering your name out like it was the only thing he needed to breathe at the moment.
Suddenly, San begins coughing, normally at first before they turn into worrying wheezes that had Yunho, who you didn’t even notice was in the room, swiftly striding across the room to pat him on the back. “San, calm down, please,” he placated. “The snow’s already weakening—”
“Take over,” San cut off, harshly pushing the mage’s hand away, as he made his way straight towards you, gesturing to a rigid Jongho. “Call Seonghwa. The three of you take over me.”
You didn’t protest when he grabbed your hand and led you out of the room. You certainly didn’t protest when he started leading you to his chambers, temporarily letting go of your hand to open a door on the far side of his room to reveal a narrow staircase. And you trusted him.
That trust turned out to be well-deserved when you realised that you were on top of a tower, overlooking the entire kingdom, but that wasn’t what starstruck you - it was the stars above, beautiful twinkles of faraway clusters that overlooked and saw everything.
San didn’t say anything, just leaning over the balcony. All you could do was stare at him - the darkened branches that littered his hands and arms, the unreadable look on his face that was scrunched deep in thought, the way the locket around his neck glowed and pulsated wildly brighter than the stars. You could even feel heat emanate from it from where you stood.
You didn’t realise that you were lost in thought, not until you were enveloped in San’s scent, felt the warmth of fur and wool wrapped around your shoulders as he draped his coat all over your shivering body. “San,” you started, fisting the coat closer. “You’re going to get cold.”
He shook his head, snowflakes falling from his hair as he did so. “I don’t get cold,” he murmured, pointing at the locket. “You were staring at this, it prevents me from feeling chills,” he explained, voice tilting in amusement. You were about to touch it, but he held your hand to stop it, alarm on his face. “Don’t,” he quickly said. “Just…don’t.”
“Why?” You bravely asked.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he wrapped the locket around his fists and you saw in real time how the curse on his skin started to slowly disappear. You were rendered mum. You had so many questions, so many things you wanted to know, so much information you knew you were missing, and a lot of anxiety over being left behind on a secret you knew you had no right to.
In a blink of an eye, the wind and the snow died. It stopped so suddenly that it gave you a whiplash. It wasn’t normal, you knew it wasn’t, especially when San didn’t even look the least surprised about it. If anything, he looked relieved, like he was expecting it to happen, even.
And then, he coughed, his chest heaving at the force of his cough. Your eyes widened a little when you watched a thin trail of blood slipped from his nose, widening a bit more when San barely reacted, just wiping it with the back of his hand. “S-San,” you whispered.
“I know,” he replied calmly, almost tired. His gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, unbothered by the unnatural stillness around you. “It happens when I push too far.”
Push what?
The question burned on your tongue - the snow, the curse, the locket. You opened your mouth to speak, but he didn’t let you. “Do you think,” he interrupted suddenly, voice low, “That I am doing the right thing?”
You blinked, stunned at the sudden, albeit clever, diversion. “What do you mean, San?”
Your heart broke for him. There was no king to be found in San’s eyes. He was just a man who looked impossibly tired. “This. All of this,” he lifted his hand, gesturing at the entirety of the kingdom. “What if all of this was for naught? That I’m failing my own people with my own bare hands without meaning to?”
“No, you’re not,” you answered quickly. “You can’t do this to yourself, San. You can’t fault yourself for the unpredictable. Sometimes, things don’t work out the way we want them to and that’s alright because that’s out of your hands.”
He turned to look at you then, really looked at you, and scoffed good-naturedly in disbelief, like what he was seeing in you was too good to be true. “I’ve thought of abdicating,” he confessed. “Many times. That, perhaps, Utopia would be better off without me.”
You didn’t say anything right away; you couldn’t, because what could you possibly say to that? “There’s no right answer,” you finally replied. “No one has the right to fault you for doing what you thought was right at the moment. The only thing we can do is hope for the best.”
San’s jaw tightened. “You’re,” he breathed out, stepping closer, snaking his hand around your waist, trembling as if he was trying to stop himself from doing something. “Insane.”
You swallowed, heat traveling on your skin, training your eyes on his locket so you wouldn’t see the way his eyes darkened. “You’re a good king, San,” you said honestly, steadying your voice.
“How so?” San rasped, his voice deepening in timbre, rattling your core.
“Do you remember the first time we met? That day in the throne room?” You asked, trying hard not to waver as you felt yourself being pulled flush onto San’s chest.
“Of course, I do,” he hummed, tucking your hair behind your ear, his hand lingering behind your neck. You shivered at the sensation. “I could never, ever forget that day. Why?”
“Because you knew I wasn’t from around here,” you answered like it was obvious. He frowns, confused. “You knew I wasn’t from Utopia because you care about your people, so much so that you remember all of them well enough to know that I’m not one of your subjects.”
He clings on to you just like you were clinging on to the sound of his heavy breathing. Your faces were so close to each other's; one wrong step and your lips would meet. Time was at a standstill. You could drown in him and you'd never want to rise again.
His hand on your waist had your heart thudding against your ribcage, and you never realized how empty your chest was, how deep it really was, until you were this close to him. "Y/N," he whispered, his breath laboured and shaky. His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly. "God, help me..."
There was no way you were meeting his eyes right now. He was right here close to you, so close, doing what he was doing and you letting him do it, and just leaning towards it. His hand held your chin and gently lifted it forward to meet his eyes. You bit your lips in apprehension and his eyes followed the movement. You knew you were done for when he mirrored you.
"W-What are you doing, San? Woah, this is dangerous," you stammered when you felt him back you up on the edge of the balcony. “I might fall.”
"Don't worry. I'll catch you when you fall."
Your heart felt heavy. "I believe it," you whispered, voice so small you weren't sure if he heard it.
But he did. The way he looked at you, how could you hold back from wanting to kiss him? If you leaned forward, you could capture his lips easily. "Don’t look at me like that," he begged, his voice between a plea and a demand. "I don't want to be reading this wrong right now, please."
"I don't know what to say," you squeaked. "It's not that easy—"
"I can make it easy for you," he said, his voice dropping an octave. You watched as he took the locket off, throwing it haphazardly on the ground. You watched him grimace in slight pain at parting with the locket, but he didn’t seem to care. "I need you to kiss me."
He didn’t give you a chance to reply. San immediately steals your breath out of you. He captures your lips in a kiss so deep, his chest comes crashing with yours and you had to hold onto him for support. You fervently kissed him back, tilting your head as your breaths mingled. When you start moving with him, he sighed in relief and you couldn't help but do so as well.
San kissed like he needed you to breathe and live. You could barely catch up, but you kiss him anyway. He brings a hand around your waist and the other behind your head to keep you close to make sure you were really here, like this heated kiss wasn't enough.
It was so easy to lose yourself in the kiss, after all, this was San. Your hands found their way on his head, your fingers slowly entangling themselves on his hair. You felt a bit bold, the rush of the kiss fueling you on. A low growl sounds from the back of his throat before he pulls away, sealing his lips on your neck, instead, to give it little kisses and kitten licks.
You felt his hands roam over your sides, going higher and higher until you felt them stop on your chest area. And when he cups both of your tits in his hands through your clothes, you couldn’t help the airy moan that escapes your lips. “Tell me to stop,” he breathes through your skin.
All you could do was helplessly whimper when you felt his teeth graze your earlobes, his hands toying with your top. And that was all he needed to know before he began to lower your sleeves, pushing your top down to expose your nipples that automatically hardened when the cold air hit them and he wastes no time touching them.
“So sensitive,” he chuckled, his fingers plucking at your nipples. “I've always wondered how these would feel. Would drive me mad whenever I thought about it. ”
You choke back another moan when he rubs his thumbs over the stiffening nubs. “A-Ah,” you gasped. “I've never noticed you looking…”
San responds by pinching a little harder. “But, I was,” he said, relishing the way your face twisted in pleasure as his hand started to massage your inner thighs. “From the moment Yunho brought you in…God, you were a vision, Y/N. Why did you think it took me a while to decide if I should take you as my bride?”
San takes one of your nipples into his mouth. “I wasn’t thinking about Utopia,” he said, tongue encircling your nubs as his other hand started to lower your undergarments. “I was imagining all the ways I would take you. Imagining how I would bend you over my throne and take you right there and then.”
Something explodes inside you at that revelation. “Please,” you beg, not really even know what you were begging for. “Please, San, I want you.”
He hummed, the vibration traveling straight through you. He released your nipple, giving it one last lick before he started to lift your dress, about to kneel, when you stopped him. “H-Hold on,” you stammered, slightly scandalised. “S-San, here? W-What if someone sees?”
He smirked dirtily. You faltered, you had never seen such an expression on San’s face. It was obscene. It was everything. He doesn’t respond, bunching your dress up in his hand and pushing them to you, making you grab it, before throwing your leg up on his shoulder as he kneeled down. You gasped, holding onto the balcony for dear life.
His eyes were locked on you, a predatory grin on his lips as he watched your mouth open to let out a silent scream when his latches on your inner thigh, sucking on the sensitive skin. It was painful, very much so. “S-San,” you moaned out, feeling pleasure at the same time, pushing his head away in a poor attempt to halt him. “Stop, it hurts—”
“Does it?” He tilted his head sarcastically, clenching his teeth on your skin.
“Y-Yes—”
“Good.”
That seemed to spur him on, the pain scrunching up your face as he sucked even harder, almost drawing blood to the area before moving on to the other thigh. Something about the pain triggers you, and before you knew it, you were pushing his head in, coaxing him to bite and suck harder to the point that the pain was more pleasurable than torturous.
“Say it,” he chuckled darkly, marking you, bruising your entire thigh area over and over again. “Say you’re mine or I stop.”
“N-No,” you sobbed, pushing your thighs together to keep his head in. “Don’t stop, please.”
And he laughs, sadistically so, his fingers tracing the slick folds of your pussy. “Who knew you’d be a pain slut? Just my luck. Look at you, already so wet for me,” he growled, rough and low, teasing your entrance before he pushed a finger in, making you gasp and clench around him.
Your hands slap your mouth shut, trying your best to prevent the lewd moans that threaten to slip past your lips. “You can be loud. It’s okay. We’re alone out here. No one’s going to hear you,” he reassured, not bothering to slow his fingers down. Let go, Y/N. I want to hear you.”
He thrusts his fingers faster to prove a point, obscene wet sounds filling in the entire space along with your breathy moans. “God, you’re dripping wet,” he groaned, his fingers plunging deeper to reach that spot that had you screaming out loud. “I bet you want my cock in here. To stretch this greedy little pussy and make you completely mine, don’t you?”
You arched your back, weak to his onslaughts, the thigh on top of his shoulder shaking helplessly. “San, p-please, that feels so good,” you whimpered.
"Fuck, listen to that," he murmured, the squelching sounds growing louder as he worked you relentlessly. "Your cunt's making such filthy noises. It's begging to cum, isn't it? Go on, soak my hand. Show me what a slut you are for this."
And you could feel it, your orgasm building slowly. “Let me help you out, hmm? Let me,” was all you heard before your vision completely blacked out. You felt San’s tongue flat on your clit, his fingers curling inside you as he laps you up, his tongue stroking your clit over and over again.
All you could do was scream, focusing on that tingly feeling on your abdomen the same time San kept alternating between pumping you with his fingers and his tongue swirling on your clit, slurping dirtily every time your drooling pussy would occasionally squirt on his face, just taking it all in, greedily swallowing your slick.
With a cry, you shattered all over San’s face, blubbering nonsense and begging at the same time as you clenched all over his fingers, all while he talked you through it. “That’s it, that’s my girl. Cum for me, yes.”
You panted heavily, the force of your orgasm literally rocking you. San withdrew his fingers, carefully letting your legs down, before grabbing the back of your head, forcefully stealing a bruising kiss from you, his teeth clashing angrily with yours. He pulls your head back, twice the force and effort, that it had your neck snapping backwards.
“Kneel,” he demanded. Your knees thudded on the floor, as he shoved his pants down, his thick cock springing freely in front of you. It was veiny, the tip already leaking with so much precum. “Open that filthy mouth for me,” he snarled, fisting his cock to slap it against your cheek.
You did as told, leaning forward to take the entirety of his cock in your mouth, but San had other plans. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, gripping it so tightly that the shock of it forced your mouth to open even wider, and that was when he rammed his cock in your mouth without warning.
“Oh, fuck,” he moaned low in his throat, pulling on your hair so hard that it had tears pricking your eyes. The pain only made you clench, and your tears made San thrust harder. “This is what you’re made for. I own every holes you have that I can fuck.”
You felt the tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag, but he didn’t stop. You had to hold on to his thigh for balance, your saliva dripping pathetically from the corners of your mouth, as he fucked your mouth violently, not stopping and forcing you to take every inch of him. The brutal pace makes your throat burn and tears start streaming down your eyes.
“That’s it, fuck,” San growled ferally, grabbing your hair to pull you back enough to inhale air before slamming back in. “Choke on it, get used to your jaw being stretched out. God, look at you. Your throat’s so fucking tight…”
You struggled to breathe, throat sore, but he only fucked harder, his balls slapping on your chin with each thrust. Your efforts seemed to spur him on and he pushed your head deeper until your nose hit his pubic bone. Your eyes widened, letting out a sound between a whimper and a groan, and you retched around him. You could tell he was loving every second of this.
The sounds of your struggles, your nails digging helplessly on his skin, combined with the lewd slurps of your mouth sucking his cock unleashes something in San. His thrusts grew erratic, grunts turning almost animalistic, and the roughness of him mouth-fucking you just made your pussy throb, aching to be used by the same cock abusing your throat.
“I’m gonna cum, just stay like that—fuck,” San held you still, cock buried to the hilt, as his cum explodes down your throat, pulling away just in time so he could mark your tear-stained face with more cum. He stepped back, admiring how absolutely ruined you looked.
And you stayed kneeling, mouth open as cum began to spill from your mouth, looking up at him reverently in a daze. You were about to close your mouth to swallow, but San stops you, wrapping a hand around your throat. “Ah, ah, ah, you naughty girl,” he said, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest. “I didn’t give you permission to swallow. Get up.”
He squeezed your throat, guiding you up as he held it. Your eyes widened in surprise, holding onto his arms all while his cum was still in your mouth. “Mmph,” you let out in panic when he squeezes. You couldn’t breathe even through your nose, but thab t’s exactly what San wanted.
“Go on,” he taunted, effectively cutting off your air supply with one strong squeeze of your throat. “Take a deep breath. Choke.”
You couldn’t take it anymore. You gagged, coughing and choking violently on his cum. Filthy, disgusting gurgling sounds of his thick semen filled the air along with his mocking laugh. “Fuck, yes,” he sneered, fingers scooping the remnants of his cum that was scattered all over your face along with the ones dribbling on your neck back in your mouth. “Gurgle my fucking cum, yes.”
It was hellish, almost. The feeling of San’s cum going down but getting stopped halfway every time he squeezes your neck had you gurgling pitifully on it. You were starting to get a little dizzy from the lack of air, lightheaded from the restriction San’s hand had on your throat. You could feel your eyes rolling from the back of your head and it was when San let go.
Your legs buckled at the sudden rush of air to your head, knees thudding back down the floor as cum spilled out from your mouth, chest heaving as you panted hard. You barely felt yourself being lifted up. “Shh, you’re fine. Deep, easy breaths for me,” San soothed, wiping his stickiness off of you with the sleeves of his shirt. “Jump.”
You didn’t even process what he said, your body automatically doing it before your mind could follow. San caught you, your legs locking on his waist as your hands wrapped around his neck while his hands steadied you at your ass to keep you from falling. “Good girl,” he murmured.
His dark eyes locked onto yours and the way he gazed up at you with so much emotion and adoration behind the lust, like you were his entire world, sent shivers up your spine. San leaned in, tenderly compared to his brutal onslaught earlier, but you turned your head, avoiding his kiss. “San,” you croaked. “M-My mouth has your cu–”
A low growl rumbled from his throat. “I don’t give a fuck, don't you dare pull away from me,” he snarled, his voice laced with possessive fire. “You’re mine, Y/N, cum and all. Every inch of you belongs to me. Kiss me or so God help you for what I’m about to do to you if you don’t.”
Before you could protest, his hands cupped your cheeks with rough urgency, thumbs pressing into your jaw to force your face back to his. The kiss was filthy, dominant, and possessive. You melted into it, your core clenching with arousal at how he owned you completely.
You felt his hardness poking your hole, making you squirm, but San held you tight, holding you up with just one arm in an incredible show of strength. “I’m not done with you,” he said, lining himself up. “I’m going to fuck you now, alright? Hold on tight.”
You threw your head back as the both of you moaned the moment San breached you, not even bothering to ease it in and completely burying himself up to the hilt. He moved slowly at first, trying to find a comfortable position as he pulled you down a bit so he could thrust up in you.
“Oh, you’re so tight like this,” he groaned. His words made you clench, a feral snarl sounding at the back of his throat as his fingers dug into your ass as you did so.
He was lifting you by the ass and dropping you down and all you could do was bite the flesh of his shoulder to stop yourself from screaming. San’s self control was slipping, especially when the next bounce had him bucking his hips just as he dropped you onto his cock. Soon enough, he was pistoning roughly in you, the sounds of your ass slapping against his thighs obscene.
“San, a-ah, S-San, mmm,” you keened, your tits bouncing wildly as he filled you up with speed and force behind each thrust.
And just as he was wildly fucking into you up and and down his cock, he suddenly paused, a low growl vibrating from his chest. You were confused, but then, he kissed you again, this time, devouring you as you felt him walk, carrying you back inside as he climbed down the stairs into his chambers all while he was still inside you.
He still didn’t pull out as he sat down on the bed, taking off his shirt to get completely naked, laying down and positioning you on top of him while you were still dressed up. San looked up at you expectantly and you tried riding him, but your legs were jelly, already exhausted. He narrowed his eyes at your poor attempt at taking his cock.
“Tired already? I barely even started,” he scoffed, slapping your tits, making you whimper. He smirked as beads of sweat started to roll from his forehead down to his chin. His hoarse voice betrayed his pleasure, his grip on your hips getting tighter. “Come on, give it to me. Show me how much you want this cock.”
You bit your lip and sucked on it in anticipation. San raised his eyebrows at your refusal to move even though he could see how red your face was from all the work. "Don't play with me, Y/N. It's not a good idea," his fingers dug on your skin even harder and you were pretty sure it would leave marks the next day. "Move."
"S-San, please, I can’t," you pathetically whimpered.
His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits before he lifted you by the waist and then roughly slammed you down, effectively impaling you on his cock. You screamed out loud when you felt him hit that sweet spot. "San, please," you whimpered, your shaking hands finding their place on his toned chest.
You felt him tense underneath from your touch, it made his cock twitch inside you and you couldn't help but bite your cheek in the pleasurable sensation. All of a sudden, San grabs the top of your dress, and with a sharp tug, rips it open, a satisfying rip echoing in the quiet room. You were sure you looked insane - a ripped top with your skirt still on.
“Figured this would help,” he laughed darkly. You gasped when he suddenly grabbed your shoulder and pulled you down. "Now fuck me, and you better fuck me good or you're not getting up from this bed."
You whimpered when he grabbed a handful of your hair and roughly turned your head towards his to capture your lips in a rougher kiss while his other hand firmly held your ass and pushed it down to deepen his cock inside you. "San, yes, you feel so good i-inside me," you moaned out after he had driven deeper in you, head swimming in pleasure.
“You’re so cock dumb that you need my help fucking this dick, huh?” San mocked, his own moans mirroring yours as he guided your hips back and forth.
Your answer was another breathy moan. You were growing lax in his grip, just letting San do whatever he pleased. Nothing was stopping him now from jamming his cock into your pussy and every thrust knocked the air out of your lungs, but she still found the ability to scream out.
“This pussy is mine to use, yeah? Look at you, so tired but still taking my cock so well.” He palms your tits, his possessive gaze locked onto your pleasure-filled face. “God, you’re all mine, Y/N. Mine. Don’t stop now, you’re doing me so well.”
The feel of him, the scent of him, how deep you felt for him, just him…it was so overwhelming. And San can see it, the exhausted haze in your eyes as he fucked up at you. With a low grunt, he wraps his arms around your waist and flips you over in one fluid motion, pinning you on the mattress, your legs spread wide for him to admire.
You whined when he pulled out, slowly taking all of your clothes off until you were left bare and nude for him. You flushed red in embarrassment, but that soon turned into something when you saw the look in San’s eyes as he paused, drinking the sight of your naked body.
The way his gaze roamed your entire form with softness and tenderness left you breathless. Tears pricked behind your eyes at the way he lightly trails his hands all over you, reverence clear in his touch. His thumb swipes your tears away, his eyes shining with devotion that cut through the lust, adoration swelling in his chest until it physically aches him.
“You’re beautiful. So, so beautiful, Y/N. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he murmured, roughly but tenderly. He cups your face gently, savouring the vulnerability as if owning you felt like the deepest and greatest honour for him. “You’re so…God, fuck, I don’t know what to say. I just want to…”
His tenderness can only last so long. He shifts forward, gripping your thighs to spread them wider and without warning, slams his hips forward, burying his cock back in you in one brutal thrust that makes your back arch off the bed. “Oh, God, San,” you moaned out. “S-San—”
“That’s it, take me. Take all of it,” he snarled, pulling out almost fully before ramming back in, the wet slap of your bodies echoing. He pounds into you relentlessly, balls slapping against your ass with each drive, leaning in to kiss you passionately.
He pulled away so you could both inhale once. It only took one look in each other's eyes before you were both tangled into each other once more. It felt good - it felt comforting like you were getting embraced by some unforeseen grace and wrapped you in its bosom even though you felt like his cock was about to split you into two.
You tense, mouth gaping open when San bites and marks your collarbone. “San,” you cried. “Mmm, t-too much.”
“Tell me how my thick cock ruins you, how you crave to be bred,” he panted. You tighten around him to an alarming degree and you feel him smirk against your skin. “Oh? You like that? Want me to breed you?”
“Yes, San, yes,” you gasped, arching your back. “I-I want you to b-breed me, please.”
”Then I'll fill you up, mark you inside out, until you can't walk without feeling me.”
It’s all you can do to claw at his back, relishing the feel of his cock pumping into you. Every time San thrusts, he grunts, every roll of his hips into yours hits that spot inside that makes you see stars. And you just take it, because this was San. You’d do anything for San.
You grabbed his face so he could look at you. "Cum inside me," you were breathless, but it was like you stole his breath with how his cock seemed to harden even more inside you, if that was possible.
San’s eyes visibly darkened and he started pounding into you wildly. It was hard enough to make the bed creak obnoxiously as his cock plunges into you even deeper than before. Mindblowing pleasure started to ignite your insides, blanking your mind as your screams went up a pitch, cumming around his cock.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, Y/N, fuck,” he gritted his teeth, groaning lowly as you felt the warm gush of his cum spurt inside you. You could feel his cock pulsing, and with a few last desperate thrust of his hips, he was finally sated.
He collapsed on top of you as you both panted, riding out your highs. You felt him give your skin little kisses here and there, all while he stroked your hair repeatedly like some sort of mantra. “Y/N,” you’d hear him whisper reverently. “Oh, my Y/N. My sweet, sweet Y/N…”
He rolls off of you, making you groan as you feel warm liquid gush from your pussy, one that he silently wipes off with a wet towel before laying down next to you, scooping you up carefully so you could rest your head on the crook of his shoulder. You stay like that for a while, just basking in the afterglow, when San suddenly breaks the silence.
“Do you really like Utopia?” He asked, almost idly like an afterthought.
You blinked in surprise, not expecting such a random question. “Of course I do.”
“How much?” His gaze finally found yours. “Enough to fight for it? Enough to lead it, if one day you had to?”
Your heart stuttered inside your chest, but you chalked it up as nothing. After all, sex sometimes made people think of hypothetical scenarios and you decided to humour San with this one. “Yes,” you answered honestly. “Utopia needs someone to love it even though it’s cruel.”
He exhaled, visible relief loosening in his shoulder, his lips curved faintly. “Perhaps,” he murmured, kissing your forehead lightly. “You might be the queen Utopia actually needs.”
San had disappeared. Vanished into thin air the next day.
When you woke up the next day, you were completely alone, San’s side of the bed gone cold. You didn’t think anything of it, he had duties as king and he couldn’t just stay in bed for you all day, but when got back to your chambers with a worried Wooyoung and a panic-stricken Hongjoong arguing with Jongho about San’s whereabouts, it was when your entire world fell.
“There is no way Your Grace would do that,” Jongho pressed, walking back and forth in the throne room, anger in his tone, dismay and doubt on his face at each passing second. “He just went for a ride. That’s all. Sometimes he does that after the curse—”
“Jongho, it’s been over half a day,” Hongjoong insisted, irritated at the taller man as he raised his voice up a notch, making you flinch. “Hell, the fucking mage doesn’t even know where he is. He did not go for a ride and you know it.”
“So, what?” Jongho yelled back, the usually composed adviser slowly losing his cool. “Are you telling me that His Majesty ran away? Is that it? Are you even hearing yourself?”
You took a step back, dread filling your entire chest. Just the night before, you had laughed softly at his questions, brushing them off as speculation, never once suspecting that his questions weren’t meant to be hypothetical at all. You quickly ran off, ignoring how Hongjoong kept calling you back and pleading for you to stay put. You needed to get out of there.
The entire palace was in shambles, the servants and nobles all scrambling but failing to contain themselves at the thought of their missing king. Some of them were genuinely worried for San, but there were a select few who feared of the said curse completely annihilating the kingdom now that San was missing.
You didn’t heed any of them, worriedly looking for San even in the most obscure of places. Your panic rose every time you were met with an empty room, holding back tears as you imagined all the worst possible ways of what might have happened while you were asleep. You probably looked pathetic, but you didn’t care. All you wanted was to see San again.
An idea pops in your head. Yunho. Having no other options left, you quickly ran to the mage’s quarters, not caring how unladylike you looked as you sprinted down the hall. He didn’t even notice you come in as he was speaking urgently to Seonghwa, his expression grim. When Yunho noticed you, whatever composure he had shattered.
He quickly dismissed Seonghwa and ran towards you. The poor man was so distressed, sunken bags of purple splotching his skin, whatever magic in him getting sapped little by little by how much effort he was putting in finding his king and your eyes fell, feeling for the man. “Yunho,” you breathed out. “A-Are you alright?”
Your chest wanted to cave in itself, panic clawing further up your skin. If magic cannot even reach San, then what will? “I-I was with him last night,” you swallowed, spitting the admittance out even if it embarrassed you so.
Yunho puts two and two together, brows shooting up in surprise, but chose not to comment on what you were trying to tell him, and you were thankful about it. You told him everything, minus the sexual details - San’s insecurities about being king, him thinking about abdicating at one point, all the way to the questions about you leading Utopia if the time came.
Yunho swore under his breath, a sharp, uncharacteristic sound. “Damn it,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “It might be the curse.”
“I need to know, Yunho. I think I’ve held off for far too long,” you pleaded, eyes burning. Yunho looked hesitant, but you pressed on. “I’ve respected your silence as an elder, respected San as the authority, and I respected Utopia as a whole since I’m not of this land and maybe I didn’t have the right to know. Please. Tell me. I need to know, I’m begging you.”
Something in your face must have touched something deep in the mage, and finally, he gives a slow nod. He exhaled heavily, shoulders sagging like the weight of centuries had finally caught up to him. “You’re going to need to sit for this one,” he murmured, gesturing towards a chair.
You didn’t need to be told twice. “It’s a long story,” he sighed, bringing his palms up, a small glow of light emanating from it, to touch your forehead as you felt yourself being transported into a memory. “While I cannot tell you, I could show you. Close your eyes.”
The world tilted on its axis. At first, you were confused because you saw a castle, a very familiar looking one at that and it was when it hit you - it was Utopia, only this time, there was no snow. It was lush and green, alive and well. You quickly realised that this was Utopia far before the snow started to swallow the kingdom, long before it had turned inhabitable.
And on the front of the castle grounds was a man in armour, standing proudly over an anguished woman, screaming at the top of her lungs in despair as she cradled the bloody body of another man who had long passed, her grief so raw that it split the sky open.
You gasped in horror at what you were witnessing, even more so when you looked closer. The man in the armour, he looked like San, only this one was far younger, and his eyes; they were unkind. Psychopathic, almost, not capable of empathy as he embellished the blood-soaked sword he had presumably used to slay the now dead man on the ground.
“You killed him,” she mourned, her tears falling in torrents, voice breaking as her blood soaked hands tried hard to seal the fatal wound, but to no avail. “You killed him, you monster!”
But the cruel man didn’t care. He didn’t say anything, just watched with wild, possessive eyes. You gasped when the woman looked up, her eyes glowing red in fury, the magic exploding from her so strong that even you could feel it from this memory.
“May your kingdom know only the cold that took him from me,” she seethed. She rose slowly to her feet, and when she stood fully, her magic surged again, this time, stronger and final.
For the first time, the man in armor reacted. “What are you doing?” He barked, stepping forward with unease as the temperature dropped around him. You watched in horror as a sudden blizzard filled the entire space and palace. “Stop, you cannot—”
“May your bloodline rot beneath endless snow,” she cried. You felt it, the cold slamming into you as snow immediately blanketed the kingdom of Utopia. “Only when a heart as warm and pure as his enters willingly and claims the throne and be claimed in return will the winter break.”
Then the vision shattered. You gasped, eyes flying open, Yunho’s hand still resting against your forehead, his expression heavy with regret. “W-What was that?” You blurted out in disbelief at what you just saw. “Who was that? H-He looks like San, who was that woman?”
“He does, because that was San’s father,” Yunho sighed, panting to catch his breath from all the energy he exerted. “There was a beautiful forest witch who lived in the woods that he saw hunting once. He immediately fell in love with her, or rather, obsessed. It was disgusting, San’s mother died from heartbreak when San was only a newborn.”
Yunho dragged his hands down his face in defeat. “It was greed in its coldest form. The witch’s heart already belonged to someone else, and in a jealous rage, San’s father killed him. In front of her, no less. It’s why Utopia’s cold and desolate. The snow is a manifestation of her grief.”
“And when the former king died, that cruel bastard,” Yunho continued, his voice rough. “The curse didn’t fade…it passed. San absorbed it instantly.”
Your chest tightened, stomach twisting into something painful as your nails dug into your palms. “I-I don’t understand,” you uttered. “What do you mean it passed? Are you telling me that…”
You trailed off, not even wanting to continue. May your bloodline rot beneath endless snow. The words were still clear in your head like a ringing siren. Yunho nodded grimly when you looked at him. “Not only did she curse the kingdom as a whole to eternal coldness, but also the entire Choi bloodline for that very same greed that killed her lover,” he confirmed.
Anger filled your veins at the man who had pretty much cursed his son for greed he couldn’t control. “At first, we didn’t understand what was happening,” the mage spoke, a faraway look in his face as he recalled a memory he’d been wanting to forget. “The snow just never melted and storm after storm claimed hundreds of lives. San’s father didn’t live long enough for me to study the curse. However—”
He paused, swallowing audibly, looking towards the floor. “There was someone who did live long enough,” he whispered, voice cracking. “And he’s been missing for half a day now. He was but a child back then, Y/N. I-I just…sorry, I need to collect myself.”
A cold realization slid down your spine. San. You imagined a boy growing up under a weight no one should have to carry, a vessel for sins he never committed. That was the part that hurt the most to you because it was no wonder there was always something distant in his gaze, walls you could never get through, because he was always bracing for the cold no else could feel.
“I tried everything back then, you know?” Yunho finally spoke after a long silence, decades of desperation still lingering in his eyes. “I tried every magic I knew even if it almost killed me, but the snow just would not melt. But San…he loved Utopia even if the entire kingdom condemned him.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion, letting him continue. “Utopia’s bound to its ruler. The Choi clan. The witch was smart enough to kill two birds with one stone - completely end the bloodline with the one thing that could outlast generations while erasing the entire kingdom.”
Your breath caught. “The snow.”
Yunho nodded. “Ironically, San was the one who realised what the curse actually entailed. Have you noticed that he never wears anything thick? He never gets cold when he’s outside with you, have you noticed that?”
You stayed silent, the puzzle pieces connecting slowly. Just last night when you were out on that balcony, he gave you his coat, even admitting outright that he never got cold. “He said the locket prevented him from being cold,” you murmured to yourself more as an afterthought.
“That was half the truth, yes,” Yunho said. “The reason is because the curse wasn’t meant to destroy the land outright - it was meant to bury it. ”
A chill crawled up your spine. “Then why hasn’t it yet?”
Yunho looked at you then, eyes dark with something close to reverence. “Because San wouldn’t let it. San absorbed the snow. Literally. Accidentally discovered it one Christmas evening when it stormed so bad, the snow was waist deep. It was the magic trying to reclaim Utopia completely. He got so sick, we thought we were losing him.”
The realization hit you hard. “So when there’s a storm—”
“He’s at his weakest,” Yunho finished. “Because he’s burning himself out to keep the snow at bay. Holding it back long enough for people to survive another day. The dark marks along his skin, they were the curse in itself, but more so just a side effect of him straining and pulling the curse inside him so the storm would stop, at least, for a while.”
The pieces slid together with a sickening clarity. Christmas was winter time and therefore where storms are the strongest. No wonder he hated it. No wonder he had isolated himself, it was so he could suffer in silence. And you were none the wiser.
You remembered how he’d convulsed, vomiting helplessly, blood streaking from his nose as if his body were tearing itself apart from the inside. And then, days later, the storm had stopped as if nothing had happened. It hadn’t passed - San had just taken it. He had been protecting his people all his life and nobody even knew it, choosing to be condemned just to keep them alive.
And suddenly, you understood why San never stopped watching the skies; why even if he was with you or preoccupied with other people or in the middle of an important meeting he would always look out the windows. “The locket?” You asked weakly.
“I made it for him,” he said quietly. “Years of San absorbing the snow had not been kind to his body. I wove magic into it so a part of the curse is in that locket. When the storm hits, it absorbs the curse before it reaches him. Not all of it, but enough to keep him alive until...well.”
His voice turns somber. “Without it, he wouldn’t survive the storms. Not anymore. And believe me, we tried transferring the curse to an enemy at one point by making them wear the locket, but it was too strong. Whoever touches it instantly perishes.”
You looked at him more closely, the way his jaw tightened as if holding back years of grief. And suddenly, you noticed it. This wasn’t just sorrow, this was something deeper. “You raised him,” you said softly. “You love him.”
He only nodded, once, eyes shining as he looked away. “He wasn’t just my king, Y/N. That’s my boy,” he wavered, emotions finally coming through. “And he deserved something good for once. Which is exactly why you’re here, we needed you. Only when a heart as warm and pure as his enters willingly and claims the throne. The moment I saw you in that alleyway, I knew you were a kind soul, Y/N. Utopia becoming a legitimate kingdom with a queen was only half the reason.”
Yunho proceeds to explain that while it was true that they needed a queen, the reason why San was marriageless until now was because of what the curse said. It wasn’t hard for San to force someone into a marriage or use something to bargain to find a queen, but it would be useless because the curse required someone to enter into the marriage willingly. And that was that, they thought that by you being here willingly, winter was going to fade.
But it didn’t. Nothing had changed and everyone was back at square one. “The problem was,” Yunho continued, exhaling shakily. “There was the other half of the curse. One that San absolutely refused to acknowledge. Be claimed in return will the winter break.”
You halted at the insinuation, freezing like snow had been piled on top of your head. Your mind automatically raced with scenarios you didn’t want to think about. Yunho’s silence had pretty much confirmed everything you needed to know. To be claimed in return. They were going to kill you, use you as a sacrifice to balance the curse so the snow would finally stop and winter would come to an end. A willing queen and a king to give her up.
“There was no way in hell San was going to let anything happen to you. You saw it yesterday. He didn’t just reject it, he lost control,” he said firmly. “There was never a doubt in his mind.”
“So, what now? Where do we even find him?” You asked, chest aching painfully. “There must be a solution, Yunho, something we could do to completely reverse this curse. I could hit the library for information, anything at this point. There has to be a way.”
“Well, yes, there is…” Yunho trailed off, freezing as blood completely drained from his face. Whatever he just thought of had him off kilter so bad, he got up from his chair and knocked everything off the shelves in the process.
Before you knew it, he hurriedly bolted out of the room in sheer panic, leaving you to chase after him, the adrenaline boosting you because Yunho was fast. “Yunho,” you chased after him, ignoring the burning sensation in your lungs and the sudden cold that hit you when you realised you had chased him all the way out to the horse stables. “What’s—”
“I know where he is,” Yunho gritted his teeth, already preparing to mount a horse. You could tell he was trembling in fear, swallowing the panic that had overtaken him. “San’s planning to sacrifice himself. The land is bound to him, and his death would end the curse. Quickly, Y/N, hold my hand. We have to find him now.”
Terror filled your lungs, nodding anyway as you mounted, hands shaking so badly Yunho had to steady you before he started to ride away. The cold air hitting your face as the horse moved and blurred your surroundings did nothing to quelch the fear building at the pit of your stomach. All you could think was San and hope that you weren’t too late.
Every second felt like it was tearing something vital from your chest, tears freezing at the corners of your eyes as you rode harder, faster, praying to see the man who had long decided that no curse was worth your life; that he would rather lose himself or let Utopia freeze than forever lose you.
The thought had you keen internally. Please, you begged, tears falling down your face painfully as they automatically froze before they even had the chance to form, gripping the saddle until your knuckles burned. Please don’t let him think he has to disappear for us to survive.
“W-Where are we going?” You screamed into the air, teeth chattering from the cold.
“The witch’s shack a little further up north where she lived with her lover,” Yunho replied, snapping the reins forward to make the horse go faster. “Her power’s concentrated there.”
It didn’t take long for you and Yunho to end up in a clearing where the trees were a little less condensed but the snow and wind were so strong and thick that it was almost impossible to see through it. But your breath hitched, anyway, because the moment you got past the haze, you saw him clear as day as if he was a beacon shining even from afar.
San. He was standing still in front of a quaint little shack, unbothered by the elements around him, just staring up at the sky with his eyes closed and you hated it. Absolutely detested the sight, because it looked like he had already resigned to his fate and was just waiting for the right moment to execute his plans.
And he was ready. You watched in panic as he raised his hand to his neck, holding the chain of the locket to take it off, but your body was already careening forward. You pushed yourself, jumping off of the horse before it even paused, ignoring Yunho’s panicked calls and the way your leg ached when you fell particularly hard.
“No!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, running like a madwoman through the thick blankets of snow even though your lungs were thinning in air and your legs were aching for reprieve. It was ear-piercing and blood-curdling enough to catch San’s attention, startling him to a halt and turning around, eyes widening when he saw your pitiful form run up to him.
And by God, he looked devastating. You wanted to tear up, it just wasn’t fair for him to look this breathtaking and ethereal even as the snow surrounded him, melancholy wrapping him in its grace as he stared at you with hollow, empty eyes. “San, please,” you begged, sobbing at this point. He looked like his soul had already left him long before his earthly body expired.
He smiled, the lines on his face softening and you abhorred how peaceful it made him look. This was the most at peace San had ever looked and you hated it. “My sweet Y/N,” he croaked, the trembling in his hands betraying the true fear he actually felt. “What are you doing here?”
You yelped, trudging forward in failure when you tripped over a rock you couldn’t see hidden by the thick snow. You pushed yourself up with shaking hands, tears blurring your vision. “Don’t,” you sobbed, words tumbling out broken and raw. “Don’t you dare look at me like that. Don’t you dare make that face like you’ve already decided.”
You felt Yunho behind you, steadying you, providing you warmth with the little magic he had left, opting not to say anything. This was between you and San at this point. And San, he just shook his head. “I have exhausted all options,” he said. “I am exhausted. Please, just let me go. I think I have suffered long enough that it should be alright if I could rest a bit, don’t you think so?”
He said it so quietly amidst the oncoming storm and that scared you more than if he’d shouted. Your chest cracked open at the gentleness of it, at how he said it like a plea instead of a decision. “No,” you cried, tears freezing at your lashes. “Not you. Not now. Not ever.”
San’s eyes softened. “Y/N—”
“You’d already come this far, why now? You can’t do this to the people who care for you. Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yeosang, Mingi, Wooyoung, Jongho, and especially Yunho. You can’t do this to me. We’ve barely just begun, San, you cannot leave me like this. There has to be a way—”
“Don’t you get it? This is the only way,” San snapped, not out of anger, but more so in desperation, hoping for you to understand where he was coming from even if it meant it was for all the wrong reasons. “The curse ends here. With me. I am the last of my bloodline so with me gone, the curse perishes alongside me.”
“You know damn well that that’s not true,” you snapped back, the frustration giving you a newly found rush of adrenaline that temporarily overtook the cold and the pain in your leg. “I came here willingly, San, and I’m just as willing to do my part to be a sacrificial lamb—”
“No,” he immediately turns down, fire in his eyes so intense it could’ve been enough to melt the snow around him. “I didn’t fight this curse this long to sacrifice someone else in the name of balance, especially not you.”
“So, why won’t you fight for yourself this time?” You asked, voice breaking. “For us?”
“I am,” he said hoarsely. “This is the hardest battle I’ve fought yet. You think I don’t want to stay? You think I don’t want more tea sessions with you even though I despise tea? To stay long enough to finally see my kingdom be warm and green with you by my side?”
Something about that almost confession broke something inside you, and that was the most devastating part of it all. Almost. Just enough to finally tell you how he truly felt about you, but not enough where he was willing to stay long enough to tell you the entirety of it. “Don’t go, San,” you looked at Yunho helplessly. “Tell him, please…”
But the mage stayed mum, conserving his energy to keep you warm from the blizzard even though tears of devastation were already falling from his eyes. San’s voice dropped to something raw. “My throne without you is meaningless and its future built on your death is no future at all,” he admitted before his eyes hardened with finality. “I’m sorry, YN.”
It all happened fast. In one moment, San was lifting his hands to take the locket off, and in the next, you were rushing to him, deliberately knocking him off to tackle him on the ground, momentarily distracting him. Without thinking, you took the locket off of him, putting it around your neck. It was all it took for all hell to break loose.
Yunho’s spell shattered instantly in his state of shock and San’s eyes widened impossibly so as he realised what just happened. Everything was a blur, your ears ringing as you began to tumble down. San screamed your name, the sound of it so raw, primal, and animalistic that you could hear him even when you could barely comprehend the world anymore.
He immediately caught, cradling you in his arms as your vision started to blur out. “Y/N, oh God, what the fuck did you do?” San cried, frantically shaking you as if that would get rid of the curse. “Y/N, why? Why would you do that? Why?”
Your body jerked against his, your chest tightening to a degree where it felt like it was about to cave in on you. Suddenly, you felt this overwhelming cold over you and San’s grip tightened impossibly so. “Yunho,” he called out in panic. “Her hands, oh God—”
Black lines bled through your skin, exactly like the ones on San’s chest. They crept from your hands up your arms all the way towards your throat. Yunho staggered forward, horror breaking his paralysis. “The curse,” he said, voice shaking. “I-I think it’s binding to her—”
San wasn’t listening. He was sobbing now, forehead pressed to yours, tears streaking down his face as he begged you to stay awake. “Look at me,” he pleaded. “Please. Don’t you dare leave me, Y/N, please—”
The last thing you saw was San’s face, utterly broken, grief carved into every line of it as he clutched you to his chest like something already lost.
Warmth you’ve never felt before led your consciousness to awaken. It felt abnormal, like you weren’t to feel it and for a moment, you thought you were back at your parents’ farm - sweat clung to your skin, seeping out of your pores as natural heat from the farmland permeated all over the place.
Instead of the humble shack made out of wood and concrete, you were met with arched windows draped in sheer gossamer curtains. The bed beneath you was impossibly soft, and you were confused for a second. This wasn’t the farmlands, and this wasn’t warmth from the sun-baked earth you remembered.
You had to get up because the sweat was starting to irritate your lower back and you scrambled upright, you had to squint, covering your eyes as sunlight suddenly streamed from the windows. Now that you think about it, your lower back hurts too, like you’ve been laying down for quite some time and the long sleep hurt more than felt restful.
You reckoned you should change out of your dress. It felt a little too thick for the weather. It was a nice day, perfect for a walk when you looked out your windows. The birds were singing outside, the trees were a lovely shade of green and multiple colourful flowers littered the entire palace grounds—
You paused, horribly so. You blinked in a daze, rubbing your eyes in a daze and looked again. No. It was still bright outside, no blankets of snow covering the entire grounds like you knew Utopia to be. It wasn’t supposed to be like this - warm, vibrant, alive. And you staggered, remembering everything all at once - the curse, the locket, San.
Suddenly, the door opened and there stood Wooyoung, looking like he was frozen in time, skin pale as if he had just seen a ghost. Whatever he had been holding slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor, forgotten entirely.
Before you could even say hello, he spun on his heel and shouted down the hall, voice cracking with panic and disbelief. “H-Hongjoong,” his voice cracked before he cleared his throat. “Hongjoong!”
Hongjoong burst in, breathless, eyes wild. “What? What happened—”
The second he saw you standing there, he froze as well before his knees gave out beneath him. He dropped to the floor without shame, head bowing as his hands pressed together. “Thank the Heavens,” he whispered hoarsely, emotion flooding his voice. “Oh, thank the Heavens…”
Neither of them waited a second longer. “I-I’ll inform the mage—” the knight said before leaving.
Wooyoung bolted out as well, shouting at the top of his lungs as he ran down the halls, voice so loud you were sure the entire palace could have heard it. “Your Majesty, Your Majesty!” The young man hollered, voice brimming with emotion. “Your Majesty, she’s awake!”
And in the chaos of it all, you could hear it, feel him approaching your chambers without even looking, the sounds of panicked footsteps as they got closer and closer and there he was - the man that made your heart beat at the mere thought of him, right in the flesh.
San’s hair was disheveled, like he had run his hand through it so many times in frustration. Your heart was torn between joy and hurt because San looked utterly worn down. The bags beneath his eyes looked darker than mere shadows and he resembled more of a shell of a man whose sleep had long abandoned him.
And now he was staring you at like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, torn between wanting nothing but to hold you versus protecting himself from nightmare and heartbreak just in case this wasn’t real; that maybe he was hallucinating and you were only a figment of his imagination that he wanted so, so bad to manifest.
He flinched, not daring to breathe or blink. Slowly, he began to move closer to you, hands shaking as they hovered over you like he was afraid touching you would make you disappear. Just as suddenly, his legs gave out, knees thudding on the floor as his trembling arms wrapped around your thighs, head buried in your dress as he embraced your form.
“S-San,” you let out in surprise, hands automatically finding their way on his hair. “Please–”
“Don’t,” he spoke, begged, voice raw and muffled. “Please, j-just let me have this.”
When your fingers twitched, he gasped like he’d been holding his breath for as long as you were in that deep slumber and your touch just made him remember how to let air back into his lungs and life into his soul. It was how everyone else caught you and San and there was no dry eye in that room and at that moment.
Seonghwa and Jongho left first after, relief shining in their eyes, both bowing respectfully before they let Yeosang in, the kind-hearted chef holding onto a smiling Mingi. The taller had to lead the former out to give you and San privacy. Only Yunho was left, tears glistening in his eyes.
“Don’t do that ever again. Don’t you ever do that to me again. You don’t understand,” he exhaled. “Y/N. I thought I lost you, you were asleep for so long, I-I just…”
You tried to speak, but your throat burned. You sat down to his eye level, unwrapping his arms around you, grabbing his face between your hands. “San,” you said hoarsely. “Look at me.”
And he did. And by God his face, he looked wrecked up close. Eyes red-rimmed, jaw clenched so tight it trembled. “I’m here,” you continued, tears slipping free. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re both here. Together.”
Something in him broke. He finally pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around you, his restraint shattering all at once. He buried his face in your hair, clutching you like you were the only solid thing left in the world before grabbing your face to kiss you. His lips were warm with promise and relief neither of you dared named yet but felt settled deep in your chests.
A pointed, awkward cough cut through the moment. “Ahem.”
You both froze, pulling away to see Yunho standing a few steps away, one brow raised, amusement swimming behind his concern. “I’m still here,” Yunho said dryly.
You broke out into a breathless laugh first and it was all the three of you needed to make light of the situation. San guided you to the bed to let Yunho examine your body. “You’re perfectly healthy,” he said in disbelief even behind the relief. “A miracle, I tell you. You were reckless and I ought to smack you in the head for what you did, but so far, so good.”
It was when they told you everything that happened after you passed out. They couldn’t wake you up so they had no choice but to bring you back to the palace. San had to look away, jaw tight, when Yunho narrated how the king never left your bedside. But what truly surprised you was that about a week later, the snow started to melt and storms just halted completely.
“J-Just like that?” You asked, not able to stop your surprise, looking outside in confirmation and the scenario was still the same. Utopia looked utterly alive and if you closed your eyes to breathe in, it felt free. “How long did I…sleep?”
Both of them looked at each other before Yunho looked back on you. His expression softened, like he was choosing his words carefully. “Almost four months,” he said quietly. “It’s spring now.”
But something still boggled your mind, something far darker than you didn’t want to acknowledge but had to know. “But how? I don’t understand, is this how it ends? Just like that? Is Utopia free from the curse? Is…” you trailed off. “San free?”
Yunho went quiet for a moment, then slowly repeated the words that had haunted the kingdom for generations. “Only when a heart as warm and pure as his enters willingly and claims the throne,” he said softly. “And be claimed in return, will the winter break.”
You stayed silent, confused, but listened. “For the longest time, we misunderstood that last part as loss, that we needed a pure and kind heart as a sacrifice to stop the snow. But the magic never asked for death. It wanted reciprocation.”
You let that settle in, shaking your head because you still didn’t understand it. You felt San’s grip tighten around your hand and you turned to look at him. He had a soft smile on his face. “My father,” he spoke softly. “He was greedy. Just wanted to possess a love that never belonged to him. To enter willingly to claim the throne and be claimed in return…it was never about sacrifice. It was about being chosen back.”
The words landed like a final piece snapping into place. “In short,” Yunho finished. “To love and be loved in return. A queen of pure heart who was willing to accept a bloodline of rotten rulers with all she had and a king who loved with all his without asking for anything in return.”
The words settled heavily in the room. You had to admit, it was all anticlimactic; something you read as a child in those fairytale books your parents could barely afford selling grains. Love. Such a convoluted word yet powerful enough to bury a kingdom if need be.
It was all you could think about long after Yunho had left, leaving you and San in your chambers as the both of you laid down on your bed, his arms wrapped around you, just basking in the silence and the general presence the both of you offered each other. It was all you needed, and you were all he needed and more.
Maybe that was what it really was. Even if it was anticlimactic, it was reality, and what you felt for San was real. It ran deeper than the curse that held him for the longest time, and it certainly went beyond the reckless endangerment you put your life in when you wore the locket for him.
“Are you mad at me?” You blurted out dumbly, not knowing what else to say.
San didn’t answer you right away. He exhaled a small laugh through his nose in disbelief. “Yes. Very much so,” he said honestly. Your heart tanked, guilt swirling in it, but before you could spiral further, he tightened his arms around you. “But,” he continued gently. “What I feel for you will always be stronger than my anger. ”
All the breath from lungs left you, his words suddenly becoming the oxygen you needed to live. You wanted to choke from all the emotions that were clawing up your throat, and you looked at him - really looked at him. You breath caught because there was no trace of that king nor that man who was bound by a curse he never deserved. He was just San. His eyes were warm, devastatingly soft, watching you like you were something precious.
“I lost myself while you slept. You just looked so…gone,” he admitted quietly. “And it terrified me more than the curse ever did. A part of me died when you wore that locket.”
Your throat burned. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to scare you like that, I swear, and honestly, I still don’t know what I was thinking. I just knew I didn’t want you to leave me.”
He didn’t answer; chose not to. He smiled, staring at you with fondness in his eyes and it was such a San thing to do. He brushed his knuckles along your cheek, memorizing you in a way he’d never done before. The way he looked at you made your chest ache.
“I’m underselling this, aren’t I?” He suddenly said, his thumb traced slow, absent-minded circles against your arm. “What I feel for you, I mean.”
You felt his forehead rest against yours, breath warm, steady. “I’d swallow poison if it tasted like you,” he said. “I’d have brought you back one way or another. Find another witch to curse me just to drag you back. I loved you, Y/N. And you were gone. I loved you. And you slept.”
Your chest ached, full and fragile all at once. You couldn’t speak. If you did, you were certain you’d fall apart. His thumb stilled on your arm. “And I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, voice low, rough around the edges.
You were confused. "For what?"
"That you thought you couldn't come to me," he whispered. "For letting you believe that the only way was to carry what should have never been yours."
He turned to you, his eyes shining with sincerity, his heart on his sleeve as he was about to pour his emotions to you. "It breaks my heart that I didn't do well enough for you to know that," he kissed your hand, his lips lingering longer. "I'm the one safe person you can always turn to, Y/N. Had I known it was going to come to that, I would’ve told you and let you choose what to do."
"Are you saying that you would have been okay if I solved everything myself?" You asked nervously. “That you would have let me help had you told me the curse beforehand?”
"Are you asking me to be okay with it?"
You didn’t reply immediately. "I want to know what my future husband thinks," you admitted shyly.
He raises a brow in surprise, the redness on the tip of his ears betraying his flustered emotions. “Yes,” his thumb brushed under your eye, tender. “The answer is yes. Your happiness has been the most important thing to me ever since I met you. I hope you know that.”
"I know it now," a tear fell from your eyes. And then multiple of them followed. "And now is all that matters."
He wiped your tears away with his free hand, looking at you like you were the only constant thing in the world that finally stopped freezing long before his kingdom did. “You’re beautiful even in tears,” he murmured.
"You can't just say things like that," you sniffled, smiling through your tears anyway. "I-I have nothing to offer you, San, I'm just a farm girl and I have no idea how to lead a kingdom. I don’t have any merit."
You had no idea where all your insecurity was coming from, but it was there. "No," San whispered. "You can give me everything. The people too. Look around you, Y/N."
And you did and that’s when you saw it. Random things you knew weren’t in the room - a hand stitched shawl, flowers in ornate vases, carved wooden charmed wooden carvings, multiple letters stacked against one another in one corner of the room. Your room was filled to the brim with gifts.
“They’re from the people of Utopia,” he said, following your gaze. “They’ve been giving you gifts. I told them everything. About the curse. About what you did. About how the snow stopped because you refused to let me disappear.”
Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs. “To them, you’re already their queen,” he continued. His eyes shone warmly, shining softly and earnestly as a good king should who truly loved his kingdom like San did. “ You lead by caring enough to try. Every day, even when it costs you. I know I did.”
Then he smiled, that soft, devastating smile meant only for you, and reached into his palm. A ring rested there and your tears started falling downwards at a faster rate as he took your hand in his. “Let’s do this again, please. No more duties, no more curses. Just us choosing each other, if you’d let me.”
The room felt impossibly still as he held the ring up to you, hope trembling just beneath his calm. “To the person who braved the cold with me,” he began. “Would you spare me the torment of being without you and marry me?"
You couldn’t speak, nodding fervently as you covered your mouth to stop yourself from sobbing out loud. The breath he let out was shaky, broken by a smile so full it almost hurt to look at. When he slid the ring onto your finger, the cold felt like nothing more than a distant memory.
In that moment, with no more snow falling and no curse left to fear, it felt like the world finally, truly began again for the both of you. He cupped your face in his hands and leaned in. The kiss was nothing short of gentle, longing melting away between your lips.
And as the last remnants of fear had unshackled itself from the cold grips of despair, the curse was unbound. And at last, San felt free - truly free for the first time in his life.
genres and warnings: fluff, a sprinkle of angst in the beginning, slice of life, highschool au, coming of age, just teens having fun, mentions of smoking
word count: 15k
synopsis: you did not expect to basically get adopted by a group of boys when you transfer to your new school. at first, you think they are friends with you to prove sth to their rival-of-sorts, but later you find a home in them.
a/n: i must thank @eightmakesonebraincell for enabling this. it was genuinely so fun to write this without worrying about the plot and plot twists and worldbuilding.
Spring is a marker for new beginnings. The cherry blossoms bloom in all their pastel pink glory, the petals covering the streets in their wake. Some children try to avoid stepping on them and it turns into a game– anyone who steps on more than five petals on their way to school loses. Teens keep their heads raised up to the sky, having heard the famous saying about the cherry blossoms; if you catch a petal, your first love becomes true.
Some of them haven’t had their first love yet. They are on their way to school, junior year, just like you. They are struggling to catch a petal with the hopes that the boy or the girl they said goodbye to before the year break ends up in their class, maybe even gets seated right next to them. With that little bubble of hope in their hearts, they jump around and their giggles echo in the streets.
The old folks who are just out for their usual morning walk or to see their children or grandchildren off laugh along in reminiscence and if you stop by to admire the scene, it seems straight out of a musical.
However, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and you are not a great appreciator of beauty. Some might even say you’re not worthy of being called a beholder at all. You should have been– as an old friend had the honour of telling you once– 'I don't know, a snail!'. You dodge the little kids who jump so unpredictably yet rather expertly, avoid the students who look to be about your age like the plague and somehow, make your way to your new school without an eventful morning.
You’re clutching onto the shoulder straps of your bag as if someone would notice that you need help. However, the guard urges you to rush inside as the school bell is about to ring. With a deep breath, you take one step, and another, and then another–
Until someone bumps against your shoulders and you find yourself losing balance, a startled little sound escaping your mouth as you find yourself pulled by gravity. Another pair of hands grabs your bag, propelling you up before you end up kissing the pavement. You look towards your right where the assailant– you have no better word in your vocabulary to call the rowdy boy who bumped against you and almost killed you– stands. He looks genuinely worried for a hot second but when he realises that he has not caused fatal damage, he bursts into a feline grin, tells you ‘my bad!’ and continues to rush towards the school building.
You hardly have time to look at your saviour. Everything is happening too quickly. He makes sure you’re steady before he zooms off after the assailant. All you can make out is that he is tall and very light on his feet, the navy blue uniform jacket in his hand almost flying in the air behind him.
While you are processing how you almost made it to your first day at your new school with a bust lip, you instinctively wrap your arms around your chest as more boys rush past you, calling after the duo. You shut your eyes and take a deep breath, hoping that your junior year will be uneventful, that this school year will pass by with you unnoticed, a part of the background. And you pray that no one recognises you here.
You didn’t exactly leave your old school on a good note.
However, when you finally find your class after a trip to the teachers’ office and muster the courage to stop a random, kind-looking girl to ask for directions, you notice a few things.
Firstly, the classroom is not as big as your old classroom, which means that there are less students and more chances of people noticing and remembering you. You will have to try harder to merge into the background, but–
The duo from earlier is in this class, with the tall boy recognisable because he is not facing you. He turns to look at the time and you meet eyes for a second, though he probably does not recognise you either. He has a puppy-like charm to him in the way his eyes curve when he smiles. You remain frozen at the entrance, willing the other boy to not notice you, but he does and offers you a cheerful wave. You don’t respond in any way, a tap on your shoulder making you restrain a groan.
Upon turning, you find that it’s your homeroom teacher, the one you had just talked to in the office. She smiles warmly at you.
“Good timing. Come in, let’s introduce you to your class.”
“But–”
The words get stuck in your mouth when Miss Ji claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. The boys and girls settle down and you are the only one awkwardly standing in the front, fiddling with your fingers and finding it hard to swallow the anxiety.
“Alright, let’s see… oh, Nabi is back in my class. That’s good, and… Seonghwa! How wonderful, but– oh, no…”
“Oh, yes, Miss Ji!” The boy who bumped into you earlier is quick to respond. “You cannot keep separating the eight of us every year! It’s not going to work anymore.”
Miss Ji seems to consider his statement. Was that a challenge?
“Come on, Miss Ji,” the tall boy pleads and you count the boys who are nodding their heads in unison and pleading. Yes, exactly eight of them. “We will be nice to you. We promise.”
“Only if you insist, Yunho, because you are my favourite,” she says and Yunho grins, receiving congratulatory pats from his friends. You observe them with mild curiosity. It looks like they are old friends, which you suppose is nice.
Except there is an empty seat in the middle of them which could be your potential spot for the rest of your year. There is also an empty seat by the window and you would prefer that, but–
Miss Ji asks you to introduce yourself and you bow to the class, clear your throat and say your name in a robotic tone.
“I transferred from Ilsan Tech High School. I hope we will have a good year ahead.”
The class claps for you, but it’s a little dull. Still, the girls look at you with a sort of vulnerable excitement in their eyes, perhaps wondering if you could be the new addition to their group. You don’t smile back at anyone, making sure to disappoint them because it will hurt less if you do it now. The boys mostly appear uninterested, too busy with their gadgets except the assailant who is grinning devilishly.
“Alright, you can take the seat next to Wooyoung there,” Miss Ji points and you follow her hand to where she points, your heart sinking a bit dramatically when you realise that the name Wooyoung belongs to your assailant.
“Uh… is there a chance that I can take the empty seat in the corner instead?”
“Oh, that one?” One of the girls in the front points and answers for the teacher. “That seat belongs to Yuna. She’s probably in the nurse room right now.”
“Ah…” you offer a weak smile as a thanks and begrudgingly make your way towards the assailant who seems too happy to have you to his right. You take your seat in the single row, in front of the girl Miss Ji named earlier, Nabi. The group of eight is on your left and right, with another boy in front of you who doesn’t seem to be a part of this little gang.
Your homeroom teacher details what she expects from this junior year in the present term, asks all of you to take your studies seriously this year and to start preparing for what senior year brings in advance– to start thinking about your future. While she talks, a paper plane flies over your head and you have to focus hard to not let the boys’ incessant giggles get to you.
Miss Ji shakes her head at the bunch and says, “I’m personally going to separate you guys if you don’t cooperate with me.”
“Yes ma’am!” The eight of them respond in synchrony and your eyelid twitches involuntarily. As soon as Miss Ji leaves the room, Wooyoung taps on your desk.
“Sorry for ruining your morning,” he says with a hand over his chest. “Shall I treat you to some bread and strawberry milk today to make up for it?”
“Uh… no thanks,” you offer him a weak smile. “It’s okay.”
“So you do admit that he ruined your morning,” the boy who sits next to Wooyoung leans forward, pushing Wooyoung back a bit so he can see you better. “I’m Jongho. If anyone bothers you, you can tell me.”
“Well… right now you’re both bothering me,” you mumble and the duo clutch their hearts dramatically. You wonder if there’s a theatre class in this school because if there is and this duo isn’t a part of it, the theatre class is missing out on some talent. “I’ll be fine, thank you very much.”
“Come on, boys, don’t bother her,” the voice on your right says and you look at the boy who’s too pretty to be called handsome. “Let her be. It’s her first day, don’t overwhelm her.”
Seonghwa. He seems like the sane one out of the bunch. You give him a subtle nod to thank him and he just smiles in response, arranging the books on his desk neatly and tucking the long strands of his hair back.
However, you find two packs of bread and two flavours of milk on your desk during recess either way. You returned to a mostly empty class after going to the toilet first (and almost getting lost on your way back). You consider shoving the goods inside Wooyoung’s desk but you figure that if you just accept these, he’ll stop bothering you for good.
With that thought, you open the vanilla bread and chocolate milk and enjoy your lunch in peace. There is only a group of friends at the front eating their lunch and chatting among themselves, ignoring your presence and you don’t pay attention to them. You finish your lunch and rest your head on the desk for a much-needed post-meal nap when someone dares to tap on your shoulder and interrupt your peace.
It’s hardly been half a day and you’re already at your wits’ ends. You prepare to snap at the person because you’re sure it’s Wooyoung or one of his friends, but to your surprise, you find that it’s the girl who sits behind you, Nabi.
“Have you had lunch?”
“Uh, yeah,” you straighten. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just wanted you to know that if you need anything, any sort of help, you can ask me,” she says with a trademark smile that you can sense is just for show. Her long, straight hair gets flipped back as she looks over her shoulders. “I know Wooyoung can be a bit too much. If you ever want to switch seats, you can do that with me.”
Now, you’re not a fan of Wooyoung, but if she knows that Wooyoung can be too much, why would she offer to switch seats with you? She can’t be a saint, could she?
You tell her that you will think about it. And think you do.
Over the course of the next few days as you struggle to keep up with your studies, adjust to this class and train yourself to think of the group of boys around you as background noise (even though they are anything but with their constant check-ins and every day treats on your desks because apparently, you have not verbally forgiven Wooyoung so he is bound to be your slave for ‘eternity’), you notice one thing.
Nabi cares for Seonghwa.
Seonghwa does not care for Nabi. In fact, it looks like the group of them have beef with Nabi.
Nabi and Seonghwa, you find, are the best students in the class. The ‘model’ students. They are also vice president and president respectively. Seonghwa tries to be civil, but Nabi reads too much into his kindness and mistakes it for something else. Her level of infatuation with Seonghwa is such that she is willing to risk damaging her eardrums just so she gets to sit next to Seonghwa.
You also learn that Nabi does not like you very much, and maybe that’s why the boys keep coddling you even though you keep snapping at them.
But you weigh your options. What is the worst the yapper who sits next to you could do? Girls can be dangerous when mad, that you know very well from your experience in your previous school. Girls can be very, very mean to their own people.
Of course, boys can be mean and violent too, but they generally don’t bother with girls. Or maybe, you’re just a traditional stereotypical arse who thinks she knows too much when your only experience is from your previous school. Either way, you want to spend the rest of your school life silently, without coming out of the shadows. You don’t want sworn enmity from Nabi or, well, be a cockblocker. If she wants to attempt to woo Seonghwa when it seems like all he cares about is his studies or the clumsy boy Hongjoong who sits next to him, you’re not gonna be the wall that prevents her from doing so. You’ll let Seonghwa’s other friends play that.
So one moody Monday morning, you catch Nabi in the hallway and let her know that you can switch seats with her. The joy on her face is innocent and you almost smile. Her group of friends cheer for her and with that, you go to drop your bag in the class and find a quiet spot until the bell rings.
None of the boys have arrived in class yet. You do smile to yourself at the thought of how they will react. Maybe you’ll like your spot between San and Mingi better. They appear intimidating but it didn’t take you long to realise that they’re the softest of their group, thanks to the duo making sure you don’t feel overwhelmed by Wooyoung who has made it his life’s mission to serve you.
The sound of the gentle breeze and the rustling of spring leaves lull you into a calm headspace and you soak in every bit of these few serene moments, sitting under the tree as your head rocks to the rhythm of nature. How nice is it to find a quiet spot like this in a busy place like a school? You wonder if someone shares this spot with you at some other time– there are signs of life here. A wrapper of a candy that someone must have forgotten to throw, a stick wedged in one of the pots with someone’s name on it–
“There she is!”
Your hackles rise at the all too familiar voice of a certain self-proclaimed slave. You don’t want to be a master. You don’t want to feel like a Queen. So instead of addressing your subject, you gather your things and disappear into the maze that is this school.
Each step you take is urgent and there is a battle rhythm playing in your head– when did that happen? You march forward more like a soldier than a lord, head hanging low and eyes suspicious as they scan the crowd and guide you in your navigation to the classroom. You check the time– maybe if you get to your new seat before the boys, right before the teacher comes in and they can no longer bother you–
Before you can take a turn, a pair of large hands grab you by your upper arms and rotate you until you face the left, steering you towards the stairs as you swallow your gasp. You have hardly craned your neck upwards to identify your new assailant when a baseball cap gets fixed over your head. You mumble a few words of protest but you have no choice but to get taken to this unknown location that is a suspicious-looking room on the upper level.
You shut your eyes and brace yourself for what’s next when the door opens. However, you open your eyes almost immediately as you’re hit by the smell of baked treats. Did you get portalled to a bakery–
And there is your servant, clad in an apron as if he baked these treats himself here. The expressions on your face must be theatrical because the boys stifle their laugh as you look around. You have definitely portalled to another world, because there is no way a room like this exists in this school that seems to be barely holding itself.
The room isn’t too big but the shelves have been lined to the walls and decorated with ornaments. You spot a few snow globes and far too many plushies of each and every kind and colour, and realise that someone must have an obsession– and then there’s lego figures on another shelf, neatly stacked and colour coordinated. The lower shelves contain comics and at the corner by the window, there is an old sofa that is covered with pink sheets and cushions.
There is a basketball net attached to a makeshift hoop and you spot a basketball and balls of all sizes lying around. You were aware the school had a basketball team and if you think hard, you might actually recall who among these boys play in the team, except…
You are kind of distracted by the baked goods and cans of flavoured drinks that are neatly arranged on the table in the middle of the room.
A hideout. That is what this must be.
You finally look behind you to confirm the identity of your new assailant and gasp when you find that it’s Yunho– the other model student. He grins a bit too wide at your annoyance and you turn to face Wooyoung and Jongho who seem to be the masterminds behind this.
“What is wrong with you people?”
“Wrong seems to be an overstatement,” Jongho pleads his case. “Off, maybe. Not right. But not wrong.”
“Why did you switch seats with–”
Jongho smacks Wooyoung’s chest with an open palm while standing next to him, unmoving, his eyes never leaving yours. The loud thump of his attack echoes dramatically off the walls of this small room and you can hear distant giggles being masked. As Wooyoung doubles over and retreats, Jongho continues to smile innocently while your jaw all but drops to the floor.
Yunho, hands still on your arms, steers you to the chair and makes you sit before dragging another seat close to you, offering you a croissant. You, still watching Wooyoung worriedly as he gathers his energy and his pride, subconsciously start to nibble on it. When the chocolate filling hits you, you finally blink and inspect the croissant. It’s actually good–
“Made by yours truly,” says Wooyoung in a weak voice. You make an impressed face and figure that since you’re trapped, you might as well enjoy the treat. San comes over to set some cans in front of you and you point at the cola which he opens with one finger effortlessly before setting it in front of you and you purse your lips to keep from smiling.
“Can you answer my questions now?” You ask Jongho when you’re done finishing the croissant and he offers you a cupcake with salted caramel frosting next. “What is this? A bribe? You’re trying to break my morale with baked goods?”
“It seems to be working,” Yeosang comments from your right where he’s sitting by the window next to Mingi and Hongjoong, who is half asleep as per usual. He doesn’t seem to be a morning person and consistently naps throughout half the classes too.
You shoot him a glare but you don’t deny it. The more you eat these treats, the more relaxed you become. Maybe this is how the special officers should treat their spies.
Seonghwa hovers around the lot of you, nervously moving around and fixing things that do not need to be fixed, stealing glances at you. You look over to Yeosang. “Maybe you should calm that one first.”
He laughs with an approving clap and you finally break into a smile, though you are quick to turn it into a dirty look as you lock eyes with Wooyoung. “You tell me what’s going on or I’m leaving.”
“You can’t leave–”
“Why did you switch seats with Nabi?”
You look at Jongho. “Like hell I can’t leave,” you say and turn to leave just to prove a point but Seonghwa is quick to rush over to the door while San and Yunho basically manhandle you back into the seat despite your protests.
“This is bullying!” You yell at them and they quickly raise their hands in surrender. You turn to Wooyoung, feeling anger rise up in your throat. “Why can’t I switch seats with Nabi? I’m going to be honest, I don’t like my current spot. I would have preferred a corner or an end seat, so when she offered, I wanted to accept right away.”
“What made you hesitate?” Mingi asks, the first time he directly converses with you.
You take a deep breath. “That does not matter–”
“It does,” he asserts. “So tell us what made you hesitate and if it makes sense, we’ll let you be.”
“Mingi–” Wooyoung warns but gets ignored, the room falling silent as the boys wait for your response.
“Look. I don’t know why you guys are giving me special treatment, but I figured that it’s got something to do with Nabi. I know she wants to sit next to Seonghwa,” you admit, meeting eyes with said boy meekly as he comes into your vision. “I don’t know if you guys hate her or something, but it’s got nothing to do with me, and I would honestly risk your wrath than hers. She doesn’t seem like a very nice person.”
“Oh, you don’t want to risk our wrath–” Wooyoung begins but gets interrupted by Seonghwa.
“She isn’t,” he admits in a soft, quiet voice which makes you shift your attention to him. He appears nervous, his eyes darting over to Hongjoong who is watching the scene unfold in front of him with one eye open. “She… can be persistent. It’s been a while since the eight of us have been in one class, and yet she’s here to torture me again.”
“Torture you?” You question.
“She follows him to every class. She’s got connections so she makes it happen,” Hongjoong answers for his friend, folding his arms. “Call it an obsession, call it infatuation, but she’s willing to hurt us and our group just to get Seonghwa’s attention.”
“Have you… tried talking to her?” You look at Wooyoung. “You could. You would certainly get the point across.”
“She’s as tough as Wooyoung, if not more,” San scoffs. “She won’t back down. She just wants Seonghwa to be her friend first. She wants to study with him because he’s better than her in some areas. Where he’s not… he takes help from Yunho or someone else but Nabi, and that pisses her off.”
“Sounds like a nutcase,” you comment. “But now you see why I have no choice but to accept her demand to switch seats. She will ruin my life, and I just barely got away with my life getting ruined at my previous school, so I’m sorry but Nabi is your old friend and enemy. Deal with her yourselves.”
Hurt flashes across Seonghwa’s eyes and you almost take back your statement, but it is the survival of the fittest here and you’re not the fittest. So survive you must, however that may be.
“She can’t hurt you. We will protect you and make sure that does not happen,” Yunho speaks. A promise, and your heart almost flutters at the determination in his voice. “We can’t do much since we don’t have the power to get to Nabi directly, but what we can do is make you stay in your current seat. Granted, she’s still like a shadow hovering over Seonghwa from her actual seat, but it’s far better than being right next to him and bothering him every minute of the day.”
“He bothers me every minute of the day,” you point at Wooyoung and he laughs in disbelief. “I don’t complain.”
“I don’t stalk you–”
“How did you find me today?”
“We searched for you, not stalked you, you fool!” Wooyoung retaliates and you straighten up.
“Fool?” You gape at his audacity. “How dare–”
“Guys, stop,” Seonghwa butts in and makes you both sit back down before things escalate. “She’s right. It’s not her responsibility to act as a buffer for us.”
“A sane person in this group,” you clap.
“But…” Seonghwa purses his lips guiltily as he looks at you. “We’re not letting you leave until you agree that you won’t switch seats with Nabi.”
The gasp that escapes your mouth is one of betrayal. “You’ll miss all your classes.”
“I never wanted to be the model student,” Seonghwa flicks his bangs away dramatically, and in that moment, you think that you see a little bit of Wooyoung in him. But as you look around, watching their proud faces as they smile at Seonghwa, you realise two things.
They’re all the same.
They won’t back down.
“Why me?” You ask in defeat, finally accepting the cupcake and Jongho smiles like a proud father.
“Because sweetheart,” Wooyoung leans forward, spooning some chocolate chips to sprinkle over your cupcake. “I have a feeling that you’re just like us. And I’m never wrong. I didn’t become your servant for no reason,” he says, offering you some tissues and you listen to his reasoning as you eat the cupcake. “I recognise the glint in your eyes. You’re kind of… a menace yourself too.”
You narrow your eyes but don’t deny anything and he takes note of that.
“I don’t know what happened to you or why you’ve decided to just hide in this school now,” he continues, “But I’m not going to let you create a shell around yourself when you’re a gleaming pearl. It’s just a shame that not everybody can see that.”
Your lips curve into an ‘oh’. “Didn’t realise you were a poet too. Apart from being a certified yapper.”
“I’m a man of many talents,” he points at the table. “Baked last night just for you. I got a whiff of your evil little plan to switch seats.”
“How?”
Wooyoung simply smiles in response which makes you wonder if one of his talents is reading minds.
What you don’t realise is that you had been far too obvious.
It was Yeosang who overheard your conversation with Nabi about switching seats. At first, they thought that you would switch instantly like any normal person, but when you didn’t, they started to think that you were onto something. They watched you observe Seonghwa and Nabi for the following days and Wooyoung decided to continue with his self-proclaimed servant persona, just to annoy Nabi, since she could have been getting these treats too.
The more they interacted with you, the more they liked you– first, it was because it was so obvious that Nabi had an instant dislike for you. You were sitting next to Seonghwa– not right next to him, but still close enough. You were struggling to fit in and Seonghwa, ever the saint, was guiding you academically, in a very subtle, casual and easygoing manner, though Wooyoung always butted in and made things a little more… fun. They also noticed how you were able to match the freak of the freakiest freak in their group, Wooyoung, and decided that he needed competition.
What really sealed the deal was when you confronted Nabi when you found her going through Seonghwa’s notes while he and his friends were absent from the class. It was something you did without realising the implications– you simply asked Nabi if Seonghwa knew that she was going through his notes. She smiled and said something about how they’re old friends and didn’t mind stuff like this, but the way she immediately went back to her seat confirmed your suspicions. The boy who sat in front of you told Seonghwa about the little interaction.
So it was no wonder that you were here today, trapped with this sugar bait with orders not to leave the room until you agreed to go back to your original seating position. If the boys were going to miss all the classes today with you, then so be it. You were not going to back down.
“Toilet break?” You ask after a couple of hours, seated near the window on a chair with a comic in your hand. Mingi seemed to have quite the collection.
Wooyoung narrows his eyes at you, suspecting your every move. You raise a brow in challenge. “You won’t be denying a girl her toilet break, will you?”
“Guards,” Wooyoung called and Yunho and San got up almost mechanically. “Accompany her to the toilet. Make sure you use the one on the upper levels so she does not have an exit.”
“Yes sir!” San and Yunho proceed to station themselves in front of the door, waiting for you. You roll your eyes so hard that it sends a wave of pain in your head.
“I’m also going to be making a stop at the canteen,” you announce. “I think I’ll be sick if I eat any more of those sweets.”
“Oh, yes, please,” Yeosang takes out a pen and notepad and starts scribbling something on it. You watch him with mild interest and when he tears the page and hands it to you, you realise with horror that it’s his order. “While you’re at it, get us something too.”
“You get them,” you tuck the paper into San’s pocket. “Or Wooyoung does. I’m not the slave here.”
San chuckles and opens the door for you and you take a moment to breathe in with your hands on your hips as if finally free from prison. The boys station themselves outside the toilets while you freshen up and you take your sweet, sweet time, spending too long in front of the mirror. However, when you step out and find them unfazed, you realise that you should up your game.
It is recess time and it’s crowded. You could easily make a run for it. Before you can take that defiant step forwards, San and Yunho both link their arms with yours and you gape at them in disbelief.
“Not so quick, Missy,” Yunho teases. “I could practically smell the scheming.”
You make a face at him and let them steer you to the cafeteria. On the way, you try again. “50 bucks each. Let me go.”
“Try again,” San says.
“70. I don’t have any more.”
“That’s your loss,” he pats your head and you barely contain an animalistic growl. When you reach the cafeteria, though, they let you go.
Yunho gives you a warning look, reminding you that they’re trusting you for now. “Let’s divide and conquer. You grab the snacks. We’ll get the trays. Let’s have a meal before we go back.”
That is a tempting offer. The cafeteria meal here isn’t bad at all.
The three of you split and you go to the other end to grab some drinks and snacks with the money the boys gave you. You struggle to carry everything and drop a packet of chips but someone is kind enough to pick it for you–
Of course it’s Nabi.
You suddenly get why Seonghwa dislikes her. She really does watch and hover.
“Are you sure you can eat that much?” She teases but you let her help you. You spot San at the far end of the room, waiting for you and Yunho.
“Uh, these are obviously not for me. Not all of them.”
“Oh, have you made some friends then?” She asks coyly. “I didn’t see you in class today.”
At that moment, you dislike her perhaps as much as Wooyoung does. Her voice is annoying, her acting is bad. She’s pretending too hard to be nice.
You also let the little things that she does get to you. The ones you were previously consciously ignoring. The way she pokes her things against your back during class and claims she did it by mistake. The way she accidentally kicks your chair far too often, especially when it’s clear that you’re about to doze off.
“Why, yes, I have,” you return her smile and she looks surprised. “Can you help me get these to them?”
“Of course,” she frowns. “I didn’t realise you had any friends.”
“Oh, it happened too suddenly,” you say and when you navigate closer to where San and Yunho are both sitting now, her steps grow hesitant.
San and Yunho frown at the sight of Nabi accompanying you and they almost think that you have betrayed them. However, you loudly say, “These are my new friends. She was just wondering who I’m carrying so many snacks for.”
“You guys came to school today? All of you?” She asked, suspicious eyes flickering among the three of you. “Where have you been?”
“Narnia,” Yunho says and San smiles, not offering anything else to Nabi. She shoots you a glare and drops the snacks on the table, pivots on her heels and leaves. You curb a smile and glance over at the duo who look far too proud of you.
“What?” You ask with a short laugh as you dig into the meal. They don’t say much, just give you one of their chicken croquettes each as a token of gratitude and you laugh in disbelief, shaking your head. “That’s it? That’s how easy it is to win over you guys?”
“Do you know what influence Nabi has?” San reminded you. “The queen bee of this school. No one does what you just did.”
“I didn’t do anything,” you say with a pout. “I just told her you guys are my friends.”
“What she heard was that you have been skipping classes with Seonghwa,” Yunho explained. “She’s gonna be so mad. She might even report us to the teachers, in which case, get ready for a punishment tomorrow, y/n.”
“No way,” you scoffed. “That’s… petty.”
The boys don’t need to remind you to go back with them to their hideout. You naturally walk with them, learning more about this school and its ‘power hierarchy’ from the duo. Before you know it, you are back to the hideout and spilling the tea to the rest who appreciate your bold move and thank you for bringing these snacks for them.
In the midst of conversation, fun banters and games, you find yourself wondering why you were ever hostile towards them or apprehensive of the idea that you could still make friends here. Granted, you are not sure if you are ready to be a part of their group and be associated with them, or be called a friend by them, but…
You do not mind this one bit.
Sitting around the table with them, having dragged it near the lone sofa for more space, eight pairs of eyes follow the path of the guava-flavoured candy which San tosses into the air for you. You almost miss but are quick to catch it in your mouth and the room fills with the echoes of your laughter, friendly banter ensuing when the boys quarrel about who is a better shot. You take your turn and you are cheered on, and it almost feels like you’re with a group of childhood friends. It almost feels like these are your people and that you are never meant to be separated from them.
Going back to class is forgotten. The whole fiasco about switching back to your original seat is also long forgotten. You simply have fun for the first time in a while. You look up at the ceiling when you laugh, finding butterflies painted all over them and you briefly think that this group of friends is as free and joyful as butterflies.
“Ayo, sunbae!”
Wooyoung calls and the poor girl who was obviously hiding with her friends from the rest of the school to sneak in a smoke curses under her breath and drops the cigarette, crushing it under her shoe. She rolls her eyes once, hard, before plastering what looks like a genuine smile.
“Wooyoung! My favourite junior,” she spreads her arms and Wooyoung shares a rather manly hug with the senior, bumping fists with the other girl and the boys. He either has not noticed the cigarette or is purposely ignoring it, but at the same time, you appreciate how the senior hid the cigarette– or maybe it was because of the foreign presence (you).
You watch the interaction with mild curiosity and one of the boys poke you in the back, propelling you forwards. The senior regards you with interest and scans you slowly before turning to Wooyoung with a questioning look.
“This,” he says with his hand extended towards you and you are once again gently pushed in front of Wooyoung, “is y/n. The latest addition to the group.”
You make a show of rolling your eyes, asserting that you still don’t consider yourself a part of their tightly-knit group, but Wooyoung and the rest aren’t having any of it. The senior, however, catches that.
“Are you being bullied by them?” She asks. “Blink twice if you need help.”
You blink thrice.
“Come sit,” she says, patting the space next to her and you gladly accept. You tell her that you like her hair very much and she smiles. The red highlights in her hair really accentuate her edgy appearance.
“If any one of these hooligans bother you, you come to me,” she says and extends her hand. You shake it. “The name’s Yuna.”
“Hooligans?” This time, San beats Wooyoung in squaring up against the seniors but one glare from the girls humbles him right up. He shrugs all too casually, scratching the back of his neck with the pout on his mouth deepening with each passing second. “I’m not a bad guy.”
“Did you forget the time you almost made Inhyuk sunbaenim cry?”
Bewildered, you look at Yuna and then at San who looks anything but the hooligan Yuna claims that he is. If Yuna is referring to this Inhyuk dude as her senior, he must have been at least two years San’s senior. And he… almost made him cry?
You reckon that Hongjoong notices the temptation in your eyes– the temptation to ask for an explanation. He fixes his glasses rather proudly, smacking San’s back to remind him to straighten his shoulders.
“He has got nothing to be sorry about,” Hongjoong claims.
“Inhyuk sunbaenim was a bully, so we got our small-eyed duo to knock some sense into him.”
You don’t know why but your gaze shifts to Mingi and he looks betrayed. He smacks his foot on the ground as he calls you out and you raise your hands in surrender while the rest burst out in laughter.
“We keep them to intimidate bullies,” Yuna explains. “Them with me and Hyorin over there,” she points at her classmate, a tall girl with too many piercings. You wonder how the school allows that. “We’re the guards of sorts.”
“They don’t seem like the type to win in a fight, though,” you point at San and Mingi.
“They’re not,” Yuna laughs. “Jongho and Yeosang step in during the real fights.”
Jongho, you get. But Yeosang comes as a surprise and he grins shyly, further proving your point. There is no way he possesses the ability to harm a living, breathing thing.
“Anyways,” Yuna drapes her arm around your shoulder and you curb a grin. “I hope these boys have been treating you well. It’s good to hear that you’re a part of our group now, but let me know if you want out. I know these shitheads can be clingy.”
“Yeah, or if you’re a weird one, let us know in advance,” one of the senior boys says.
“We don’t want another Nabi on our asses,” the other boy quips and you narrow your eyes, watching your boys shift with unease.
“Intak and Channie never know when to shut up,” Yuna complains.
“What happened with Nabi?” You ask and Yuna looks back and forth between you and the boys.
“So they told you the mild version of it, huh?” She laughs. “Not my story to tell, but she’s a real piece of work.”
“Yeah, I’m surprised that after Nabi, they’re open to having a girl in their group,” Intak says and Hyorin agrees. “I think they’re friends with our girls because they don’t consider them… as girls, if I’m honest–”
“Hey!” Hyorin takes off her slipper and chucks it at Intak. Chan shrugs, point proven.
“That’s not true!” Yeosang argues. “Jongho still has a crush on–”
“Oh, look,” Jongho points at the distance. It must be divine intervention that the devil you were just thinking about is seen walking with her friends towards the basketball court. Thus Jongho succeeds in distracting everyone. Nabi– the divine devil in question– does not notice the group of you. You hear a muffled scream and follow Jongho’s gaze.
Yep. He most definitely has a crush on Yuna.
“One day when I’m no longer bound by the school rules,” Yuna begins, cracking her knuckles. “I’ll have a good conversation with Nabi. Girl to girl.”
She clenches her jaw as silence ensues with the weight of her threat hanging in the air. However, Yuna soon breaks out into a smile when she turns her attention to you.
“Got any questions? Anything you’d like to know? I’ve got everything– secrets and dirt on everyone.”
“You don’t want her as your enemy,” Wooyoung concludes and then grabs your hand and pulls you towards him. “Let’s go. I just wanted to introduce you so she can keep an eye out for you.”
“Okay, firstly,” you begin, “I can take care of myself–”
“Ooh.”
“Damn.”
“Tell him.”
You give the seniors a side-eye and continue. “Secondly, I think eight sets of eyes ‘looking out for me’ are enough. Why do you think I’ll ever get in trouble when you guys never leave me alone?”
“Give her some space, boys,” Yuna pleads in your case. “Let her breathe.”
Wooyoung grunts in disappointment but reluctantly lets go of your hand. You scoff but he seems too tired to match your energy and you wonder if he took it to heart.
You soon learn that their idea of giving space to you seems to differ from yours by a whole lot. They have definitely taken it to heart– at least some of them.
You can’t tell if they’re doing it on purpose, but Wooyoung is not bothering you every minute of the day, and it’s bothering you now. When you find yourself worrying about this, you smack your head. Isn’t this what you wanted in the first place?
But he hardly acknowledges you anymore. When something funny happens in the class, he no longer looks at you though you find yourself looking at him. Jongho is not very talkative either. The rest are just the same but still a bit… distant.
You’re positive that they’ve misunderstood you, and you find yourself sitting in the secret hideout alone, bunking one of the lessons to just rethink your friendship with them again. Nabi sure seems to be making the most out of your misery, if it can be called a misery in the first place.
“Trouble in paradise?” She asked one day. You just made a face at her and luckily, Hongjoong called you over at the same time. At least Nabi didn’t get the satisfaction of rubbing it in your face.
You are also a bit curious about what happened with Nabi. You even debate asking her– why is she so obsessed with this group?
You’ve heard enough rumours now. Since you’ve adjusted to the class in the past couple of months, the girls talk sometimes. You’ve heard about how Nabi, Seonghwa, Yunho and Hongjoong used to have a study group but something happened after which they broke their friendship with Nabi. That something probably has to do with Seonghwa, you reckon, but you can’t probe since it seems to be a sensitive topic.
You don’t know exactly how long you spend spacing out in the room, but nobody joins you. You wonder if it’s just that the excitement of being friends has died down, but you kind of miss everybody. School doesn’t feel like fun anymore. It’s only been a few days, but everything has started to feel different. You can’t focus on your studies properly– or anything, for that matter.
While you think about what went wrong and what you can fix– if there’s any fixing to be done in the first place– you play with the softball, chucking it in the makeshift net and missing. You try again and again, but you only manage to make a successful shot a handful of times. One time, the ball misses and hits a frame on the shelf and you flinch, wondering if you broke something.
Upon inspecting, it is a group photo that seems to have been captured in a photobooth. The eight of them are squished against each other and you can barely see Jongho and Yeosang but they seem so happy and carefree there. You don’t realise how big of a smile you’re sporting until you catch your reflection in the frame and your smile drops.
You want to be a part of this. If they’ve taken the first step towards you– no, if they’ve taken so many steps towards you, it is ungrateful of you to keep walking away from them.
Adamant to make amends of sorts, you go to the canteen and get eight packs of bread and eight packs of flavoured milk for the boys. You know exactly the kind of bread they like and the flavour of milk that they like– each one of them. You go to class and place a pack of bread and milk on their tables– they must be getting changed for gym. Nabi eyes you with curiosity but you don’t pay much heed to her, although you ask her if she’s hungry. She only grunts in response and you stifle a smile.
When the boys return, they hesitate in their tracks. Some of them thank you and open up their snacks. Wooyoung doesn’t really regard the treats and you fold your arms.
“Are you angry with me?”
He meets eyes with you for the first time in a while. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Well…” you shrug in mild discomfort. “You’re not… talkative anymore. Not with me.”
Wooyoung suppresses a smile and rests his head on his hand rather cockily. “Do you miss me?”
You scoff in disbelief but seven expectant pairs of eyes are fixed on you and you fidget nervously. “I mean… yeah? I do. What about it? Can we just go back to normal?”
Wooyoung thinks for a good few moments. He nods, and to your horror, the rest of the boys– all seven of them– produce cash out of their pockets and set it on Wooyoung’s desk. Wooyoung counts the cash and tucks it safely in his pocket and then looks at you with the most shit-eating smirk you’ve ever seen on a human.
“Got you.”
“Jung Wooyoung!”
While he laughs loud and proud, you snatch the snacks from the table and make a dash for the door, Wooyoung right on your heel as he yells at you to come back. Your laughs and screams echo in the corridor and you can make out the rest of the boys following the two of you, just to witness the scene. You hop down the stairs with caution though you are screaming all the way, and that’s where Wooyoung manages to successfully tackle you and you barely avoid an accident, making it down safely with his arms around your waist and your legs swinging in the air.
“Let. Me. Down!” You laugh loudly and he swings you in circles until you feel dizzy, though you can’t stop laughing.
“That’s what you get for asking for some space!” Wooyoung says as he sets you down. “Tell me if you still want some space and I’ll gladly leave you alone.”
“I can’t believe you guys bet on this!” You retort, clutching your sides that are currently hurting from laughing too much. “What was the deal?”
“Wooyoung was sure he was going to break you within 3 days,” Jongho explains. “We were sure you could manage 5, but clearly we were wrong.”
You pout. “I thought you guys were cross with me. For real.”
“Come on, weren’t we acting normal?” Yunho asks. “We wanted to win the bet. I thought we were the same.”
“No, but it didn’t feel the same without Wooyoung, I guess…” you scratch the back of your neck.
“You love me. I know,” Wooyoung spreads his arms to bring you into a hug but you ignore him, taking refuge behind Seonghwa who claims that he told Wooyoung to tone it down a little.
“My turn to be angry with you,” you promise Wooyoung. “Let’s see how long you last.”
“No time for that,” he shakes his head. “The basketball practice games start next week and we’re competing against our rival team in two months’ time. We need to cheer for them.”
That piques your interest. You learn that the regional competition is taking place soon and the KQ Stallions are aiming for the first spot. Unsurprisingly, your school’s team is very good and almost always makes it to the top 3, though they haven’t earned the 1st position just yet.
Mingi and Wooyoung ask you to join them in cheering for their team and you find that it is not something casual– they are very serious about cheerleading. They have good reasons to be, for San and Jongho are playing in the team this year. Yunho is the substitute which means that he has to be on standby.
The princesses of the group choreograph your cheers to perfection. It is a sport in itself, but you quite enjoy it, especially since the cheerleading group has grown much bigger by the day with more students joining you, and Mingi and Wooyoung are already making plans on how to up their cheerleading strategies when the KQ Stallions advance to the finals.
When, and not if, and you love that confidence.
For the next few weeks, you settle into a routine with the boys– if it can be called that. Every morning, a few of them catch you by the gates and you make your way to class together. There are no longer any bets or formality between you and the boys. Slowly but surely, they have opened your heart to them and once again, you find yourself with friends that might just last for life.
Although, you think of those words with caution. Your childhood friends didn’t last. You sometimes wonder if it was a shame to leave things on a bitter note with your friends from your previous school. The timing of how you had to move because of your parents with what happened at school was an unlucky coincidence. But thanks to Wooyoung especially, you are once again willing to try the idea of friendship.
Your hideout now has a beaded curtain that you had hung with the help of Hongjoong– something from your previous home that you no longer needed. Hongjoong and Yeosang sometimes add some shiny ornaments that they bring from home on the strings of the curtain and the sunlight reflects beautifully on them, creating a kaleidoscopic effect at times.
You and Mingi rather enjoy sitting under the curtains with your comic books while Hongjoong naps with his head on Mingi’s lap since Mingi hogs the lone pillow. Seonghwa moderates the basketball boys who practise with balls of different sizes in the hideout. They manage to practise passing and dribbling in this small space. Yeosang becomes the damage control or the human shield, making sure the ball doesn’t somehow manage to hit Hongjoong square in the face. Something tells you it has happened quite a few times and there is a reason Yeosang so willingly guards the slumbering beast.
Sometimes, after school if you are all free and there is no practice, you make a trip to the convenience store and the chefs, Wooyoung and Seonghwa, make a variety of ramens with whatever ingredients they can find. You join the tables outside to make a big dinner table and spread the goods on it. Ramen after school tastes better for some reason. The convenience store part-timer is an old lady who adores Wooyoung so she lets you be and you think she enjoys watching you guys having fun, though every now and then she warns you to keep it down.
The boys may be all fun and games but they take their studies very seriously, all of them. Most of the time, they study on their own when they go home but sometimes, you all gather at someone’s house to prepare for exams and you find that there is a reason the boys are the way they are. They all grew up with loving parents who think of their child’s friends as their own.
One time, you muster the courage and invite the boys to your place to study. It is not that part which requires your courage, but admitting to your parents that you have made friends.
Your mother regards you with worry. “Are you sure? We don’t want you depressed again, unable to focus after what happened last time.”
Last time. When one of your old friends created a rift in your group and made you all break up, all because of her insecurities because she felt ‘left out’. You later realised that she just wanted you out because she did not like how you managed to be the ‘centre of attention’ everywhere.
Was it your fault that you made an effort to involve everyone? Did that make you an attention-seeker? Was this what you deserved after making sure your odd group of five friends lasted forever? You never realised how much venom that friend had in her heart. After she made up a story about you spilling your friends’ secrets to another group in your class and none of your friends believed you, you distanced yourself. If that was the trust they had in you, then you were fine by yourself.
However, the sudden change took a toll on you. Your grades fell considerably and with your father’s sudden job relocation, you came to terms with the fact that this is how your childhood ends.
But when you nod to your mother with hopeful eyes, she breaks out into a smile and tells you that she hopes that your friends this time are nice. You promise that they are. When she learns that it’s a group of eight boys, she bursts into laughter and shakes her head.
“They better be treating you like a princess.”
“Don’t worry, mom. They treat me like a queen.”
Your mother sees that. The boys arrive dressed more neatly than usual, appearing well-kempt. Wooyoung, ever the charmer, has a bouquet of flowers for your mother. The rest of the boys have pitched in to buy some fruits. Your mother fusses over them and learns their names and thanks them. She cooks up a feast while you study in the living room, the study-group trio leading everyone.
You find that it saves time to study with them– each one of them is good at one thing or the other. Jongho has a knack for predicting the content of the exams, and he swears that he isn’t a spy. He just assesses patterns, he claims. Yeosang and Hongjoong are good at maths. Seonghwa is good at making notes. Yunho is an all-rounder but San excels in English. You excel in Korean and History, while Wooyoung and Mingi are good at the science subjects. Together, you help each other with ease and the group study sessions pass in a breeze.
Your first exams go well. You manage to maintain the good grades from your previous school, and notice how you score better in subjects you were formerly weak in. That is one box checked from your mental list.
The other box is the first basketball game, and you’re more worried about it than you thought you would be. Perhaps, it is because you are so roped in with the boys now that it starts to feel like your team and your victory or defeat. You start to feel like a coach yourself, fretting over the basketball trio just like the rest, showering them in treats and cool, refreshing drinks. Anything to make sure that they are in top condition.
However, the trio seems to take advantage of your kindness.
One day, you find yourself on the school field, a lone warrior standing with no one to defend herself. Your heart is thumping at an erratic pace. Sweat pools from every crevice and you want to move but you remain frozen in your spot for the fear of your life. Every instinct tells you to move but you cannot. You are not allowed to.
There is a beer glass perched on the top of your head, upside down. The basketball trio is taking turns practising their aim with an actual basketball. Not one of the soft balls or bouncy balls back in the hideout, no. They want to practise with the real thing, and because you lost in rock, paper, scissors, you have to be the sacrificial lamb for the day.
They might as well tie you to the tree with an apple on top of your head and practise their shooting skills.
“San– stop!” You can’t help but scream as the ball flies closer and you shut your eyes. Each time they manage to hit the beer glass successfully, you sigh in relief and almost collapse to your knees. The trio celebrates while the others either laugh, enjoying this a bit too much, or move around anxiously because fear someone might actually hit you square in the face.
“Can’t I turn around?” You plead your case again and turn to Seonghwa who seems to be the only one actually worried. The rest are too busy betting on who will break your nose today. The basketball trio keeps telling you to have some trust in their skills but they’re not the ones standing with the beer glass on top of their head.
“Brain damage,” Wooyoung counters, “is worse than a broken nose.”
“Well then, why don’t you stand in my place, huh?” You offer. The boys laugh harder when you tap your temple aggressively. “Since it’s stuffed with hay up here.”
“I’m not the one who lost the game, sweetheart,” he smirks devilishly. “Come on. 3 shots left. You can make out of this alive. Have some trust in them. They’ve got killer aims.”
“Killer aim…” you repeat. “Killing which target?”
“We’re not that bad, and you know it,” Yunho says as he orders you to stand straight and not move. Apparently, moving out of reflex might make them lose their aim. You believe that Yunho probably has the least chances of missing his target since he’s so tall that he can probably see the back of your head as well.
You accept your fate and shut your eyes, willing yourself to not pee in your pants. Just like that, Yunho plays his last shot and successfully hits the beer glass which falls with a dramatic clack. As the boys cheer, you almost sink to your knees. Yunho pats you in encouragement but you scowl at him, promising revenge.
“Just so you know, I’m the best shot,” Jongho says as he takes his position in front of you a good 6 feet away. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s San you should be scared of– he sometimes tends to let his emotions control his aim.”
“But I’m feeling good today,” San counters. “I haven’t missed a shot. You missed one.”
“She moved,” Jongho reminds him.
“This cocky attitude of yours is going to get to you one day,” You promise Jongho.
“Let’s hope that day is not today,” Jongho says and chucks the ball in your direction without warning.
You seem to have jinxed yourself. This time, you hardly have any time to shut your eyes before you feel the ball collide with your face.
There is a moment of silence. A blissful moment of no sensations before you feel something wet on your lips and you curl inwards, clutching your nose. Hot, burning pain is all you feel for a good few moments, apart from the ringing in your ears.
“Oh, my god… are you okay?” Jongho is also the first one to approach you. The rest are too busy gasping and clutching their heads in disbelief.
“What do you think–”
“Choi Jongho!”
It is not one of the boy's voices you hear. It is Yuna, your senior and your saviour, who calls his name like it’s her last rite.
“I can explain–” Jongho barely has time to say before he’s running for his life with Yuna and the rest of her friends out for him, each holding one of their shoes in their hands, ready to deliver a beating. You chuckle at the scene but groan in pain.
It is Yunho who gently moves your hands away from your nose to inspect the injury. He sighs in relief and that is how you know your nose is not broken. With a handkerchief, he pinches your nose to stop the bleeding. You try to move out of his grasp because of the pain but he holds you close and smiles apologetically.
“I’ve got you. Just stay still.”
This close, you can make out the flecks of brown in his eyes. You wriggle a bit but feel someone hold you in place from behind.
“That’s what you’ve been telling her for the last half an hour.”
It is Seonghwa. He tucks your hair away, not minding how sweaty your forehead is. You pass a weak smile and when Yunho pulls away, Seonghwa cleans the blood off your upper lips with his sleeve.
In that moment, you forget that these boys are the same people who led you to the altar that got you the bleeding nose in the first place. Wooyoung arrives to your rescue next with a bottle of water and Yeosang has ice in another thermos that he always carries with him.
Now you know why.
“You guys,” you chuckle in disbelief, especially when you spot Jongho still running for his life and the seniors livid. “You’re all insufferable.”
They share grins and help you get up. Thankfully, your nose doesn’t feel as bad as before, especially with the ice but Yeosang still suggests a trip to the nurse's office. You move to the water stands, wanting to wash your face and the boys follow you closely, promising to teach Jongho a lesson.
When you are done washing your face, Jongho arrives with an apologetic look and his hair sticking out in different directions, probably from whatever Yuna and Hyorin did to him (nothing much, you’re sure). He is out of breath, his cheeks flushed from running so much but he still can’t contain his smile.
“Come on, best shot,” you tease. “Say it.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, giggling like a 5 year old who just learnt a bad joke.
“Do better,” you say dismissively, washing your arms.
“I’m genuinely sorry,” he tries again and you regard him. He purses his lips and looks down. “It’s just… your nose is swollen and it looks funny–”
That is it. The last straw. You turn the tap full and block it with your hand before anyone can react. Jongho gets sprayed with a sharp stream of water and when you stop, he looks at you in disbelief with water dripping from his hair and face.
“Again!” Wooyoung announces and the boys scramble to grab Jongho and keep him in place and this time, Hongjoong and Seonghwa help you with the taps. While Jongho screams in defiance, your laughter fills the air–
Until Seonghwa’s spray hits your back.
“Oh… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”
“Get him!” Hongjoong says the battle call.
The seniors watch from a distance as the 9 of you spray each other with water. Jongho has definitely gotten the worst of it, drenched from head to toes. Whenever someone sprays you with water, the seniors yell their name in warning. If you weren’t wearing black gymwear, the seniors would have buried the boys alive by now.
All pain is forgotten as you splash each other with water. Someone tackles you in a hug and steers you in the direction of the jet stream one of the boys produces from the tap. Someone shields you with their body in a chivalrous manner. All that matters is that you are laughing like there is no care in the world.
The day of the basketball game against the rival team arrives. The victory of this match will lead to the KQ Stallions’ qualification to the regionals.
The school is in a different state today– the floors are polished, the teachers are enthusiastic and the students are feeling energised. The colours of the KQ Stallions are everywhere. By the time school comes to an end, almost everyone has something red on them– paint on their faces, polish on their nails, ribbon in their hair or a red flag with black stripes in their hand.
Hongjoong has taken it upon himself to make sure the cheerleaders match. You wait for your turn and when you stand in front of him, the both of you grin widely. You catch some dried paint on his hair from the sunlight that pours on him through the window of the classroom and you brush it off while he dips his brush in the paint.
“Excited?” He asks, even though he knows the answer.
“I’m positive I’ll crash from adrenaline overload before the game even starts,” you tell him. He nods, pointedly looking at the way you’re almost bouncing on your legs.
“Stay still,” he instructs and you mutter a ‘yessir’. He gently grabs you by the chin and tilts your face to the left to paint a red stripe across your cheek. He tilts it to the right and does the same, focused.
Then he switches his brush for the black paint and you notice how his hand is still cradling your chin. You also notice how close you are– when he paints the black stripes, you think that you can feel his breath caress your cheeks.
And if that’s not enough, he blows on the paint. Just for you. He didn’t do it for anyone else, you notice. He also tucks the strands of your hair back so they don’t catch in the wet paint.
You stand doe-eyed and for the first time, your heart flutters. You don’t know if he notices, but when he’s done, he pats your shoulder and asks you to find Seonghwa, who he says must be hiding somewhere, shirking his duties. He was supposed to be helping him.
You’re still making sense of this weird feeling in your chest when you take a turn in the corridor and you almost crash into someone. That someone is none other than Seonghwa who reflexively grabs your wrists and steadies you.
“Oh, it’s you,” he says and leans closer to inspect the paint on your cheeks. This close, you can see the twinkle in his eyes and the flutter in your heart intensifies. You subconsciously pull away from him.
“Hongjoong did a good job,” he grins. “Did he ask you to find me?”
“Uh, yeah,” you manage to say, mouth suddenly dry. “He thinks you’re hiding.”
“He’s not wrong,” Seonghwa laughs. “Went to stretch my back. You want one?”
He offers you candies and you take the strawberry one. He takes the orange. You unwrap it and pop it in your mouth, focusing on the taste. You listen to him talk about something but you’re too busy processing what just happened, and when Yeosang joins you, you’re glad for the distraction.
Once it’s time, you all head to the basketball court. You don’t get to meet the basketball trio up close as they are being lectured by their coach, but you catch Jongho’s attention and yell ‘break a nose!’ to which he shakes his head in amusement. San and Yunho glance over in your direction and you all send finger hearts to the trio.
You find your spot in the middle of Wooyoung and Yeosang, and Mingi breaks down the moves once again to everyone present before taking his spot in front of you. He stands at the lowest row of the bleachers, the three of you on the upper row, and then the rest behind you, increasing in numbers as the rows ascend.
The basketball trio look incredibly handsome in their black tank and shorts, a red stallion embroidered on the front with their names and number on the back. They stand in front of the rival team gritting their teeth in determination and you watch with wonder how their demeanour changes. Yunho has a private moment with Jongho and San where it looks like he is giving some last instructions, and then he breaks into a smile and wishes them luck, sharing a group hug. It warms your heart infinitely and as soon as the players take position, Mingi raises his hand and you clutch the glittery black and red poms tightly and wait.
The game begins. As per Mingi’s cues, you cheer with your soul and your heart, and pause to inspect the game when he signals you to stop. Each time the KQ stallions score, you have to physically stop yourself from simply jumping up and down out of joy and stick to the choreography. However, Seonghwa and Hongjoong rub your shoulders as they share your excitement. Wooyoung and Yeosang share your enthusiasm. Mingi smiles brightly and gains strength when he looks back at his friends.
The game grows tense. The first quarter ends with KQ in the lead. All of you cheer for your team while the rivals gather around to revise their strategies. Your team toasts over water bottles and you can tell that they’re excited to be leading. The coach tells them to keep their heads in the game.
The second quarter is twice as intense. The rival team seems to have taken an aggressive stance and they make no mistakes in scoring or defending their basket. The KQ Stallions try to keep up and they do a pretty good job. The cheerleaders make sure that their excitement doesn’t die down and that your team gains some energy from your cheers. However, this time the KQ Stallions trail by a few points.
All is good. They just need to do better in the third quarter.
The third quarter is packed with nervous energy. While the first few minutes are uneventful, one of the defenders from the rival team tackles the freshman player in your team, resulting in a foul. The defender looks smug even after the warning and Yeosang tells you why.
The freshman in your team is a key scorer. If he is not able to play in full health, the team gets affected. Yunho might end up substituting in that case but it would definitely affect the morale of the team.
You’re filled with rage after hearing that, but it seems like you are not the only one. The seniors– specifically your group of friends– are unfiltered with their curses. The cheers have died down and you are all instead focusing on the game, tracking each and every move.
You don’t miss how they’re trying to take Jongho out. He is a versatile player who can defend well and shoot better (if you forget about the broken nose incident). Jongho seems to have an idea of their strategy and he focuses more on protecting himself than the ball.
The third quarter ends with a score of 56-57 with the rival team in the lead. Tension peaks and the air feels electric. Before the fourth quarter begins, both the teams take timeouts to adjust their strategies. Yunho ends up substituting for the freshman after all, who seems to have a sore ankle. It’s not good for the team for him to keep playing.
The fourth quarter begins with an ominous ring of the whistle. After a few minutes of dribbling, passing and failed shots, your trio of friends exchange signals and try to coordinate another shot. They work neatly, a bit sneakily but in full synchronisation. It’s almost like they are tuned to each other’s thoughts.
The way San throws the basketball into the hoop is nothing short of incredible and KQ finally leads by 3 points. The room bursts into a chorus of cheers and you mechanically perform the practised moves.
While the rest celebrate the lead, you are more focused on how the rival team reacts to this turn of events. They have a strong defence and with Yunho managing to find a weakness and helping coordinate a shot, you wonder if the rivals will end up making more dirty moves. You definitely smell scheming with the way they get aggressive in their actions.
As if Wooyoung has heard your thoughts, he comments, “They’re sneaky bastards but they don’t know what’s coming for them.”
The tension grows with each passing minute. With just three minutes left and a difference of 2 points, the cheerleaders have stopped cheering altogether and are watching the game with sharp eyes, following the basketball. The hall echoes with joyous shouts and groans and you don’t know when it happened, but the three of you are almost clutching at each other at the last minute.
“Oh, they’re doing it,” Yeosang notices and you look at him in confusion. “Follow Yunho. You’ll see.”
You do exactly that. Yunho passes the ball to San and San dodges the players with expertise. He is leading them to your own basket and you wonder if he’s doing the right thing, but then you notice two things–
Jongho and Yunho are straying away from the rest towards the rival’s basket which is mostly defenceless right now. With only seconds left, it looks like the rival players are leaving their posts and already preparing for a celebration.
San, however, jumps and throws the ball in Yunho’s direction. He is pulled down by a player but the ball manages to reach Yunho and panic ensues. Yunho is surrounded before he can make a goal and he throws the ball to Jongho who switches to offence and takes a risk, making a long shot at the hoop.
It’s like time slows down as everyone sucks in their breaths, anticipating whether the ball will make it into the hoop or not. Your heart sinks dangerously as the ball hits the edge and Yeosang shuts his eyes close. Wooyoung is shaking your arm in a nervous fit.
Silence ensues.
The ball hits the floor. The score changes. The timer rings.
The KQ Stallions have won the game. Jongho has managed to score.
“Oh my god,” you breathe and Yeosang finally looks at the scoreboard. “Oh my god!”
Cheerleading is forgotten and the whole team jumps up and down and you’re swallowed in group hugs. You all are screaming out of ecstasy and you feel like you could cry out of sheer joy. You can hardly contain yourselves as you wait for the KQ Stallions to stop their own celebration and finish the formalities. As soon as they’re done shaking hands with the rival teams who look thoroughly annoyed, your friends look in your direction and they run.
You all rush towards the stairs that lead down to the court and you follow Wooyoung and Yeosang who lead you with their hands in yours, making sure you’re not left behind. You can’t breathe but you’re the happiest. Mingi crushes Yunho in a hug before sharing him with the rest of you. San brings the three of you in a hug and then Jongho joins and you all take turns ruffling his hair and smothering him in affection, once again cracking jokes about how he’s a good shot but managed to break your nose anyway.
The nine of you form a circle and as you hop around, it feels like it’s a little bubble. You have created your own world, your own space, and here, it’s just happiness and excitement. Nothing can hurt you. No one can take you down. The boys squeeze in some silly dance moves and you suddenly think of the butterflies painted in your hideout room.
There used to be eight of them but now there’s another painted on the roof. You don’t know when Hongjoong painted that, but now you know what he intended.
It feels like you’re a butterfly just like them– free and happy.
Junior year passes by in a breeze.
While the KQ Stallions didn't win the regionals, their achievement of making it to the regionals is an accomplishment in itself. The boys still play basketball with as much enthusiasm, and the rest of you still cheer as if your lives depend on it.
With the passage of time, you have created a unique bond with each friend. Your dynamics have shifted with everyone but it’s still the same as the first day. Sometimes, you wonder if things between them changed– you feel like an impostor. However, they assure you that your presence has changed nothing, yet, changed everything in a good way.
You don’t know how you feel about that, but you suppose it’s nice to know how they feel about you.
Yuna had somehow learned about your hideout room and the group of four started to treat the room as their own. At first, Wooyoung and Hongjoong had protested but they had been bribed with an offer to try Yuna’s extensive collection of flavoured cigarettes. They had hesitated at first but eventually agreed to try, ignoring Seonghwa’s warnings about the dangers of smoking. You had watched with curiosity as they tried a strawberry and peach flavoured smoke and then clutched at your stomach that hurt from laughing too much when they incessantly coughed and almost threw up.
Nevertheless, they ‘allow’ Yuna and her gang to share the room (as if they had a choice in the first place). Perhaps, because it’s their senior year and they’ll miss them next year. The girls take care of you– Yuna teaches you a few things about nonchalance and dominance (you need that as the lone girl in the group of eight boys), and Hyorin teaches you all the feminine stuff.
At first, the boys cringe and only Seonghwa joins Hyorin as they style your hair or do makeup on you (where Jongho joins too– apparently, he has a knack for makeup) but then one day, San comes prepared. He shows Hyorin something new that he learned from his sister– an eyeliner hack that he tries on you.
Impressed, Yuna and Hyorin take turns having him apply their eyeliner. Seonghwa takes the seat next and the room bursts into appreciative laughter as San applies eyeliner on Seonghwa too. Wooyoung finally gives in and because the eyeliner looks so good on him, the girls fawn over him and apply some eyeshadow as well. He complains for a few moments but when he takes a look in the mirror, he caves in and can’t put the mirror down.
Thus, you juniors warm up to the presence of the seniors in your hideout, which isn’t a common occasion but welcomed now. You have snack parties and the boys who have a knack for cooking share tips and sometimes collectively bake treats for you. It is a stark difference from the first time you found yourself in this room, being bribed by treats. It feels like home now.
During the holidays, the whole lot of you make trips to the amusement park and the aquarium. One time, you go to watch a horror movie at the cinema where you learn that only Yunho and Jongho seem to possess the stamina to sit through a horror movie. You keep creating wonderful memories with your friends. The seniors don’t always join you, occupied with preparing for college but it’s fun either way.
At school, your homeroom teacher Miss Ji grows fond of your group. It looks like the boys are behaving this time so they’ll be in the same class in senior year too. You pray with your whole heart that senior year will be just like this. Nabi, however, stays salty with you. She doesn’t bother you very much anymore, but it’s clear that she still has a strong dislike for you.
You don’t care. The boys protect you fiercely, but even if they didn’t, you can stand on your own now. You have learned your lesson from your previous school. You know how to stand up for yourself.
You have to learn to stand up for yourself because the boys take any and every chance to prank someone and then point fingers at another. It is a joke, of course, but it has strengthened your debating skills and survival skills. It turns into a warzone pretty quickly with them, but in the end, it’s all fun and games.
It’s all fun and games. From racing each other to the cafeteria or earning punishment for the whole group during gym where the teacher makes all of you run extra laps. Cooling off under the shade and having water splashed on you which turns into a water fight. A protective throw of someone’s jacket onto you to cover yourself as the boys flush because they forgot that you are a girl. You flush deeper because you forgot that you are a girl too.
Then there are the trips to the convenience store during school as the nine of you sneak out, jumping over the walls. The twin towers of the group act as stepping stones for you to help you make it to the other side of the wall. Mingi usually does the throwing and Yunho catches you in his arms. His ears turn red and your cheeks flush without fail every time you make a run to the store. You both look at each other and laugh shyly.
Towards the end of the junior year, the nine of you go to the riverside one evening to have a dinner of ramen and take a break. Finals are approaching and the stress is palpable, so you sometimes make little trips like these to calm your nerves. The seniors couldn’t join you which is a shame but you know you’ll have fun either way.
After a hearty meal of ramen and kimbap, Hongjoong takes out a ukulele and Mingi, who sits next to you, turns a pot upside down and grabs some sticks from the trees, ready to play his makeshift drum. The boys start to sing their favourite songs and you join them, clapping in harmony. It’s a lovely moment and you can’t help but feel giddy. Yeosang and San couple dance in the middle and Wooyoung sings for them.
When you’re packing your belongings and preparing to go back, you catch Wooyoung who is zipping his bag.
“I didn’t realise you could sing so well,” you start and he smiles, pleased with himself.
“Why, thank you,” he grins.
“No, I mean it,” you say and he pauses to look at you. His voice is still echoing in your head, lulling you into a calm headspace. “You have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s the truth.”
Wooyoung raises his brows. “You’ve told me to shut up so many times that I can’t believe what you’re saying.”
You laugh. “I mean your singing voice. Not yapping voice–”
He is quick to bring you in a chokehold and you tap on his arm to indicate that you surrender. He shifts his arm to bring you close and stares at you.
“You mean it?” He asks.
You look at him. His eyes are wide and eager with anticipation.
“I mean it. I need you to sing more and yap less.”
“Oh, you love it when I yap,” he says. You don’t deny it.
He kisses your temple. While it’s something that he does everyday, this time, he lingers and kisses your cheek too. You feel the onset of butterflies in your stomach and you can’t believe it.
Before you can process this moment, San joins you and welcomes you with a kiss to your cheek too. You almost groan but the way he looks at you with so much fondness melts your heart and you realise he isn’t teasing you. He’s just… being himself.
“You alright?” He asks.
“I’m fine. I told him he has a nice voice. Make sure it doesn’t get to his head,” you say and wring out of their grip, leaving them snickering. You take refuge behind Yeosang who, ever your protective friend, tucks you further behind him. It reminds you of the time you used to call Wooyoung the assailant. Jongho pokes you in the side and makes you fold over, the three of you running in circles to get each other.
Your laughter carries throughout the semester. Junior year comes to a beautiful conclusion and you part ways with the boys for the holidays. You share a teary-eyed farewell with the seniors and promise to stay in contact and meet up often. They assure you that they won’t leave you alone and that every now and then, you can expect them at the hideout. It sounds like a promise to you and a threat to the boys– the seniors warn them. Take care of our little sister.
Take care they do. While you don’t meet up for the first half of the holidays, all of you travelling around to meet your families, you do occasional meetups at cafes and arcades with anyone who is able to join. The group chat remains alive and it almost feels like you’ve never parted.
Senior year arrives. It is the first day of school, a year apart. Cherry blossoms fill the streets again, blooming in all their pastel pink glory, contrasting beautifully with the morning blue sky. The clouds look nothing short of cotton today, fluffy and full.
Just like last year, children are on their way to school and playing games on the streets again. They focus on stepping or avoiding the petals, challenging each other playfully. The old folk sit to bask in the scene. The students look nervous but the blossom shower seems to help soothe their souls.
And then there is your group of seniors. You’re all waiting at the designated intersection for Mingi and Yunho to arrive. While you wait, you’re all chatting among yourselves and catching up. San recounts a trip to his hometown to visit his grandparents. Wooyoung has far too many stories to share. Yeosang can apparently play the violin now and he is being assigned as the musician in your hideout now. Hongjoong and Seonghwa argue about their plans for college.
Jongho, who has dyed his hair red over the holidays, is wondering how he’ll get past the guard and the teachers. You tease him about how he’s definitely inspired by a certain senior he had a crush on. He no longer reacts when you mention it or tease him about his little crush over Yuna. It seems like he has gotten over it, or realised that it was more admiration than crush.
The twin towers arrive, waving enthusiastically from the distance. You all pretend to be mad since you waited a good 15 minutes for them, but when Mingi pulls the zipper of his bag to reveal snacks, you all decide to forgive and forget. The duo is welcomed warmly and you all start to walk towards the school.
“Oh, look at that,” Seonghwa points at a boy and a girl trying to catch the petals from the trees. They seem to be juniors. “They must have heard the saying about how catching a falling petal grants your wish or brings you luck.”
“Or makes you find your true love,” you say spontaneously and Seonghwa glances at you with a smile. You suddenly feel shy. “I think that’s the most common belief associated with catching falling petals.”
“Well, it’s not hard to catch them,” Seonghwa attempts to catch a petal but misses. “Perhaps, that is why the saying exists. So we believe that finding your true love isn’t a very hard thing.”
“So that we do not lose hope and believe in our luck,” you add and he agrees. “Is it supposed to be catching a petal at the same time as the other…?”
Seonghwa follows your gaze. The couple seems to believe that the petals have to be caught at the same time.
“Now that is hard,” Seonghwa laughs.
“What’s hard?” Wooyoung asks, falling in step with you both.
“Do you think we all can catch petals at the same time?” Seonghwa wonders.
“You bet we can. Guys!” Wooyoung claps to get everyone’s attention and you groan, laughing to yourself. “We have a challenge.”
“What’s the prize?”
“Shut up and listen,” Wooyoung scolds Mingi and he leans against Yunho for comfort, laughing anyway. “We’re all going to try to catch petals at the same time.”
“Why would we do that…” Yeosang begins but when Wooyoung folds his arm, he retracts his question.
“Is this about the true love saying?” San wraps his arm around Yeosang and you all slow down to a halt. “I don’t really believe in that, but it’s romantic.”
“If the nine of us catch petals at the same time, that would make it more believable,” Yunho comments. “Because what are the chances?”
“It would be nothing short of a miracle,” Hongjoong sighs. “And it is also what gets us late on the first day of school.”
“Three attempts,” Wooyoung suggests and Jongho nods, being the first to accept the challenge.
You think it’s a bit foolish and you’ll definitely be late for school, but Wooyoung looks so happy to just finally have all of you together and his grin is unmatched. You get him. You’re feeling happy and content too. You meet eyes with all the boys, and it looks like they share the sentiments.
So you all turn away from each other, waiting for Wooyoung’s cue. All of you fix your eyes on that one petal that seems to be falling the right way, that seems to be calling to you. When Wooyoung shouts ‘now!’, you all jump and swing your hand in the air and clutch your fist before you turn back towards each other, light on your feet and almost reminiscent of butterflies in your movement.
It seems nothing short of magical when you all open your fists to find that everyone managed to catch a petal in the first attempt. All nine of you.
Some of you stand in disbelief while the rest absolutely lose their minds. You’re frozen in place, staring at the petal in your hand in awe. When you look up, you find all the boys clutching at their petals like it’s a token of luck. It might as well be.Or maybe, it’s a symbol of love, marking new beginnings.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jung wooyoung x grimreaper!reader
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: wooyoung never thought death would be so beautiful
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6k
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: life and death themes, angst, fluff, clingy wooyoung, grim reaper reader, after life
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: honestly? i don't even know. i made myself sad. why? again, i don't know.
"hyung, i've been having these weird dreams again lately. this black figure just sits in the corner, wherever i am. it's so scary-"
"wooyoung. i'm staying up late in the studio, please don't scare me."
"and i'm walking home alone after this, hongjoong, what am i supposed to do? i'm scared shitless. i walk around paranoid, people think i'm crazy for turning around every few minutes while i walk."
the older man rolls his eyes playfully at the younger ones response, then pops another soup dumpling in his mouth. he immediately regrets it, forgetting that they are still very hot inside. seeing the young one in distress, he quickly chews it and swallows it, trying to ignore the burning sensation down his throat.
"look, if it's bothering you so much, you can sleep with seonghwa tonight. i'll just sleep on the couch when i come home."
"thanks, man! i'm sorry, at first it was funny. but now? it's getting so frequent that the other night when i woke up, i almost smacked yeosang across the face. poor guy was just trying to drink water. but now that he isn't here, it's even scarier."
hongjoong snickers, then picks up another dumpling. he makes sure to blow on it first, before biting only half of it off so it can cool down. much better.
"just don't be scared if you hear rattling. that's just me coming home and dragging my cables with me. where has yeosang gone anyway?"
"he went to his parents for the weekend. it's his mom's birthday."
"oh, right. should've known. he never shares anything like that."
they stay in silence for a while, enjoying the rest of the food. hongjoong treated his brothers a lot, and wooyoung felt like it was finally time to return the favor. of course, he missed the way hongjoong secretly swiped his card at the counter on his way to the toilet, so when wooyoung asked for the bill, he was left disappointed and angered.
"it's already paid, sir." the waitress says, hiding hongjoong's smirk with a tray as she collected the dirtied dishes.
"what? by who?"
"thank you, hasun. the food was amazing as always. sorry for the mess."
"you-" wooyoung started, pointing his finger at his older brother.
"oh, don't worry about it. you're always welcome." the young girl smiles, a little flirtatiously.
hongjoong didn't miss it, of course. but he only nodded with a respectful smile, understanding his position as an idol and his limitations. "have a good night!"
the young men exit the little restaurant they often visited as trainees and freshly debuted. it was always fun to go back to old memories of fun and sacrifice. hongjoong looks at wooyoung, who is still sulking because he couldn't pay. he loves all seven of them, with all his heart. without them, who knows where he would be. each one of them worked so hard, and they are where they are right now because of team work. and hongjoong couldn't have asked for better team mates. team mates he gets to call family.
"come on, cheer up. i'm your hyung, i can't let you pay."
"san lets me pay all the time." he mumbles, not even looking at hongjoong. it makes the older man even more amused.
"san loves to tease you, and you know he can't deny free food. you'll pay another time."
"liar."
"i promise."
"i don't believe you."
"pinky promise?"
"that means nothing coming from you."
"come on, you're doing too much."
polar opposites, they were. hongjoong didn't care about those things. he just wanted to take care of his members, and lead them. but wooyoung? he cared about every little detail, showed love to everyone around him, and got deeply hurt every time hongjoong would promise something and then break the promise.
"you won't stay late tonight?" "nope."
"did you eat the chicken i made for you? you didn't starve yourself again, did you?" "of course i ate it."
"will you wrap up earlier today so we can all go out for lunch?" "sure."
"did you check out that back pain?" "yep."
he would stay up late. he didn't eat the food. he wouldn't wrap it up either. the chicken would stay on his desk for days sometimes, until a visit from seonghwa would take care of it. he would fall asleep on his couch with his laptop, fingers stuck on one key and typing endless pages of the same letter while the exhausted producer softly snored on the keyboard. back at the dorm, the bottle of alcohol would be downed, and wooyoung would only be washing seven glasses, the eighth one still waiting on the counter. hongjoong would come, see the single glass on the counter, and feel bad. but the music won't produce itself. once the work is finished, he'll enjoy with them.
yet the work never seemed to finish, and it made wooyoung angry. not at his leader, but at the expectations from everyone above them. even now, hongjoong had very dark circles under his eyes, and was blinking heavily. it was only seven in the evening, and he still had to be in the studio.
"i hate when you overwork yourself. or when you starve yourself as a punishment for not doing a good job. and i hate when you put work first. we barely see you these days, only on interviews and concerts. i just wish-"
"don't guilt trip me, okay?"
"what?" wooyoung says for the second time that night, now more in disbelief than in disappointment.
hongjoong scoffed, feeling mentally tired. "look, i'm trying to finish this so i can rest before the comeback. so we can all rest before the comeback. i don't have time for these hangouts or slacking. we are team mates and colleagues, and-"
"oh."
hongjoong realizes how wrong his words came out, but by the time he looks at wooyoung, the young man is already sulking again. "no, i didn't-"
"team mates? colleagues?" he scoffs. "you know what? go. i don't care. i'm sorry i'm a pain in the ass. i won't ask again."
"wooyoung-" hongjoong puts his hand on wooyoung's shoulder, trying to fix the situation he created.
"i don't care!" wooyoung yanks his hand away, and accidentally pushes him in the process. "go! i don't care. i'll leave you alone, and i won't ever ask you for a drink or bring you food. it rots in there anyway, and as a colleague, i'm clearly overstepping. so, good luck with your work, mate."
the older man can only watch as the younger one crosses the street, going a different route just to be alone. he wishes he could follow him and apologize, but the deadline is so close, and eden is unforgiving. even now, when he is only two minutes late, his phone is blowing up with calls and messages from him.
"fuck."
the phone beeps loudly near hongjoong's head. when he turned the alarm on before sleeping once he got back from the studio and threw himself on the couch, he audibly groaned at the words on his screen: three hours and twelve minutes until the alarm. it takes him a while to peel his eyes open, and when he takes his phone, he is surprised to see an incoming call instead of the alarm. it is still dark outside, meaning that he only actually slept for an hour. the letters and numbers on the screen are blurry. hongjoong can't fight the fatigue, and thus, shuts the phone off sleepily, turns on his side and then falls asleep again.
the second time he is awoken, it isn't by the fateful alarm. rather, it is by a shoulder shake. he turns around, rubbing his eyes. the sky is no longer pitch black, but a dark blue colour, stars slowly bidding goodbye and the sun announcing it's arrival. from this point onwards, it feels like a dream. a nightmare, rather.
hongjoong remembers seeing the foggy frosted windows first, ones that looked at the big buildings and busy streets of seoul. only six in the morning, and people were already up and working hard, despite the biting winter weather. then, hongjoong remembers his team mates, brothers, standing above the couch in the living room. seonghwa's eyes bloodshot red, and jongho rubbing yeosang's back as he sobs into his shoulder.
"what's going on?"
"did wooyoung come home last night?" seonghwa's voice is a mere whisper.
"what?" hongjoong is completely awake now, throwing the blanket aside and sitting up straight. lack of sleep doesn't allow him to stand yet, so he remains sat. "i came here well after midnight, i didn't want to make any noise so i went straight to sleep. i even have my clothes on still. yeosang? when did you come back?"
"hongjoong..." seonghwa starts, looking anywhere but at his friend who looks more concerned with each second that passes. with full right.
"what? say it, god, i feel like throwing up. what is it? where's wooyoung?"
"they called us to identify a body."
hearing those words for the second time that morning, san can't help but break down. he leaves the room, yunho following. he can't let him stay alone, one missing member is enough.
"what?" hongjoong's voice now matches seonghwa's, his heart tight and legs ice cold. a chill runs down his spine, and his eyes burn terribly.
the young leader on the couch finally takes a good look at his older brother. his eyes puffed and red, lips dry and trembling, dried tear marks on his cheeks, and new tears making his eyes glossy. hongjoong is still unable to react. he doesn't know what to say. he can't move, his legs nor his tongue. it is not until mingi hands him his jacket that hongjoong realizes he isn't dreaming again. the situation is serious, painful, and unbearable. he can only hope on the way there that the jung wooyoung they have isn't the jung wooyoung he parted ways with last night.
but when hongjoong arrives at the morgue, and sees his dear friend and brother embraced by an eternal dream, all he can do is slide down the wall and grab his head in his hands, fingers pulling at his hair as some sort of subconscious punishment.
"mr jung crossed the road on a red light"
"the car that hit him was going over the speed limit"
"we did everything we could"
"the driver was taken by police"
"we tried reaching out while he was still somewhat conscious"
hongjoong's breath stops.
the call.
the call from the unknown number he so lazily muted.
the call that maybe couldn't save wooyoung, but could've given a chance to hongjoong to show him how much he is loved.
the call that wouldn't make this situation as tragic as it is.
wooyoung died not knowing that hongjoong loves him as his brother, not knowing that he bought eight tickets for the new movie he so wanted to watch, not knowing that hongjoong begged eden to have a week off to make up for all the times he has ditched on everyone. again, all that hongjoong has is hope. hope that if there is an afterlife, wooyoung could look down and see that hongjoong didn't mean what he said last night. not in the way wooyoung took it.
selfishly, hongjoong blamed eden. if he didn't stay up that late, he could've gotten the call. hell, if eden wasn't so harsh on him, this wouldn't have happened. he would have enough time to spend with his family, and the argument wouldn't have happened at all. they could go to the movies, stay up late at the dorms and drink, talk about silly crushes and gossip about the managers and staff, then all fall asleep on the floor with shared blankets and couch pillows.
"come on, we have to go. we have to tell his parents."
on a rocking chair, on a porch overlooking the orange and pink clouds, sits a young woman. a black hood rests on her head, the shadow hiding her face. her thin, skeletal looking fingers flip through the pages of the worn out book, mind already autofilling the sentences. she knows the book by heart, it being her favorite since she learned how to read.
the sound of grunting and tossing takes her attention away.
finally, she thinks.
she enters the little wooden cabin, leaving the book in the chair, still rocking. the young man opens his eyes, hands reaching to rub the sleepiness out of them. he sits up, now almost fully awake. he looks around, scratching the back of his neck. his surroundings look nothing like the usual mornings he wakes up. finally, he sees you. a black hooded cloak, thin fingers gripping the scythe that is bigger than you, and a sickly looking bunny on your shoulder, pitch black and blending with your cloak.
then, sharp pain. his spine aches, and wooyoung screeches. he curls up on the bed, hands gripping at his back in hopes to make it stop. you take pity in the deceased human and his pain, and spare him. the scythe thumps against the floor, and the young man calms down. he breathes fast, uneven, and sits up again. his eyes widen, and you think that if he widened them a little more, his eyeballs would pop out. all the reactions are the same. they all think they're ready for death, but when they do encounter it, suddenly they want back.
"no..."
denial, the second reaction. how ground-breaking. you sigh, bored. will you ever encounter an interesting human? then, you remember you were the same. worse, even. wide eyed, screaming into the black cloak to let you go back, trying to jump from the porch into the clouds, in hopes of landing back among the living. three times you tried to jump, until you were strapped to the very same bed the young man is in right now.
"no, it can't be. i mean, it's a dream, right?"
you don't answer. it won't be of any help. instead, with the handle of the scythe, you push an empty bottle from the night stand towards him. despite his growing confusion, he takes it in his hand, not yet asking why it is empty. he looks at you, well, tries to, as if to silently ask. he sees that you don't acknowledge him, and makes his peace with it.
he unscrews the cap, and looks inside. the bottle is still empty, and wooyoung isn't sure what to do. using the handle of your trusted companion again, you push the bottle towards his lips, and the bottle finally fills with liquid. to your surprise, it turns white. milk?
"wow." he says, downing the whole bottle. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then looks at you once again. "let me guess. fills with whatever the person yearns for at the moment?"
you nod slightly, then take the bottle. you toss it into a wooden box, which is only halfway full this week. it makes you happy. you hate days when it's overflowing. because of the people themselves, and because of the mess you have to clean up.
"i haven't had a glass of milk in years, i think. somewhere deep down i must've really needed it."
the man stands up, looking around. his hand reaches towards the pink clouds spilling through the open cabin, and he feels a warm sensation. he notices that it doesn't have windows and doors. only window and door frames, and light transparent drapes that float in the gentle breeze. he looks out the window, and sighs. the cabin sits on the clouds, the colorful fluff extending into the horizon over the sun. no other houses, buildings of any kind, or animals. except a path, which wooyoung doesn't ask about yet.
"must be damn beautiful looking at this all day long. the sun is setting on earth? the clouds are pink, so... i mean, you don't have to answer. i don't know what to do with myself. i guess i'm waiting to wake up. or subconsciously think that if i approach this as a normal person, you might send me back. that not happening, right?"
asking to go back, third reaction. but he isn't asking. merely making sure that his thinking is right. when you stay silent, he takes that as affirmative.
"so, how does this go? do i confess my sins? do i stay a ghost and haunt someone? do i go to another place? or do i take over yours?"
he is easy going. not boring at all. very relaxed, in fact. for a person that lost his life overnight, at the peak of his life, he seems very friendly. usually, people that arrive here hate you. as if you were the one who killed them, and not often their foolish and reckless decisions.
the animal on your shoulder jumps down, finding its usual place in the warm abandoned bed. wooyoung refrains from petting it, even though that's all he wants at the moment. to feel something alive in his hand again. speaking of which, he remembers his brothers. his family, both of them. he gulps, afraid of showing emotion. he isn't sad for himself. he is sad for them. they'll have to carry the burden of grief for days, until they are ready to let go. and wooyoung hopes they let go soon, for their sake.
he doesn't have time to further sadden himself, when he notices you exiting the cabin through the other door frame. it is the path he saw, leading through the clouds and disappearing far away.
"no bikes?" he jokes, the silence becoming unbearable. he has to occupy himself, as to not think of the life he so carelessly abandoned.
but you still don't say a word. you walk in front of him, the black cloak tail trailing behind you.
"should i just save my breath?" he mumbles, more to himself. "i thought i'd be scared. frankly, i'm a bit bored. i-"
his breath hitches when you suddenly turn around, pointing your scythe at him. the silver blade glimmers under the faint rays of sunshine, blinding almost. "silence."
wooyoung expected many things. but for you to sound so gentle while you looked so fierce? his expression must've pissed you off, because you thump the bottom of your scythe against the floor, causing him to vanish into thin air and spawn back in the bed. more like above it, making him land on his butt on the soft mattress.
"hurry." your voice echoes everywhere. "or you won't make it."
"wait!" wooyoung's legs ache as he runs down the path, struggling to catch up to you.
fatigue takes over his body and mind. being dead isn't for the weak, he thinks.
"fuck-" he yelps, hands reaching for his back in hopes of relieving the pain that has struck him again. then, he sees the scythe raise from the ground again, and you preparing to thump it one more time. "wait! no, no, no-"
"no swearing in my realm."
"i'm sorry!"
but you show no mercy, instead teleporting him back in the bed, this time being kind enough not to drop him on it. you hear him groan out of frustration, and you can't help the smirk on your lips. by the time he catches up once again, you are almost at the end of the path.
"i apologize." he breathes out. when you don't respond, he frowns. he trails behind you, gaze fixed on the cobblestone path surrounded by clouds that have now turned a violet colour. the sun will set any second now.
he wonders how many days have passed. was he buried already? how was his family holding up? how was hongjoong? and the rest? san? oh, san. and yeosang, too. a seed of self hatred spawns in wooyoung's heart. how could he be so careless? he caused permanent pain to those who did nothing but love him. he hopes hongjoong isn't too hard on himself. it's not his fault, and he hates that it took this to realize it. as much as it hurts, he hopes they move on as soon as possible. for their sake. they have each other, they'll get through this. they have to.
a creak wakes wooyoung from his thoughts. he finds himself standing in front of a gated garden. the doors open on their own, tall and of steel. it reminds wooyoung of castle gates. you head inside, the cloak trailing behind you. the young man follows, careful not to step on it.
"this is the Garden of Truth." your voice is an echo, even though you are mere inches away from him. it is a gentle one, sounding as if multiple voices were speaking at once. satisfyingly eerie. "while we walk through it, you can ask me anything. and i will tell you the truth, and nothing but the truth. but beware: what questions you choose to ask determine what happens to you beyond the gates at the end."
wooyoung hums. curious eyes take in the sight of the dull garden ahead: vines that climb the stone walls nothing but branches, grey grass, hardened soil, no animals other than the bunny on your shoulder. the sky is suddenly grey, the pastel colours long left behind the gates. wooyoung doesn't look back. it seems that if he does it, something might go wrong. so he looks straight ahead, gaze fixed on the dried up bushes that run along the dusty path.
"our time here is limited. i suggest you start." you warn.
"right." he clears his throat. "how uh... how did they find out?"
"you'll have to be specific, wooyoung. specific questions are rewarded with specific answers."
"of course." he agrees, mentally face palming himself. "how did my colleagues find out?"
"a few fans recognized you as they were passing by. they were the ones that called the ambulance. then, the hospital contacted your company, which contacted park seonghwa and the rest."
oh, no. not atiny.
wooyoung's heart clenches. that must've been traumatic. it will scar them for life.
"did i... on the spot? did they see my... corpse or my body?"
"at the hospital. you were still alive when they found you on the road."
"oh," he is somewhat relieved.
he knows the time is limited, yet he can't bring himself to speak as he watches your bony fingers run through the dried leaves of a willow that is sagging sadly over the path. was the garden always like this?
"not always, no." you answer his thoughts.
"i wasn't aware you can read minds." the young man is surprised.
"questions, wooyoung." you remind him, threatening to thump the scythe against the ground again.
"okay, okay!" he quickly stops you. "the garden... what happened to it?"
"bad people touched what was sacred. they tarnished it. took away its purity. in response, the garden destroyed them and itself." you point your scythe at a wall. "and made me its prisoner."
only then does wooyoung notice that the stone spheres on top of the tall walls aren't spheres. petrified heads, littered along the walls that guard the dead garden. they seem to be... bleeding. "but... you aren't at fault. why are you its prisoner? and in what way are you imprisoned?"
"i brought them here. misjudged them." you sigh, remembering the events that occurred centuries ago. "they didn't deserve the garden of truth. they deserved the Void of Confessions. i am bound to the garden. at night, i spawn in the dried up well, whether i like it or not. surrounded by echoes of those that walked the path to the Void of Confessions instead of finding peace here. tormented by their curses, swears, screams, and whatnot. until it exhausts me, and i fall asleep in the dark pit and wake up back on the porch in my rocking chair."
"Void of Confessions?" you strike is curiosity.
the rustling of the dried leaves as you both walk is somewhat calming. it's been a while since you had a calm walk. and you are grateful to the young man for it. "those who have done many evil deeds and still think of themselves as innocent and deserving of mercy. they are thrown into the white void, falling for eternity, or until they reach sincere regret and confess to every single thing they did wrong."
"every?"
"every."
"even if they don't remember it?"
"even if they don't know they did it."
suddenly, wooyoung is grateful that he is in the garden. he thought that he wasn't always the best version of himself. was he really a good person, or were there just such horrible people that compared to him, he was deserving of this garden?
"how many people have escaped the void?"
you hum, as if thinking. but wooyoung knows you know. "one."
"who?"
"me."
comfortable silence envelops you both again. wooyoung isn't scared of you. right now, he even feels some kind of admiration when he looks at you. "when will you stop being its prisoner?"
"when the grass turns green again, when roses climb up the walls, when the bushes become dense, when the willows offer shade again, when the branches shield the garden, when the sun pokes through the grey mist, and when the first apple turns red on the Tree of Memories."
"what's that?"
"it's something i haven't been able to offer visitors for the past few centuries. or, well, since the events occurred." you sigh. "it's a tree by the gates of the exit. all dried up now, sadly. depends on the time of the year, the tree produces various fruits. but there's always one apple, no matter what fruit it bears. the Apple of Remembrance. it allows the person who bites into it to take one memory from the mortal world into the after life, before all your memory is erased. in other words, you'll get to live with a single memory of your choice forever."
"i'll lose my memory?" wooyoung sulks.
"it's for the best. it'll allow your soul to rest in peace." you assure him. and he believes you. he just wishes he could somehow cheat this... magic. bring his memories with him. he can handle it. "i'm sure you can."
he rolls his eyes at your answer to his thoughts. "privacy, miss grim reaper."
when you don't answer, wooyoung goes back to thinking.
"hongjoong... how is he?"
"not good."
his heart feels as if it'll burst. "no sugarcoating, huh?"
"garden of truth." you remind him.
"did i manage to get a hold of him? i remember speed dialing his number when i woke up for a split second."
you didn't seem to hesitate when giving answers. this time, wooyoung noticed that your posture changed. "no."
"...why?"
"he hung up."
"oh."
he didn't blame hongjoong. he was angry, and tired. he couldn't have known.
"is hongjoong blaming himself?"
"yes."
a question lingers on the tip of his tongue. and he knows that you know what it is. and you could answer if you wanted. he wouldn't have to say it out loud. yet, wooyoung never asks.
can i see him one last time?
it stays locked in his throat, tormenting him. making it difficult for him to swallow. then, you indirectly answer. "from the cabin and beyond, all ties to the mortal world are cut off. they are unreachable, in any way or form."
the young man's heart sinks. he knew it. yet, to hear it out loud, it shatters him. his vision becomes blurry, the shades of grey blending into one and causing him to stop. he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to stay strong until at least all the questions are asked and answered. when he opens his eyes again, he notices that you have stopped to wait for him, back still facing him.
"can't haunt anyone?" a joke escapes his lips.
"it's not that kind of death."
death.
wooyoung didn't realize that the word wasn't used at all since he came. he died. he didn't just spawn into this magic realm where time and space is an odd concept. he is going further into the unknown, not able to turn back. not able to ever look at his loved ones again. not able to wake up and realize that it's just a dream. everything around him is unfamiliar, and a sudden feeling of uneasiness creeps down his spine.
"yeosang... and san. how are they?"
"devastated. they're not leaving each other's side."
"will they recover?"
"not for a long time."
a knife to the heart, your words were. but he can't blame you, as much as his heart seeks someone to unleash on. "and the rest? will they get over it? will ateez continue to be without me?"
again, silence. wooyoung doesn't like it. he doesn't like it when you stop, either. his breath hitches. oh, what will you tell him?
"please." his voice cracks. "i need to know they'll be fine. they're my everything. i'll do anything, i swear, anything-!"
"one of them won't make it."
"what?" voice a mere whisper, and heart broken into pieces that cut, wooyoung stops in the middle of the garden. tears freely spill down his pale cheeks, and his breath shudders. "no."
his knees give up, legs jelly on the floor, and upper body barely keeping him up in a sitting position. dried thorns cut into his hands as he subconsciously grips the dusty cobblestone, and the tears soak the hard soil. wooyoung finally breaks into sobs, painful wails echoing through the garden and bouncing off the stone walls.
"please, please, please," he begs, "please! i'll be your servant for eternity, i'll switch places with you so you can find your peace, i'll replant the whole garden if needed. please."
"wooyoung."
"please!" he screams. you know he isn't screaming at you. and it doesn't anger you. it even makes you feel sympathy for the unlucky young man. "i'll eat the dust and thorns if i have to. god, lock me up here, curse me, don't ever let me out. just, please, please, please, keep them safe."
finally, you turn around, breaking your own rule and opting to console the distressed young man behind you. yet, when your eyes land on the sight that was hiding behind your back this entire time, a gasp escapes your lips, and the scythe falls to the ground with a light thud.
the garden blooms, the gates are overrun with thick vines, the grass green, the bushes dense, a yellow hue has replaced the dull grey one, and roses decorate the walls. seeds sprout in the soil between the stones, wooyoung's tears watering them. his begging doesn't stop, instead turns into low whispers of despair.
"wooyoung." his face fits in the palm of your hand. glossy red eyes look at you, or at least try to. "oh, you pretty soul."
"w-what?" he hiccups.
"turn around."
you help him up, your weak figure barely holding him up, but enough to make him stand and turn around. his jaw drops at the sight, much like yours did. "how...?"
"you did this. with your selfless questions and desire to see others live well, even if it is without you." your other hand still cradles his pale face. thumb gently wipes the tears away, all while he stares at you with eyes full of confusion, sorrow and pain. "you saved the garden."
"but..."
"you saved me."
it takes all in you not to hug him. and you would've managed, had he not wrapped his arms around you and pushed you into his chest. you've never done this before. you are waiting for the sky to split open again, to rain thorns and blood. yet it doesn't happen. wooyoung still hugs you, quietly sniffling into the crook of your clothed neck. "i'm scared."
"you won't be scared for much longer." both gazes land on the gates on the other side. the garden revives as wooyoung walks through it, until he reaches the end of the path and the faithful tree. "look."
and truly, just like you said, the tree bears fruit. peaches. "i desire peaches?"
"it seems so. and look, an apple." you point at the single red apple that grows on the branch that hangs lower than the others. "i believe that's yours. as are the peaches. as many as you want, before you head through the gates, of course."
wooyoung picks a peach, and it snaps in a satisfying way. the tree rustles as the branch goes back in place. he feels the soft fuzzy skin of the fruit. for the last time. then, his breath shudders again. "i don't want to go."
"i can't send you back, wooyoung."
"no, i- i don't want to go back. i want to stay. with you."
it reminds you why you don't hug, why you don't show sympathy. "i'm just an escort. nothing more."
"i could be your helper. your gardener. people would feel more at ease if they saw me here."
"you mean well, and that's what saved the garden. your ability to love and care for people more than for yourself. but it doesn't work that way."
"why not?"
"it'll work for a day. what happens when your physical form starts decaying? you'll require a cloak, just like me. and it's not like one grim reaper isn't scary enough, you'd put those people through a second death when they see two of us?"
he knows you have a point. still, he thinks it's worth a shot. but the answer is clear. thus, wooyoung reaches for the apple. "how does it work?"
"you bite into it. as you chew, it will take you through a short journey through your life. you'll relive everything in a span of five seconds. from your birth, to your death. in that time, you'll find the memory which you'll take with you. the rest will fade as you walk out the gates."
"even the memory of you?"
"even the memory of me."
"but you aren't from the mortal life." he argues.
"doesn't matter. beyond the garden, everything is peaceful. i am not peaceful, i do not belong there. i am in the middle of this all. not good enough to cross on one side, not bad enough to cross on the other side. the garden wasn't my curse. the realm itself is my curse."
"but-"
"goodbye, wooyoung." you bring the apple close to his lips, encouraging him to bite into it. "this might hurt a bit."
five seconds has wooyoung's brain on fire. from his birth, childhood, to his trainee days, and his last days. he lives through it all again. when he opens his eyes, he is surprised to find his cheeks soaked, and chest rising and falling fast. he has found the memory. the sweet apple turns sour in his mouth, realization taking over one last time.
"you don't have to say it out loud."
"i want to."
he swears he could see you smile, even though there was nothing but black void beneath your hood. "go ahead."
"the memory of sharing the first sincere laugh with all seven of my brothers."
you were expecting something like that. seems that this group was more than just coworkers. wooyoung drops the apple on the ground, feeling his head become dizzy.
"is it happening?"
"yes." you confirm. the gates open, causing you to release a breath you didn't know you were holding. when was the last time a human has made you feel anything? "go on. don't be afraid. there is no pain beyond the gates. or so i've heard."
"does another life exist?"
"i wouldn't know, wooyoung." you genuinely say. "i am bound to this place, remember?"
"then... if there is another life... i selfishly hope to see you again."
the chuckle that leaves your lips is audible, warming the young man's heart. "i'm not going anywhere for a long, long time. that i can assure you."
wooyoung then turns around, one foot stepping over the threshold. he doesn't remember his teenage years. one hand holds onto the fence just outside the gates. he doesn't remember his trainee years. the other hand holds onto the other fence. he doesn't remember his family. the other foot steps over the threshold.
𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫.: while all of the city loves their superhero and is ready to defend him with their lives, you seem to be the only fool looking at the bigger picture. and the only one to loathe spiderman.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jeong yunho x f!reader
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10k
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, superheroes and supervillains, spiderman!yunho, villain!reader
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: loss of a loved one, injuries, bl00d, SA attempt, mentions of suicide
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: this one was in the basement for a year now, thought i'd finish it and see if it helps my writer's block :)
when will spiderman be held accountable for the consequences of his actions?
yes, your superhero saved your city multiple times. yes, he saved that old lady from falling off the building. yes, he fought off an alien giant that threatened to blow up the continent. yes, he saved that school bus from drowning. that's his job. he is a superhero. it is expected of him.
have you people looked at the aftermath? victory and relief blinds you, you fail to see the demolished buildings, wrecked cars, shattered windows of your favourite shops. has spiderman ever stayed to assist firefighters clear up the scene? has he ever comforted people who were still paying off that car that is now on top of a building somewhere? people who just got their apartment? people who have just opened their shops?
no. spiderman doesn't care about those things. he cares about glory, praises and rewards. he vanishes until a new threat emerges, appearing only when the city has already suffered destruction, and sometimes causing further damage himself. what good is a city that you have to rebuild every few months, watching it get demolished every single time?
wake up, people. it is time to hold spiderman accountable.
the publish button is clicked without hesitation. third article this week, and no sight or sound of the notorious hero. your teeth bite the inside of your cheek again, abusing the already wounded flesh as your eyes scan the article one more time. this one should get his attention. it has to. slowly over the past few months, people are starting to understand you. those who once called you a fool are now on your side, demanding at least an apology from the man who successfully hid after every battle.
"leaving early?" your coworker asks, eyes not moving from his own screen.
"yes." you answer, shutting your laptop and safely putting it away in its bag.
"going home to write more mean things about spidey on your little hate blog?"
"not that it is any of your business, but i am going to the cemetery."
the smirk drops from the man's face, and his eyes notice the flowers on the edge of your desk. "oh. sorry."
"yeah. see you tomorrow, wooyoung."
last time you were here, it was still summer. the grass was green, and the sun reflected the shiny letters on the tombstone. flowers decorated almost every grave, lots of colorful bundles and candles making the place less morbid. now, it was the opposite. you haven't visited since august, and it was already october. autumn has made the grass dry and brown, and tombstones grey and gloomy. his name didn't shine anymore. it was just letters on a stone.
"hi, baby." a shaky whisper leaves your mouth, almost disappearing with the wind. you crouch, placing fresh white lilies in front of the stone. fingers reach to graze the silver letters, tracing each one before tears blur your vision. "i brought you your favorite."
he never had a favourite flower. not until you gave him a compliment that made him blush for a week every time he looked at you.
"you're as pretty as a white lily, seonghwa."
"w-what?"
"what?"
"pretty? i am supposed to be handsome." his cheeks are a pretty pink shade, and his eyes are shiny as he looks at you flustered.
"you are handsome. and you're also very pretty. you're my pretty boy."
and he was.he was beautiful in every way. his eyes, his lips, his words, his soul. he was one of the purest people you've ever met. selfless, full of love and so sweet. you met him in a coffee shop where he worked, and lost him there too. three years ago on this day you met him. one year ago on this day you lost him.
"i miss you. i miss you so much its burning me inside out." you sob, fingers subconsciously caressing the stone like you once caressed his face. "he'll pay for it. i promise you. he will."
a week passes, and still nothing. the city hero has retreated who knows where, unaware of the boiling situation inside you. even as you sit in the emergency room, you do not react to the alcohol making your open wound bubble, instead thinking of ways to get to the man behind the mask.
"what happened again?" the doctor's assistant, who had just arrived in the room flushed with papers in her hands, asked as she looked at your leg.
"we were at the zoo, and we failed to hear that there was a viper on the lose. we found it when my crazy sister casually ripped the animal off her leg and tossed it over my head." your sister explains as she holds your niece, bouncing her on her hip to keep her occupied.
"time is crucial. had you come a few minutes later, you'd be dead, young lady."
"okay." you simply reply, emotionlessly watching as the doctor rubs ointment on the exposed flesh before wrapping it up.
your sister sighs. "right, thank you doctor."
"you must rest for a few days. no walking unless you absolutely must. see me again in a week."
you stand, walking over to the assistant and taking the note, as if you didn't hear what the doctor just said. "thanks. bye."
"i am so sorry." your sister apologizes, then rushes outside to catch up with you, struggling to carry her daughter. "wait!"
"i'm not walking fast."
"why are you like this?" she finally grabs your elbow, making you turn around and face her.
"like what?"
"like this! numb! like you don't care whether you live or die! don't you think about your family? your niece who has to see you like this? the only emotions she sees on you are rage and grief, and it makes her sad to see her once happy auntie turn into whatever this is now."
your eyes land on your niece, the five-year-old resting her head on her mothers shoulder and looking at you with sad eyes. with your fingers, you move the bangs out of her eyes, caressing her cheek in the process. "i don't care whether i live or die."
"what?"
"you heard me. i don't. if i live, i get to avenge seonghwa. if i die, i get to be with seonghwa. simple as that."
"listen," she pulls you aside, hiding you from curious eyes. "i hate to be the one to tell you this, but you need to move on."
"no."
"listen to me-"
"leave me alone. don't touch me." you yank your arm from her grip, hitting your niece with your elbow in the process.
the older woman gasps, and so does the child, before her eyes become shiny with tears and lips form a pout. you gulp, stepping back.
"don't ask about me. don't call me. don't visit me. forget about me."
the ground sways beneath your feet as you walk home. brain cluttered, heart racing, and leg aching, you barely make it to the park and fall on the wooden bench. you've never felt this ill before. not even when you got drunk on your last birthday. the autumn sun mercifully warms you as you doze off on the bench, not having the energy to care about whispers and pointed fingers.
when you wake up, you almost have to peel your eyes open. your lips remain shut, and you struggle to breathe. once your eyes gets used to the dark, they lock with other ones. a scream leaves your mouth, but is muffled by a hand firmly planted on your face. the stranger sits on your legs, having full control over your body. fuck, is this how you'll die?
"come on now, sweet thing. you were all sprawled out in the middle of the park. it's basically an invitation. why the sudden rejection?"
you were ready to be wounded. you were ready to be held captive. you were ready to be tortured. you were ready to die. but you were not ready to have another man touch what belonged to seonghwa. his touch still lingers, and you will not allow him to tarnish it.
"there, there. it'll be over quickly. or not. i'll decide how you deserve it."
his other hand doesn't bother to take your clothes off. instead, he unzips your jacket, then rips your shirt open. the cool air hits your clothed chest, and tears graze your cheeks as you realize there might not be a way out of this. he is strong, and big. and scary. the city is full of people, making it easy for freaks to blend in. you couldn't tell whether he was human or not.
his eyes glow in the dark, and they are hungry. hungry for your flesh or your essence, you did not know. you only knew one. seonghwa. finally, you cared whether you live or die. you'd rather die before this man touches you. you didn't want to live to go through this. you'd never forgive yourself.
"you're boring me." he sighs, annoyed. then, he removes his hand from your mouth. "scream, cry, beg. go on."
sharp pain cuts through your head, making you wince and shut your eyes.
"what the fuck?" you hear him say, then get off you.
when you open your eyes, your vision is... colorful. you no longer see the man, but a shadow that glows red, yellow, green and blue. you gasp, blinking a few times. it stays the same, and it scares you. what did he do to you?
"are those fucking fangs?"
your fingers reach to touch your mouth, and indeed: fangs.
"stay the hell away from me." he steps back.
"no- wait!"
the man you ran from is now running away from you. and you chase him, seeking help in danger. you follow the figure, soon catching up to it and knocking it to the floor. "no! get off me, you monster!"
"what did you do to me?!" your hands grip the fabric of his clothes, shaking his body for answers. "what did you do?!"
he spits in your face, causing you to fall back and give him a mere second to get up. thinking he is faster than you, he stops behind a tree to catch his breath. but you see him. you smell him. and you'll kill him.
"did you just fucking spit on me? after trying to rape my unconscious body?"
a choked gasp leaves his mouth, seeing your figure appear in front of him. "i'm so-"
before he can finish his pathetic apology, your fangs sink into his neck, causing him to shriek in pain. a foreign force takes over your body, making your nails plunge into his stomach, and fangs release liquid inside his flesh. once his squirming stops, you step away, letting his lifeless body fall to the ground. you no longer see vibrant colours, and your vision turns normal.
you don't get the chance to be surprised by your own actions, because you feel a rock hit your back, causing you to shift your attention to a family behind you, fingers pointed and jaws dropped. "viper!"
***
when you called in sick, everyone rushed to your door to make sure you're alright. you had never called in sick before, except the week when seonghwa passed away, and since then, you've been a raging workaholic. working for yourself, for him, and for spiderman. for his destruction. for his misery. you wanted him to feel what you felt that day. you wanted him to feel what you still feel every day. dying little by little, hoping to reunite with your lover but not having the confidence to do anything about it. you wished to see the hero grieving and miserable.
and it might be possible now more than ever. you stand in front of the mirror, finally gaining control over your vision. you could switch to infrared whenever you wanted, and you were quickly learning what exactly is happening in your body. it took you waking up and seeing your changed face in the mirror to finally visit an old friend.
"a radioactive viper." the scientist explained after examining your vitals. "gave you its powers. so cool."
"mingi, nothing about this is cool."
"is too! you can see infrared, you have venom in your fangs, and, uh, you have fangs! you just need to learn how to control all of it." he pokes your forehead, then makes his way to his desk and sits. you follow, desperation evident in your voice.
"mingi, please-"
"knock-knock!"
you run to mingi's closet, not wanting to show your fangs to another poor soul and scar them.
"you don't have to- oh what the hell." the blonde man gives up, letting you hide. "come in!"
"you free?"
"sort of. what is it?"
you watch through the crack as another tall man enters the office, a backpack loosely hanging from his shoulder. he is dressed casually, in loose black jeans and a red and blue college jacket. his hair is dark and falls over his brown eyes, which are curiously examining mingi's messy lab.
"experimenting? i've never seen your lab this messy."
"i just finished a research. nothing of importance so far. what's up, yunho?"
"i was hoping you'd help me with an assignment."
"come on! i finished college ages ago!"
while they're busy bickering, you slip from the closet and carefully make your way to the door. they sit at the round table, mingi finally obliging to help with the assignment. as the student reaches for his notebooks, he catches your figure by the door.
"hey, aren't you that journalist?"
fuck.
"you haven't dropped anything in a while. is everything alright?"
you can't tell if he is worried, or just thirsty for more of this one sided drama you have with the spiderman. you turn around, and your fangs retract in time. he also fully turns around, spinning on his chair in the process and eyes locking with yours.
"yes, it is. just... a writer's block. i'm taking a break from..."
"hating spiderman?" he finishes for you, causing you to furrow your eyebrows. "jeong yunho, nice to meet you."
"jeong yunho?" you repeat, name familiar in your ears. "the spiderman photographer?"
"guilty." he replies, a smile dancing on his lips.
mingi watches from aside as the tension thickens between the two of you. not many words are spoken, but each one feels like drawing a weapon and wielding it. a duel of words.
"say, why exactly do you dedicate all your time to him?"
"i thought you were a fan of my work. how do you not know?" you bite back, a sour smile decorating your equally sour face.
"oh, i know. i just wanted to hear it from you. after all, i am a fan of your work." yunho folds his arms across his chest, then leans against the table with his back. "but i am also a fan of spiderman. after all, he pays for my bills and tuition."
"i am not repeating what i wrote. countless times. you are free to visit my blog or read the newspaper. i have to go."
you turn around, angrily stomping towards the door. mingi sighs, relief washing over his body too quickly.
"i hope i cured your writer's block. i'll be waiting for your article, miss journalist."
you don't have to look at him to know that he is smirking. and you don't have to look at yourself in the mirror to know that your fangs are fully visible again.
it was the second time since the bite that you had the urge to kill someone. and it was the last time you looked normal. now, as you looked at your reflection in the mirror, you didn't know whether to be worried or excited. your fangs and vision were fully controlled, but the scales on your neck and jawline and viper eyes not. you don't seem to have any kind of power over them, and it limits you.
or frees you.
you are yet to decide. do you stay inside and learn to hide it, or do you unlock your full potential.
your eyes land on the opened article on your laptop screen once again.
viper - new threat or an escaped lunatic?
it's been a little over a week since the park attack. the family who witnessed it referred to the woman as the viper, describing how her eyes shined and fangs were smeared with blood when she turned around to look at them. they also described her way of moving and speed as something they'd never seen before, even though they all had encounters with heroes other than spiderman.
speaking of spiderman, will he wait for another attack to happen before he reacts? we all know of the uproar my friend and colleague received after calling him out. she has disappeared, called in sick, and never returned. is it possible that he has intervened? after all, she was onto something.
tick-tock, spiderman. lots of questions, accusations, and whatnot awaits you, yet you hide somewhere in your lair, letting all of this happen. letting the people you once helped to turn against you. it's time you stepped out and stood up for yourself.
if the viper is indeed a new threat, you have an opportunity to prove that you are not what she says you are.
wooyoung has unknowingly taken your side with this article. and it is all the encouraging you need.
it doesn't take you longer than a day to sew a hooded outfit for yourself, in order to blend in with the darkness and help you move easily. and it takes you less than a week to get spiderman's attention in a way that could've been avoided. you have raided almost every jewelry shop, broken cafe windows, destroyed parks. simply, you made everything you laid your eyes upon wilt.
at this point, you loved the thrill. cries for help were music to your ears, tearful faces pretty to look at, and your name on many articles and news stroking your ego. you could only imagine the look on spiderman's face as he watches people begging him for help. but you are yet to reach the main goal of this show.
you couldn't wait to show yourself to him. to finally make him see for himself what power you possess. to not only see it, but to feel it, and to beg you to stop.
and it happens on a late night as you sit on the edge of your building, legs hanging above the still busy streets. the dark hood covers the scales on your neck and jaw, but leaves your bright yellow eyes exposed. you scan the city, looking for a particular swinging figure. and you spot him, coming this way. he doesn't seem to notice you, taking his sweet time shooting webs and swinging from the buildings. until his web catches your leg instead of the brick wall, and you swiftly break it.
his sixth sense works in his favour, because he is quick to shoot again, this time next to you. you let him be, watching as his rhythm gets disrupted and he hangs from a single web before regaining control. while he takes his sweet time to adjust, his gaze seems to lock with yours, and you see the way the big white shapes widen in shock, representing his eyes. you only smile, then turn around, as if walking away. he skillfully lands in front of you, in his usual spider stance.
"who are you?" he doesn't hesitate to ask, taking slow steps towards you.
"come and find out." you reply, stepping back. little by little, you reach the edge of the building, your heels hovering above the streets. "if you dare."
with that, you let your body fall. the cool air and gravity envelop it, sending shivers down your spine. and surely, in no time, the masked man is in your vision. he catches up to you, shooting a web and swiping your body in the air with a single hand. your hands hold onto his shoulders, gripping the red and blue fabric as anger boils inside of you. finally.
"gotcha." you hiss into his ear.
"what?" he asks, not sure if he heard right. but once your teeth sink through his suit and into his neck, realization hits him.
he almost drops you, pain ripping through his body as he struggles to reach any kind of surface around him. you don't release any liquid inside yet, rather choosing to keep him on the edge. but the pain of the bite is enough to break him, and he loses control of his webs and becomes dizzy. just in time, you jump on a nearby fire escape, leaving his limp body hanging from a single web and hitting the brick wall. even for spiderman, that must've hurt. and you are not sorry for it.
he'll take this as a warning.
you have him where you wanted him since day one: unconscious, powerless, and vulnerable. all it would take is a single bite again, a proper one this time. and you'd be happy and content. but not before breaking him, little by little.
"i'll stomp on you, you little insect. i'll feed on your pain and misery." you seethe as you watch people open their windows and try to help him, pulling on his limbs and almost tearing him apart, trying to be the one to save the hero. with a nearby fire extinguisher, you break the single web by throwing it his way, making his body fall to the ground. you turn to leave, but not before spitting on the floor where he lays and people are gathered around him.
***
you lay awake at night, thinking of your next step. he doesn't know who you are, and you plan to make it clear. so much that when he sees you in your human form, he'll stay away from you. you want his fear, his tears, his grief. you'll feed on it like a starved vulture, not stopping until he wails under your touch.
sitting on top of the building has become your new favourite spot. you could go higher for a better vision, true. but this one has the cafe. this one feels like seonghwa and the memory of him. you can almost smell the soft vanilla that lingered on his skin, and the coconut that made his black hair soft and shiny.
a lily lays in your palm, its petals pearly white with a few red stripes. it reminds you of his face, before he took the last breath. pretty pale face, with blood streaming on the side of his head and coating his cheeks and neck, white sweater soaking it up.
you don't know how many times you've replayed that memory in your head. but you know you'll do it many times again. it is your biggest motivation.
"it's a bit cold tonight for sitting here, don't you think?"
if his plan was to catch you off guard and scare you, he failed miserably. "it is perfect."
he hums behind you. "you could've killed me. you didn't. why?"
you pull at a petal, ripping it away from the bud. "it would've been too easy."
"who are you?" he is persistent.
"careful." you warn, pulling at another petal and watching it fall on the street below. "you know how it ended last time you asked that question, spidey boy."
"what do you want from me?"
you sigh, feeling bored of the conversation already. you rip out another petal, and another, until there is only one left. "what makes you think i want something from you?"
"you've been causing trouble left and right. robbing places, but returning everything after a few days. as if you wanted to get my attention. or are you simply that sick in your head and you love to play god with people?"
"i don't want anything from you. i want you."
he is taken aback, lips struggling to form a sentence.
you feel him step closer, but you don't budge yet, back still facing him. "tell me one thing, spiderman."
"what?"
"do you feel sorry for the damage you're doing to this city?"
"wh-" his word comes out broken, and his breath hitches as you throw you head back, yellow eyes looking right into his. a wicked smile dances on your lips, your hood falling from your head and finally revealing your face to him. "you."
"peekaboo." you rip the last petal, and in a swift motion, stand up and latch yourself onto him.
he falls to the ground with a grunt, arms planted on your waist in order to keep you away from him. your nails dig into his wrists, and his fingers dig into your flesh. his grip is as strong as yours, causing you to wince and pull away.
"i asked you a damn question. you know who i am, you're familiar with my work. tell me, do you feel- oof!" he tackles you to the ground, this time him being on top.
"you think i care about pretty cars and fancy shops when i need to defeat an alien army?" his long fingers wrap around your neck, squeezing its sides and ridding you of oxygen. "you think i have time and energy to stop and think before attacking or dodging?"
your nails reach for his neck, finding the hem of his mask and trying to pull it off his head. once he realizes what you're trying to do, he takes both of your hands in his single one and pins them against the cold concrete above your head.
"how about this: next time, you come up with a solution. i'll gladly let you handle it, and i'll stand aside and take notes. is that good enough for you, doll?"
"let go of me." you foolishly demand.
"hmm... no." his grip on your neck intensifies, until your vision starts to darken. "good night, my little journalist."
you had hoped it was just a dream. how could you let your guard down? instead, you are awoken by cold water splashing your face. you find yourself in a foreign room and a cozy bed.
"oops. did i wake you?"
your head turns to the figure that sits on the bed. "you."
"me. and your bestie." the photographer points at the scientist who stands at the door.
"where am i? why am i here?" you take in your surroundings, forgetting that yunho has now seen your true nature.
the bedroom you're in is a simple one; with a bookshelf, a gaming table, and a comfortable bed. you haven't slept in such a soft bed in a while. once you finish examining the room, your eyes lock with the photographer's, and you finally realize. you're in his room.
"it's okay." mingi assures, stepping in before your fangs dip into his neck. which is covered by a turtleneck. "you can trust him. i do."
"trust someone who just poured water in my face?" you grumble, wiping the liquid with your sleeve. you then notice you are not wearing your clothes. instead, you wear a blue and red college jacket you've seen once already. the colours that make you sick to your stomach. "why am i wearing his clothes?"
"i'm right here, journalist. you can talk to me, i don't bite."
the way he calls you journalist is familiar to you. but mingi calls you that too, so you drop it. "why am i wearing your clothes?"
"well, in case aunt may barges in the room, it's easier to explain the scales than the whole inej ghafa aesthetic you had going on."
"in what world is that easier?"
"guys," mingi sighs, "i really have to go. promise me that you won't kill each other."
"where are you going?" you ask, disbelief evident in your voice. he can't possibly leave you alone with the photographer.
"believe it or not, i have a family and a job." the blonde man says, putting on his leather jacket. it is odd to see him wearing anything other than a white lab coat.
"and i don't?" yunho raises an eyebrow at his friend.
"you," mingi walks over just to flick the photographer's forehead, "have a day off. i'll be back tonight."
"but-!" he doesn't let you finish, waving and slamming the door of yunho's room on the way out. "asshole."
silence envelops the room, and you didn't know how much you needed it until now. the vengeful voices in your head have taken a break, letting you enjoy peace for the first time in a while. you lay in a stranger's bed, wearing his clothes, and listen to him breathe.
"you have questions." he wakes you from your meditation.
"i do."
"go on." he turns his body towards you, still sitting on the edge of his bed. "i'll answer truthfully. i promise."
you pull your legs close to your chest, hugging your knees and resting your chin on top of them. "how did i get here?"
"mingi found you unconscious in his lab when he returned from the toilet. then, he brought you to my place. you know he has a big and loud family. he assumed you'd like the peace and quiet here."
he isn't wrong. you do like the peace here. and you also like the coziness of the jacket and the soft blankets, no matter who they belong to or the colours. "you know what i am?"
"you're not a what, journalist. you're a who. and i know who you are. you are y/n, my favourite journalist from nexus daily, and viper, my new favourite villain."
"so i'm a villain?" you scoff.
"well, yes. anyone that harms civilians is considered a villain." he tilts his head slightly, trying to maintain eye contact with you as your eyes stay locked on the silver rings on his fingers. "go on. ask."
"why haven't you handed me over to your spidey friend?"
yunho hums. "i guess i could. but it is not my fight. it is none of my business. he can come find you yourself."
"you say mingi found me in his lab. i had an encounter with spiderman last night. he choked me until i passed out, so he could've handed me over to whatever forces. or destroy me himself. i doubt i found my own way there." you're puzzled, memories of last night flooding your brain.
"maybe he wanted to give you a chance to rethink your decisions. a chance to change."
"nothing will change my decisions and goal." you glare at him. he nods, disappointment evident on his face. "have you snapped any pictures of me? sold them? how much am i going for?"
"no, i haven't. do you take me for that kind of person? to take pictures of you while you are unconscious and vulnerable?" he is now even more disappointed, furrowing his eyebrows as he looks at you with intense eyes. "you think mingi would drop you off here and leave me alone with you if i was like that?"
"you can't be mad at me for asking."
"i'm not mad, i just..." he sighs. "i'm not mad."
you're silent for a while, as is he. your gaze is locked on his slender fingers that play with the rings, similarly to how you play with the hem of your top when you're thinking or nervous. when a light breeze brushes your cheeks, you realize that his window is tilted open. you wrap yourself in his jacket, and he notices. without a word, he stands up to close it, letting you take in his whole figure. he is taller than mingi, and his black turtleneck shows off his slender figure. wonder why he hides it under oversized hoodies and jackets.
"your turn." you say as he sits back on the bed, averting your eyes from his body before he catches you staring and teases you.
"why do you hate him?"
"you know-"
he interrupts, "no, i don't. i only know there's more to it than your articles tell. there's more to it than a demolished city."
instead of answering, you opt for avoiding his gaze. you stare at the spiderman photographs on the wall above his desk, resentment growing with each picture you notice. "it's none of your business."
"true, it isn't. but if you want me on your side, you'll have to tell me. what is it that he did that has you using your powers against the city?" he sits closer to you, and for a moment, you think he wants to take your hands in his. but they only move for an inch, before resting back on his lap. "you're not a bad person. at least you weren't, that's what mingi tells me. he still believes that you are not a villain. and i wish to believe it too."
"he made me a villain." you finally lock eyes with him.
"spiderman did?" yunho tilts his head again, confused. it reminds you of a curious puppy.
"yes. he took everything from me, that reckless bastard. and i intend to take everything from him, before i take him. and i'll keep protecting the city from the foolish avengers, i'll take down each one of them if i can't keep them away, and i won't stop until i am done. then, i'll surrender. i'll rest."
at the mention of avengers, yunho tenses. "tell me."
"they don't care about anything when they fight. they ruin whatever they touch. they ruined my life, he ruined my life! he took my lover away from me." tears prick your eyes, announcing their glorious arrival. you grit your teeth, brain replaying the horrid memories of the day. "we were at a cafe, celebrating the anniversary of the day we met. foolish, i know. but it was special to us. everything was normal, until the news announced that we stay inside wherever we are and do not exit. we could see a giant swinging a bat or something left and right, and spiderman just throwing anything and everything at him."
tears have soaked your cheeks already, just like then while you both crouched under the table that day. you shook from fear, and he held you, kissing the top of your head and assuring you that everything would be okay while stroking your hair.
"when they were in front of the cafe, that idiot of a hero swung a car at the villain, and fucking missed, sending it through the window and-" you hiccup, burying your face into the sleeves of the soft jacket, "and-"
"it's alright." yunho hushes you as he stands up and sits next to you, resting his back against the headboard. he carefully pulls you into a hug, caressing your hair as you cry into his chest. when you don't push him away, he rests his head on top of yours. "you don't have to-"
"and it landed on him. on seonghwa. everyone ran away, they left me alone with him. half of his body was stuck underneath, and i couldn't pull him out. he didn't feel his lower body, he just begged me to leave him there and save myself. but i couldn't. i went out on the street, didn't care about the fight going on, and called for help. even foolishly thought spiderman would hear me and just lift the damn car. but he didn't. he kept throwing vehicles and whatnot around, above my head, into the buildings, and so on. he saved the city, but he killed the love of my life. my reason to live."
if you weren't violently sobbing and shaking, you would've heard his heart beat faster where your head rested against his chest.
"i am so sorry, doll."
and if you weren't swallowed by the veil of an opened wound, you would've heard how familiar that nickname sounds.
the photographer assured you that you could stay as much as you wanted. and you appreciated it. you enjoyed the coziness of his room, the cooking of his aunt, and the company of jeong yunho himself. he was kind and funny, and didn't push you like mingi did. you felt like your old self with him. until you'd catch your own reflection in the mirror, and the shiny scales brought you back where you were.
you didn't forget about your goal. but yunho's company made your heart calm and brain clear. he kept you occupied while he was there, and charged his aunt with it when he wasn't. yunho also didn't push you to forgive spiderman, or anything similar. he never spoke of it again, wouldn't even mention him when he came back from work.
"i brought treats!" he came earlier one day, just when you were changing into your clothes. he stopped with a box of muffins in his hand, eyes looking at his discarded jacket and brows furrowed. "where are you going?"
"i'm leaving, yunho."
"what? why?" he pouts subconsciously.
"i overstayed my welcome. and i am delaying my goal. the sooner i do it, the sooner i get to rest."
while he attempts to formulate an argument, you pick up the jacket from the bed and approach him. the brown eyed man observes with curiosity as you place the jacket into his free hand, then rise on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek.
"thank you. i felt like myself the past few weeks. like the old me. and thank you for listening and not judging. it means a lot to me."
he blushes furiously, the tips of his ears turning hot and red as you step back and smile at him. "i- i- don't go."
"i must."
"isn't there another way?" he shoves the jacket back in your hands, as if that'll make you stay. "the avengers will crush you."
"this is the only way. he needs to learn. no amount of talking will save him. i gave him many opportunities."
"please don't go. i- i grew fond of you. i don't want anything to happen to you." he admits. he puts the treats aside, then grabs your shoulders. "i can talk to him for you."
you scoff. "you're cute. no."
dropping the jacket on the floor, you turn your back on him, and make your way to his window. you hear him huff out of frustration.
"even if i stayed, yunho, my heart still belongs to seonghwa."
"journalist?" he calls when you step out of the window.
"yes?"
"go easy on him. he may not be as strong as you were."
"no promises."
and when you jump out, he whispers to himself: "i know i am not as strong as you were."
***
finding the hero was a challenge once again. you didn't practice any fighting. you didn't have to. your venom was enough. it had to be. what was he compared to your bite? you have also shortened your goal. you won't go down on his level. your plan was to kill someone he cared about, but killing him would do enough harm to his family already. if they knew what he was.
"finally," you breathe out, seeing the blue and red figure swinging through the streets.
but before he can properly land on the rooftop, another figure jumps on top of him, pushing him to the ground and delivering a punch. you step back, watching as the creature relentlessly hits his masked face, all while he struggles to fight back.
"oh, no you won't." you rush to them, jumping on the stranger's back, pulling him away from the man on the floor. "he is mine to kill!"
"who the fuck-" the figure throws you on the floor, pinning your hands to the ground and yanking your hood off. "you."
"you- you bastard. how are you alive?" you stare at the eyes that you first saw that night. the eyes that were once lifeless. because you were the one who drained the life out of him.
he smiles disgustingly, then looks over at the hero. "he saved me."
you were wrong. it wasn't your essence or your flesh, it was both he craved. and you won't give it to him. not then, not today.
"he saved you only because he didn't know what a sick and twisted bastard you are!" you push him off you with your feet on his chest, sending him flying to the other end of the rooftop.
the hero that was once on the floor runs over to you, helping you stand. "are you hurt?"
"get your fucking hands off me." you push him away, but he doesn't budge. you try again, punching his chest, kicking and screaming. he simply takes both of your hands in his, and cups your jaw so you can calm down and look at him.
"help me get rid of him, then we can solve this. torture me, kill me, do what you want. but help me kill this whoreson."
"why? who is he?"
"he is a shapeshifter." he seems to hesitate a bit before continuing," and a rapist."
a faint grunt is heard, and you both look his way. he stands there panting, no longer in his human form. he is hairy, and has taken an almost werewolf-like appearance. then, he looks at you with the most evil smile you've ever seen. and you know you have to move. but your legs stay on the ground, frozen and disobedient. his figure speeds up, sharp teeth gleaming under the faint city lights and red eyes hungrily taking you in. just before he can jump on you with his jaw wide open and his pointy tongue peeking out, the hero grabs you by your waist once again, shielding you with his body.
the creature latches onto spiderman's back, digging its claws into his back, causing him to yelp. even though that's where you wanted him, it makes your heart twitch with pain. he doesn't let go of you, still hugging you close to his chest and shielding you from the blood thirsty claws.
it is not until they break through his back and chest, and almost pierce through you, that the hero pushes you away from him. he falls to the floor once again, fingers digging into the concrete and pained moans and groans leaving his mouth.
"go! leave!" he yells at you.
"no!" you yell back. "i am not leaving without at least one body tonight!"
the creature retracts one of his hands, only to point it at you and make a gust of wind pull you close to him. his open hand catches your body by your neck, raising it from the floor and squeezing it. you gasp for air, nails desperately clawing at the hairy hand, but to no avail.
"silly little viper." he growls. "it will be me who will leave with not one, but two bodies tonight. you and your little friend."
the hero uses the moment of distraction to hit the werewolf, making him release you. in a split second, spiderman skillfully avoids the kicks and punches, as well as the bite attempts. one bite must've taught him enough.
"please, leave!" the hero begs.
"no!" you refuse, joining him in the fight.
your speed allows you to dodge the attacks, as well as landing them. you are not as strong, but you have found his weak points. his sides, crotch, and neck. then, he pushes you away with a gust of wind once again, and focuses on the masked man. when you stand back up, you are tired. sick and tired of being tossed around so easily. bruised, hurt, and angry.
you look at the two, ready to give it your all this time. then, you stop. blinking a few times, you wonder if you're seeing right. there's two red and blue heroes in front of you, both in an equally bad condition. suit ripped, blood seeping through the fabric, and heavy breathing.
"what the fuck?" you breathe out.
"please, you have to go. we'll solve our issue another day, i promise." one of them shouts, stepping over.
"no! i told you we'd solve it once we get rid of him! don't leave, we are so close!" the other joins.
they both sounds identical, look identical. and you are torn. if you leave, the real one might get killed, which would fulfill your goal. but the fake one stays, still terrorizing the women and girls in the city. if you stay, you'll have to choose which one to save. and how can you possibly know which one is the real one? their masks are ripped in a few places, identical as well, but it doesn't help. even if they took off their masks completely, you couldn't tell. you have never seen spiderman without his mask on.
"i don't-" you stutter, looking between the two. "i don't know what to do."
"i am the real one, journalist."
"no, i am! you work for nexus daily and-"
"your boss is ruby allen!"
"we met on this rooftop twice already!"
"and you threw yourself off it the first time!"
"you had lilies in your hand the second time!"
the other one quiets down. and it confuses you. if he were the real one, wouldn't he keep talking? you raise an eyebrow, looking him up and down. "aren't you going to keep proving you are the real one?"
"i don't have to." he whispers, then steps closer.
you step back, confused as ever. "and why not?"
"because," he sighs, then, with his bloodied hand, takes the ripped mask off. "the lilies were for seonghwa."
"yu-" you choke on the word. "yunho-"
"i am so sorry, doll. i am so sorry it had to be this way."
"that's not- you can't-" at a loss for words, you put a hand over your mouth.
your biggest comfort for the past few weeks was your biggest enemy. the person you swore to kill. the person who killed your lover.
"don't do this to me." you cry.
"i'm sorry, journalist."
"the hell with you two!" the shifter turns back into the werewolf, running full speed at you.
"save yourself. please. i'll find you afterwards. i promise." he smiles at you assuringly, eyes glossy with tears, as much as yours.
"i will kill you, jeong yunho. maybe not today. but one day i will."
"i know, doll. and i won't fight back. i'll make it the easiest kill for you."
taking one last look at his beat up face, you hiccup and hide a sob, then run. run until you can no longer, collapsing in a narrow dark street, face buried in your bloodied hands. you finally free the sobs that have accumulated in your throat, tormenting you, and heart aching as the brain processes the newfound information.
how are you to kill jeong yunho?
***
among all the shapeshifter headlines, one of spiderman catches your attention.
spiderman missing!
he has been missing for weeks now, and no amount of hanging at the rooftop, by his window or at the lab could bring him back. you hated spiderman, but you liked yunho. and each thought of yunho was betrayal to seonghwa. your heart wished to move on, accepting defeat, yet your brain was stubborn. you wanted to carry out your plan. you wanted to destroy spiderman. but how can you, when he has the kindest eyes and the sweetest smile you've ever seen since seonghwa's passing?
the cool air does nothing to you as you walk on the edge of the building, hoping to see the familiar red and blue swinging among the skyscrapers. he must be holed up somewhere, recovering all by himself. when you left him, he was already in a bad condition. he heals faster, you know it. but how fast can one heal when someone has had their hands pierced through their body?
with a sigh, you climb back into your room, and suddenly, a hand finds its way over your mouth. another one holds your waist in place, while the person lowers their head on your shoulder, lips brushing against your ear shell.
"it's me, journalist." his breath is hot against your cheek. "i'll let go now. don't scream, doll."
once he does, you don't hesitate to jump to the other side of the room, grabbing the nearest object to shield yourself. the floor lamp is yet to prove effective, but you hold it pointed at him just in case. "how do i know it's you?"
"he doesn't know you hate my guts. relax. it's really me."
your eyes finally take in his form. he is still in his ripped suit, holding his side, blood seeping through the fabric and leg limp. his face is swollen and full of cuts, and his breaths shallow.
"what are you doing here?"
"i didn't know where else to go." he admits.
"so you came to the death's door?"
"window, technically."
you scoff in disbelief. "you're a fool, jeong yunho."
"my fate is inevitable. it is only a matter of time when i meet my end, but before that, i need you."
ignoring the fuzzy feeling in your stomach, you set the lamp down, not breaking eye contact with him. you need to have him in sight at all times. "where are your little avengers?"
"someone told me you didn't like them. besides, i want you to get your revenge. i promise i didn't know what he did to you, otherwise i'd never-"
"you seem so relaxed about the fact that i'll kill you." you interrupt him. "why is that? what are you planning?"
he limps over to your bed, dropping on it on his side and letting out a hiss in pain. "i had time to think. seonghwa's death is the only death i know of. how many more are there? all because of my reckless fighting."
you wish to say that he doesn't deserve to utter seonghwa's name. but his face scrunched in pain and bruises, and blood covering his body are enough for you to swallow your words. he really had nowhere to go?
"after-" he coughs, then yelps, holding his side, "after we kill the shapeshifter... you can come find me in mingi's lab. i thought i'd make it look like a suicide, so you don't have anyone on your back and you can live freely."
"stop that. go to sleep, we'll talk in the morning."
were it not for his current state, you wouldn't let him stay inside this long, let alone sleep over. but you still have a heart, and you still remember that beneath the ripped mask is jeong yunho. the man that made you feel human again. the man that made you not visit seonghwa's grave in a while, because his name shined in your face as if yelling cheater. but seonghwa would never do that, even if you had found someone else by now. don't stop living because of me, he said with his last breath.
but how can you live with all the damage you've done by now, under the excuse that it is for him?
upon exiting the room, you miss the way yunho's warm brown eyes follow your figure, lips curved in a light smile. if he was going to die, he was glad that you would be the one doing it. at least one person will be at peace.
***
"i don't want it to look like a suicide." you say as you sit on the edge of the building, legs hanging above the city street.
"what?" the masked man asks. "why?"
"i want them to know i did it."
conveniently, the hood covers your eyes, which are burning as tears announce their arrival. with each hour that passes, you pray that the shapeshifter doesn't appear. if he does, you pray that he kills you, so that you don't kill yunho. and if he doesn't, you pray that he kills yunho instead of you doing it. not because you don't want the city to hate you, or the avengers after you, but because you don't have the heart to do it. not after those weeks with him, and not after last night.
not after you had climbed into the bed sleepily, forgetting that you have company in it and forgetting that it was the reason you were sleeping on the couch in the first place. cold, shivering and a mumbling mess, you had found your way into his arms, nuzzling your head into his bare chest and soaking up his warmth. he smelled like blood and sweat, but felt like the fluffiest cloud on the sky. the cloud just before the sun sets; the orange and pink one, the prettiest one. the last one.
you woke up before him, cursing yourself for getting in there. to make things worse, you got up fast, accidentally elbowing him on his side and causing him to grunt in his sleep. wherever he was hiding and whatever he did must've tired him, because he doesn't wake up. it gives you a chance to properly look at him. and when you finish examining his flushed face, his bruised cheekbones, his cut lips and jaw, and his fluttering lashes, it gives you a chance to change your mind.
you sit on your window, sewing his suit. the blue and the red suddenly pretty shades, and no longer waking anger inside of you. and you hated yourself for it. you hated yourself so much for it that you considered jumping off the building you're sitting on right now. but you know he'd catch you, and you'd have to explain.
"if you do that, the whole world will hate you." yunho whispers.
"they can't hate me if i'm dead."
"no-"
"we have company." you interrupt, not wanting to hear anymore.
the shapeshifter is back in its spot again, glimmering eyes piercing through you like the sharpest knives. yunho gulps next to you. "there's something different about it."
you hum, examining the creature. it is in its werewolf appearance, teeth on full display and dripping with blood and saliva. "the insect and the reptile. the party can now begin."
"yeah. it seems to be..." you examine it as it leaps at you, "glowing."
just before he latches onto you, yunho pulls your body into his, then wastes no time in throwing you on the creature's back. fangs yearning to pierce his skin, and fingers pulling at his hairy head, you hold onto him for dear life. one wrong move and you're dead.
while yunho distracts him, you still struggle to bite him. not because he's moving too fast, but because his skin seems too thick for a bite. and then, fear swallows you whole. maybe you bit off more than you can chew.
the shifter senses the change in your demeanor, as does yunho. it's almost as if you can see his eyes widen under the mask right before you feel unbearable pain on your neck. its singular hand wraps entirely around it, and you swear you hear your bones crushing under his grip.
no amount of yunho's distracting works on the being. its eyes stare deep into your soul, and it's the last thing you see before your vision blurs and finally darkens.
seonghwa, here i come.
***
you always thought that seonghwa would be waiting by the gates for you.
not only is there no seonghwa, there is no gate either. just endless light. no corners, no ceiling. just a vast floor and space. you thought dying would be... well, you didn't think about that part much. you only thought of reuniting with your lover. and if you did think about it, you didn't imagine it so dull.
where was the pain? the suffering? the regret? the desire to be alive again?
"darling?"
ah. there it is.
the guilt.
eating you up alive as you turn around, eyes locking with familiar ones that you've missed with your entire being. up until recently, you cried yourself to sleep, wailed and tortured yourself, wishing to gaze upon those brown eyes one more time. yet why can't you look at him right now?
"what are you doing here?" the sound of footsteps bounces off the non existent - or invisible - walls, and make you bite the inside of your cheek.
your gaze is fixed on his white attire; a loose white linen shirt and white pants, along with a simple white bracelet with a familiar flower as a charm.
"my love," he calls, voice so soft it has you melting on the floor. literally. he crouches in front of you, holding you by your shoulders while your legs feel like jelly. "oh, darling."
your face rests in his warm palm which holds your head up for him to see. finally, you look at him again. he still smells of vanilla. "seonghwa."
"what did the world do to you, my sweet?"
you smile into his touch. "it doesn't matter now, does it? i'm here."
you expect him to smile back. yet he doesn't. he examines your bruises and cuts, gently feeling them under his thumb as he holds your jaw in his hand. "what troubles you?"
he summons the guilt once again. he knows. he has to know. why does he make you say it out loud?
"i think i fell in love with your murderer."
that's when he smiles. not mischievously, not condescendingly, and not in any way that would make you feel worse. the smile is soft and genuine, just like his whole being. do you even deserve park seonghwa, even after death?
"say something." voice a mere whisper, you beg. "please, hwa."
thoughts race, and hands shake. you can't seem to hold eye contact longer than two seconds. yet seonghwa simply presses his plush lips against your forehead, erasing every thought you had for a split second. he gives you peace.
"it's not as if it matters anymore. i'm dead anyway."
"that's where you are wrong, darling." he helps you stand.
"what?"
"you're not dead. you are unconscious."
"then why-" you step back, making seonghwa's hands fall from your body. suddenly, you feel cold and empty. you wish you could jump into his arms and bury your face into the crook of his neck, just to smell and feel him properly one more time. "why are you here?"
"i came to tell you that you need to let go."
"never." you gasp in disbelief. "i could never let you go."
"i'll always be in your memories. but, sweetheart, you need to move on. you need to let me rest as well."
you never thought of it that way. by holding grudge and seeking revenge, you didn't let his poor soul find peace. "this isn't just about you or me. it's about countless others who died the same way."
"the sooner you realise that i died so that thousand others could survive, the sooner you'll be at peace."
"but why you, seonghwa?" your voice cracks. and it shatters seonghwa's heart, you can see it. it makes you feel even worse, causing him pain when he should be resting in peace. "why did it have to be you?"
"because if it wasn't me, then it would've been you. and all deities know that i wouldn't be able to survive losing you."
"hwa-" you cry out.
"you have to come back, journalist."
"don't call me that." you step back, furrowing your eyebrows.
seonghwa's expression shifts. he doesn't look at you with a loving gaze anymore. as if he wants to anger you, scare you away back into life. "journalist."
"stop."
his facial features start melting, taking a different shape. eyes, nose, lips, hair. no longer your seonghwa. "don't die on me, doll."
"stop it! stop! don't call me that!"
"god, please, wake up." his voice is the last one to change. "come back so you can kill me, dammit."
you didn't know you were holding back a scream. a painful shriek, rather. one that has you almost stop breathing, but it wakes you up from the deep slumber.
"seonghwa." you pant.
"i got you." the voice says, and you feel arms wrapping around your shaking figure.
back at the rooftop. seonghwa gone. yunho alive. chest painful from sobbing. scratch marks all over your face. your own hair between your fingers. bloody insides of your cheeks. how long were you hurting yourself subconsciously?
"why would you wake me up? i was finally with him." you feel betrayed.
"you had unfinished business." yunho replies, still holding you in a hug which prevents you from further hurting yourself. "you have a hero to kill."
the sooner you realise that i died so that thousand others could survive, the sooner you'll be at peace.
why did he have to be so good, even after his death? why did he make everything so much harder?
in the corner of your eye, you see the creature. he is back in his human form, all beat up and very much dead. yunho himself doesn't look great, either. his mask is barely holding together, and there is claw marks all over his body. you were supposed to help, and you let him down.
"i'm ready whenever you are." the dark eyed man interrupts your thoughts. "i won't tell you to make it quick or painless. i'm sure it wasn't like that for you. you don't have to go easy on me."
your eyes watch as he rips his mask apart, then fidgets with the fabric as he awaits your decision of his fate.
"you are really ready to die for a stranger?"
he scoffs to himself. "not only for you or seonghwa. for everyone else i've damaged and haven't taken accountability for."
he died, yet thousands survived.
the sooner i make my peace with it, the sooner seonghwa will rest in peace himself.
"any last words for me?" he offers, tilting his head to look at you. puppy-like. just his style.
"actually, yes." will the self hatred and guilt go away by themselves? "there's a fried chicken place that works until late."
"huh?"
"i'm not waiting for you or carrying you." will seonghwa regret what he said to you?
"oh." yunho is confused more than surprised. he isn't sure whether this is one of your games or you are genuine. until you turn around as you reach the edge of the building and smile at him.
"hurry. i'm quite hungry."
yunho can't help but roll his eyes and smile as he watches your figure fall from the building. he will catch you. he always does.
he even forgot he wasn't wearing the mask anymore.
maybe you spared him so that you can plan his demise without anyone interfering. maybe you had a change of heart. or maybe, he was dead already, and was given the punishment of falling in love with you but never being able to have you.
whatever it was, he wouldn't give up the current moment for anything in this world; the two of you sitting on his window, eating crispy chicken, ignoring the fact that you tried to kill each other not that long ago, and the sneaky glances.
if this was his fate until the end of times, he won't complain. he will embrace it with arms wide open. he'll fall from the building again. he'll willingly let you bite again. he'll take claws through his body again. all of it, if it meant it guaranteed your happiness.
summary: when you come into his shop to get your boyfriend's car fixed, yunho can help but wonder what a hardworking, pretty girl like you is doing with someone so...pathetic. and maybe, just maybe, he feels like he could treat you better.
pairing: cowboy mechanic!yunho x female!reader
genre: non-idol au | strangers to lovers | angst | fluff (no smut yet, but there will be eventually)
rating: pg-13 (18+ for the whole series bc there will be smut eventually)
word count: 5.6k
content/warnings: pet names (sweetheart, doll)
notes: thank you so so much to @yunho-onlyhands & @skzdust for beta reading this for me 🤧 it means so much, and it very much helped me iron out this draft 💗
also thank you so so much for all the love on this series so far! i truly love writing for this couple so much. they make me so happy 😞
Getting up out of bed for the next several days took nearly all of your energy. And unfortunately, “getting cheated on” is not an acceptable reason to get out of work, so you were forced to call in sick. Using up the last of your sick days for the year. Everything was so draining, and somehow every corner of that godforsaken apartment was just a painful reminder of the years you seemed to have wasted.
Your head swelled and pounded from the lack of sleep, and the endless hours of tossing and turning left you unbearably irritable. Even trying to make yourself meals felt like an impossible task.
You basked in the irony that your apartment was messier than ever. You were trying to pick away at Yeonjun’s endless amount of stuff. Throwing whatever you could find in boxes and letting it pile up in the kitchen. But somehow you were constantly finding shit that you had to physically restrain yourself from tossing straight into the garbage.
And you probably would have been living in your mess for days on end if Rosie hadn’t forced herself into your apartment nearly every day. Her cheerful energy never wavering when she burst through your front door. Usually bringing snacks and treats with her.
Today was no different. This time, though, when she dragged you out of bed, she started laying out outfits. A variety of short, fringe skirts and topslined up haphazardly across your unmade bed, complimented by a pair of white cowboy boots tossed onto the floor.
“What is all this?” you asked, brows furrowing while you failed to suppress a yawn.
She grinned at you, “We’re going to a party.”
“Oh, Ro. I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” you grimaced at the idea of being surrounded by sweaty strangers in a house you’d never seen, Rosie’s usual party scene.
“Oh, babe…” She mimicked your tone, “You have no choice.”
You pouted at her, and she mirrored that, too. Before breaking into a wide grin, “C’mon! I know you’ll have fun! It’s not a house party. It’s a barn bash that Mingi invited me to. He said his friend’s family hosts one every year, and he really loves it. And I don’t know what I’d do without my favorite girl there.”
You eyed her suspiciously, “‘His friend…”
She bit her lip in a failed attempt to hide her smile. Her clearly freshly manicured hand swatted at your arm, “Come on! You haven’t seen him in weeks! And you don’t even have to talk to him. I really just want to have you there,” she laid her head on your shoulder, “Between you and me, though, Mingi says he still talks about you a lot.”
You scoffed, but Rosie could tell clear as day how flattered you were by that statement. A heavy sigh fell from your lips, “Can we at least get ice cream after?”
Her face lit up, “Yes! So you’ll come?”
You nodded and smiled softly at her, “Yes, Ro. I’ll come.”
“Oh yay!” She wrapped you in a hug. When she pulled back, her grin was full of scheming. “Okay…let’s play dress up.”
After several hours of letting her dress you up and do your make up and hair, Mingi pulled up outside your apartment. Loud music spilling out the windows of his shiny black sports car.
Rosie grabbed your arm when she saw him leaning against the hood of the car, dark sunglasses covering his eyes. “Oh girl I got so lucky, didn’t I?” She whispers to you.
You rested a hand over hers, “Well I’d say he got pretty lucky, too.”
She giggled and smiled up at you. Letting her head lean on your shoulder as you both made your way down the sidewalk to his car.
He grinned and waved as he saw you both approaching, pushing himself off the car. “Wow, you both look great.” He slid his sunglasses onto his head, and you watched as Rosie ogled up and down at him. You wouldn’t lie, he looked really good. In a tight black t-shirt that didn’t quite reach the waistband of his black leather pants, leaving a sliver of his midriff exposed. The black, studded boots he wore were the perfect way to stay on theme but put his own spin on it. Suddenly, it made a lot more sense why your friend had opted for a black leather miniskirt for a supposed “barn bash.”
You reached your hand out to him, figuring this might be your only time tonight to finally introduce yourself to him, “Thank you, Mingi.” You gave him a friendly smile, “I’m Y/n, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever officially introduced ourselves.”
He chuckled and shook your hand, “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” you glanced down at your friend, “I could say the same thing about you.”
Rosie just giggled and leaned further into your side. And your heart about melted at the way Mingi looked at her so fondly. Hearts practically forming in his eyes.
He opened the door to the backseat and half bowed, presenting the open car door to you, “Ladies.”
You laughed and slipped into his car, clearly freshly cleaned. Rosie slid in after you, taking Mingi’s hand as he helped her into the car and kissing him on the cheek before he closed the door. She was glowing, and you couldn’t be more happy for her.
As you pulled up to the barn, your stomach fluttered with nerves. The car pulled to a stop before Mingi helped you both out and led you to the door, his hand resting on Rosie’s back.
The atmosphere is much calmer than you were expecting. It was still a party, but the ambiance of the small barn was really nice. There was no DJ, just a playlist playing over the various speakers spread around the building. A small but adequate bar was set up not too far from the door, and you saw many people serving themselves out of the coolers. The lights were low, but it was still relatively easy to see all the way across the small space. And there were hardly more than fifty people here, so you had a lot of room to breathe.
Maybe you were glad that Rosie had dragged you out of the house for this.
“Alright ladies,” Mingi spoke from beside you, his hand on your friend’s lower back, “Everyone is over there.” He pointed to one of the many high-top tables that were spread around the dance floor.
And just like you suspected, Yunho stood beside it alongside a couple men you failed to recognize. He wore the normal cowboy get-up, but it seemed nicer today. Even though he wore the same beige hat you’d seen him in before, he was more dressed up. His jeans were darker, and he wore a white button-up that had clearly been ironed before he put it on. And maybe it was just the low light of the barn or maybe it was your newfound singleness, but something about the way he leaned against that table and the way his head tilted back when he laughed made your stomach flip.
You followed Mingi and Rosie to the table, trailing behind the two of them and trying to catch your breath and calm your growing nerves. Yunho saw Mingi first, his height and platinum hair a dead giveaway, and broke into a huge smile. He pulled his friend in for a hug, with two mildly aggressive pats to the back. And he even pulled Rosie in for a small side hug.
“You guys made it!” He greeted with a huge grin. When he let go of Rosie, he finally saw you over Mingi’s shoulder. For a brief second he looked a little shocked, though you could tell he was trying to hide it. He broke into yet another smile but a softer one, one that was more obvious in his eyes than his lips. “Hey.”
You waved shyly at him, “Hi.”
Rosie and Mingi stepped aside to chat with the others, leaving the two of you alone with each other. “How’ve you been?”
You shrugged and failed to reel back a clearly unsavory sigh, “It’s been alright.”
He raised an eyebrow at you, “You sure?”
The tips of your fingers fiddled with the fringe on your skirt, and you chuckled dryly, “It’s been kinda horrible actually. I haven’t had to deal with a breakup since I was sixteen, so I guess I’m just out of practice.”
He laughed at that, and you were glad, feeling better that you hadn’t brought down the mood. “Try not to beat yourself up about it, alright? Break ups suck, but a lot of the time, it is for the better. And if you ever need anythin’, car related or otherwise, call me. I know you’ve got Rosie to help you out, but if you ever need help when she’s…” he glanced over at your friend who was practically hanging off of Mingi’s arm, “preoccupied, just let me know.”
You looked up at him, grateful for his willingness, “Thank you, Yunho.”
He tipped his hat, in a way that seemed half a joking nod to his cowboy persona and half completely sincere and genuine, “Of course, Doll. Anytime.” He glanced over your shoulder, “Can I introduce you to my friends? Well, most of ’em, anyways. Looks like we’ve got some slowpokes who haven’t shown up yet.”
“Please, I’d love that.”
He holds out his arm for you, and you grasp it gently, letting him tuck your hand into the crease of his elbow. And he guides you back to the table where the rest of the group has been talking.
They all turned to the two of you once they noticed your approach. Waiting curiously while Yunho introduced the girl who'd arrived with Mingi’s date, “Guys, this is y/n.”
You smile, giving them all a small wave, catching the eye of one of the men who was practically beaming at you.
“Well I was wondering when we’d finally get to meet her,” the blonde man said, leaning over the table and shaking your hand when you reached for him, “Nice to meet you. I’m Hongjoong.”
“Nice to meet you, too.”
You went around the whole table introducing yourself. You found out that Hongjoong had been in the year ahead of Yunho and Mingi in high school and had left town for fashion school in New York after he’d graduated. He’d moved back a couple of years ago and opened his own tailoring shop downtown. Bringing his boyfriend, Seonghwa, back with him from school with him. Both of them moving in together in the small studio above Hongjoong’s shop. Seonghwa had pulled you in for a hug immediately upon meeting you, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep warmth at how easily accepted you were.
After meeting Seonghwa and Hongjoong, you were introduced to San. And found out that you and San actually went to the same university. Never once did you cross paths, but it was nice to have the connection nonetheless. He was newer to the group apparently. Only meeting Mingi at a race a little under a year ago. He wasn’t a mechanic but he “knew his way around the cab better than anyone.” Or at least that’s what Mingi had claimed.
And then there was Yunho’s younger cousin, Jongho. Apparently, this whole barn bash tradition had been one started by his parents, and, though he wasn’t super keen on running it, he made sure that the party still happened annually.
When Yunho went to grab you a beer, Jongho nudged your side with his elbow. Smirking at the way you shamelessly eyed his cousin at the bar.
“He’s single, you know?” standing next to you and admiring his cousin alongside you. Watching as he mingled with some other friends beer the cooler.
You laughed, “So I’ve heard. That’s not really any of my business, is it, though?”
Jongho shrugged, “I would say by the way you won’t stop staring at him, it might be all of your business.”
This kid. “I guess it’s kind of on him to make a move then, isn’t it?”
“He won’t.” He took a sip of his beer. Setting it on the table in front of you.
“What?” you glanced over at him, brows pinched in confusion. “What do you mean ‘he won’t?’”
He met your eyes, “You just got out of a relationship, right?” You nodded hesitantly and a bit embarrassed that that was knowledge he had. “Then he’s not gonna push anything. It took a lot of convincing from us,” he gestured to the group, “to even get him to invite you tonight, and he wouldn’t even do that directly. Unless you push for it, Yunho isn’t gonna make a move. He wants to give you the time you need to heal. So the ball is definitely in your court for this one.”
You pondered his words. Turning them over in your head. Part of you nervous at the prospect of being in charge, being the driving force. But another part of you feeling like he just couldn’t get anymore perfect. Already, he had been nothing but respectful and gentle toward you. Helping you where you needed it. But something about the way he treated you…it just made you feel so special.
Your heart tightened at the feeling. Special wasn’t a new feeling. A much younger you had felt that beautifully deceptive feeling before. Because it doesn’t take much to feel special, but it's an easy way to trick the heart.
“Want me to open it for ya?” Yunho gestured to the beer in his hand that he had so graciously grabbed for you.
You nodded, “That would be wonderful.”
“Not a problem, Doll.”
You watched as he positioned the rim of the bottle against the edge of the table. Shamelessly admiring his arms as he did it. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but at some point, he’d rolled his sleeves up. Revealing his toned forearms. From which you could see his many veins lining his arm. When he brought his hand down on top of the bottle you jumped in surprise, watching the cap pop up and fall to the ground.
Yunho laughed at your jumpiness, reaching the bottle out to you. His fingers brushing over yours when you took it from him.
“Thank you,” you gave him a shy smile.
He opened his mouth to playfully remark over the way you ogled at him, but he was cut off by a voice behind you.
“Y/n!?” shouted a male voice full of obvious surprise. Your head whipped around, recognizing that voice instantly.
You stared at him wide-eyed in shock. Though his hair was longer and his voice deeper, you’d recognize Jung Wooyoung anywhere. And he hardly gave you a second to breathe before his arms were wrapped around your shoulders, practically suffocating you.
He rocked you side to side dramatically when you finally hugged him back, your arms embracing his back. You were still trying to comprehend seeing his face after so long, when he pulled back, hands still resting on your shoulders, “How have you been?” His enthusiasm not once wavering. He playfully slapped your shoulder, “Where have you been?”
Still a bit dazed, you just blinked at him, before pulling him back in and hugging him tighter than before. His giggle vibrated through your chest. A sound you thought you’d honestly never hear again. And though you couldn’t see his face, you could perfectly visualize the way his lips pulled back into that smile that had encouraged you so strongly all those years ago.
Finally, after several long moments, you let each other go. His smile still burning as he repeated his question, “How’ve you been?”
You shrugged, trying not to let the unfortunate question tamper your mood, “Fine. Kind of going through a breakup right now, so it’s been a little rough if I’m honest.” You felt your heart fill with a familiar warmth, though. And you smiled at the memories of your long walks together, the ones where you told each other everything.
“Oh girl, a bad one?”
You nodded, taking a sip of your beer, “He cheated.”
“Shit, seriously!?” he made a face of disgust, “Give me his name. I’ll kick his ass. I swear.”
You sat there for a second silently staring at him. A bit embarrassed to admit the truth he had yet to realize.
Expectantly, he kept his gaze locked onto yours, waiting patiently for your response. Until you saw it click in his eyes, and his face turned to a look of utter disgust. “Please tell me you two did not just break up.” You avoided his eyes. His judgement, “Was there at least a break in there?”
You shook your head, “No…”
“Damn, girl. How’d you put up with that for that long?” Sympathy washed over his face.
Shrugging you offered the only thing you could think of as a reasonable answer, “It was comfortable? I don’t really know.” You leaned against the table, “He’s the only boyfriend I’ve ever had, so I guess I just…didn’t really know when I was supposed to end it.”
“Maybe that’s just the thing with him.”
You hummed.
He continued, “He makes you feel like you’re where you’re supposed to be. With him. And your life revolves around him for so long that it just becomes the new normal, and you struggle to even remember what your life was like before you met him. Was it better? Was it worse? I guess it’s hard to tell when he’s worn you down so much that you can’t even think that hard.”
As much as it was so nice to have someone to understand your pain, your heart hurt for Wooyoung, too. You placed a comforting hand on his back.
He smiled gently at you, “Well, I’m glad you're at least out of it now.”
“I’m glad you are, too.”
Things between him and Yeonjun had ended disastrously. About as bad as things could go. Wooyoung leaving the band had been kind of inevitable from the beginning. With all logic, it was just a fun thing for him to do throughout his university years. He had never planned for it to be a lifelong thing, let alone the career path that Yeonjun seemed to think it was. But when Wooyoung had told Yeonjun that he was leaving the group one month before graduation, it was chaos. A constant storm of accusations. Yeonjun berating his former friend for being a poser and a traitor. And Wooyoung scoffing at the man's delusions.
You remember the countless hours you spent in Yeonjun’s room. In his bed consoling him. Telling him that it was going to be okay. And reassuring him that he didn’t need his help to keep the band together. Though you were secretly hoping to see Wooyoung move on to better things.
Peering up at him, you asked softly, “You don’t hate me, do you?”
He laughed through his nose, tucking you into his side and pressing his cheek into your forehead, “I could never. Actually sometimes I wonder why I never reached back out to you. Maybe I had figured you’d moved on.”
“I missed you, Youngie.”
You felt him let out a content breath, “I missed you, too.”
From behind you, you felt a pair of eyes on you, practically burning into your skull. You glanced over to see his painfully familiar face watching the two of you carefully. You tried to smile and wave at him, but he continued to stare, seemingly uninterested, before returning to his conversation with San.
“Mhm,” you sighed, a bit defeated, “And he still hates me.”
He nudged your hip with his, “Hey, he doesn’t hate you. You two just…probably have some things you need to work out.”
You glared at him, “That might be oversimplifying it.”
“Seriously, I think you just need to talk to him. At least for closure. Because I know the way you two left things left room for none of that.”
Of course, he was right. The last time you spoke to Yeosang, it was a massive fight. One that had left many wounds, the biggest one being the loss of your closest friend. Someone who had always made you feel complete.
“I’ll try.” It felt like an empty promise. The thought of going over there and talking to him made you honestly sick to your stomach.
“Hey,” Wooyoung slid your beer back into your hand, “Don’t let it bum out your night, okay?” He looked back at the group and then smirking back at you, “So…Yunho?”
You took a sip to try and mask your smile, “What about him?”
“Don’t play dumb. What’s going on there? How’d you two even meet?”
You laughed, “Actually, I think you would really like this story.”
After chatting with Wooyoung for what felt like hours, you found yourself wandering back to Yunho. You could tell he was a bit tipsy from the light flush across his face.
“Small world, huh?” He gestured toward your friend.
“Yeah I guess it is,” smiling fondly at him.
He lifts his hat off to readjust and ruffle his hair before placing it neatly back on his head. God you needed to get over your feelings about that hat. But you couldn’t stop looking at him. Something about the alcohol that was barely in your system and the way the smallest of his actions drove you up the wall had you feeling insane.
But maybe it also had you feeling more confident. Perhaps a bit too confident.
“Hey,” You look up at Yunho apprehensively, “Do you wanna dance?”
His smile makes you nearly melt into the floor as he tips his head to the side, that stupid beige hat lopsided with the motion, “Of course, Doll. I thought you’d never ask.”
He takes your beer from your hands and discards it in the trash. Grabbing your hand and pulling you to the center of the barn where everyone is mingling and dancing together.
You stumbled over your feet and braced yourself on his chest. He grinned down at you, “Well hello pretty girl.”
He placed his hands on your waist to steady you. “Hi,” you whispered up at him.
He held you so gently. Letting you both sway to the song that reverberated off the wooden walls of the barn. But you paid no mind to the music or the dust at your feet or Wooyoung’s eyes that you could feel boring into your back. Too focused on the way you could hear the rustle of Yunho’s shirt as you danced.
As soon as the song picked up its beat, though, the two of you started to really have your fun. His hands found your own and he pulled you to him before spinning you around. He was careful with you, but not in a way that stomped on any of your excitement. You just felt…safe around him. And as many times as he spun you and dipped you and pulled you to him, you never once doubted his ability to keep you upright and in his arms.
Even when you tripped over your feet a couple times, he always made sure you were steady and balanced. And then he would proceed to giggle and tease you for being clumsy.
It was so carefree. Being with him made it so easy to forget that you were rotting in your bed just earlier that day. And it wasn’t out of a place of pity. He was just that kind of guy. The one who was so easily able to make you laugh with just his presence. And one that valued your happiness just because you deserved to be happy, not because it made him feel good to cheer you up.
And as the music kept going you could feel yourself falling deeper and deeper into his big brown eyes. Maybe it was just the alcohol or maybe it was the fact that this man, who seemed to embody everything you would want in man, had you in his arms, but your mind kept flashing with thoughts of lifting his hat off of his head and running your hands through his hair. Brushing your fingers over his cheek. Wrapping your arms around his neck.
As the music slowed, the space between you two shrank until there was virtually nothing between you save for the clothing covering your skin. Yunho’s hands lightly squeezed your waist, his eyes searching your expression for any sign of discomfort, “Is this okay?”
You nodded, letting your hands rest comfortably on his chest, “It’s perfect.”
Your eyes explored his face. Over his lightly flushed cheeks, over his beautiful eyes that tracked your every move, over the soft pink of his lips that made it impossible not to imagine them on your skin. You didn’t even notice when your hands slid from their place on his chest to the back of his neck. Holding yourself closer to him. The tips of your fingers brushing against the pieces of his soft hair that peaked out of his hat.
The sound of the music faded completely into the background. The only beat you could feel was the one of your hearts beating together in rhythm.
“Fuck,” he said in a whispered breath, “you’re so beautiful.”
You pulled a bit of your lip between your teeth, “Yunho…”
He removed a hand from your waist and cupped your cheek, “Doll.”
You could only blink and look deep into his eyes. Trying to ignore the way your heart pounded erratically in your chest. Your ears drowning out anything but his voice.
“Doll,” he leaned in closer, and his eyes flicked down to your lips, “Can I kiss you?”
“Please,” you practically whimpered. Letting him fill the gap between you. Kissing you with so much need and desire. Like he’d been wanting this for months. For years. His arms wrapped around your back. Holding you as close as he could get you.
And you let him kiss you so breathlessly that you had to gasp for air when he pulled away in moments. Grasping tight to the back of his neck. Only to be pulled back in by those deep, beautiful eyes.
His lips were so soft on top of your own. Just like you had imagined. But it was the way he held you that made you feel so safe. His arms around you like he’d never let you go. Like the comfort of having someone by your side for a lifetime.
It felt like a lifetime.
An eternity.
You’d felt that before.
When you had started dating Yeonjun at nineteen it had felt like a lifetime. And the way he kissed you the first time had made you melt into his arms. You’d rushed headfirst into that relationship. So sure that the sparks that flew between you and the tipsy butterflies filling your gut were enough to sustain the feeling you’d mistaken for love.
And here you were again.
Running away from Yeonjun and tumbling into Yunho’s open arms.
Sweet, sincere, and beautiful Yunho who genuinely seemed to want something deeper with you.
Who seemed to truly see you and want you despite knowing so little about you.
God, what the fuck were you doing?
Yunho pulled away from you immediately when he felt you freeze up in his arms. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked. His brows furrowed and voice gentle but still piercing through the loud music surrounding you. Concerned at the way you wouldn’t even meet his eyes.
You stumbled away from him, “Yunho, I’m so sorry.” Practically falling out of his grasp and in the next instant you were bolting out the nearest door.
Yunho stared in shock as the barn’s side door slammed behind you. Glancing over at his friends, he saw that none of them had seemed to notice the incident. And with Rosie and Mingi nowhere in sight, he had no choice to run after you. A mix of fear of confusion guiding his steps as he chased after you. Momentarily losing sight of you in the dark expanse of the pasture.
The soft dirt revealed footprints that matched the pointed toe of your heeled boots along the side of the corn field. He followed them without a thought. Only racking his brain for what had gone wrong. Each step he took had him feeling sicker and sicker with dread.
Fuck he had moved too fast.
Never in his twenty-five years of life had he kissed someone without taking them on a date first. Let alone a woman who, before tonight, had not been single every time they had met. He knew he was jumping the gun when he asked Mingi to bring you tonight, though he wasn’t really sure if you were gonna show up. And just the brief idea that he had made you uncomfortable made Yunho want to curl up and die.
As your footsteps made the curve around the edge of the corn field, he finally saw you. Sitting in the old swing that hung from the massive oak tree that loomed over the pasture.
His heart hurt when he saw you there. Hunched over and sobbing into your hands. With your back to him, he knew you couldn’t see him, but he was sure you knew that he was gonna come after you. Nevertheless, he stepped a bit heavier than he normally would, so you could hear him. Not wanting to scare you off another time.
You refused to turn around when you heard him coming up behind you, but you let your thumbs swipe away the tears that threatened to stream down your cheeks, taking a few deep breaths to try and get yourself together.
And when you caught a glimpse of him stepping into your line of sight, you finally dropped your hands from your face. Teeth gnawing at your lip. Trying to think of something, anything, to say to rectify the mess you had just created.
Because, truth was, that was probably the sweetest and gentlest kiss of your entire life, and maybe if you had held it together for two more seconds, you would have been able to explain your worries to him.
But instead, when you looked up from your lap to the man squatting right in front of you, hat clenched in his hands. And you couldn’t even find it in yourself to swoon at his flushed cheeks or the messy hair falling over his face, because all you could see was the distressed look in his eyes.
“Doll–” he shook his head, “Y/n, I’m sorry if I misread…Fuck.” He dragged a hand over his face and up into his hair, pushing the strands out of his face, “That was too soon. I’m so sorry. I should have never–”
“Yunho,” you cut him off. Still fighting back tears, “You did nothing wrong.”
“But–”
You put your hand up to stop him again, “Stop. Please. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I should’ve never asked you to dance. I didn’t mean to give you false hope.”
His heart broke a little, and you could see it in his eyes, “C’mon, you don’t mean that…”
“I’m sorry,” your words came out in a broken whisper, “I’m just…I can’t do this,” you pointed at him and then yourself, “right now.”
“Sweetheart,” he lifted a hand and cautiously placed it on your knee, and you let him keep it there, “I don’ mean to rush things. We can wait as long as you need and go as slow as you're comfortable with. I just,” he took a deep breath, “don’t wanna let you go.”
You placed your hand over his, forcing yourself to look him in the eyes despite how painful it was, “Yunho, you are such a sweet guy. And I know someday you will make someone so happy.” His head dropped forward, his forehead barely resting against your leg in defeat, “But that someone just isn’t me. Not now. And probably not for a long time. I have too many wounds to heal from Yeonjun, and I just can’t pass that burden on to you.”
He stood up from the ground and you lifted yourself up with him. Your heart nearly cracking in half at the tears streaming down his face, “You won’t even let me try?” His voice came out in a strained whisper.
You reached your thumb up to wipe a tear from his eye, selfishly letting your hand rest on his cheek. You shook your head. “I need time. Too much time to expect you to wait for me.” The hat he dangled in his hands, the hat you’d grown to love, bumped against your thigh. You grabbed it from him and slipped it back onto his head. Smiling sadly up at him “I believe in you, cowboy. You’ll find someone else. I just know it.”
Pushing yourself up onto your toes, you gave him one last kiss on the cheek. Before leaving him standing there in the cool night air. Wishing for a brief second that you hadn’t come tonight at all. But wishing even stronger that you would never leave.
the space between us three (jyh) | series masterlist
⇢summary: while juggling the demands of life, yunho continues to do his best to raise his independent 11 yr old daughter, seora. throughout the years, they've built a strong foundation, an unbreakable bond— one that consists of late night talks and food runs, father/daughter dates, and sideline cheerleading at her basketball games. so when you unexpectedly come into their world, things shift. despite the uncertainty and the fear of stepping outside of their comfort zone, yunho and seora eventually learn how to open their hearts and learn how to rebuild a home where three can thrive together.
⇢pairing: single dad!yunho x f. reader
⇢genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, single dad au | fluff, angst, smut
⇢general warnings: cussing, mature language, slice of life, insecurities, anxiety and trauma from past events, death/mentions of death and tragic accidents, unprotected sex, alcohol consumption, complex relationships, growing pains, etc. - individual warnings for each chapter will be included
⇢release: coming soon ! 11.29.24
⇢a/n: hi! i know we dearly love our pmylm!yunho but i'm bringing a new yunho to the plate - one i think you'll equally adore. i'll be working on this alongside of wildfire next - idk why this comeback is also giving single dad yunho of a pre-teen so here i am lol hope to release it soon and i hope you all enjoy it <33
⚠️ Summary: The chance of turning into a walking corpse was greater than finding love in the jumbled mess of despair and death, yet you happened to stumble upon the other half of your soul. After many fights and misunderstandings, you and Yunho explain each side of the story and decide to make your mouths do something far more enjoyable than spitting harsh words and biting remarks. Starts from where the oneshot ended.
⚠️ Pairing(s): Jeong Yunho x F!Reader
⚠️ Genres/Tropes: Non-idol AU, zombie apocalypse AU, romance, smut, golden retriever x black cat (kinda, not really)
⚠️ Warnings/Tags: Female reader, no use of (Y/N), safe sex (wrap before you tap), oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering (f receiving), brief breast play, pantie sniffer Yunho, minor breeding kink, praise, aftercare, petnames (angel, darling, good boy/girl), not beta-read
⚠️ Wordcount: 6.3K
⚠️ Author's note: So... this is what was going to happen after Yunho and MC proclaim their love to each other, but I decided to leave the smut scene out hehehe. However, my lovely @bvidzsoo got a whiff of the deleted smut scene and well, here we are! Everyone say 'thank you Ari!' 😄 I would highly appreciate it if you checked out Bones, Blood and Teeth Erode first! Keep in mind this is my first time writing smut so be kind lmaoo.
This is all fiction and not meant to represent the idols involved in any way or form. This work is NSFW and not appropriate for minors as it contains explicit scenes as well as adult language. Minors and ageless blogs refrain from reading this work!
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“I need you… I need to show you how much I truly adore you. Please, may I paint you with my love until you’re covered in nothing but the shade of me?”
“Yunho…”
“I won’t be mad if you don’t want to. I’ve already said what my heart desires the most in the world, but I want to do this for us. For you, angel.”
“Show me then.”
The most mundane words made him into the happiest man alive. He weaved his fingers through yours and tugged you in the direction of the watchtower furthest away from the prison building. An exchange of comforting squeezes lasted the short journey and Yunho even looked over his shoulder every few seconds to assure himself you were really there. You weren’t any better. You couldn’t take your eyes off his back and stumbled over your own feet in the process. The inside didn’t exceed your expectations. The tower was twice the size of a prison cell with a lot more space to move around in. A somewhat clean mattress was pushed up to one side of the room. Yunho gently closed the trap door behind you and plopped down on the poor excuse of a bed. As much as he longed to kiss you until both were on the verge of passing out, he let you take in the new setting. The last thing he wanted was to rush you. The night had just begun and you had all the time in the world to explore each other, to learn the way your bodies function.
Yunho silently patted the empty space on his left and you obeyed. His hand was warm on your thigh and you fought back the shiver pleading to glide down your back.
“Is this okay?” He whispered and you nodded. “Words, please. I need to hear you say it.”
You looked up at him through your lashes and he nearly ascended to heaven then and there. “It’s okay.”
He swallowed a heavy gulp of nervous saliva and moved his hand to rest on the soft cushion behind you. Leaning in closer so his breath fanned your cheeks and lips almost grazing yours, Yunho feigned confidence as he flashed a devilishly handsome smirk.
“And now?”
“It’d be better if you just kissed me.”
Your wish was his command. The previously bare skin of your neck was embraced by his palm while his other hand found your hips and maneuvered you to lay down. Your own hands latched onto his bicep and the side of his face to ground yourself from the heated kiss. The sweetness he showed you minutes ago was abandoned on the field and replaced by urgency as well as the need to taste you again. It was filthy with a lot of spit and your tongues rolling against each other.
He left open mouthed kisses along your skin and trailed down your neck to your collarbones, even reaching your earlobe which Yunho gently bit down on and whispered softly, “You drive me crazy, angel.”
Having had enough of his teasing, you rolled him on his back and plopped down on his crotch. The element of surprise mixed with your clothed cunt pressing against his half-hard cock caught him off guard, and a gutted groan slipped past his bruised lips. You seized the moment and peppered harsh suckles to his neck, determined to leave an array of beautiful roses and sweetpeas on his pale skin. His hands flew up and gripped your hips, and the image of his finger leaving dark blotches on your skin heightened the ache between your legs.
“Be patient, darling. I’ll take good care of you, I promise.”
You were once again on your back, this time with Yunho pushed between your legs, groins aligned and chests touching. You needed Yunho like he was the means to survival. He was the nectar you’d search for in the wild, the sun you’d grow to reach and the water you’d boil to drink. Patience wasn’t a word in your dictionary anymore. Not when he held you softly and kissed you like there was no tomorrow. An overwhelming feeling of warmth and belonging stored in your chest, but you couldn’t label it for what it was because you had never experienced such strong emotions before. Not even when the world was still normal. It was so frustrating that tears gathered in your eyes and eventually escaped down the valley of your cheeks.
“Why are you crying, my pretty girl?” Yunho cooed and wiped the salty liquid with his thumbs. “You’re so pretty. Your eyes and nose, lips, and everything. So pretty.” He left chaste kisses to the corner of your eyes and mouth, and on the top of your nose.
“I don’t know,” you admitted and turned away from him as heat attacked your face.
He caught your chin between his thumb and index finger, and gently guided you to look at him again. “Don’t do that, angel. It’s okay to cry, just don’t shy away from me.”
Vulnerability was almost as scary as a biter, the only difference was you knew how to handle the latter. So, for once in your life, you heeded his advice and clasped your hands around his neck and pulled him into another kiss. In a perfect world, Yunho would have his lips locked with yours for all eternity. You let out a whine of dismay — a noise you didn’t know you had in you — as he broke apart and Yunho couldn’t help but smile as he pressed a kiss to your sternum. Aroused and curious, you leaned back on your elbows to get a better look at what he was doing. Yunho continued his path further down your clothed body; your ribs, belly button, hips and even dared to graze your lower abdomen, right on your mound. In the wake of his kisses, your skin sizzled with excitement and your breath got heavier.
Yunho intensely held your eyes, not once looking away, as he grabbed the hem of your shirt and slowly lifted it to expose the button of your pants, but didn’t go further than that. It took you an embarrassingly long time to realize he was waiting for your permission. With a wordless nod, he unclasped your bottoms and slowly stripped them off your legs leaving you in thin black panties doing nothing to cover your pussy. It was with great restraint that Yunho held back from tearing the flimsy material and going head first between your legs. To have you writhe and moan at the wonders of his tongue and fingers as he fucked you open, spreading your juices all over his nimble limbs and listen to you fall apart over, and over again. Instead, he caressed your legs, starting from your ankles and gliding up your calves to massage the expanse of your thighs. Much like before, he dropped searing kisses along the same paths his fingers had touched your skin. Each leg was thrown over his shoulder and your heart quickened at the closer proximity.
Terms of endearment were let out in the open and his whispers of ‘so good for me’, ‘my pretty angel’, ‘only for me’ heightened the fire lit in your stomach.
You sucked in a sharp breath of air as Yunho nibbled on the inner side of your thigh, leaving his mark on the beautiful canvas that was you. A harsh hiss escaped your lips as he gave equal attention to your other thigh and he would have decorated your skin in more vivid colors if it weren’t for your plea of touching you where you needed him the most.
“Anything for you, pretty girl.”
The barely-even touch of his finger skimming over your clothed sex had you falling back down against the mattress, your hands squeezing the shit out of the sheet below in a futile attempt to calm down. Each nudge of his digit sent a crackling jolt of electricity up your spine, but it faded out before you could even feel as much as a buzz of euphoria.
“So wet for me.”
“Yunho,” you hissed, but it proved success as he inched your panties to the side and took a long, surprising lick up your slit.
Your gutted moan mixed with his lewd slurping noises just made your cheeks burn hotter. Yunho was relentless as he dragged his tongue through your folds and collected your wetness. It got you gripping the sheets and bucking your hips up, needing him closer. In return, Yunho pinned you to the mattress with an arm pressed over your stomach. He could die a happy man right then and there; between your legs and face stuffed with your cunt. The vibrations of his hum combined with the skilled movements of his wet tongue made you all the more vocal.
“You’re delicious, baby.” The praise had you grinding your hips the best you could with the restraint holding you down. “Oh, you like hearing that, don’t you? My sweet little thing tastes so good I could sit here all day.”
“Yunho,” you whined and bucked up again.
“Shhh, just relax for me.”
He lowered himself down again and you squirmed as his warm breath fanned over your pussy lips. Expecting to feel his mouth, you didn’t know what to do with yourself as his finger was swallowed by your wet hole. With screwed eyes and mouth wide, you basked in the pleasure of his finger working you open. It was when he pulled out and added another digit that you took a hold of his wrist, the sensation getting too much for you, but Yunho had other plans. He intertwined your fingers with his free ones and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.
“You’re so good for me, just hold on a little longer. Could you do that angel?”
Yunho smirked at your little nod. Plunging back his fingers in you, he quickened the pace and gave your clit an overwhelming amount of attention filtering between his tongue and thumb. His name fell from your lips, an indication that you were close to release and who was he to deny that? He waited until his fingers were deep in you and curled them just enough to stroke the spot that made you see stars. The combination of his mouth sucking on your clit and fingers exploring your needy hole pushed you over the edge. As you lay there, legs shaking and chest heaving, Yunho continued worshiping you with his mouth. It was his life mission to suck you dry and he didn’t stop until you weakly pushed his head back. Obliging, he pulled his sticky fingers out and wasted no time wrapping his mouth around them. The sight of his eyes rolling to the back of his head, chin glistening and lips red could make you come again and if the prominent bulge in his jeans was anything to go by, Yunho could cum untouched.
You didn’t know what came over you. One second you were laying limp, unable to catch your breath let alone move and in the next you were pouncing on him. Tasting yourself of his tongue and grinding against his hard on.
“I need you.” You kissed him and he returned it with just as much passion.
“You have me.”
“I need you in my mouth,” you elaborated and pressed the heel of your palm to his groin. It was incredibly arousing to see the effect you had on him and admittedly, it was hot to know a big guy like Yunho could crumble with the touch of your fingers. The fun didn’t last long though.
“We’ll get there, angel, but right now it’s all about you so just lay down for me.”
Handing over your dominance like it weighed nothing, you scooted down from Yunho’s lap and leaned back on your feet. Your hands, though, didn’t inch away from him and trailed the edge of his shirt.
“Go on then, take it off.”
The material was immediately pulled over his head and thrown haphazardly somewhere in the room. You didn’t care, not when you were whisked away by his striking body. Chiseled with fine lines tracing the contours of his abs and muscles. It was hard to look away. If not for the muscles, then for the scars portraying his survival. You traced each and every one with the tips of your fingers and lingered on the healed bullet wound. Sensing the change in your demeanor, he took hold of your hand and gave it a kiss. He didn’t want you to think about that now, God knows you deserve a break from fearing for your lives.
Yunho mimicked your action from earlier and got your shirt off, leaving you in nothing but a black bra and matching panties. You slapped his chest as he whistled and wiggled his eyebrows teasingly. Whispering a faint ‘fuck off’, you covered your face and fell back on the mattress.
“Don’t get shy on me now, I’ve already seen how pretty you are.”
He caught your flying foot and you let out a screech as he pulled you toward him. It was muffled by his lips massaging yours. His hands explored your body, gripping and squeezing anything he could take hold of, and he got drunk on the sounds you were making. Nothing could beat the beautifully erotic moan that spilled out of your mouth when he skimmed over your boobs and it was his cue to give them some more attention. He laid his whole body weight on your legs and gently wrapped each hand around the sides of your torso while simultaneously pressing his thumbs into your nubs, and slowly swirled them around your covered tits. The pleasure flared up in you like fireworks, but it wasn’t enough to make you unravel for the second time and you couldn’t do anything to hasten his pace. Unless you begged.
“Yunho, faster.”
“Mmm, what did you say?”
You could hear the smile behind his words and if it weren’t for your lust filled senses, you’d give him something to smile about. Despite having a taste of you, Yunho was adamant on taking things slow and it felt like forever until he took your bra off. Cheeks burning and body growing hot from the sudden bashfulness of being laid bare before him had you covering your chest, which Yunho tutted at and hastily grabbed your wrists.
“Please don’t do that. You’re beautiful, angel, and it’s just me. Just your Yunho.”
Reluctant, you searched his face for a hint of dishonesty. You hadn’t given yourself to anyone in a long time — courtesy of the dead, quite literally wanting to eat you — but you’ve experienced a fair deal of men trying to get into your pants through flattering lies, and it wouldn’t surprise you if Yunho shared that cursed behavior. However, one thing was clear; you wouldn’t last another day in the prison if he did. The emotional hurt would be unbearable. But this was Yunho. Your Yunho.
“Okay.”
“Good. Now… lay back and relax for me. Let me make you feel good again.”
That he did. Again and again, and again. The arch of your back didn’t come from his fingers moving in and out of your cunt or the flat of his tongue flicking your clit. It was the result of Yunho’s mouth hallowing around your boob, tongue swirling around your erect nub while the other got the full attention of his hand. The nipple was caught between his forefinger and thumb, twirling and pinching it enough to send ecstasy through your veins.
“Yuh–” You moaned and cradled his head closer to your chest. “More.”
Who knew a man licking and sucking on your tits could make you feel so alive? Yunho let go with a pop, his lips red and covered in saliva — just like your tit — and blew air on your nipple making it harden before giving the same treatment to the other. Glancing down, you found his eyes already on you, even with his mouth occupied. Focused and following every flex of your facial muscles, it felt like he was looking deep into your soul. Something was telling you he enjoyed watching your face contort into pleasure more than he’d like to admit. If he could tease you, why wouldn’t you do the same? Throwing the caution of anyone overhearing your intimate moment, you parted your lips and let the loudest of moans rivet the walls. The stutter of his hips against yours was proof your plan worked.
“You’re really making it hard to take things nice and slow, angel,” he groaned and grinded his pelvis against your cunt, allowing the wetness to seep through his pants.
“Then don’t,” came your breathless reply. “Don’t hold back. You’ve already shown how much you like me. What I need is you to fuck me, hard and fast. Please, Yunho.”
Maybe it was your whining tone or perhaps your straightforwardness making him scrap his plan of intimate lovemaking. It wouldn’t surprise him if your vulgar language set him off, hearing you explicitly say what you wanted him to do. Deep within, Yunho knew it was the Godforsaken way his name rolled off your tongue. Being left with nothing but the brain of a caveman, he ripped your panties into two and scrunched the material in his hand, and brought them up to his nose. The sniff he gave them was long and got you dripping like a broken faucet. You were intoxicating in all possible ways and Yunho already longed for the next day he could unravel you again. But first, he’d make you come on his dick, once, twice, even three times if you’d let him.
Distracted by the scent of your panties, Yunho didn’t notice you discretely guide your fingers to your soaping cunt. He missed the way you parted your pussy lips, glistening with your juices and the excess of Yunho’s spit, and teased your clit. Being in charge of your own pleasure, you didn’t hold back and filled yourself with two fingers and pushed the heel of your palm against your throbbing clit. Waves of warmth spread to your toes, but you soon realized your fingers weren’t reaching the same spot as Yunho did. The desperate and clenching sound of your digits going in and out of your hole grounded Yunho. He nearly fell over at the beauty before him; you spread open and fucking yourself, whimpering and biting down on your lip to hide the sinful sounds.
“Like– uh… what you s–h-ee?” You asked through a moan.
“Gorgeous,” Yunho replied and leaned back on the ends of his feet. He reached for his belt buckle and undid it at a snail’s pace, giving you all the more reason to grow frustrated.
“Hurry.”
You were always so snappy and demanding even when clouded by the need to be stuffed full of cock.
Undoing the zip of his bottoms, Yunho was reminded of the important package he stored in his pocket. The sudden slap of the condom had you sliding your fingers out of yourself. The foil packet was cold against your stomach. You took it between your index- and middle fingers, and looked up at your lover.
Glancing in Yunho’s direction, you did a double take at the blue tinfoil packages in his hands and grew hot from embarrassment. Your look was all it took for Yunho to defend himself.
“What? I doubt people want to reciprocate at this time.”
He wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t make you feel any better or stop the sensual image of Yunho. His naked body tangled in sheets looming over you and the very same condom you just saw in his hands, now stuck between his lips. Then you shook your head, as if to make the thought disappear before it could delve into an even more lustful scenario. The naked Yunho was gone, but the heat burned your cheeks worse than the sun on a summer day.
The huge grin on Yunho’s face told you he thought of the very same memory. The condom was pried from your hands and placed on the mattress a little further away as he stepped back to stand up. He then guided you to the waistband of his pants and raised a brow, the corners of his mouth curling up. There was no need to say it out loud because you knew exactly what he was hinting at. Getting up on your knees, you were quick to push the material of his pants and boxers down midthigh, allowing his erect cock to break free of its confines. His member stood tall and proud, the tip flushed a beautiful hue of red and weeping a little bit of pre-cum. You salivated at the image and wanted him– no, you needed him in your mouth. Now.
You peered up at him, eyes big and your tongue rolling out, as your fingers fell like dominoes around the hard length of him, starting from your pinky and ending with your thumb. Yunho hissed and his dick twitched at the contact. You leaned closer to the tip, mouth open and drool dripping from your tongue, but you weren’t going to give him what he wanted just yet. A gust of cold air swept over his hot member and Yunho weaved his fingers into your hair, not pulling at it, but using it as an anchor to not topple over from your mischief.
“Aren’t you a good boy?”
Yeah, Yunho was a goner. His eyes fluttered shut and his chest heaved as his cocked lived a life of its own; twitching and oozing more precum. You stroked your hand up and darted your thumb over his slit before moving it back down to the base. Sparks of pleasure spread to every nerve in his body and he got lost in the blissful sensation.
“Answer me, Yunho.”
“I’m ah, a guh– good boy!”
The glint in your eyes at his words was dangerous, but all Yunho could think about was the feel of your wet and warm mouth, him hitting the back of your throat, feeling you gag around him, oh boy. Nothing could beat the real thing. You licked a stripe up the underside of his member and then tapped the tip once, twice on your tongue before enveloping it in your mouth and suckling on it like a lollipop. He threw his head back with a groan of appreciation. You spread your spit diligently down his cock and spread the wetness further down his shaft, gradually taking him deeper into your mouth. Yunho had a pretty cock, that you would admit; long and curving with a very prominent vein decorating the side.
The first few seconds were spent getting adjusted to his size — something you’d have to undoubtedly do later too — but when you got the hang of it, you had no issue bobbing your head up and down. You wanted him to lose all sense in his limbs and were determined to make him see beyond stars. Yunho released a shuddering moan in response to your hum teasing his sensitive cock with vibrations.
“Please, don’t stop.”
He opened his mouth to continue with his praises, but the tip of your tongue gliding into his slit drew out another strained moan instead. It sent throbs of arousal to your core. The gurgle of words dying in your throat at his thick cock made Yunho grow harder and more aroused. The drool spilling out the sides of your mouth left a trail down your neck that was so messy and nasty, but he loved every second of it. You hollowed out your cheeks and sucked harder, even massaged his balls until his pleads were nothing but a mess of jumbled words and moans.
“Angel, my– ah my angel!”
Yunho couldn’t stop the involuntary thrusts upward, but you were unphased by the jab of his tip to the back of your throat. All you did was suck harder, tongue caressing the underside of his cock and sending him to heaven. He tightened the grip on your hair, but not so you couldn’t move if you desired to do so and a broken string of moans echoed in the room. Goosebumps broke out on the surface of his skin as his vision faded to black. Your mission of having him see the stars went beyond that as he was met with an exploding supernova.
Your nails dug into his hips, holding him in place so he had no other choice but to spill his seed onto your tongue. There was so much cum it was impossible to keep it all inside that the white liquid trickled onto the mattress, making you look so fucked out. You swallowed the bit that hadn’t gone to waste. Coming down from his high, Yunho cradled your cheek and smeared the rest of himself all over your face. He brought you into a kiss, not caring about tasting his warm and salty release on your tongue. Your angelic giggle filled the room and Yunho smiled against your lips before pulling apart.
“You’re amazing,” he panted and guided you to lay on your back as he crawled over you.
“I know,” you replied and ran your fingers through his wet bangs, styling them to expose his forehead. You could never get enough of Yunho’s ethereal face, even when sporting sweaty and glowing cheeks.
The sight of your teary eyes and swollen lips had his cock stiffening again in record time. How couldn’t it when you looked so pliant beneath him? All traces of playfulness were wiped off his face and he tilted your head up to look straight into his dark, hooded eyes half-lidded with desire.
“I need to fuck you angel, to watch my cock go in and out of your needy little hole. You’ll take me nice and good, won’t you? Every inch and drop of cum I have to offer. I’ll fill you up until my cum trickles out of you and then fuck it back in– oh fuck! Please, let me make you feel good.”
If there was anything better than hearing a man moan, it’d be to hear him beg. Lucky for you, you got the best of both worlds. Taking a hold of his member, you guided the cockhead through your folds and both groaned in unison.
“Wh–wait!”
In the blurry haze of pleasure, Yunho hastily grabbed the forgotten condom and flimsily tore its package. A whimper of dismay reverberated in the room and your pout had him reconsidering whether the wrapper was necessary or not. Gaining clarity amidst the thick fog of lust, he shook the awful idea out of his head and rolled the condom on. Raising a child or getting a STD wouldn’t be ideal in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, no matter how much he’d love to see you full of his seed or cradling a newborn.
“‘M sorry angel, but that’s non-negotiable.”
“I know,” you sighed and cupped his cheek, dragging him down into a heart fluttering kiss. You hitched a leg around his waist and pulled your bodies closer. His cock grinded against your cunt and you inhaled in a sharp breath as he gently teased your entrance.
“We’ll go slow, darling.” He spread his fingers through yours and pressed your intertwined hands against the mattress while his elbow kept him from crushing you, his thumb still rubbing soothingly against your cheek. “Anytime you need a pause or need me to stop, just tell me, alright?”
You were wet and ready, had been from the moment Yunho rolled you beneath him. The chaste feel of your lips on his palm was the confirming answer he was searching for to get started. The tip nuzzled against your entrance and your walls immediately clenched against nothing.
“Breathe, angel. Breathe.”
Yunho didn’t progress until you relaxed and didn’t pose the threat of snapping his dick in half. His movements were slow and careful. It required time and patience, but he eventually managed to bury himself completely in you. His cock prodded your belly and Yunho had to screw his eyes shut or he’d come on the spot. You whimpered at the lack of movement and wiggled impatiently.
“Yunho, you can move now.”
“Are you sure?” He swiped a trickle of sweat off your forehead, his eyes constantly searching for an indicator of discomfort.
“Yes! Please, just fuck me!”
Yunho moved with precision. He was just about out of you — only keeping the tip engulfed by your heat — and then in one long stroke, he filled the empty space taking your breath away. He planted kisses along your jawline and relentlessly thrust inside you, not giving you a chance to catch your breath. You raised your free hand, blindly searching for something to grapple onto and Yunho guided it around his neck, and hoisted you to sit on his lap. Your legs wrapped around him instinctively and he guided you up and down on his cock. The sudden change in position had him reaching everything and beyond, and dragged out a heavenly cry from between your lips.
“Yunhooo!”
The sound of skin slapping and incoherent sobs filled the room. Your heat and wetness gripped him tighter with each ram of his hips. He was stretching you out deliciously. Your lips meet in a sloppy, open mouthed kiss, sighs of pleasure grazing your face. The arch of your back positioned your clit to be rubbing against his abdomen and you threw your head back, your eyes rolling somewhere deep in your mind as he thrust again and again, never letting up on his pace.
“You’re taking me so well, angel.”
Your cunt sucked him in and you felt your body tightening, getting ready for sweet release. Yunho wasn’t too far away either, shuddering as your ass bounced up and down.
“Yun– Yunho…”
He licked a long stripe along the side of your neck, nibbling on it like a piece of cheese and bucked his hips harder. “I got you. I got you, angel. Let go f’me.”
It was the graze of your nipples against his, him biting harshly on the skin on your neck and cock slamming hard against your cervix that pushed you over the edge. You dug your nails into his shoulders and climaxed unannounced. He wrapped his arms around you, elevating slightly from the mattress and rutted into you like a rabbit in heat. Your broken sobs spurred him on until his body stuttered and cock released spurts of cum into the condom. Yunho gently let you down and cursed the human anatomy for not letting him follow in tow, but he couldn't, not until he tended to your needs. He discarded the spent wrapper in the bin across the room, put his boxers back on and returned with a water bottle. Helping you sit up, he coaxed you into drinking some water before pulling the spare blanket over your quivering body. You were both in need of a shower, but that could wait a few more minutes.
Back in high school, he remembered the nurse preaching how important it was for girls to pee after sex. Something about minimizing the risk for an infection, he wasn’t really paying attention as he wasn’t interested in that stuff at the ripe age of sixteen — courtesy of his fear of getting a girl pregnant — but either way, he had to get you to a bathroom sooner or later. A mental timer was set for thirty minutes as he slotted up behind you. Another thing he learned was the importance of aftercare, not just cleaning and giving good, but to actually be present emotionally. So he made sure to keep you connected in some way and settled on having an arm curled around your waist, and chest pressed to your back. Time stopped as you regained your breathing and came down from the high of having your guts rearranged. You both lay there, basking in each other’s presence and letting the overwhelming emotions settle into place. Yunho eventually broke the silence.
“You alright there?”
You hummed, making yourself comfortable and played with his fingers resting on your abdomen. “Yeah, ‘m just sleepy.”
“Mmm, me too, but I don’t wanna sleep just yet.”
“Why?”
“Cause I have duties to attend to and I can’t do that and keep you in my arms.”
Your chest rumbled and he joined with a chuckle of his own. The long press of your lips to the back of his palm awakened the butterflies in his stomach and embraced his heart in a blanket of warmth.
“Thank you,” he suddenly said and buried his nose in the crown of your head, eyes fluttering shut at the comforting scent that was you.
“What for?”
“For trusting me in the most intimate way possible.”
You turned around, your eyes were quick to latch onto his. “Thank you for taking care of me. For staying true to your words and showing me how much you need me. I really felt…”
“Felt what?” He breathed out, sensing your hesitance.
“I felt… the love. Your love.”
Your confession hung in the air and Yunho’s heart stilled, eyes freezing and mouth agape. His fingers trembled as they curled around your neck and jaw, massaging your cheekbone and searching for anything that indicated this wasn’t real. He found nothing, but the reflection of everything his soul thirsted for; love, belonging and a home.
At a loss for words, he could only do what felt right in the moment and leaned down to capture your lips in a feverish kiss. Sealing your souls yet again in an unhurried rhythm. Your body responded and you worked your mouth against his, the sexual tension was long replaced by pure affection. Although it was his first for both making love to you and kissing you, Yunho would always choose the latter over the other. He could kiss you for all eternity. He wanted to start his day tasting your morning breath and end it in the same way, catching a glimpse of what fun adventures you went on. Between the long hours stretching from dusk to dawn, he’d sneakily steal a plethora of kisses that would make life worth living.
Yunho’s breath ghosted over your lips. “Good, because my heart beats only for you. The only time it won’t is when it completely stops working.”
“You are out of your mind.”
“Ask me… Ask me if I love you.”
“Who even says that? ‘Stops working’… You’re crazy.”
Persistent to get what he wanted, he kept repeating it until you gave in.
“Fine! Do you love me?”
He broke out in a boyish smile, cheeks on display and stars flickering in his eyes. “More than you could possibly imagine, angel. You’re too tangled into my soul to the point where life isn’t possible without you by my side. I love you. Oh God, I love you! I am in love with you!”
“Be quiet,” you hissed and clasped your palm over his mouth. “Someone will hear you!”
The lovesick fool had another trick up his sleeve as his tongue darted out and swept across your hand. “Let them, I want them to! I am in love with–”
He didn’t get to finish the sentence as you shut him up with a kiss.
“Are you done now?” You breathed out to which Yunho murmured a no and pulled you back into a more passionate kiss, his hands trailing down to your ass and making you straddle him. Before it could progress into a heated make out session having you both lust for each other again, Yunho parted from your delicious lips.
“Now I’m done.”
For the rest of the night, you lay there in each other’s embrace. Yunho’s fingers glided over the surface of your soft skin and hummed a soothing melody. The rivet of his chest combined with the lulling sounds forced your eyes close. Before you could completely succumb to dreamland, Yunho’s voice cracked the cloud of drowsiness.
“I’ve been thinking…”
You made a noise to let him know you were awake and — somewhat — listening.
“And I want to marry you.”
The confession smacked out every ounce of sleep from you and you found yourself sitting up at the speed of light, eyes and mouth wide open. Yunho didn’t flinch nor squirm under your gaze. He held his ground and stood by his words.
“What…?”
“I want to marry you,” he repeated and took your hands in his, allowing his fingers to fall in the empty spaces between yours.
The proposition sounded insane. Before people married with the purpose of survival, to stabilize financial struggles and have a secure pillar to lean back on when needed or to strengthen the relationship between powerhouses. People rarely ever marry with the sole intent of love if they weren’t already comfortable in their Louboutin heels and Valentino dress shoes living in a mansion big enough to fit five households. What good did a ring on your finger bring in a world with the dead crawling around?
“But why?”
“Because I already almost lost you once and that was before I even got to tell you about my feelings. I don’t want to relive the past and make the same mistake of waiting until something happens to one of us before I take action.”
“What if you regret it?”
“Angel, the day you walked out from behind that shelf with a gun aimed at my head, I knew you were the one… So, what do you say? May I live out the rest of this fucked up life with you by my side?”
Tears hanging onto the corner of your eyes and your lips wobbled with emotion. Nodding, you flung your arms around his neck and sealed the union with a kiss, pouring your everything into it and hoping to convey how much truly you loved him. There were no witnesses to your unity, but the stars and the moon would have to speak of your love for generations to come.
Since I have a tiny bit written for this chapter, and I'm trying to get it done before Christmas, here's a tiny sneak peek!
Pairing: Ateez x 9th member!reader
wc: 216
AU: a/b/o
Genre: Fluff/Angst
warnings: talking about feelings, feeling like you don't deserve things, reader is sad, but also so is matz
masterlist
“You’re awake, hmm?” Seonghwa asked, looking down at her.
She nodded, looking up at him, and then turning to look at Hongjoong, who was looking down at her with both a caring and concerned look on his face, making for an interesting combination of emotions. She was confused at the concerned look on his face, wondering why he was feeling that way.
She must have said it out loud, as the alpha chuckled before his face turned serious.
“I am worried about you,” he said, looking at her, his tone conveying that this wasn’t a joking matter.
“Why are you worried?” She asked, confused still.
Seonghwa cut in, “Because you were sad earlier when you were with Hongjoong, and from what you told the others, it doesn’t account for why you were sad earlier today.”
Y/n became quiet at the mention of her time alone with Hongjoong in the studio earlier that day. How do you admit that you felt undeserving and that you were being allowed to do things that really, only pack should do. And no matter how much she wished she was, in her short time of knowing these men personally, she was not part of their pack.
Y/n-ah, talk to us please?” Hongjoong asked, his voice taking on a pleading tone.
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut (mdni / 18+), Drama, non-idol au, university au
Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x reader (f)
Word Count: 24k
Warnings/content: Mention of cheating (not by Y/N or Woo), jealous Wooyoung, alcohol consumption / bar + club scenes, arguments, sassy Wooyoung, miscommunication / lack of communication, trust issues, emotional scenes, dry humping, clit play, oral (f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex for a bit before using protection (don't risk it, use protection always), multiple orgasms, sorry if I missed anything else! Please note that other than Ateez, all other names used here are fictional.
Engineering had a way of chewing you up and spitting you out, leaving behind a weird mix of pride and exhaustion. Senior year was supposed to be the calm before the storm of real life—at least, that’s what everyone told you. “Your hardest classes are behind you,” they’d said. And technically, they were right. But no one warned you about the infamous one-year course known as Senior Design.
You stared at the whiteboard in your team’s lab space, the markers bleeding dry from overuse. A timeline of deadlines and half-finished ideas mocked you from the board. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt ahead.
Being a biomedical engineering student at Ateez University had always felt like wearing a badge of honor. It still did, but lately, that badge felt heavier than ever. Between your part-time job at one of the dining halls, your Senior Design project, and keeping up with life outside of school, you were running on low energy and low motivation.
And then there was your… situationship, Jung Wooyoung.
You met Wooyoung about five months ago at a bar while celebrating your bestfriend’s birthday. It was the middle of summer, and the night hummed with warm air and the kind of energy that only comes when you’ve got nothing urgent hanging over your head.
Chaerin, your best friend and unofficial social coordinator, had chosen one of the trendiest bars in the city for her celebration, and needless to say, it was incredibly packed. The music thumped in your chest, the faint scent of citrusy cocktails and spilled beer mixing in the air. Chaerin had gone off to play darts with a couple of your friends, leaving you at the bar with a drink in hand, effortlessly chatting up the bartender about his favorite local spots.
That’s when Wooyoung slid into the empty seat beside you.
“Do you always charm strangers this easily, or is it just bartenders?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.
You glanced at him, your eyebrows raised. He had an easy grin, the kind that said he was used to making people laugh, and eyes that sparkled like he was already planning his next joke. You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t the most attractive man you’d ever seen around here.
“Only the ones who give me free drinks,” you shot back smoothly, smirking when the bartender snorted at your response.
Wooyoung chuckled, resting an elbow on the bar table surface. “Fair enough. But if you’re looking for free drinks, you might be wasting your time here. I’m much better at drinking them than paying for them.”
“Oh, good,” you quipped. “I was worried you might actually be useful.”
His laugh came louder this time, and before you knew it, the two of you were deep in conversation. He told you he was a Computer Science major at the same university as you and he’d just wrapped up an internship at a local tech company and was enjoying a brief break before his co-op started in the fall. You matched his energy effortlessly, sharing stories about your summer adventures and making him laugh so hard at one point that he nearly spilled his drink.
By the end of the night, Chaerin was tugging you toward the dance floor, and Wooyoung was scribbling his number on a napkin with a dramatic flourish. “In case you ever get bored of charming bartenders,” he said, slipping it into your hand with a wink.
The next day, you found yourself pacing around your apartment, the napkin still sitting on your kitchen counter. You’d told yourself you weren’t going to text him. He was funny and definitely, well… hot, but he also seemed like the kind of guy who knew exactly how to get people to like him. You weren’t sure if he was just playing around with you, and you weren’t one to waste your time on boys.
But you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d grinned when you fired a sarcastic line back at him, or how easily he’d kept up with your humor. Against your better judgment, you picked up your phone.
You: Hey, it’s Y/N, the one who’s apparently too good for bartenders. Hope you didn’t get kicked out of the bar for spilling your drink
His reply came almost immediately.
Wooyoung: Kicked out? Please. I was the highlight of the night. But glad to see you haven’t forgotten me yet
You: Hard to forget someone who almost ruined a perfectly good pair of shoes
Wooyoung: What can I say? I always make an impression
One text turned into two, then ten, and before you knew it, you were swapping jokes and stories like you’d known each other for years. Two weeks later, you subtly dropped hints that you were going to a popular club near campus, hoping he’d show up.
The bar was alive with energy, music thumping through the walls as groups of friends and strangers laughed and danced under dim, colorful lights. You walked in with Chaerin, ready for the night.
It didn’t take long for Chaerin to spot someone she knew, dragging you along to meet them. While she chatted with her friend, you excused yourself to grab a drink. As you approached the bar, a familiar voice called out over the crowd.
“Y/N?”
You turned, and there he was—Wooyoung, leaning casually against the bar with that ever-present smirk. He looked effortlessly good, dressed in a fitted black shirt that rolled up at the sleeves, showing off his forearms. His hair was slightly messy, like he hadn’t planned to show up but somehow still managed to look perfect.
“Wooyoung,” you said, feigning surprise but already feeling your pulse quicken. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Yeah? Or did you secretly hope I’d be here?” His smirk deepened as he pushed off the bar and stepped closer, just enough to invade your space without being overbearing. Of course you hoped he’d be here.
You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “In your dreams, Woo.”
“Ah, but dreams come true sometimes,” he quipped, leaning against the bar again. “What are you going to drink?”
“Whatever’s strong and cheap,” you replied with a laugh.
“Cheap?” He shook his head in mock disapproval. “You deserve better than that. I’ve got this one.” He signaled the bartender, ordering something with a sly confidence that told you it’d probably be delicious—and a little dangerous.
You leaned your back against the bar, facing him. “Big spender tonight, huh? What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion. Just… saw someone worth treating,” he said, his voice low but loud enough for you to catch over the music. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, the world around you faded, the beat of the music syncing with the thrum of your heartbeat.
The bartender handed over two drinks, and Wooyoung slid one toward you. “Cheers,” he said, clinking his glass against yours. “To… unexpected meetings.”
“To unexpected meetings,” you said, like as if you hadn’t dropped subtle hints of your whereabouts for the night. The drink was smooth, sweet but with a bite that lingered on your tongue—just like him.
As the alcohol worked its way through your system, you found yourself laughing more, leaning in closer to hear him over the noise. He leaned in too, his voice brushing your ear, his breath warm against your skin. The space between you felt electric, charged with something unspoken but undeniable.
The music shifted, a sultry bass-heavy track taking over, and Wooyoung straightened, holding out a hand. “Dance with me?”
You hesitated for only a second before setting your drink down. “Why not?”
The dance floor was packed, bodies moving to the rhythm, the lights flickering in time with the music. Wooyoung pulled you into the crowd, his hand firm but gentle on your waist. The space between you disappeared as you began to move together, your bodies naturally finding the same rhythm.
His hands lingered on your hips, guiding you closer, his touch deliberate but teasing. You met his gaze, and for a moment, the air between you thickened. His lips curved into a wicked smile, and before you could overthink it, he leaned in, carefully watching your expression to see any hesitation.
“Have I ever told you how beautiful you look tonight?” he murmured in your ear, causing goosebumps to arise on your skin.
You pulled away to look at him. “Have I ever told you that you do too?” This time, you leaned in, brushing your lips on his lightly, testing the waters. But the moment he responded, it deepened. His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you against him, and your fingers found their way into his hair. The music pulsed around you, but it was distant compared to the pounding of your heart.
You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, lost in the haze of the music and the heat between you. When you finally pulled back, realizing that things were getting hot and heavy and you were still in a public setting, his eyes were dark, searching yours.
“Want to get out of here?” he asked, his voice rough and low.
You smirked, still catching your breath. “My place or yours?”
Presently, Wooyoung somehow managed to juggle his co-op, his friendships, and his relentless optimism without breaking a sweat. While you were pouring coffee at midnight twice a week for fellow college students at your job, he was asleep. While he was debugging code at a sleek office desk in the morning, you were asleep. While you were buried in your senior design work and other classes, Wooyoung was busy at his co-op or catching up with his friends. He was supposed to graduate a semester early, but he got this co-op last minute, so he decided to push his graduation to the next semester. He liked it better this way as you and most of his friends were graduating during the spring. His co-op was a 20-minute drive away from campus, so he was glad he didn't have to go through the trouble of finding another place to stay and subleasing his apartment for the semester.
You were proud of him—you really were. But the cracks in your schedules meant seeing each other less and less. The only time the two of you could actually spend some quality time together was on the weekends.
It was late on a Friday night, and you were curled up on the couch in your small one-bedroom apartment. The apartment was quiet except for the low murmur of the TV, where an old rom-com played in the background. Wooyoung sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, his laptop open as his fingers flew over the keyboard.
“You’ve been staring at that screen for hours,” you said softly, reaching out to run a hand through his silky black hair that he’s been growing out. “Don’t you ever get tired?”
He turned his back to look at you, a crooked smile pulling at his lips. “Of work? Constantly. Of being awesome? Never.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled, appreciating the glimmer of his usual charm. “What are you working on this time?”
“Just polishing some scripts for a demo on Monday,” he said, his voice tinged with focus. “I’ll be done soon.”
Nodding, you left him to it, but the silence between you felt heavier than it used to. Late nights like this had become routine—him buried in his co-op responsibilities, you juggling your courses and your part-time job. Time together had dwindled to brief moments like this, where the companionship was comforting but fleeting.
After a few more minutes, Wooyoung finally shut his laptop with a decisive click and turned to face you. “Hey Y/N? So… I’ve got something to tell you.”
The seriousness in his tone made you sit up a little straighter. “What’s up?”
“I’m going to Busan next week,” he said, his words careful but casual.
“Busan?” you repeated, curiosity flickering across your face. “For work?”
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s this company event—networking, panels, that sort of thing. I wasn’t expecting to go since it’s mostly for full-time employees, but they extended the invite to co-ops too.”
You nodded, a small smile forming on your lips. “That’s great, Woo. It sounds like a big deal.”
“It is,” he admitted, though his smile didn’t quite match the excitement in his words. “But it’s over the weekend.”
Your heart sank a little at that. Weekends were precious, the only time you both had to really reconnect amidst the chaos of your schedules. Still, you refused to let the disappointment show.
“Well, you should go,” you said sincerely. “It’s a good opportunity, and you’ve worked hard for this.”
Wooyoung’s eyes softened, a small crease forming between his brows. “I was kind of hoping you’d come with me.”
Your relationship with Wooyoung was… straightforward and complicated at the same time. The two of you weren’t dating, weren’t committed to each other, and yet things between you both were exclusive. Your friends referred to him as your “boyfriend,” claiming that’s how he acts. Honestly? You’d be lying if you said you didn’t act like a girlfriend too. There was just no tag for this relationship. Wooyoung only briefly mentioned one time that he doesn’t do relationships but also doesn’t like to fuck around. But feelings? He never really said anything about it. Were you FWBs? Were you… well, let’s just say it’s complicated.
His offer caught you off guard, and you laughed lightly, though your tone was gentle. “That’s sweet, but you know I can’t. I’ve got Senior Design deadlines next week, and one of my teammates is already slacking. If I disappear for three days, I’ll come back to double the workload.”
He nodded slowly, though his smile faded at the mention of your project, knowing how stressed you can get over it. “Who’s the teammate giving you trouble?”
“His name is Minhyuk, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you said, “Yongha and I have been picking up the slack for him.” You noticed the way his posture stiffened. “Jina is doing fine too, but she’s taking so any credits and has three hard classes, so we offered to ease her load a bit.”
Wooyoung’s expression relaxed slightly, but the way his jaw tightened when you mentioned Yongha didn’t go unnoticed by you.
“Lee Yongha, right?” he asked after a moment, his tone light but probing.
You raised an eyebrow slightly. Your university was huge in terms of the number of enrolled students, and you knew Yongha grew up in the other side of the country, so you wondered how Wooyoung knew of him. “Yeah. Do you know him?”
He shook his head quickly, though the flicker of unease in his eyes told a different story. “Not really. Just heard the name around, I guess.”
The shift in his mood was subtle but noticeable, and it lingered in the air even as he changed the subject by asking if you wanted to go to the mall with him tomorrow. You didn’t press him on it, but something about the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes left you wondering.
-x-x-x-
The weekdays came and went, and you found yourself in the thick of the chaos. Your team’s project was barely hanging by a thread, and Minhyuk’s lack of participation was only making things worse. Despite your best efforts to keep everything together, it felt like you were drowning in deadlines. On top of that, Wooyoung was gone to Busan for his company event, and the days felt longer without him.
Saturday morning, you found yourself in the library, headphones plugged in, buried in your laptop and scribbling notes. You could barely keep your eyes open, but there was no way you could afford to fall behind. Your phone buzzed, a message from Wooyoung lighting up the screen.
Woo: Hope you’re surviving the weekend without me
You smiled, a soft warmth spreading through you. You missed him, even if you hadn’t admitted it yet. After a few moments of deliberation, you replied:
You: Surviving… barely. But I’ve got enough caffeine in me to last until Monday. How’s Busan?
Woo: It’s great. The event’s been interesting. I met some cool people. Don’t drink too much coffee
You paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. You wanted to ask him more about his trip, about his thoughts on the event, but you couldn’t stop thinking about your team, about the mess you were still trying to clean up.
You: I’ll try. I’ll be glad when you’re back!
You hit send and leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head. The library was quiet, but it felt like the walls were closing in. The pressure was mounting, and all you wanted was a chance to breathe.
A few minutes later, your phone buzzed again. You expected a simple reply from Wooyoung, but this time it was a voice message. You clicked on it, holding your breath as his familiar voice filled your ears.
"Hey, I just wanted to say, I know things are tough right now, and I’m sorry I can’t be there to help. But just remember, you’re not alone in this. You’ve got this. I believe in you. And if you ever need a distraction, I’m only a call away. I love—ah, um, the ocean here, I love the sea, yeah, I wish you could see it."
You closed your eyes, letting his words sink in. It was exactly what you needed to hear. There was something about the way he spoke, the confidence in his voice, that made you feel like everything would eventually work out. The end of it made you catch your breath, thinking he was going to tell you he loves you.
Your phone buzzed again, this time a text from him.
Woo: Take a break for me, okay? You’ve earned it. I’ll be back soon, and we can catch up
You couldn’t help but smile, your heart feeling a little lighter. As much as you had to focus on your work, you couldn’t ignore the fact that Wooyoung had a way of making you feel like you weren’t carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders alone.
You were just about to stand up for a much-needed break when your phone buzzed on the table.
It was a message from the senior design team group chat. You quickly reached for your phone, and your eyes landed on Yongha’s name.
Yongha: Guys, I have AMAZING news!
You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. With the project feeling like it was slowly spiraling, good news seemed like a distant dream. You tapped the message, intrigued.
Yongha: I just got off the call with the sensor supplier. They confirmed the prototype sensors we ordered will be ready ahead of schedule. We’re good to start testing next week if everything goes as planned!
A wide grin spread across your face. Ready ahead of schedule? That was huge. Testing next week? That was exactly what you needed to keep this project on track and show your professors the progress you were hoping for. For a moment, you let the excitement wash over you, imagining how the timeline would change.
You typed quickly, not wasting a second.
You: No way! That’s amazing! When can we start testing?
Yongha: Next week for sure. We might even have enough time to do a demo for the end of the semester. I’ll need you here to help with the setup. Can you come over to the lab later to go over everything?
Your heart skipped a beat. A demo? That was more than you expected. Things were looking up, and for the first time in days, you allowed yourself to feel the excitement.
You: A demo before the end of the semester? That’s incredible! Yeah, I’ll come later. Let me know what time works best
You couldn’t stop the smile on your face as you sent the message. This could be the breakthrough you’d been waiting for, the moment everything fell into place. After all the stress and late nights, things were finally moving forward.
But then your phone buzzed again, a message from your slacking teammate.
Minhyuk: Sorry, I’m behind on my part of the project. I’ll catch up soon
You stared at the screen for a moment, the smile slowly fading. Another excuse. It always seemed like it was the same thing, promises of catching up, but no action. You let out a frustrated breath and quickly closed the message. You didn’t have time to dwell on it right now.
You had to message Wooyoung about this though.
You: Good news! The sensors are ahead of schedule! We can start testing next week
You paused, fingers hovering over the screen. You really didn’t want to complain about Minhyuk, but you couldn’t keep everything bottled up.
You: But… Minhyuk is still slacking off
You pressed send and put your phone down for a moment, running a hand through your hair. You couldn’t let this bring you down now—not with the progress the team had made. You had to focus on the positives, on the opportunity ahead.
A minute later, your phone buzzed again with Wooyoung’s reply.
Wooyoung: I’m proud of you, seriously. But I get it. You’ve been pushing so hard. Take it one step at a time, okay? And if you need a break, just call me. I’m here for you
The words were simple, but they grounded you. You felt a little lighter, like you could breathe again. With the good news about the sensors, maybe there was a way forward after all.
You: You’re the best, Woo! I’m heading to my lab now
You grabbed your jacket and stood up, ready to head out to the lab.
As you walked across campus, the air felt crisp, and a quiet energy hummed through your steps. Campus was relatively calm as it’s a Saturday. Normally, you’d be half-dragging yourself through the day, but today felt different. Today, something good was happening. You couldn’t remember the last time the project felt like it was on the right track.
When you entered the lab, you were greeted by the familiar sound of the soft whir of machines, but the place was noticeably more organized than usual. Yongha was already there, pacing by one of the tables, a laptop open in front of him. He looked up as you walked in, his face breaking into a grin.
“Y/N,” he greeted you with enthusiasm, “Glad you could make it. I’ve got everything ready for us to go over the prototype designs.”
You smiled, nodding as you dropped your bag on a nearby counter. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. You’re telling me we’re actually getting these sensors ahead of schedule?” Your voice almost had a note of disbelief in it, but you were genuinely excited. It felt like you’d been waiting forever for a breakthrough, and now it was finally here.
Yongha laughed, clapping his hands together. “Yes, ahead of schedule. It’s almost like everything we’ve been working on is finally paying off. I mean, look at this!” He gestured to the sleek-looking box on the counter, a small screen and a set of wires connecting it to the main unit. You walked over to get a closer look.
“Is this the sensor prototype?” you asked, leaning in.
“Yep! This is the first iteration. It’s not perfect, but it's a start. The suppliers said they’ve managed to miniaturize everything, so it should be portable. We’ve got everything we need to start testing today.”
You ran your fingers over the surface of the device, inspecting it closely. It was smaller than you expected, much more compact. The potential was clear. A wave of excitement rushed through you again. This could be the thing that would make your project stand out.
You turned to Yongha, eyes bright. “So, what’s the plan? How do we get started with testing?”
Yongha gestured to the table, where several test tubes, samples, and the rest of the lab equipment were laid out. “First, we need to calibrate the sensor, make sure the readings are accurate. I’ve got some control samples here. We’ll run a few tests and make sure everything works before we try with real biological samples. I’ve already set up the software—just need to input the parameters for each test.”
You nodded, walking over to the table to take your place beside him. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s get this show on the road.”
As you both dove into the work, the lab began to feel alive with purpose. You were no longer bogged down by the frustration of Minhyuk’s lack of effort. The pieces were finally falling into place. For the first time in a long while, everything felt like it was moving forward in the right direction.
As you calibrated the sensor, the rhythm of your work was interrupted by a soft buzz from your phone on the counter. You glanced over, seeing that it was another message from Wooyoung. You smiled briefly, thinking of him in Busan.
Wooyoung: How’s the lab going?
You quickly tapped out a response, not wanting to lose focus on the task at hand but appreciating his check-in.
You: It’s going great! The sensors are ahead of schedule. I’m at the lab with Yongha now, testing everything. Hopefully, we’ll have good results today!
After a beat, another message popped up.
Wooyoung: That’s awesome
You: Yup, I’m gonna get back to work now
You slipped your phone back into your pocket, refocusing on the task at hand. You and Yongha continued working through the calibration and fine-tuning of the sensor, running test after test. There were some hiccups along the way—a few misreadings here and there, a few software glitches—but with each iteration, it became clearer that the sensor was working exactly as it should. The readings were more accurate with each test, and the excitement in the lab built with every successful result.
By the time the afternoon stretched into the evening, you were both buzzing with energy. The data was promising. The prototype sensor was functioning very well. This could really be the breakthrough you needed.
“I think we’re ready for the real samples next week,” Yongha said, leaning back in his chair and wiping his brow. His voice carried a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. “What do you think?”
You stepped back, surveying the lab table strewn with equipment and data printouts. It wasn’t perfect, but it was close—closer than you’d dared to hope. “Yeah,” you said, a grin spreading across your face. “I can’t wait to see it all come together.”
Yongha chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re more patient than me. I’d start testing tonight if I could.”
You laughed. “That makes one of us. I’m ready to celebrate getting this far without setting something on fire.”
“Well, speaking of celebrations…” Yongha stretched his arms over his head and stood up. “I’m heading to that café down the street for a frappe before I call it a night. Want to join me? My treat.”
The mention of caffeine perked you up instantly. “A frappe sounds good, but I’m paying for my mocha cream bread,” you said, grabbing your bag.
“Deal,” Yongha said with a smile. “Let’s go before they sell out.”
The evening air was crisp as you and Yongha stepped out of the lab. The café wasn’t far, just a short walk down the cobblestone path lined with trees that rustled gently in the breeze. You adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder, glancing at Yongha.
“So, how are your other classes going?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
“Not too bad,” Yongha replied, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. “Biomechanics is killing me, though. I can’t tell if it’s the material or the professor’s monotone voice.”
You laughed, nodding knowingly. “Dr. Kim? Yeah, he could make winning the lottery sound like a tax seminar. I survived his class last semester with copious amounts of caffeine and an unhealthy attachment to Quizlet.”
“That sounds about right,” he said with a grin. “How about you? What’s your least favorite class this semester?”
“Easy. Biostatistics,” you groaned. “I get the concept, but the actual analysis makes me want to curl up and cry. It’s like the numbers are personally attacking me.”
Yongha chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re handling Senior Design, work, and Biostatistics? You’re a masochist.”
“Or just really bad at prioritizing my sanity,” you joked, earning another laugh from him.
Before long, the café came into view, its cozy interior lit by soft, warm lights. The rich smell of coffee and freshly baked goods greeted you as you stepped inside. You both ordered—Yongha sticking to a frappe, while you opted for your favorite mocha cream bread and a white chocolate frappe. You found a small table near the window.
The conversation shifted as you sipped your drinks, veering between shared frustrations about classwork and lighthearted teasing about your group’s quirks. You were genuinely enjoying yourself—it wasn’t often that you got to talk to Yongha outside of project stress, and it was nice to connect on a more casual level.
Then the door swung open, and you heard a familiar voice.
“Y/N?”
You turned to see Wooyoung’s friends, Yeosang and San, walking in. Their laughter trailed off as they spotted you. They looked surprised, their gazes flickering between you and Yongha.
You’ve hung out with them a couple times and they were genuinely amazing people. You weren’t very close to them yet, but your friendship was blossoming. You knew Chaerin had a thing for San and planned to make a move on him soon.
“Yeosang! San!” you said, smiling. “What are you guys doing here?”
“Grabbing a bite after the gym,” Yeosang said, his tone light but his eyes curiously scanning the scene. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Ah, yes,” you gestured to Yongha. “This is my classmate and senior design teammate, Yongha.” He smirked, and you noticed San and Yeosang didn’t seem… impressed. “Yongha, these are my friends, San and Yeosang.”
Yongha nodded. “Pleasure to meet you.”
San raised an eyebrow, but there was a serious expression on his face. “Likewise.”
“Well, we should let you get back to it,” Yeosang said after a beat, nudging San. “Catch you later, Y/N.”
“Yeah, see you around,” San added, giving you a wink before following Yeosang to the counter.
As they moved away, Yongha exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “Your friends are… interesting.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “They’re good guys. Don’t take it personally… I think they’re just exhausted from the gym.”
“I won’t,” Yongha said with a small smile, though his eyes followed the pair as they ordered their drinks.
You remembered how Wooyoung tensed up when you mentioned Yongha before. Taking a sip of your drink, you watched Yeosang and San grab a table on the other side of the café.
You didn’t really know what was going on, but you had a feeling that they all knew each other.
-x-x-x-
The open group floor of the library buzzed with life, a mix of chatter, the tapping of laptop keys, and the hiss of the nearby espresso machine filling the air. You sat cross-legged on a worn couch, sipping a frozen hot chocolate drink as Chaerin scrolled through her phone beside you. Siya perched on the armrest, her legs swinging slightly, her energy as vibrant as her orange blazer.
“I’m telling you, it’s perfect,” Siya said, holding her phone out to show a picture of the dress she’d been obsessing over. It was a sleek, floor-length black gown with a thigh-high slit and an intricate beaded neckline. “Isn’t it gorgeous? Classy but with just enough wow factor to make people remember me.”
Chaerin leaned forward, squinting at the screen. “It’s beautiful, but are you sure it’s appropriate for a business club event? The slit is a little… daring.”
“Exactly!” Siya beamed, clearly unbothered. “What better way to make an impression? I’ll be memorable and professional. Win-win.”
You snorted into your coffee. “Siya, you’re not making an impression; you’re making a statement. Don’t be surprised if someone asks you for a red carpet interview.”
“That’s the goal,” she said with a dramatic hair flip. “Honestly, we were going to call this event ‘The Business Ball’ but our club’s president didn’t like it. Besides, this event is less about stuffy networking and more about showing off and rubbing elbows with people who matter.”
“Who matter… like Song Mingi?” Chaerin teased, wiggling her eyebrows.
Siya gasped, clutching her chest. “How dare you call me out like this! But, yes, I might want him to notice me. You don’t just let a tall, sexy man with a voice like that go unnoticed.”
“Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes, smirking. “If Mingi doesn’t notice you in that dress, he’s blind and not worth your time.”
“Exactly!” Siya pointed at you triumphantly. “See, Y/N gets it.”
Chaerin grinned, leaning back on the couch. “Fine, but if you end up stealing the spotlight from the guest speaker or get caught in an oops moment with that slit, don’t come crying to us.”
“I won’t!” Siya waved her hand dismissively. “I’m a professional. I know how to handle a slit.”
That sent the three of you into a fit of laughter, drawing a few curious glances from nearby students. You didn’t care—this was one of the few times you could let loose after a weekend of work and lab stress.
When the laughter died down, Siya sighed wistfully, looking at the dress on her phone again. “Anyway, I still need to buy it. It’s a bit expensive, but it’s worth it, right?”
“Totally,” Chaerin said, nudging her. “Think of it as an investment in your future—and your love life.”
You chuckled, shaking your head. “Just make sure you don’t outshine the actual event. We wouldn’t want the business club talking about your dress more than the keynote speaker.”
“Let them talk,” Siya said with a grin. “Isn’t that the whole point of black-tie events?”
Siya set her phone down and leaned forward, clasping her hands dramatically. “Okay, enough about me. What’s new with you two? Chaerin, have you figured out what to wear for your cousin’s wedding yet, or are you still pretending you’ll find something last minute?”
Chaerin groaned, dropping her head back against the couch. “Ugh, don’t remind me. My mom keeps sending me links to these over-the-top hanboks that make me look like a walking flower arrangement. I love her, but I’m not trying to outshine the bride.”
“Just go modern,” you suggested. “There are some stunning minimalist designs that would make your mom happy and still let you breathe.”
“Easy for you to say,” Chaerin retorted, poking your arm. “You’re not dealing with a family that’s convinced weddings are the Olympics of fashion.”
“Touché,” you said, grinning.
Siya smirked, nudging Chaerin. “You’re stressing for nothing. You could show up in a potato sack, and people would still talk about how good you look.”
“Thanks for the confidence boost,” Chaerin said, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, what about you, Y/N? Anything exciting from your end?”
You hesitated, swirling the remains of your iced coffee. “Not much, honestly. Just the usual—Senior Design, work, and trying to stay sane.”
Chaerin raised an eyebrow. “No drama with your Jung Wooyoung situation? You both have been unusually quiet.”
Siya’s eyes lit up. “Girl, how are you surviving that? He’s fine as hell. If it were me, I’d catch feelings in, like, a week.”
“Oh she has feelings for him, that’s for sure,” Chaerin chipped in.
You laughed, but the mention of Wooyoung brought an odd flutter to your stomach. “It’s not that deep,” you said, brushing it off. “We both know what it is, and we’re keeping it casual.”
“Hmm,” Chaerin hummed, unconvinced. “And how’s that working out for you, really?”
“Honestly? It’s fine,” you said, leaning back. “We don’t get to hang out much because of his co-op and my schedule, so it’s not like we’re in each other’s faces all the time. It works.”
“Does it, though?” Siya pressed, tilting her head. “I mean, you’re cool with it now, but what happens when one of you starts wanting more? It’s been a couple of months already and y’all low-key act like a couple anyway.”
You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I think we’re both too busy for that kind of drama.”
Chaerin exchanged a glance with Siya, who smirked knowingly but let the topic drop.
“Alright, if you say so,” Chaerin said, sitting up.
You glanced at the time on your phone and sighed. “Speaking of busy, I should probably head out. I’ve got a ton of work to do before lab tomorrow.”
Siya groaned dramatically, flopping against the couch. “You’re leaving us? Who am I supposed to talk to about my fashion emergencies?”
“You’ll survive,” you said with a grin, grabbing your bag. “And for the record, buy the dress. It’s a power move.”
Siya beamed, giving you a thumbs-up. “Knew you’d come through for me.”
Chaerin nudged you lightly as you stood. “Don’t work too hard, okay? And let us know if you need help with… well, anything.”
You hesitated, her words making you pause. For a second, you thought about telling them everything—about Yongha, the awkward café encounter and the way it seems like there’s some sort of history between the boys. But the thought of unpacking all of that now felt exhausting, and you weren’t even sure where to start.
“I will,” you said instead, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “See you both later.”
As you stepped out of the library, the cool evening air hit you, a welcome contrast to the stuffy warmth inside. The conversation about Wooyoung lingered in your mind as you walked, mingling with the memory of Yeosang and San’s frosty reception toward Yongha.
You shook your head, as if physically trying to dispel the thoughts. It wasn’t your problem, you reminded yourself. Whatever happened between them was their business, and you had more pressing things to focus on—like preparing for tomorrow’s lab session and making sure the project stayed on track.
When you got to your apartment, you were surprised to see Wooyoung leaning casually against your doorframe, his phone in hand. He looked up as you approached, a grin spreading across his face.
“Woo? What are you doing here on a Tuesday night?” you asked, punching in your passcode to unlock the door.
“Couldn’t stay away,” he replied smoothly, slipping his phone into his pocket.
You gave him a skeptical look as you pushed the door open, taking your shoes off. “Seriously. Did you lose a bet or something?”
He followed you inside without answering, kicking off his sneakers by the door. The moment you turned to close it, he was on you, pressing you gently but firmly against the wood.
“Woo, what—”
“I just had to see you,” he interrupted, his voice low and breath warm against your cheek. His hands rested on either side of you, caging you in but not making you feel trapped.
Your heart skipped a beat, but you refused to let him see that. Instead, you smirked, sliding your arms around his neck. “Can’t wait three more days, can you?”
His laugh was soft and breathy, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, their usual mischief laced with something heavier. “Maybe not,” he admitted, his tone teasing but edged with sincerity.
You tilted your head, brushing your lips lightly along the side of his neck. “You’re lucky I don’t mind breaking my no-midweek-visits rule.” A rule you had in place solely because you had to get up quite early on Wednesdays and you would struggle if you didn’t sleep early due to certain… distractions.
“Lucky?” He let out a soft scoff, his lips curving into a smirk as he dipped his head closer. “I’d say I’m very lucky.”
Before you could retort, his mouth found yours, the kiss warm and demanding. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, as if daring him to show you exactly how much he’d missed you.
Wooyoung’s hands tightened on your waist as the kiss deepened, his body pressing against yours in a way that made it hard to think straight. His lips trailed along your jaw, down to your neck, leaving a trail of warmth that sent shivers down your spine.
“Woo,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady despite the haze settling over your thoughts. “I thought you were busy with work this week.”
“I am,” he said between kisses, his voice a little breathless. “But I needed a break. And you.”
The bluntness of his words made your chest tighten, though you weren’t sure if it was because of how easily he said it or how much you liked hearing it.
You tugged lightly at his hair, making him look up at you with those dark, teasing eyes that always seemed to know exactly what you were thinking. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
He grinned, cocky as ever. “Impossible to resist?”
You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, he kissed you again, his hands sliding up to frame your face. When the kiss broke, you rested your forehead against his, trying to catch your breath. “You’re such a distraction,” you muttered, though there was no bite to your words.
“Good,” he said softly, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “You work too hard anyway.”
You couldn’t argue with that, but you also couldn’t let him think he could just show up and derail your week. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood tonight,” you teased, poking his chest lightly.
“Or maybe you’re just always in a good mood when I’m around,” he shot back, smirking.
“Don’t push it,” you warned, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.
He stepped back reluctantly, giving you a little space. “Okay, okay. I’ll behave… for now.”
You quirked an eyebrow. “Behave? That’s new for you.”
He laughed, the sound filling the room with a warmth you hadn’t realized you needed. “Don’t get used to it,” he said, walking into your kitchen to grab something to drink. You took this opportunity to hang your jacket and freshen up a bit in the bathroom, changing into a new sleepwear set you ordered online.
When you stepped out of the bathroom, the faint sizzle and savory aroma of something cooking drew you toward the kitchen. You stopped in your tracks as you turned the corner, your breath hitching just slightly. There was Wooyoung, standing at your counter, sleeves rolled up—well, lack of sleeves entirely, as he’d taken off his hoodie and was now wearing a loose black tank top. The fabric hung low enough to hint at his toned chest, and his arms, lined with prominent veins, moved with practiced precision as he chopped up whatever vegetables he could find in your kitchen.
He didn’t notice you at first, focused on his task. His brow furrowed slightly as he tossed the freshly chopped vegetables into the sizzling pan with a flick of his wrist. The sound of the oil crackling filled the air, mixing with the scent of soy sauce and garlic. You stood there, watching him cook. You couldn’t help but blatantly check him out. You wanted to run your hands over his veiny arms and watch his abs harden while he’s fucking you, and— the sound of running water interrupted your thoughts. Wooyoung finished cooking what you were certain of was fried rice and was now washing his hands.
Mentally reminding yourself to pull it together, you walked into the kitchen. “What are you doing?” you asked, leaning casually against your small, 4-seater dining table, trying to appear unaffected.
Wooyoung looked over his shoulder while drying his hands with a towel. For a moment, you swore you saw his jaw tighten, like he was trying to hold something back. His eyes scanned you slowly, from head to toe, and you could feel the weight of his gaze lingering just a second too long on the way your sleepwear clung to your body. The shorts were undeniably short, and the crop top left a little too much exposed skin, but you didn’t expect his reaction to be this… intense.
The look in his eyes shifted, almost imperceptibly, as if he was battling with something inside. His fingers tightened on the towel, and you could see the slight twitch of his jaw as he tried to keep himself composed, his usual cocky smirk faltering for just a second.
Taking a deep breath, Wooyoung made his way towards you. He placed his hands on the dining table on either side of you, trapping you in between his arms. “I think the question is what are you doing to me, Y/N?” he said in a low tone. You moved slightly to sit on the edge of the dining table.
“I don’t know what you mean,” you said innocently, though your next action of pulling him closer by the waistband of his sweatpants was anything but innocent.
“I—fuck, Y/N. If you keep doing this to me,” his hand moved into your hair, gently grabbing it to tilt your head back to look at him, “I won’t be able to behave anymore.”
“Then don’t,” you said daringly, spreading your legs to give him the space to stand in between them. Wooyoung wasted no time in crashing his lips onto yours. Your hands were around his neck, trying to pull him even closer if that was even possible, while his hands were moving up and down the exposed skin of your thighs. He broke the kiss to trail kisses down your neck to the exposed skin of your chest before he came back up.
“May I?” he asked, his fingers at the hem of your top. You nod and try to take it off, but Wooyoung stops you. “Keep it on, it looks so good on you.” He pushes your top up only enough to free your boobs so that he could latch onto them. His tongue swirls around your nipple while his hand plays with your other boob, giving it a gentle massage. He switches sides and mimics his actions. Once he’s done, he trails kisses down to the waistband of your shorts and looks up at you for consent.
“On the dining table?” you ask with a raised eyebrow. Wooyoung smirks. “Dessert on the dining table, why not? Besides, you never use it anyway.” That was true since you always eat on your couch while watching something. “Now lean back and relax for me, sweetheart.”
You did as he said, and he slid your shorts along with your underwear down your legs. “So eager for me,” he states, noticing the wet stain on your panties before tossing it onto a chair. He gets down on his knees to be at eye level with your pussy, and moves your thighs to rest over his shoulders. He trails kisses along your inner thighs before reaching your heated core. Your hand moved into his hair and your body feels so warm. Wooyoung licks a stripe from your hole to your clit, letting out a small moan at your taste. He repeats his actions a couple of times before latching onto your clit, gently sucking the nub. You squirm, bucking your hips up. Wooyoung smirks, moving his arms around your thighs to hold you down in place so you couldn’t move.
“Woo… god, fuck,” you moan. He hums before lapping at your clit in a faster pace that had you gripping the sides of the table. He let go of one of your thighs to bring his hand to your hole, slipping a finger inside while continuing to lap at your clit. Your free thigh moved to squeeze his head once you felt the pressure building up in your lower abdomen. Wooyoung added another finger and pumped it in and out in a similar pace to the way he ate you out. “I… Woo, I’m—” Before you could finish your sentence, your orgasm crashed over you, rattling your body. Wooyoung slowed his pace while you rode out your high, savoring the taste of your cum on his tongue. He pulled his fingers out and sucked them clean before lifting you up, grabbing your clothes from the chair, walking to your bedroom.
Wooyoung set you down on your bed and took his tank top and pants off, leaving himself bare in front of you. He reached for the drawer on your nightstand, taking a condom from it. He set it aside as usual since you both went a little raw for a bit.
He pumps his hard cock in his hand before running it along your wet folds to lubricate it. You whimper when the head of his dick rubs against your sensitive clit that was still pulsating from his previous actions. “Are you ready for me, sweetheart?” he asks and you buck your hips, earning a soft chuckle from him.
“I want to ride you,” you say and Wooyoung felt like he would bust at your words.
He moved to lie down on your bed, and you straddle his lap. You reconnect your lips to his, kissing him in a heavy way, slipping your tongue in his mouth. He matches your pace while his hands move along the sides of your body, feeling every inch of your skin. Without breaking the kiss, you take his dick in your hand, aligning it with your hole before sinking all the way down. You moaned at the stretch and the mild sting you felt. You gave yourself some time to adjust, pulling away from the kiss. Wooyoung’s hair was disheveled and his lips were swollen, and he looked so, so sexy. You rolled your hips against his, placing your hands on the wall in front of you while you moved up and down his length, your warm walls squeezing his cock.
“Always so tight no matter how much I fuck you,” he comments, his hands grabbing your ass. “I’m gonna need that condom now, Y/N.”
You smirk, ignoring his words to move faster on him, teasing him dangerously the way he teases you. Wooyoung’s bites his lip, the thrill of letting you him raw brings goosebumps to his skin every single time. But you had to get off him, and you quickly ripped the square packet, taking the circular item out, wasting no time in unrolling the condom onto his dick. You climbed back onto his lap and sank back down on his cock. This time, you placed your feet flat on the bed and bounced on his dick, your bed squeaking at the movement.
“F-fuck Y/N,” Wooyoung moans, his hips bucking up to meet yours halfway, skin slapping hard against each other. He reached between your legs to rub your clit in circular motions while you slammed down hard on his dick, chasing your orgasm.
“Woo, you feel so fucking good.” Your core tightened and you let go, moaning loudly while letting yet another orgasm wash over you.
“Almost there,” Wooyoung groans, fucking up into you faster before coming to a still, spilling inside the condom in you. You felt his dick pulse with every load he shot, and you slumped down against his chest, breathing heavily. He kissed your forehead, letting you lie down on his chest until you moved to get off him.
“You good there?” he asks and you hum in response, getting up to go pee and wash your hands. Wooyoung follows you to the bathroom to clean up and dispose the used condom before throwing his clothes on. He waited for you to get dressed before engulfing you in his arms.
“Let’s have dinner now, hmm?” he says, kissing your head before taking your hand in his, dragging you to the kitchen.
-x-x-x-
Chaerin’s apartment smelled faintly of vanilla candles and coffee, the cozy vibe a perfect contrast to the slightly chaotic retelling of your night with Wooyoung. You were curled up on her couch, legs tucked under you, while Chaerin sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping from a steaming mug of tea.
“So, let me get this straight,” Chaerin began, her tone dripping with exasperation. “He shows up unannounced, cooks for you, fucks you, and then stays the night on a Tuesday? And you’re still not dating?”
You shrugged, twisting the edge of a throw pillow between your fingers. “It’s not like that. We’re just… having fun.”
“Having fun?” Chaerin repeated, raising an eyebrow so high it practically disappeared into her hairline. “That man is head over heels for you. And you’re just letting it slide because…?”
“Because we’re busy,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “He’s got his co-op. I’ve got my own stuff. Adding dating into the mix would be like asking for trouble.”
Chaerin gave you a pointed look, her tea forgotten on the coffee table. “Y/N, you’re literally living the plot of every rom-com ever. Boy likes girl, girl pretends it’s casual, drama ensues, and then—bam! You realize you’re in love with each other. Just skip the drama part and go straight to dating. Y’all already act like a couple, so I don’t see how things would be any different.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is, though!” Chaerin leaned forward, her enthusiasm contagious. “You already spend all your free time with him. He clearly adores you. What are you waiting for, a neon sign?”
Before you could argue, she shifted gears, a sly grin spreading across her face. “Speaking of signs, I made a move on San. I, um, waved at him at the east dining hall.”
You chuckled. “That’s it?”
Chaerin tossed a throw pillow at you, laughing when you barely dodged it. “Shut up! It’s not that easy, okay? San’s… intimidating.”
You raised a brow. “San? Intimidating? He’s like the human embodiment of a golden retriever.”
“Yeah, but a hot golden retriever,” Chaerin argued, her cheeks flushing. “Every time I see him, my brain just… short-circuits. It’s embarrassing.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, sitting up straighter. “You’ve got to shoot your shot, Chaerin. What’s the worst thing that could happen? He says no? I doubt it though.”
She groaned, flopping onto the floor dramatically. “Why do you have to be so reasonable?”
“Because someone has to be,” you teased.
Chaerin propped herself up on her elbows, giving you a sly grin. “Fine, I’ll make a… stronger move on San if you admit that Wooyoung is more than just a hookup.”
You rolled your eyes, getting to your feet. “Not happening.”
“Then I guess we’re both cowards,” Chaerin called after you as you headed to the kitchen to get a glass of water.
“Guess so!” you shouted back, though your chest tightened a little at the thought of Wooyoung and everything he made you feel—feelings you weren’t quite ready to unpack just yet. You knew you had strong feelings for him, but you didn’t know if he felt the same and for now, you liked the way things were between the two of you, so why ruin it?
After spending an hour with Chaerin, you headed to the dining hall for your work shift. Then, you made your way to the engineering building, the familiar buzz of fluorescent lights and faint hum of lab equipment greeting you as you entered.
You glanced at your phone, checking the time. 6:06 PM—not bad. You weren’t expecting much from today’s meeting; it was supposed to be a quick check-in with the team to discuss next steps, but you were going to stay back for a while with Yongha to get some data collected.
As you approached the door of the lab, you noticed Jina walking in at the same time. She gave you a polite smile, clutching her laptop to her chest.
“Hey, Y/N,” she said, holding the door open for you.
“Hey, Jina,” you replied, stepping inside, thanking her for holding the door for you.
Your eyes immediately landed on Yongha, who was already seated at the lab bench, scribbling notes in a notebook. His sleeves were rolled up, and his focus was so intense he didn’t even look up when you and Jina entered.
What surprised you, though, was seeing Minhyuk in the corner of the room, fiddling with a piece of equipment. It was a rare sight.
“Minhyuk?” you said, raising an eyebrow.
He turned at the sound of his name, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Hey. Thought I’d show up for once.”
You exchanged a glance with Jina, both of you equally stunned. Minhyuk had been the notorious ghost of your team, always finding excuses to skip meetings or leave work undone. Seeing him here felt almost surreal.
“Did the universe shift while I was gone, or are you actually here to help?” Jina teased, setting her laptop down on the table beside Yongha.
Minhyuk laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, I deserve that. But seriously, I’m here to pull my weight tonight. Promise.”
Yongha finally looked up from his notes, his expression unreadable as he glanced between you and Minhyuk. “Guess miracles do happen,” he said dryly, though there was a faint smile tugging at his lips.
You chuckled as you set up your laptop, the tension easing slightly. “Well, it’s good to have all hands on deck. We’ve got a lot to cover.”
As the team settled into work, you couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope. With everyone present and seemingly motivated, maybe—just maybe—tonight would actually be productive.
The hum of the centrifuge joined the soft clatter of keyboards as everyone found their rhythm. It was almost unsettling how focused Minhyuk seemed, diligently taking notes and double-checking calculations with Jina. For once, it felt like a proper team effort.
Yongha stood by the biosensor prototype, carefully adjusting the settings on the connected monitor. He looked up, catching your gaze. “Hey, Y/N, can you double-check the calibration? I think we’re close, but I don’t want to risk any errors.”
You nodded, moving to stand beside him. The device gleamed under the lab’s fluorescent lights, the culmination of weeks of late nights and stress. “Sure. Let’s see.”
As you worked, Yongha leaned slightly closer, his focus entirely on the screen. “By the way,” he said softly, “I’m glad Minhyuk showed up, but I’ve got to admit, it’s a little suspicious.”
You chuckled under your breath, keeping your eyes on the screen. “Suspicious? Or are we just not used to seeing him do actual work?”
“Probably both,” Yongha replied, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Still, I’ll take what I can get.”
You hummed in response, working on adjusting the calibration.
“Hey, Y/N,” he said, glancing at you as you adjusted the monitor. “How is it that you’re so good at this? Makes the rest of us look bad.”
You shot him a look, half-amused, half-skeptical. “Flattery won’t get you out of work, Yongha.”
He grinned, leaning just slightly into your space as if to check the monitor, though there wasn’t really a need. “Who says I’m trying to get out of work? I love being here. Or… maybe I just like watching you work.”
You paused, fingers hovering over the controls, your brain scrambling to process his words. Was he being serious, or was this just Yongha’s way of lightening the mood?
“Uh-huh,” you said, trying to sound unaffected. “Maybe you should focus on not breaking anything.”
He chuckled, his voice low enough to make your stomach flip. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dare ruin your work.”
You smile, quickly shaking his words off, choosing to focus on the calibration instead of the sudden shift in his tone. It wasn’t the first time Yongha had been playful, but tonight it felt… different. You were his teammate in a couple of shared classes before and he never really said anything out of the ordinary. Maybe he was more comfortable with you now that you had to work with him for two whole semesters.
Once the calibration was complete, you stepped back. “Numbers look good. We’re ready for the test.”
“Nice work, as always,” he said, his voice softer now, almost private despite the others being in the room.
“Thanks,” you replied, not quite meeting his eyes. You could feel his gaze lingering, and it sent a weird feeling in your stomach. Not butterflies, no, but uneasiness. You hoped he was just being friendly today.
Jina and Minhyuk joined you at the bench, their chatter breaking the moment.
“Calibration’s done?” Jina asked.
“Yep,” you said, grateful for the distraction. “Let’s run the test.”
As the prototype whirred to life, everyone fell into their roles. Yongha stayed close by your side, occasionally brushing past you to adjust something. It was subtle, almost unnoticeable—except you noticed.
When the results appeared on the monitor, a wave of relief washed over the team.
“Detection’s on point,” Jina announced, her excitement evident. “We’re exactly where we need to be.”
“Finally,” Yongha said, glancing at you with a smile. “I’d say that calls for a small celebration.”
Minhyuk laughed. “If by celebration, you mean heading home to sleep, I’m all in.”
The group chuckled, and Jina clapped her hands together. “Let’s call it a night. We can fine-tune everything tomorrow.”
As you packed up, Yongha lingered nearby, helping you put away the equipment.
“Good work tonight,” he said, his tone softer now that the others were preoccupied.
“You too,” you replied, trying to keep things casual.
He hesitated for a moment, then added, “I’m glad we’re on the same team. Makes the late nights easier.”
Your breath caught, and you gave him a small smile, unsure how to respond without reading too much into his words.
“See you tomorrow, Yongha,” you said instead, slinging your bag over your shoulder.
“See you, Y/N,” he replied, his eyes lingering on you as you walked out the door.
As you stepped into the cool night air, your mind raced. Was Yongha just being friendly, or was there something more to his words and lingering glances? You shook your head, brushing the thought aside. You didn’t have time to overthink this—not with everything else on your plate.
Your feet faltered when you noticed a familiar figure leaning casually against his car parked at the curb.
“Wooyoung?” you muttered, blinking in surprise, wondering what he was doing here. Was he waiting for you?
He straightened up as soon as he saw you, a grin spreading across his face while you walked up to him. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. “How was your—”
“Y/N!”
The sound of Yongha’s voice made you turn, catching sight of him jogging toward you, a blue notebook in his hand.
Wooyoung immediately stood taller, his expression sharpening as his eyes landed on Yongha. You didn’t miss the way his posture shifted, suddenly alert.
“I forgot to give this to you,” Yongha said, stopping in front of you and holding out the notebook. “It’ll help with your part of the write-up for the paper. I made the notes… especially for you.” His tone was light, but there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His gaze flicked briefly to Wooyoung, and you felt the tension between them before a single word was exchanged.
“Oh, um, thanks,” you said, accepting the notebook. You glanced between the two of them, the air growing heavier by the second. “You two know each other?”
“No,” Wooyoung replied coldly, his voice a stark contrast to the easy warmth he’d shown earlier.
Yongha chuckled, tilting his head slightly as if sizing him up. “Oh, but I believe I’ve seen you around. Jung Wooyoung, am I right?”
His cocky tone made Wooyoung’s jaw tighten, and you quickly stepped in. “Uh, Yongha, thanks again for the notes.”
Yongha didn’t move, his smirk deepening as he looked at you, though his eyes softened which Wooyoung immediately noticed. “How are you heading home, Y/N? I drove here, so I can drop you back if you’d like.”
Before you could even open your mouth, Wooyoung let out a low, dark chuckle that made your stomach flip. “That won’t be necessary,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with an unmistakable edge. He stepped closer, positioning himself between you and Yongha. “I’m here to take my girl home. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”
The words hung in the air, thick with unspoken challenge. You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden tension crackling in the air and the way Wooyoung claimed you as his. Yongha’s smirk widened, clearly relishing the moment, while Wooyoung’s jaw tightened, his stance growing more assertive.
“Your girl?” Yongha repeated, his tone dripping with feigned innocence. He crossed his arms, the smirk never leaving his face. “Interesting. I don’t think she mentioned that during our late-night lab sessions.”
Wooyoung took a step forward, his posture calm but his eyes sharp. “Funny. I don’t think she mentioned you at all,” he shot back smoothly, his voice steady but tinged with a dangerous edge.
Your eyes darted between the two of them, your stomach twisting uncomfortably. “Okay, that’s enough,” you said firmly, stepping between them before things could escalate.
Yongha held up his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, Y/N. I’m just making sure you’re taken care of.” His gaze flicked to Wooyoung one last time, his smirk fading into something more serious. “Guess I’ll see you in our lab tomorrow.”
He gave you a final glance before turning and walking away, leaving the tension thick in the air.
Once he was out of sight, you exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “What the fuck was that, Woo?”
Wooyoung turned to you, his expression softening slightly, though the irritation lingered in his eyes. “I could ask you the same thing, Y/N. What’s with him?”
“He’s just a teammate,” you said quickly. “We work together. That’s it. I’ve literally told you this before”
Wooyoung’s gaze didn’t waver. “He doesn’t look at you like it’s just it.”
You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Woo, you can’t just show up out of nowhere, act territorial, and pick a fight with someone you don’t even know.”
He stepped closer, his voice lowering. “I wasn’t picking a fight. I just don’t like the way he talks to you.”
You tilted your head, giving him a pointed look. “And why do you care so much? We’re not—” You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. Dating, you wanted to say. And he knew that all too well.
His eyes searched yours, his expression unreadable. “Because I do,” he said simply.
The weight of his words hung between you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, he let out a small sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Come on. Let me take you home.”
You hesitated but nodded, knowing it wasn’t the time to push the conversation further. As you got into his car, you couldn’t help but glance back toward the building, wondering what Yongha’s smirk and Wooyoung’s reaction really meant.
The silence in the car was deafening, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of your jacket as you adjusted uncomfortably in your seat. Wooyoung’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles faintly white under the dim glow of the dashboard lights. You wanted to say something, to break the heavy quiet between you, but every time you opened your mouth, the words died in your throat.
When he finally pulled into the parking lot of your apartment, he parked in one of the guest spots and pressed the button to turn the engine off. Neither of you moved right away.
You sighed. “Woo, we need to talk about—”
He unbuckled his seatbelt abruptly, the click echoing in the confined space, and turned toward you. Before you could say anything more, he leaned over, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as his lips crashed into yours.
The kiss was intense, urgent, as if he’d been holding back all night and couldn’t anymore. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as he poured everything into the way his lips moved against yours. Your breath hitched, but you didn’t hesitate to respond, your hands gripping his red hoodie as if to ground yourself.
His other hand cupped your jaw, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss, and you felt the heat radiating off him as his body leaned closer. The world outside the car faded, leaving only the sound of your quickened breaths and the electricity buzzing between you.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breaths uneven. “I couldn’t wait,” he admitted, his voice low and gravelly.
You swallowed hard, your heart pounding against your ribcage. “I can tell.”
A small, almost sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but the fire in his eyes remained. “He gets under my skin,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “The way he talks to you, the way he looks at you—”
“Woo,” you interrupted gently, your voice soft but firm. “It doesn’t matter. He’s just a teammate.”
He studied you for a moment, his gaze searching, before nodding slightly. “I know, and I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier. But I just… I needed him to know you’re mine.”
His words sent a shiver down your spine, and though a part of you wanted to protest the possessiveness, another part couldn’t deny the thrill it gave you.
You leaned forward, brushing your lips against his again in a softer, lingering kiss. “Do you want to come inside?” you whispered against his mouth.
He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Lead the way, beautiful.”
-x-x-x-
Chaerin’s living room was cozy as always, with its mismatched throw pillows and faint scent of vanilla candles. You were curled up on the couch, nursing a cup of hot cocoa while Siya sprawled out dramatically on the rug. Chaerin sat cross-legged in her oversized armchair, scrolling aimlessly on her phone.
“So,” Siya began, her tone teasing and suspiciously triumphant. “Guess who got a ride home from Song Mingi last night?”
You and Chaerin turned to her at the same time. “No way,” Chaerin gasped, leaning forward.
“Details,” you demanded, pointing at her with mock seriousness.
Siya grinned wickedly, clearly enjoying the attention. “Well, we were at the business club event, right? We got all chatty and flirty and he offered to drive me home after. You know, all polite and gentlemanly.”
“Uh-huh,” Chaerin interrupted, narrowing her eyes. “Cut to the good part.”
Siya pretended to think for a moment, then shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Fine. We started talking about music on the way back, and I wanted ice cream, so he took me to this place up the hill. He parked at a viewpoint, and we were sitting in the truck of his car. Next thing I know, we’re making out.”
“Making out?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.
Siya’s grin widened. “Okay, fine. He fucked me in his car.”
Chaerin clapped a hand over her mouth in shock. “You didn’t!”
“Oh, I did,” Siya said smugly, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “And let me tell you, Mingi is not shy once he’s into it.”
“Girl!” Chaerin exclaimed, half-scandalized, half-impressed. “In public?! In his car?”
“Well, I mean it was pretty late and there were no cars around and the area was dark too. No clothes were taken off though, ugh. He lifted my dress and pushed my thong aside. He’s got a big dick though as I expected.”
You burst out laughing, shaking your head. “Okay, Siya wins this week’s tea spill, hands down.”
“Obviously,” Siya said with a wink. Then, her gaze flicked to you. “Speaking of tea, what’s going on with you? Anything juicy?”
You hesitated, your mind flashing back to last night: the tense encounter with Yongha and Wooyoung, followed by the way Wooyoung has kissed you in the parking lot.
“Y/N,” Chaerin prodded, leaning forward, sensing you did, in fact, have something to share. “Don’t make me beg.”
You sighed, setting your mug down. “Okay, fine. Something kind of… weird happened yesterday.”
Both girls straightened up immediately, their attention locked on you, a look of concern evident on their faces.
“So, I was leaving my lab, right? And guess who’s waiting outside for me—Wooyoung.”
“Wait, Wooyoung?” Chaerin interrupted, her eyebrows shooting up. “Since when does he wait for you?”
“Exactly,” you said, gesturing for emphasis. “It totally caught me off guard. But before I could even process it, Yongha called out to me.”
“Oh no,” Siya groaned, already sensing drama.
“Oh yes,” you said with a nod. “He came up to give me some notes for our project, but he was being all… flirty about it.”
“Flirty how?” Chaerin asked, narrowing her eyes.
You rolled your eyes. “You know, the usual. Saying he made the notes especially for me, smirking like he’s the king of the world.”
Siya whistled low. “Bold move. What did Wooyoung do?”
“That’s the best part,” you said, your lips twitching into a smile despite yourself. “He just steps in, all dark and broody, and says, ‘That won’t be necessary. I’m here to take my girl home.’”
Both girls gasped, Chaerin practically sliding out of her chair. “He didn’t!”
“Oh, he did,” you confirmed.
“That’s… kind of hot,” Siya admitted, fanning herself dramatically.
Chaerin leaned forward, her eyes wide. “And? What happened next?”
You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Honestly, I was worried they might start a physical fight. But Yongha backed off, and Wooyoung drove me home. End of story.”
“Yeah, right,” Chaerin said, crossing her arms. “We know you. There’s no way that was the end of it.”
You hesitated for a split second too long, and the knowing look they both gave you made your cheeks heat up.
“Spill,” they said in unison.
“I mean… he got kinda possessive and kissed me in his car. We had sex and he stayed the night again,” you said, your cheeks heating up and both the girls squealed loudly.
You leaned back into the couch, feeling the weight of your thoughts as you looked between Chaerin and Siya, trying to explain the unease you were feeling. “But girls… Something’s off,” you said, your voice quieter now, more serious. “It’s like... I don’t know how to put it, but everything’s been weird lately.”
Siya tilted her head, intrigued. “What do you mean ‘weird’?”
“Okay, so the other day, Yeosang and San were acting super weird when I introduced them to Yongha,” you started, rubbing the back of your neck. “I’ve never seen them act that way before. It was as if they knew him—like, knew him well—but they didn’t acknowledge it.” You leaned forward, your eyes scanning their faces for understanding. “And then Wooyoung? He... his reaction was weird too. It felt like he was trying to hide something, like he didn’t want me to get involved with Yongha.”
Chaerin raised an eyebrow. “Wait, so you think Wooyoung and the others know each other? Like, they’ve all met before?”
You nodded slowly, the confusion in your mind spilling out. “Yes! It’s like there’s some secret, and no one’s telling me. I mean, Yeosang and San were cold, but they were still polite. And then there was the way Wooyoung... I don’t know, he just shut down when I mentioned Yongha. Like, something snapped in him. I thought it was weird, but I didn’t want to push him.”
Siya’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, but that’s suspicious. Why wouldn’t they just tell you if they knew each other? It seems like they’re hiding something.”
“I don’t know. It’s like a weird tension between them,” you said, exhaling a frustrated breath. “And I feel like I’m stuck in the middle of something I don’t understand. It’s all so strange.”
Chaerin gave you a reassuring look. “Well, you’re right about one thing: something is definitely going on. They’re all acting like they’re trying to keep their distance from each other, but it’s clear that there’s history.” She tapped her chin, thinking. “But what if this is more than just them being weird around you? Maybe there’s something deeper there. Something... they don’t want you to know about.”
You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know what to think anymore. I want to trust them, especially Wooyoung, but it’s hard when everyone’s acting like there’s something I’m not supposed to know. I’m caught in the middle of this... thing, and it’s driving me crazy. I have to work with Yongha for a couple more months until we graduate, so I really don’t want to be in this weird situation.”
Siya pursed her lips, her eyes glinting with curiosity. “If something’s off, there’s a reason for it. If Wooyoung’s keeping something from you, or if he’s acting shady, you need to find out what it is.”
Chaerin nodded in agreement, looking at you seriously. “But don’t stress yourself out. If you want to get to the bottom of this, you have to stay calm. Don’t let them pull you into something you don’t want to be part of.”
“I know,” you said softly, but the knot in your stomach remained. “It’s just... I’m starting to feel like I’m missing something big, and I’m not sure if I want to know what it is.” You looked at your friends, the weight of it all sinking in. “But I also feel like I don’t have a choice but to find out. How I will do that, I do not know… yet.”
After hanging out with the girls for a while, you decided to head to your lab instead of going home despite it being nearly 8PM. You weren’t expecting anyone else to be here so late, but as you turned the corner, you spotted Yongha, seated at one of the workbenches. His head was bent over a stack of papers, his brows furrowed in concentration.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, setting your bag down on the table across from him.
Yongha looked up, startled, but quickly composed himself. “Oh, hey. I could say the same to you.”
“I’ve completed my work for the day,” you admitted. “Figured I’d get a head start on next week’s data.”
He nodded, setting his pen down and leaning back in his chair. For a moment, he hesitated, as if weighing his words. Then he spoke, his tone softer than usual. “About last night... I wanted to apologize.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “Apologize?”
“For the way I acted. Outside the lab, with Jung Wooyoung.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “It was out of character for me, and it definitely wasn’t fair to you. I guess I just... lost my cool a bit.”
You tilted your head, studying him. Yongha wasn’t one to show vulnerability often, and the sincerity in his voice threw you off. “It’s fine,” you said slowly. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure what was going on, but... it’s not a big deal.”
Yongha gave a small, humorless laugh. “Maybe not to you. But to me...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”
You frowned, sensing there was more he wasn’t saying. “Yongha, if there’s something bothering you, just say it.”
He hesitated again, then leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you saw some sort of worry flash through them. “It’s just... Are you two… you know…” He let the question hang in the air, his meaning clear.
You felt your face heat up. Honestly, you didn’t know what to say since Wooyoung preferred to keep his… situation with you strictly between his friends and yours. “Uh, we’re not dating, if that’s what you’re asking,” you said quickly, though the words felt awkward on your tongue. “Why?”
Yongha’s lips quirked into a small, almost wistful smile. “No reason. I was just curious.” He leaned back again, crossing his arms. “He’s protective of you. I noticed that much.”
You shifted in your seat, unsure how to respond. “Wooyoung’s just... like that. He looks out for the people he cares about.”
“Hmm.” Yongha’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he looked away, grabbing his pen and pretending to focus on his notes. “Well, I’ll leave it at that. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Right,” you said, suddenly feeling the need to busy yourself with something. You pulled out your laptop and started typing, but your mind was racing.
You had your messages linked to your laptop, and a notification popped up from Wooyoung.
Woo: Are you home yet?
You: I’m at the lab
Woo: Oh. With Lee Yongha?
You: Yeah, he is here. Why?
Woo: No reason. I’m sure you’re having a great time.
You stared at the message on your laptop, the tone unmistakably sarcastic. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your stomach twisting. What was his problem?
You: What’s that supposed to mean?
The typing indicator popped up immediately, and then his response came through like a slap.
Woo: Nothing. Just seems like he’s got everything handled. Don’t let me interrupt your night.
You let out a sharp exhale, your jaw tightening as you reread the message. The passive-aggressive tone wasn’t like him—or maybe it was, but it was usually cloaked in humor. This wasn’t funny.
“Everything okay?”
Yongha’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you looked up to see him watching you, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. He had his hands tucked casually in his pockets, but there was an edge to his expression, like he was waiting for an opening.
“Yeah, all is well,” you muttered, locking your laptop.
Yongha tilted his head, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “Ah. Trouble in paradise?”
“There’s no paradise,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “And definitely no trouble.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, his smirk widening. “He seems pretty bothered, though. Can’t imagine why.”
You glared at him, feeling your frustration bubbling over, mentally reminding yourself not to open your texting app on your laptop while he’s around again. “Why are you so interested?”
He shrugged, his gaze steady. “Just curious. He’s not usually the kind of guy who loses his cool. But then again...” He paused, stepping closer, his voice dropping slightly. “I can see why he might.”
You froze under the weight of his words, your heartbeat quickening. Was that a compliment? A challenge? You couldn’t tell, and it only made the tension in the room worse. The fact that he mentioned that Wooyoung wasn’t the type to lose his cool was enough to confirm your suspicion that they, in fact, knew each other and were pretending otherwise.
“Don’t,” you said, your voice quieter now, but firm.
Yongha stepped back, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Relax. Just making an observation.”
You didn’t respond, turning your focus back to your notes in an attempt to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. After a moment, Yongha grabbed his bag and headed for the door.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, pausing in the doorway, “I don’t think he’s mad at you. He’s mad at me.”
Before you could ask what he meant, the door swung shut behind him.
You stared at the closed door, your thoughts spinning. What did Yongha mean?
When you glanced back at your laptop, the last message from Wooyoung still sat there, burning into your mind.
No matter how much you wanted to ignore it, you knew you currently were caught in the middle of it all. You decided to push your thoughts away for now while you walked back home.
When you got to the hallway outside your apartment, you spotted Wooyoung waiting, leaning against your door. He was dressed in business casual attire today and you knew he came straight from work. His arms were crossed, but his posture was stiff, his expression unreadable.
You sighed as you approached him. “Woo?”
“Just wanted to talk,” he said casually, but there was an edge to his voice.
You unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving it open for him to follow. He did, shutting it behind him, the click echoing in the silence.
Dropping your bag on the couch, you turned to face him. “Okay… talk.”
He didn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the floor before meeting yours. “What’s going on with you and Yongha?”
You blinked, thrown by the question. “Seriously? We’ve been over this, Wooyoung. He’s my teammate. Nothing is going on.”
He scoffed, his jaw tightening. “You say that, but it’s like every time I turn around, you’re with him. At the lab, at the café...” Of course, Yeosang and San would tell him about the café. You were surprised he’s only bringing it up now when he clearly has an issue.
“Of course, I’m with him!” you shot back, exasperated. “We’re working on a project together. A project that will take a whole academic year. You knew this from the beginning!”
“And he’s making it more than that,” Wooyoung snapped, stepping closer. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Y/N. Don’t tell me you’re blind to it.”
“And what if I’m not?” you countered, your voice rising slightly. “Why does it matter to you? You’ve made it pretty damn clear we’re not together, so why do you care so much?”
He flinched at your words but recovered quickly, his frustration mounting. “You know why I care!”
“No, I don’t!” you said, the emotion bubbling over. “Because you keep dancing around it, Woo. You act like I belong to you, but you’re the one who set the rules. You’re the one who doesn’t want this to be anything more than... whatever this is!”
He stared at you, his chest rising and falling as he processed your words. “You think I don’t want more?” he finally said, his voice low but heated.
“Then why aren’t we dating?” you demanded, your voice cracking, though you’re the butterflies in your stomach were fluttering around in a rapid pace. “Why are we stuck in this limbo? If you care so much, if you want me the way you act like you do, then why won’t you just say it?”
He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “It’s not that simple, Y/N.”
“It is that simple!” you fired back. “You’re just too much of a coward to admit what you want. Or maybe you don’t know what you want at all.”
“That’s not fair,” he said, his tone dropping to a whisper.
“No, what’s not fair is you showing up at my door, acting possessive, and then refusing to give me anything real,” you said, your voice trembling. “You can’t keep doing this to me, Woo.”
“You agreed to be with me like this, Y/N,” he muttered, taking slow steps towards you before resting his forehead against yours. The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. Wooyoung pulled away after a moment to look at you, his eyes softening slightly, but the anger was still there. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like this.”
You shook your head, tears threatening to spill. “Then stop. Stop confusing me. Stop... God, Woo, I know there’s some history between you and Yongha and you won’t come clean to me about it. You’re all acting like you don’t know each other and it’s tiring me out. Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
He didn’t move, his gaze locked on yours. “I can’t, Y/N.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to lose you,” he admitted, his voice raw. “But I don’t know how to... I don’t know how to… I would rather you not know. I don’t know what to do.”
His confession hung in the air, heavy and unsteady. You swallowed hard, your emotions swirling. “Then figure it out, Wooyoung,” you said softly. “Because I don’t want to be caught in this. I do not know what’s going on. I have to work with him for couple more months. Please… don’t make things difficult for me.”
You turned away, leaving him standing there in the middle of your apartment, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“Y/N,” he called after you, his voice desperate, but you didn’t stop.
“Lock the door on your way out,” you said, disappearing into your bedroom, shutting the door.
And with that, the conversation was over, but the unresolved tension lingered, a storm waiting to break.
-x-x-x-
You didn’t hang out with Wooyoung over the weekend like you usually do. For the first time in months, you found yourself with nothing but your own company and an endless list of tasks you had no desire to complete. You went to work, cleaned your apartment twice, even reorganized your closet, and attempted to binge-watch a show, but your mind refused to focus. Every time your phone buzzed, you checked it instinctively, but it was never him.
By Sunday afternoon, you gave up pretending you didn’t care and texted Chaerin instead.
You: Free? I need to get out of this apartment
Chaerin: Always free for you babe. Lunch at the kimbap place near campus?
You: Sounds good, see you in 30
You arrived at the small restaurant, spotting Chaerin instantly. She waved you over, already halfway through an iced tea. “You look exhausted.”
You sighed, sliding into the seat across from her. “I am.”
She arched an eyebrow. “This is about Wooyoung, isn’t it?”
You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “Is it that obvious?”
“I mean, what else can it be when you look like this?” she said, sipping her drink. “So, what happened?”
You told her about the argument, the frustration bubbling back to the surface as you recounted every word. Chaerin listened attentively, her expression growing more serious as you went on.
“And then he said he didn’t want to lose me,” you finished, slumping back in your chair. “But he still couldn’t give me a real answer. He said he doesn’t want me to know what’s up with him and Yongha, and he said he doesn’t know what to do. So I told him to figure it out.”
Chaerin shook her head. “Wow, that boy is a mess.”
“I know,” you said, exasperated. “But I feel like I’m losing my mind. I keep thinking maybe I was too harsh, or maybe I should’ve pushed him more—”
“No,” she interrupted firmly. “You said what you needed to say, Y/N. He’s the one who needs to get his act together.”
You nodded, though her words did little to ease the ache in your chest.
“So, what’s the plan?” she asked, leaning forward.
“The plan?”
“Yeah,” Chaerin said. “Are you going to wait for him to figure it out, or are you moving on?”
You hesitated, unsure how to answer. The truth was you had feelings for him. You were in love with him. You wanted things to work out.
“I guess I’ll see what he does,” you said finally. “But I’m not putting my life on hold for him.”
“That’s my girl,” Chaerin said, raising her iced tea in a toast. You smiled faintly, but the knot in your stomach remained.
After lunch, you took the bus to Jina’s apartment to work with your team on one of the project reports. Jina lived in the same building as Wooyoung, and you couldn’t help yourself from wondering if he was home right now and if you should go to his place after. A part of you wondered if that was a terrible idea, considering the fact that he hasn’t texted you at all since the argument.
When you reached the lobby of the building, you noticed Yongha had just arrived too. You greeted him while waiting for the elevator. “Hey, you’re here a lot earlier,” you said, remembering that he said he would be an hour late on the group chat.
“I got off my shift early,” he replied with a grin. “Did you see the graphs on the report? If Minhyuk mixes up the axes on one more graph, I might just lose it. I swear he’s trying to set a record for how fast he can make me question humanity.”
You laughed, a genuine belly laugh that echoed through the quiet lobby as you both stopped in front of the elevator. “It’s the way he does it so confidently that kills me,” you said between giggles. “Like, ‘Oh yeah, that Y-axis? Totally accurate.’”
Yongha joined in, chuckling softly. “At least it keeps things interesting. Who needs peace of mind when you can have chaos?”
The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open—and your laughter abruptly died when you saw who was standing inside.
Wooyoung.
He was leaning casually against the elevator wall, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. His sharp eyes immediately landed on you and Yongha and his casual demeanor shifted ever so slightly, tension creeping into his stance.
“Y/N,” Wooyoung greeted, his voice calm but unmistakably cool.
You blinked in surprise. “Wooyoung?” Why haven’t you texted me at all, you wanted to ask, but remembered Yongha was here too.
“Hey,” Yongha chimed in, stepping into the elevator with you, his confidence undeterred. “Didn’t know we’d get the pleasure of running into you here.”
Wooyoung’s lips twitched into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Life’s full of surprises.”
As the elevator began its ascent, Yongha leaned slightly toward you, his head tilting as his eyes zeroed in on your hair.
“Hold still,” he said softly.
“What?” you asked, confused, glancing at him as Wooyoung’s gaze sharpened.
Yongha reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your temple as he plucked something from your hair. His movements were deliberate, almost slow, as if savoring the moment.
“There was a leaf stuck,” Yongha explained with a small grin, holding it up for you to see.
“Oh,” you said and smoothed your hair reflexively. “Thanks.”
Wooyoung, who had been watching the exchange with a darkening expression, shifted his weight slightly, the muscle in his jaw twitching.
“A leaf, huh?” Wooyoung said, his voice low and edged with sarcasm. “Good thing you were here to save the day.”
Yongha chuckled, clearly amused by the tension. “What can I say? I’m observant.”
The elevator dinged, signaling your floor, and you stepped out quickly, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere. Before the doors closed, you turned back to Wooyoung, who hadn’t moved from his spot. His dark eyes met yours, a storm brewing in his expression that sent an uneasy shiver down your spine.
“See you around,” he said, his tone clipped. The doors shut, and you exhaled slowly, the knot in your stomach tightening as you walked toward Jina’s apartment.
Yongha, however, seemed completely unaffected, his usual easygoing grin still in place. “That guy has quite the glare,” he commented casually.
You shot him a look, but he only laughed.
“Let’s just get to work,” you muttered, though your thoughts were already tangled in the intensity of Wooyoung’s gaze—and the unspoken tension that seemed to grow heavier with every passing moment.
-x-x-x-
5 days later
It was a typical Friday night, and you were more than ready to unwind. Chaerin, Siya, another friend named Maya, and you had decided to head to your favorite bar for a much-needed girls’ night. The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and the energy was just the kind of distraction you needed from the stress of school and all the drama. Wooyoung had ignored your messages, and you honestly did not know what to do anymore. For now, you decided to focus on girls’ night.
Chaerin laughed as she raised her glass to make a toast. “To surviving the week and pretending we have it all together!”
Siya clinked her glass against yours. “To good times and great friends!”
You joined in with a grin, feeling the weight of the week start to lift as the alcohol started to take effect. You weren’t sure how much you’d had already, but you were definitely starting to feel more relaxed. You weren’t a lightweight drinker and sobered up pretty quick too. Sometimes, you hated it.
The night continued with music, laughter, and the comfortable camaraderie you’d come to expect with Chaerin, Siya, and Maya. You were enjoying yourself, letting go of the stress for a while—until you noticed a familiar face entering the bar.
San.
At first, you didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t unusual for people from your university to end up here. But then came Mingi, Yeosang, and Yunho, and finally, Wooyoung.
Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, and for a moment, everything seemed to slow down. You hadn’t expected to run into him here tonight, especially not after everything that had happened the past week. You tried to look away, but your gaze was drawn back to him again.
“Y/N?” Chaerin called out before following your gaze. “Oh… Fuck, he looks so hot!”
“Who?” Maya asked following her gaze. “Oh Kang Yeosang? I agree.”
“I meant Choi San,” Chaerin said with a chuckle. “But well… I suppose all the men of their group are quite the eye candy.”
“And so are we!” Siya squeaks out, her face flushed pink from the alcohol. “Look at us, girls! We’re so sexy! We’re so stunning! We’re so smart! We’re so beautiful!” The three of you laughed at drunk Siya’s words, and you patted her head affectionately. “Hey! Could I get a chocolate martini?!” she called for the bartender.
“I’ll have one too, thank you,” you told the bartender who nodded and headed off to make your drinks. You decided not to turn back and look at Wooyoung, not wanting to ruin your night by feeling sad over the fact that he chose to ignore you.
But moments later after having yet another drink, you turned back to see where he was. You caught sight of the booth where the rest of the guys were, but Wooyoung wasn’t there. Your eyes scanned the area, trying to find him, but struggling due to the flashing-colored lights.
And then you saw him standing against a pillar… with a girl. She was leaning so close to him and from the angle where you were at, it appeared that she could be… kissing his neck? You watched them more carefully. It seemed like they were just talking.
“Uh oh. Double trouble,” Chaerin announced, catching your attention.
Before you could ask her what she meant, you heard someone call out your name. “Y/N!”
You turned toward the source of the voice, your heart already sinking. Standing a few feet away, wearing his usual confident smirk, was Yongha. Flanking him were his two friends, Jaehyun and Taemoo who you’d briefly met once when they were waiting for Yongha outside one of your shared classes.
“Yongha?” you blurted.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, stepping closer with that familiar air of nonchalance. His eyes, however, scanned your face like he was trying to read your mood.
Jaehyun and Taemoo greeted your friends with easy smiles, and soon enough, introductions were exchanged. Chaerin immediately latched onto Jaehyun’s arm, chatting him up like they were old friends, but she was just sociable like that. Siya, meanwhile, was too occupied with her martini to pay much attention, but Maya caught Taemoo’s attention after recognizing that they were in the same major.
“Jung Wooyoung’s back with his ex again?” You heard Taemoo say to Jaehyun, causing the girls to glance at you. You didn’t react, though your stomach dropped. So that girl was his ex?
“Are you surprised?” Jaehyun said with a laugh. “Dude should move on. I can’t imagine running to the same girl that cheated on me thrice.”
You immediately glanced at Chaerin who looked at you. Wooyoung was cheated on thrice? If that’s true then why is he talking to his ex again?
Yongha kept his focus on you. “You okay?” he asked softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear, but still loud as the music was blasting.
You hesitated. It was clear he’d caught onto your distracted state, but you weren’t about to spill your emotions in the middle of a bar. “I’m fine,” you replied, forcing a small smile.
His eyes narrowed slightly, like he didn’t believe you, but he let it go. “Well, let me know if you need anything,” he said, leaning in just enough to make the gesture feel intimate.
Before you could respond, Chaerin called out, “Y/N, you have to come dance with us!”
You glanced back at Yongha, who gave you an easy shrug. “Go. Have fun.”
You allowed Chaerin to pull you toward the dance floor, but as you moved with the beat of the music with the girls, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in your chest. You tried to focus on the rhythm, the lights, the energy of the crowd, but your eyes kept drifting back to that pillar where Wooyoung had been.
He wasn’t there anymore. Neither was his ex.
Frustration and something sharper—jealousy, maybe—pricked at your thoughts. Was this really what you were to him? Someone he could ignore all week and then end up with another girl, his ex of all people, at the club?
Chaerin pulled you closer to her. “Can you come with me to the bathroom?” You nodded, letting Maya and Siya know you were headed there before Chaerin dragged you along. You waited in line, grateful that it was moving faster than you’d expected. Once you and Chaerin used the bathroom and washed your hands, she took a picture of both of you at the mirror.
“Let’s go take a shot before we hit the dancefloor again. Be a bad bitch, Y/N, come on,” she said, making you raise an eyebrow. “Wooyoung noticed you. I saw him looking at you and Yongha.”
You sighed. “Yeah, he probably thinks I’m here with Yongha. But… I can’t believe he was with his ex.”
Chaerin chuckled. “Well… take advantage of that. Make him jealous and he’s gonna come crawling to you. Besides, I saw that girl leave, so I take it that maybe she was trying to go after him again.”
You sighed, leaning against the bathroom wall for a moment, though Chaerin’s last sentence relieved you. “I don’t know if I want to play those games, Chaerin. He’s been ignoring me all week. What if it doesn’t even work? What if he doesn’t care?”
Chaerin gave you a pointed look as she fixed her lipstick in the mirror. “Oh, he cares. The way he was staring? Trust me, he cares, and let me tell you girl, that man has always had feelings for you. He just doesn’t want to admit it yet.”
You rolled your eyes, though a small part of you hoped she was right. “Still. This whole thing feels... exhausting. I don’t know if I have it in me tonight.”
Chaerin put her hands on your shoulders and spun you to face her. “Y/N, look at me. You’re hot. You’re smart. You’re fun. If Wooyoung can’t see that, then screw him. But trust me, he does see it. And if making him sweat a little gets him to step up, why not? Worst case, you have a good time, take some shots, and enjoy yourself with your girls.”
You let out a small laugh despite yourself. “You always know how to hype me up.”
“Damn right I do,” she said with a grin. “Now come on, let’s grab that shot and show everyone—including Wooyoung—how bad bitches have fun.”
With renewed energy, you followed her out of the bathroom and back to the bar. Chaerin ordered two tequila shots, handing one to you with a wink. “To being the main character,” she said, raising her glass.
You clinked your shot glass against hers, downed the tequila in one go, and let the burn energize you.
As the two of you made your way back to the dance floor, you couldn’t help but glance around the bar. Your eyes automatically sought him out—and there he was. Wooyoung was back at the booth with the rest of his group, but his focus wasn’t on his friends.
It was on you.
You felt Chaerin nudge your arm. “Told you,” she whispered before grabbing your hand and pulling you into the crowd of people dancing.
The music pulsed around you, and for the first time that night, you allowed yourself to let go, swaying to the rhythm and matching Chaerin’s energy. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Yongha and his friends near the bar, watching you with amused smiles.
And somewhere in the mix of lights, music, and glances, you realized Chaerin might’ve been right. Maybe it was time to make Wooyoung sweat.
Yongha was making his way toward you, the smoothness of his steps betraying his drunk state. His friends remained at the bar, chatting amongst themselves, but Yongha was solely focused on you.
Chaerin grinned, noticing his attention on you. “Looks like someone’s got their eyes on you,” she teased, nudging you playfully. “Let loose, my girl. Be the bad bitch you are. Show Wooyoung what he’s missing!”
You laughed loudly, running a hand through your hair while you danced to a remixed upbeat song that had the whole dance floor moving.
"Mind if I join you?" Yongha asked, his voice slightly slurred but still carrying that flirty edge that made you think he wasn’t exactly sober.
You raised an eyebrow, but with a playful smirk, you stepped closer to him, the music pumping louder as it filled the space between you two. "I suppose so." You were playing a dangerous game, but you had too much to drink and at this point, you did not give a fuck.
Yongha didn’t waste any time. His hands found your waist with a confidence that almost made you forget the tension earlier in the night. You let him guide your movements as the music shifted into a new song that had the crowd cheering, his grip firm yet gentle. You could feel the heat from his palms on the exposed skin of your waist. As you both moved together, his eyes never left yours. He pulled you in closer as you swayed together, and you were reminded of the way you had danced in this very club with Wooyoung before.
But amidst the heat of the moment, your eyes flicked to the side, catching sight of Wooyoung. He was standing in the same spot near the booth with his friends, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture tense. The slight furrow of his brows was all you needed to see to know he wasn’t happy. However, San looked incredibly amused and he leaned in to whisper something in Wooyoung’s ear.
Something shifted inside you, the cocktail of emotions from earlier mixing with the alcohol buzzing through your veins. You knew it was very petty, but in this moment, you didn’t care. You weren't about to let him have all the control over this situation. You weren’t going to be the one left wondering what could have been, while he played his little games.
Without breaking eye contact with Wooyoung, you dropped it down low, your body moving in sync with the rhythm of the music, your movements slow and deliberate as you bent at the waist, inching down to the floor. The look in Wooyoung’s eyes shifted immediately—surprise, anger, maybe even a flash of jealousy—but you didn’t look away.
Yongha’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you back up, and as you stood upright, you let your back press against his chest for a brief moment. The heat of his body against yours, combined with the thrill of making Wooyoung watch, sent a surge of adrenaline through you.
You let your gaze hold Wooyoung’s for just a few seconds longer before you finally broke away, returning your attention to Yongha, who was still grinning at you, clearly enjoying the game that was unfolding.
Wooyoung, though? He wasn’t smiling. The tight set of his jaw said it all.
As soon as the song finished, you excused yourself. “I’m going to get a drink upstairs,” you let Chaerin know. The club had a mezzanine floor that was a lot less crowded and didn’t have a dance floor.
“Good job out there, babe!” she drunkenly yelled, pulling you into a hug before you pushed through the crowd to make it upstairs.
You moved to where a window was open, and you relaxed when you felt the chill air hit your heated body. You took a deep breath, trying to calm down your racing heartbeat.
When you felt a presence behind you, you turned around, surprised to find that Wooyoung actually followed you upstairs. The white button up shirt he was wearing had most of the buttons unbuttoned, exposing his toned chest.
Wooyoung’s eyes flashed with something dark and unreadable as he stepped closer to you, making you take a step back, your back hitting the wall beside the window. The tension in the air thickened, and you could feel your pulse quicken, though you didn’t want to admit it. He stood inches from you, his presence overwhelming.
“What the hell were you doing with him?” Wooyoung’s voice was low, rough. The irritation, the jealousy, all bubbling to the surface now that he had you cornered. And yet you found it hot.
Hot that he definitely cared about you. Hot that there was a vein popping on the side of his neck from the clear anger he was feeling. Hot that his eyes were scanning your body the same way it does when he wants you.
You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm despite the fire burning in your chest. “You’ve been ignoring me all week, and now you want to get all possessive?”
His lips curled into a tight smirk, but it was empty, edged with frustration. “I wasn’t ignoring you, Y/N. I was giving you space.” He emphasized the word, his eyes flicking over you. “But it looks like you moved on from me already, huh?”
You chuckled in an unamused tone. “Moved on? I could same the same about you, Wooyoung. Weren’t you chatting up another girl?”
“She means nothing to me,” he said quickly. “I don’t care about her.”
“She’s your ex girlfriend.”
His eyes darkened at the mention of her, and he stiffened, clearly not expecting you to know that much. “Oh, so I guess your precious little Yongha told you about her and I, hmm?”
You felt a sharp sting in your chest at the way Wooyoung said ‘your precious little Yongha.’ The bitterness in his voice, the way it rolled off his tongue, left you with a sour taste in your mouth. You crossed your arms, trying to keep your composure, but your patience was running thin, and the anger was bubbling in your chest. “What, are you jealous now?”
Wooyoung’s jaw clenched, but instead of answering you directly, he took a step closer, reducing the space between you two. “You wanna know why I’m pissed?” His voice was rough, almost a growl. “Because I can’t fucking stand seeing you with other guys. Especially him. Especially anyone who isn’t me.”
You froze, feeling your heartbeat skip. This was the first time he was being this... honest. Vulnerable, almost. But instead of giving you comfort, it made everything feel more complicated. “You’re the one who’s been avoiding me, Wooyoung,” you said, frustration creeping into your tone.
Wooyoung sighed, his eyes darkening as he reached out to touch your arm, his fingers barely brushing your skin. “You think I want this? Think I wanted to let you go all week without talking? You think this is easy for me?”
You were about to respond, but the words got caught in your throat when Wooyoung stepped closer to you. His body was suddenly right in front of yours, invading your personal space, and all you could do was look up into his eyes, the fire in them burning bright. The heat between you two was palpable, thick enough that it made it hard to breathe.
“I’m not blind, Y/N,” he continued, his voice more intense now. “I saw the way you moved with him. You looked good together. Too good.”
Your breath hitched in your throat at the possessive edge in his tone, but it only added to the frustration that was now boiling over inside you. You couldn’t help but feel the same anger—anger at yourself for letting him get under your skin, and anger at him for pushing you to this point.
“Stop making this about him,” you spat, stepping closer to him, your body finally reacting to the proximity. You jabbed your finger into his chest. “You’ve been acting like I’m nothing to you, and now suddenly, I’m supposed to be okay with—”
Wooyoung didn’t give you time to finish. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward him, his lips crashing down on yours with an intensity that stole your breath away. For a moment, you froze, but it didn’t take long before you kissed him back, your hands fisting his shirt, pulling him even closer. The kiss was hot, desperate, the frustration and the jealousy all pouring out into this one explosive moment.
He pulled away just long enough to look at you, his eyes dark with something dangerous, something you weren’t sure you could handle—but you didn’t care.
“Tell me you don’t want this, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Tell me you don’t want me.”
You shuddered at the intensity in his words, but you couldn’t deny it. You wanted him. You wanted all of it. “I do,” you breathed out. “I want you, Wooyoung. I only want you.”
A low growl escaped him, and before you could react, he pressed your back against the wall and his lips were back on yours. His hands were on your hips, pulling you into him, grinding against you in a way that made your pulse race.
The heat between you two was undeniable now, a wild, consuming thing that neither of you could fight. The tension, the unresolved anger, and the attraction all mixed together in a way that had your body aching for more.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his lips trailing down your neck as his hands moved to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, pinning you against the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer, the friction between you making your head spin. The music in the club faded as you focused on the way Wooyoung kissed you with such urgency, such intensity.
But as much as you wanted this—wanted him—the words were still hanging in the air, thick with meaning.
He pulled away after a moment, setting you back down on your feet, holding you steady. “Why’d you pull away?” you whispered, your hands still tangled in his hair. “Why don’t you just tell me what this is, Wooyoung?”
He stopped for a moment, looking you dead in the eye. “Because I’m scared, Y/N. I’m scared of what this means. I don’t know how to make this work between us, but God... I want you.” His voice cracked slightly, but the raw honesty made your heart skip a beat.
Your lips brushed against his again, more gently this time, but still charged with the same intensity. “Then stop overthinking it,” you whispered against his mouth. “Let’s just figure it out.”
“I can’t, Y/N. Not when you’re around him most of the time.” You stared at Wooyoung, his words replaying in your mind like a broken record.
Your chest tightened, frustration flaring in your veins. “What the hell does that mean?” you snapped, shoving him back just enough to create space between you. “Are you seriously blaming me for working with Yongha? For doing what I’m supposed to do for my project?”
“It’s not about the project,” Wooyoung shot back, his voice strained as he ran a hand through his hair. His eyes darted away for a moment before locking onto yours again. “It’s about him, Y/N. I can’t stand seeing you with him. I can’t stand knowing you’re laughing with him, spending time with him—letting him get close to you.”
Your eyes narrowed, the anger bubbling over. “You’re acting like I have a choice, Wooyoung! He’s on my team! What am I supposed to do? Avoid him? Quit my project? Is that what you want?”
“No,” Wooyoung growled, his voice dropping low, his frustration palpable. “I just... I don’t trust him, okay? He’s not who you think he is.”
You froze for a moment, taken aback by the intensity in his voice. “And what does that even mean? If you have something to say, then just say it, Wooyoung. Stop dancing around the truth!”
His jaw tightened, and for a second, you thought he might finally spill whatever he’d been holding back. But instead, he shook his head, his fists clenched at his sides. “You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered.
You scoffed, crossing your arms. “You’re unbelievable. Do you know how exhausting this is? You can’t just drop cryptic hints and then expect me to read your mind. I’m not a damn mind reader, Wooyoung!”
“I’m trying to protect you, Y/N,” he snapped, his voice rising. “I’m trying to keep you from getting hurt, but you just don’t see it!”
“Then help me see it!” you shouted back, stepping closer to him. “Tell me why you hate him so much. Tell me why this is such a big deal to you. Or are you just too scared to be honest with me?”
Wooyoung’s eyes burned with frustration, but underneath it, you caught a glimpse of something else—pain, raw and unfiltered. His lips parted, as if he was about to say something, but then he stopped, shaking his head again.
“I can’t,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “You wouldn’t understand. You don’t need to know.”
You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. “You can’t even trust me enough to tell me the truth,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “How do you expect this to work, Wooyoung? How can we have anything if you keep shutting me out?”
“It’s not about trust,” he said quickly, his voice desperate now. “It’s about me. About what I can’t deal with. I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. But I can’t—”
“Can’t what?” you pressed, tears threatening to sting your eyes. “Can’t let yourself care about me? Can’t let yourself get close because you’re too scared of what might happen?”
Wooyoung’s silence was deafening, and the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.
“This isn’t fair,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “It’s not fair to me, and it’s not even fair to you. If you can’t trust me, if you can’t let me in, then what’s the point, Wooyoung? What are we even doing?”
His hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightening as he looked away. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raw. “I’m sorry I can’t give you what you need.”
You swallowed hard, the ache in your chest almost unbearable. “Then maybe we’re better off letting this go,” you said softly, turning away from him. “If you can’t communicate with me…” you shook your head with a sigh, “then let’s stop whatever this is, Woo. I… I’m done trying.”
As you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance back, hoping—praying—that he’d stop you. That he’d fight for this, for you.
But he didn’t. He just stood there, his head bowed, his silence cutting deeper than any words ever could.
-x-x-x-
Nine days had passed. Nine long, agonizing days since you last spoke to Wooyoung. Since you walked away from him—since he walked away from you.
You tried to keep yourself busy, pouring your energy into school, work, and anything else that could distract you from the gnawing ache in your chest. But no matter what you did, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. About his words, his silence, his absence.
It was a Sunday afternoon, and you had just finished your shift at the dining hall. Your body ached from the long hours, and the emotional weight you carried didn’t help. You trudged home, trying to focus on mundane tasks to keep the sadness at bay.
In your apartment, you loaded the washer with your laundry, throwing a detergent pod into it when you heard the doorbell ring. Frowning, you quickly start the washer, the sound of the machine filling the silence as you headed to the door. You weren’t expecting anyone, and it was rare for someone to show up unannounced. When you opened the door, you froze.
Wooyoung stood there, looking like a shadow of himself. His hair was disheveled, covering most of his eyes, and his face was pale, his usual sharp features softened by exhaustion. The dark circles under his eyes told you he hadn’t been sleeping.
Before you could say a word, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. You could smell his usual perfume, and you couldn’t help but take in a deep breath. His body felt heavy against yours, as if he was on the verge of collapse, and the way he clung to you made your heart ache.
“Wooyoung…” you breathed, your voice shaky.
He didn’t respond right away. His head rested against your shoulder, and you felt the uneven rise and fall of his chest as he tried to steady himself.
“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”
You swallowed hard, your hands hovering for a moment before you let them rest gently on his back. “What are you doing here?” you asked softly.
“I didn’t know how to face you after everything. I thought if I stayed away, it’d be easier,” he said, his voice barely audible. “But it wasn’t. It only made everything worse.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, his face inches from yours. His eyes were red, like he’d been crying—or fighting not to.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he continued, his hands trembling as they gripped your shoulders. “I just… I didn’t know how to deal with it. With you. With… everything.”
Your heart broke at the sight of him like this, so vulnerable, so raw. But the hurt you’d felt over the past week wasn’t something you could just ignore.
“I was scared,” he continued, his voice cracking. “I’m still scared. But I can’t lose you, Y/N. I can’t.”
His words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your breathing and the distant hum of the washing machine.
“What are you scared of?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Wooyoung hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Of history repeating itself,” he said finally, his voice trembling. “Of you being around him. Of him… taking you away from me, just like before.”
You felt a pang of confusion mixed with sadness as you pieced together his words. But before you could respond, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Don’t give up on me. Don’t leave me, Y/N.”
His words hung heavy in the air, the rawness of his plea cutting through the ache you’d carried for days. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a shuddering breath before moving slightly away from you, just enough to meet your gaze fully.
“I’m in love with you,” he finally admitted, the vulnerability in his voice making your breath catch. “I want this to work. I’m ready to talk to you.”
Your heart skipped a beat as his confession settled in. For a moment, the weight of everything—the silence, the confusion, the pain—seemed to dissolve in the warmth of his words.
“You’re ready?” you asked, your voice trembling.
He nodded, his eyes searching yours. Without a word, he gently took your hand in his, his touch warm but hesitant. He led you to sit on the couch with him, and for a moment, there was only silence as he seemed to gather his thoughts.
Wooyoung exhaled deeply, running a hand through his messy hair. “I don’t even know where to start,” he said, his voice low. “But if I’m going to do this, I need to tell you everything. No more hiding.”
You nodded, your heart pounding.
“When I started college, Yongha and I were roommates,” he began, his tone tinged with nostalgia. “It was a random assignment, but we clicked almost instantly. He was funny, easy to talk to, and we had so much in common. It didn’t take long for us to become best friends. We did everything together—parties, late-night food runs, you name it.”
He paused, looking down at your hand in his, as if drawing strength from your touch.
“At the time, I was dating my ex, Sohee, the girl you saw me with,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “We’d been together since senior year of high school. She goes to another university nearby, but we made it work. Or at least, I thought we did.”
You felt the tension radiating from him as he tightened his grip on your hand slightly.
“The first time she cheated on me was during her freshman year,” he said bitterly. “She got drunk at a party and hooked up with some random guy. She swore it was a mistake, begged me to forgive her, and like an idiot, I did. I told myself it was just a one-time thing cause she was drunk.”
You stayed silent, letting him continue at his own pace.
“The second time was during spring break,” he said, his jaw clenching. “She hooked up with one of her friends while I was visiting my family. I didn’t find out until weeks later when her other friend accidentally told me about it. By then, I was already questioning everything, but I was too scared to let her go. She was my first love, you know? I thought I could fix us.”
His eyes darkened as he continued, his voice filled with pain and anger.
“But the third time…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “That’s when everything fell apart. It was during the start of junior year. I came back to campus earlier than planned after a weekend trip. Yongha had texted me saying he’d be at Yeosang’s place, so I figured I’d swing by and hang out. When I got there…”
His voice cracked, and he looked away, his eyes glistening. “I walked in on them. Sohee and Yongha. They were making out in Yeosang’s living room, like I didn’t even exist. Like what they were doing wasn’t the ultimate betrayal.”
Your heart ached as you listened, the rawness in his voice cutting deep.
“I ended it with both of them right there,” he said firmly. “I told Sohee we were done, and I told Yongha I never wanted to see his face again. Yeosang had gone to the nearby convenience store to get beer and when he came back just as I was about to leave, he told them to get out.”
He turned to you then, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and fear. “That’s why I’ve been so distant, Y/N. That’s why I’ve been so scared to let you in. Because I know what it feels like to be betrayed by the people you trust the most. And when I saw you with Yongha constantly…” He shook his head, his voice breaking. “I couldn’t handle it. It brought everything back.”
Tears pricked your eyes as you absorbed his words, the weight of his past hitting you like a tidal wave. “Wooyoung…” you whispered, your voice trembling.
“I’m not saying this to make excuses,” he said quickly, his gaze locking onto yours. “I just… I needed you to know. I needed you to understand why I’ve been such a mess. But I swear to you, Y/N, I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want my past to ruin what we could have.”
His vulnerability broke something inside you, and without thinking, you reached out, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace. “You won’t lose me,” you whispered fiercely. “But you have to let me in, Wooyoung. I can’t fight for this alone.”
He held onto you like you were his lifeline, his head buried in your shoulder. “I’ll try,” he promised, his voice muffled. “For you, I’ll try.”
You gently pulled back from the hug, your hands still resting on his shoulders. Wooyoung’s eyes were heavy with emotion, his vulnerability laid bare in a way you hadn’t seen before.
“Wooyoung,” you began softly, your voice steady but full of feeling. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through. No one deserves to be betrayed like that, especially not by the people they trust most.”
His jaw tightened, and he glanced away, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested on his lap. “It’s not you I don’t trust,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “I trust you, Y/N. I do. It’s him I don’t trust.”
You nodded, understanding his perspective. “I get that. What Yongha did to you was unforgivable, and I’m not here to defend him. But Wooyoung, I need you to know that whatever he and I share—it’s strictly professional. I’m his teammate. Nothing more.”
“I know that,” he said quickly, his eyes darting back to yours. “But it doesn’t stop me from… hating that you have to be around him. It’s not fair. He doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near you.”
You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “I can’t change the fact that we’re on the same team,” you said gently. “But I can promise you this: Yongha doesn’t mean anything to me. You do. And I would never let him come between us.”
Wooyoung exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on your hand as if anchoring himself to you. “I want to believe you,” he admitted, his voice strained. “And I do. I trust you. But the thought of him…” He trailed off, shaking his head.
“You’re allowed to feel that way,” you said softly. “I’d probably feel the same if I were in your shoes. But this—what we have—it’s worth figuring out, isn’t it?”
His gaze softened, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease just slightly. “It is,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’re worth it. I’m just…”
“Scared,” you finished for him, a small, understanding smile tugging at your lips.
He nodded, his eyes glimmering with the weight of unspoken fears. “Yeah. Scared of losing you. Scared of… him trying to ruin this.”
“You’re not going to lose me,” you said firmly, cupping his face with your free hand. “And as for Yongha, I’ll handle him. He doesn’t get to ruin anything—not for you, not for us.”
Wooyoung let out a shaky breath, leaning into your touch. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth now.
You smiled back, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Well, too bad,” you whispered against his mouth. “You’re stuck with me.”
For the first time in days, the tension between you seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile but genuine sense of hope.
“So… you want to date me?” Wooyoung asked in a sheepish tone, though there was a tinge of insecurity and vulnerability to it.
“I do, Woo. I’m in love with you too,” you admitted, and his eyes widened. “But I’d rather not rush into anything right now.”
Wooyoung’s expression shifted, his widened eyes softening as he absorbed your words. There was a flicker of relief, though it was quickly accompanied by a slight furrow of his brow. “Not rush into anything?” he repeated carefully, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
You nodded, keeping your gaze steady. “I want to make sure we’re both ready for this, Woo. I’m in love with you, and I know you feel the same, but after everything that happened, I don’t want us to start something that might get tangled in unresolved feelings or doubts.”
His lips pressed together as he considered your words, his thumb unconsciously stroking over your knuckles. “I don’t doubt how I feel about you,” he said softly, but there was no mistaking the vulnerability in his voice.
“I know,” you reassured him, squeezing his hand gently. “But it’s not just about feelings. It’s about making sure we’re in a good place—both of us.”
Wooyoung’s gaze dropped for a moment, his lashes casting shadows against his cheeks. When he looked back up, there was a flicker of determination in his eyes. “You’re right,” he admitted, though his voice was tinged with reluctance. “I just… I’m scared that if I wait too long, I’ll lose you.”
“You won’t,” you said firmly, leaning closer so your foreheads nearly touched. “I’m not going anywhere. We can take things slow, figure this out together. There’s no rush, Woo.”
His lips curved into a small, lopsided smile, though the vulnerability lingered in his gaze. “Slow, huh?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Does that mean I still get to kiss you?”
You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound lightening the mood between you. “You already kissed me, genius,” you teased, brushing your nose against his.
“Yeah, but that was before the whole ‘taking it slow’ thing,” he countered with a grin that was quickly becoming more playful.
Rolling your eyes, you leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. “Does that answer your question?” you whispered when you pulled back.
Wooyoung grinned, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Crystal clear,” he said, his voice warm and teasing, though there was a new softness to it—a promise of patience and understanding.
-x-x-x-
2 months later
The rooftop of Wooyoung’s apartment building was a winter wonderland, blanketed in fresh snow that crunched under your boots as you ran. Your hectic semester had just come to an end, and with it came heavy snowfall, much to your delight.
Wooyoung had been relentless, pelting you with snowballs and laughing with childlike joy as you tried to dodge them. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, his grin wide and mischievous as he chased you.
“Truce!” you called out breathlessly, holding up your hands.
“Truce?” he echoed, feigning suspicion but dropping his snowball nonetheless. He stepped closer, his dark eyes glimmering under the soft glow of the rooftop lights.
You nodded, smiling as you tried to catch your breath. “Yeah. I surrender.”
“Good,” he said with a smirk, leaning in close. “Because I was going to win anyway.”
“Oh, shut up,” you replied, laughing as you playfully shoved him.
His arms wrapped around you in a swift, warm hug, pulling you against him. “You’re freezing,” he murmured, his breath visible in the icy air.
“Whose fault is that?” you teased, but your words softened as you looked into his eyes.
He smiled at you, tender and full of something deeper. “Let’s go inside.”
The elevator ride down was quiet, your hands still entwined as warmth slowly returned to your fingers. By the time you reached his apartment, your cheeks were pink from the cold and from the way Wooyoung’s gaze lingered on you.
Once inside, he guided you to the couch, handing you a blanket before sitting down beside you. “I, uh… have something for you,” he said, his voice a little unsure.
You raised an eyebrow. “Something for me? What’s the occasion?”
“Just… stay here,” he said, quickly getting up and disappearing into his room.
When he returned, he was holding a small box wrapped neatly in silver paper. He sat down beside you again, his knee brushing yours as he handed it to you. “Open it.”
Your fingers were slightly trembling—not from the cold anymore—as you carefully unwrapped the box. Inside was a delicate necklace with a small heart pendant wrapped in the infinity symbol, the metal catching the light beautifully.
“Wooyoung…” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.
“I wanted to give you something that shows how much you mean to me,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “The heart is for… well, my heart, because it’s yours. And the infinity symbol… it’s because I want this to last. Forever.”
Your throat tightened, and you looked at him, your eyes already glistening with emotion. “Wooyoung…”
He reached out, gently taking the necklace from the box. “Can I?”
You nodded, turning so he could clasp it around your neck. His fingers were steady, but when he finished, he let them linger on your shoulders.
“I love you,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his words. “I’ve loved you for so long, Y/N. And I want to ask… will you be my girlfriend?”
Tears slipped down your cheeks as you turned back to face him. “You’re such an idiot for even having to ask,” you whispered with a watery laugh.
His face fell slightly. “Wait, is that a no—”
You didn’t let him finish, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. He froze for a moment before melting into it, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you closer.
When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together, and you smiled. “It’s a yes, you idiot. Of course, it’s a yes.”
His grin broke out like sunshine, bright and pure, and he kissed you again, more passionately this time.
“Good,” he murmured against your lips. “Because I’m never letting you go.”
The warmth of Wooyoung’s embrace enveloped you as you sat together on his couch, the delicate weight of the necklace now resting against your collarbone. His kisses softened, turning into small pecks on your lips, your cheeks, and even the tip of your nose, making you giggle.
“You’re in a good mood,” you teased, brushing a strand of hair out of his face.
“I just secured the best girlfriend in the world,” he said smugly, his arms tightening around your waist. “Why wouldn’t I be in a good mood?”
“Flatterer,” you replied with a mock roll of your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your smile.
“I’m serious, Y/N.” His tone shifted slightly, becoming softer, more sincere. “These past two months… you’ve been my light. Even when I was being a coward, you stuck by me. I don’t deserve you, but I’ll spend every day trying to prove myself wrong.”
Your heart swelled at his words, and you cupped his face in your hands. “Wooyoung, don’t say you don’t deserve me. We both have our flaws, our scars, but that’s what makes us stronger. And I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re stuck with me.”
He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Stuck with you, huh?” He opened his eyes, a playful glint returning. “I think I can live with that.”
“Good,” you said with a grin. “Now, how about we celebrate? Hot chocolate and a cheesy rom-com?”
“Cheesy rom-com?” he groaned dramatically, though his lips twitched with amusement. “I thought we were celebrating, not torturing me.”
“Hey, I’ve endured enough action movies for you,” you shot back. “It’s your turn to compromise.”
“Fine, fine,” he said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “But I’m picking the snacks.”
“Deal.”
As you both moved to the kitchen to prepare for your cozy night in, you couldn’t help but glance down at the necklace again, your fingers brushing over the pendant. It wasn’t just a piece of jewelry; it was a promise, a symbol of the love you both were willing to fight for.
And as Wooyoung pulled you into another unexpected hug, whispering “I love you” into your ear, you realized that this was it—this was the beginning of your forever.
The End.
A/N: Precious readers, you have made it to the end! I want to sincerely thank you for taking the time to read yet another fic of mine, or if this is your first one, I hope you enjoyed it! I am working on a new story that will come out this month, so stay tuned! <3
listen to - diet pepsi by addison rae
na jaemin x reader
wc - 10k
genre - fluff and hotness, shy!reader, flirty!jaemin, suggestive
warnings - shirtless jaemin x4, mentions of a "nude" pic, partying/drinking, a makeout session, aloootttt of sensual tension!
a/n - HERE IT IS! thank you all so much for the hype over the preview. i hope yall enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it:) comments and feedback are always appreciated!! i read all of them! update: i still can't move on from that jaemin pic.
Accidentally walking in on your best friend's hot housemate half naked with a towel around his waist in the bathroom was never in your plans. But maybe, it was in his?
“Why do you guys have so much Diet Pepsi in your fridge?” There is a slight cadence of disgust in your voice, judgment for the most part, knowing damn well no one drinks Pepsi – let alone Diet Pepsi.
Mark shuts the fridge door that you’ve left idly open as you rummage through the kitchen cabinets for a snack. “It was a late night purchase. The store ran out of all the good stuff.”
“Now, it’s left taking up space.” You snarl, picking through opened bags of crackers, chips and candy that aren’t sealed properly. “You guys never have good snacks.” Giving up, you make your way upstairs toward the only bathroom in this entire shared house.
“Well, last time I checked, you don’t live here.” Mark hollers from the kitchen, a bit of sass in his statement. “Yet you’re here all the time!”
“You’re overjoyed I’m always here!” Your body leans over the railing of the stairs, calling out to your best friend in an unnecessarily booming voice and a light giggle at the end of your sentence.
Mark doesn’t respond and you’re deep in the hallway in search for the bathroom that is shared between four college men. Although you’re solely Mark’s best friend, the other three guys have welcomed you into their house as they would their own. Honestly speaking, you’re only rambunctiously annoying when you’re just around Mark. His housemates know you as his shy and sweet friend.
It’s hard for you to open up to others, despite these people being equally as close to Mark as you are. There is just not enough common ground for you to relate to them, as nice as they are when you’re at their house.
Jeno is probably the most similar to you, a man of few words and a smile that resembles a kind puppy. He doesn’t contribute much to the conversation, but he is always laughing at their shared jokes and silly antics. Haechan is the most different from you, playful and Mark’s nightmare at times. Lastly, there’s Jaemin, a man who you’ve found yourself stealing glimpses of whenever he is near.
Your heart leaps and twirls at any mention of his name, his whereabouts, him. Though, your crush on Jaemin will never come to light. You only let yourself admire from afar, a man as hot and charming as he is already has an entourage waiting on him. And Mark would never let you live it down that you’re practically drooling over his housemate.
So as you find yourself in front of the bathroom door, you don’t hear the shuffling on the other side. You mindlessly turn the knob and open to reveal Jaemin, shirtless with a towel low around his waist.
He doesn’t even flinch at the sudden exposure, clearly engulfed in taking a mirror picture. Both of his arms hold up his soft pink phone, his biceps flexing at the simple position. His broad, wide shoulders are on display and all you see is his bare silky skin. You’re gawking, anyone can see at a mile away, hungry eyes tracing the outline of his toned chest and chiseled abs.
When he finally acknowledges your presence, a big toothy grin appears on his face. Your name rolls off his tongue excitedly, “you’re right. I am overjoyed you’re here.” His lower register catches you off guard and something inside of you spikes at its rumble.
Jaemin watches as you try to find your words, tripping over your own tongue. He drinks up how your eyes bounce between his face and his bare upper body, lost in his canvas.
“Sorry!” You quickly shut the door, odd that you’re the one embarrassed when he is the one who got walked in on. Running down the stairs, you slam right into Mark, causing him to fall back onto the couch.
“Whoa! Are you in a rush or something?” Mark groans. His eyes fixate on your flustered expression. “What happened?”
You’re deciding whether or not you should lie to him, committed to not exposing and embarrassing yourself even further. “Just bumped into Jaemin. Does he normally not lock the bathroom door?”
There is a small quiver in your voice, but you try your best to remain nonchalant and calm. Mark raises a curious eyebrow, a shaky grin grows on his lips. You can’t even imagine all the wild and inappropriate thoughts spinning in this college boy’s head.
“That’s weird. He’s usually good about that stuff.” He snickers, “What did you see?”
“Get your head out of the gutter.” You lightly slap the back of his head, but feel heat spread across the tips of your ears and run its way down to your cheeks. “I didn’t see anything.”
“Bummer, bet you wanted to.” Mark jokes, a fit of giggles erupting from his stomach.
You roll your eyes and proclaim loudly, “I have no interest in Jaemin.” Liar. The image of his hot body still hasn’t left your mind. It’s catastrophic. Crossing your arms, you plop onto the sofa next to your best friend.
Right on cue, another voice chimes in. Coming down the stairs, Jaemin dances his hand on the railing. His muscular arms catches your immediate attention as he flaunts around in a tight white tank, his other hand in the pocket of his gray sweats. “Damn, that really hurts my ego, (y/n), especially after you’ve seen me naked just now.”
Nonetheless, he doesn’t look offended. Instead, a sweet smirk curves upward on his perfect face. You swallow hard, bashful and ashamed yet again that Jaemin continues to ruin you.
Mark is laughing his hardest, but you don’t hear him. Your heart pounds in your ears, rapidly and loudly. “You weren’t naked, Jaem. Don’t give Mark any ideas.”
Jaemin chuckles, tucking in his chin shyly. His charming smile is subtle, but dazzling. You’re absolutely positive you have tiny stars swimming in your eyes just looking at him. He makes his way past you two, toward the kitchen to grab a Diet Pepsi out of the fridge.
“I’m sorry, I’ll remember to lock the door next time.” He apologizes, taking a sip of his drink and grimacing at the taste.
“What were you even doing in there?” Leave it to Mark to be such a curious cat. You nudge him in the rib and he winces noisily. “I want to know what you saw! You guys are acting so suspicious.” He sends a glare at you.
Jaemin comes up behind the couch. He leans over, handing Mark his phone. On display is the picture you witnessed Jaemin take a few minutes ago and the frontal view is even better than what you saw from the side. Your sharp intake of breath doesn’t go unnoticed by Jaemin, but he doesn’t call it out.
The picture could be considered a nude, even if it cuts right at his waistline. It’s so scandalous and he doesn’t seem the slightest sheepish about it. If anything, he and Mark are grinning together at Jaemin’s godly body, like two bros appreciating each other’s muscles.
“Yo, Na Jaemin! This is so crazy, look at that chest work.” Mark giddily hits at Jaemin’s chest, displaying a weird manly affection for his housemate. “All those hours at the gym are paying off. Are you posting this?”
Jaemin shakes his head. “It’s only meant for special eyes.” He glimpses briefly over at you, but you avert contact quickly. You think about all the people the boys talk about during their drunk kickbacks, but Jaemin is incredibly secretive. I don’t kiss and tell, is what he always says when the guys try to probe him with investigative questions.
You normally try to pretend like it doesn’t bother you, always helping him by telling the boys to mind their own business. Nonetheless, you’re probably the only person in the room who wants to know the most about his endeavors.
“This is a nude?!” Mark jumps up and throws the phone back at Jaemin, rubbing his eyes in hopes to rid the picture out of his memory. “I love you dude, but I’m not sure if I want to know you’re posing for nudes in our bathroom.”
Jaemin laughs, “C’mon, Mark. You don’t have to have such a big reaction, just say you want me to send it to you too.” Mark shakes his head aggressively and you’re suffocating at the thought that you walked in on Jaemin taking a nude. A swirl of nasty thoughts circle your mind and you gulp at the desires that fill your lungs.
You get up so suddenly that Jaemin and Mark fall silent and wait for your next move. “I’m going home.” You announce, gaze stuck to the ground and fists balled at your side. “I’ll see you later, Mark.”
“Alright, do you need a ride–”
“No, I’ll just walk. I need to take a breather.” Your legs are moving before anyone can follow after you. You didn’t know what came over you, but spending another second in that room with them meant increasing your chances of saying something regrettable.
The cold breeze of the night cools your hot skin and fresh air clears your mind. It is still early in the evening when you check the time, but it is realistically going to take you 30 minutes to walk back home. You didn’t think it through, frankly, but at least your head is clear from all the dirty thoughts about Jaemin.
Though, you wonder how whoever receives his photo would react. Would they combust the same way you did? Would they be left speechless at such a glorious man? Special eyes. It must be nice to have Jaemin interested in you.
When you’re left with your own reflection and about a quarter into your walk, a car pulls up slowly next to you on the curb. Initially, you’re cautious as to the random vehicle approaching you so intently.
However, the driver’s window rolls down and Jaemin calls your name. “It’s dangerous for you to walk. I’ll take you home.”
That annoying, rhythmic sound of your heart starts up again. Normally, Mark is the one who drives you to and back, but even you didn’t think you could stand being in the car with him as he would endlessly tease you about Jaemin.
“That’s alright. I’m almost there-”
Jaemin gets out of the car and walks around to open the passenger door for you, “it wasn’t a polite offer. I’m taking you home.” His stern tone causes you to comply and enter his car without another attempt to protest.
When he enters the car, the tension in the atmosphere is heavy and thick. He turns off the engine and you can hear the quietness of the night again. You swallow the spit pooling at the back of your throat, unsure how to talk to him. This is the first time you two have been alone together, just you and him in one confined space. You’re usually with Mark when you’re with the other guys.
“I’m actually really sorry, again. I hope you don’t feel weird about seeing me like that.” Your heart crumbles at the genuinity in his apology. Your abrupt leave probably had him thinking he made you feel uncomfortable.
“Jaemin, it’s fine. I already forgot what you looked like and it’s your house. You should feel comfortable doing what you want there.” You’re downplaying all the emotions rising in your throat, but you can’t help feeling guilty at the pout on his glossy lips.
“Mark said that you’re not used to stuff like that. Is that true? Did I make you feel uncomfortable?” Jaemin looks over at you, a hand resting over the wheel.
You look away, his sultry stare being too much for you to handle. “Mark doesn’t know anything about what I’m used to. I don’t talk about that stuff with him.”
It’s the truth. You’ve had your fair share of hook ups, drunk makeout sessions at the club, and a previous relationship. So, you wouldn’t say you’re as innocent as Mark always tries to make you out to be to others. However, you’re not throwing yourself at just anyone and aren’t as open to sharing your experiences to people, Mark being one.
Jaemin nods, acknowledging everything you’re saying. “I noticed you’re usually quiet when all of us talk about our sexual experiences.”
“You are too, though.” You mumble under your breath, twiddling your thumbs.
“I’m too distracted watching how shy you get at the mention of Haechan getting head.” This statement, paired with his deep voice, is glass shattering. Something drops in your stomach, your feelings and thoughts colliding together into something unidentifiable.
Jaemin looks so good under the streetlamp. Even in the darkness, you can still see the twinkle in his alluring gaze and how much charm he exudes with a simple toothy smile. The desire to kiss him is so magnetic, you can feel yourself breaking at any moment.
“You notice me?” Your brain has lost control over the words that spill from your lips. Your lustful and romantic feelings go into overdrive, saying things you’ve never dared to say.
It is his turn to send you a confused look, as if it is the most ridiculous question you could have asked. “Of course I do. It’s hard not to. You… have such an effect on me. I talk about it all the time to Jeno and Haechan.”
This is shocking news to you. You’ve always been under the impression that the other three had no interest or a second thought about you, let alone Jaemin of all people. At the end of the day, you’re just Mark’s best friend and you’re only really there because of him. His housemates are respectful and don’t linger for too long when you’re around, so it never occurred to you that would be a topic in their conversations.
You stutter and approach slowly, “what do you talk about?”
Jaemin chuckles, shaking his head and starts the car. “Can’t tell you. Just know that I like it when you’re around.” He starts driving you home and you can feel the conversation fleeting. But you don’t want to stop, you want to peel him layer by layer until he is at his core.
You two drive for some time in silence. When he approaches your neighborhood, he hits you with one sudden question. “Do you have feelings for Mark?” This is the one of many times he has surprised you tonight.
“No!” You refute excessively. “We’re strictly friends. He is nowhere near my type.” It is a question you get pretty often, given that you two are attached at the hip. Nonetheless, the thought of you and Mark together romantically makes you gag. He is nearly your brother at this point.
Jaemin raises a curious brow, “what is your type?”
He pulls into your driveway and you’re presented with a window of opportunity. You dance with the possibility that Jaemin could actually be yours. After tonight, he definitely confirmed that he notices you.
Jaemin peers over with innocent eyes and a soft smile. His elbow rests on the middle console and his large hands hold the bottom of the steering wheel. And you can’t believe that after all this time, he has been looking at you with such an endearing gaze. Gathering all the courage you have left, you clear your throat.
“Guys like you.” You say, rather breathlessly. You see his pupils dilate and his lips part at the sudden flirtatious confidence. It’s like a lightbulb switches on inside his head. For once, you have left him speechless. “Goodnight, Jaemin. Thank you for bringing me home.”
You exit his car, but he is quick to follow. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t walk you to your door.” You almost make out the slight shakiness in his voice and you’re giggling at how dazed you’ve gotten him.
Approaching your door, Jaemin turns your cheek to face him. His hand remains hot against your jaw and you think in any second, he might lean down and kiss you. He’d kiss you to the point where you’d turn to goo right at his feet.
Your knees grow weak under his hooded stare, “goodnight (y/n). I’ll let Mark know that I got you back safe and sound.” With that, his hand drops and he starts taking a few steps backwards toward his car. Disappointment is evident in your reaction.
Your shaky hands unlock the front door and you look back to see Jaemin leaning against his car waiting patiently for you to enter. When you get inside, your back slides down against the door, heart beating fast, and you wallow in the emptiness that Jaemin has left you with.
The only noise filling the air is the sound of his car pulling out of the driveway. Then, your phone buzzes in your pocket and the notification causes your jaw to drop.
Na Jaemin (Mark’s Housemate): 1 Attachment
“Holy shit.” Jaemin’s nude flashes back at you and you’re taking everything in. The events earlier today come flooding back into your memory. Lustful desires cause your stomach to stir, tracing the lines of his collarbones and following the protruding vein on his shoulder.
Na Jaemin (Mark’s Housemate): for your special eyes xx
Na Jaemin (Mark’s Housemate): still have no interest in me?
Blinking at the thread of texts, your head is empty and a lump forms in your throat. Na Jaemin, the man that you are.
mark lee-ave me alone: Party tonight, you coming????
mark lee-ave me alone: It’s been like almost two weeks since we hung out, do i need to file a missing person’s report?
you: i’ve got finals
mark lee-ave me alone: you finished finals we literally share calendar schedules… why u avoiding me
you: why are you guys alcoholics
mark lee-ave me alone: sounds good ! see u tn hehe
Tossing your phone onto your bed, you groan into your pillow. It has been a while since you went over, let alone seen Mark. After the moment you had with Jaemin, you aren’t entirely sure if you’re ready to face him again. You had nearly fainted from all the emotions he put you through that day.
He also didn’t reply to your text, but then again, you didn’t give him much to work with. This is Na Jaemin you’re talking to and the last thing you want to do is to scare him away. So, the best response you came up with was the blushing emoji and embarrassment hit you all over again.
Nonetheless, you went back to that photo every night since and its effects remain the same every time. Widened eyes, hot cheeks, butterflies in your lower abdomen, wild thoughts. It has gotten to the point where your phone suggested making it his contact picture, causing the bashfulness to catch up to you.
Your phone buzzes again and you’re rolling over to expect another text from Mark. Instead, your heart rubs at your chest at the appearance of Jaemin’s name on your screen.
Na Jaemin (Mark’s Housemate): can’t wait to see you tn
Mark must’ve told them about you coming to the party. All it takes is one simple text and your feet are kicking in the air. Excitement replaces the dread that you were feeling before and you’re jumping out of bed to find a cute outfit.
When you finally get to the house, a mixture of nervousness and anticipation bubbles inside of you. While you’ve looked forward to seeing Jaemin before, this time is completely different. He unlocked something that you can no longer control.
Mark lets you in, slightly buzzed, and the house is already packed with drunk people. Haechan is on aux as per usual with his perfectly curated party playlist. Jeno has a large bottle in his hand, pouring a line of shots on the kitchen island like a skilled bartender.
You’re unconsciously scanning the room for Jaemin, Mark’s words going in one ear and out the other. “It’s quite a turnout. We didn’t expect so many people would show!”
When you take a quick look around, many are unfamiliar faces. Most of these had to be friends of his housemates, knowing how small Mark keeps his circle.
“What is this party even for?” Yelling over the loud music, you swear there will be ringing in your ears tomorrow morning.
“We’re celebrating the end of the semester!” Mark cheers, excitedly with a big goofy grin. “The guys mostly wanted an excuse to get their friends together and have some fun.”
“That’s surprisingly more wholesome than I thought.” You nod, noting the pretty girls moving their hips in the dark and crowds of guys surrounding the keg. “Very fun.” You say sarcastically and follow Mark through the maze of hot bodies.
The kitchen is unrecognizable. Half empty glass pitchers and plastic cups line the sticky marble counters, they were definitely not getting their rent deposit back with all the tarnish.
It wasn’t your first time at one of their parties, but it had been a long time since they’ve thrown something of this scale. It surprised you, mostly because everyone who lived here seemed so laid back that you didn’t expect the large magnitude that they could draw in.
“Did you want something to drink?” Mark grabs a beer from the fridge, politely squeezing his way through those leaning against the appliances.
You shake your head, “not right now.” He lifts a curious brow at your bottom lip between your teeth. Could he tell you were anxiously waiting for someone?
“So, where have you been lately?” Your mind is extremely overstimulated with everything happening around you, and of course, Mark decides to have an open conversation in the middle of his densely packed kitchen area.
Shrugging, you play it off like everything is normal. “Needed a break from you. You bitched about me coming over all the time, so I chilled out.”
Mark takes a swig, clearly not believing you. “That’s the real reason why? There isn’t anything else regarding someone who lives here?”
He is prying, digging, scheming. You can see it in his smug face when he knows he hit a soft spot. “Do you want to tell me? Because it seems like there’s something going on that you won’t tell me.”
“It’s just interesting.” He shrugs, “Jaemin insisted on going after you the night you walked out. Care to tell me what happened?” Mark giggles to himself like a high school girl sharing secrets. Rolling your eyes, the twitch of your lips curve into a small grin.
“Is that so out of his character?” You cross your arms, “Jaemin has always been a gentleman unlike you, who let me walk home in the dark when you know it takes me 30 minutes.”
Your best friend throws his hands up in defense, “I was going to go! Like I said, Jaemin beat me to it. He just grabbed his keys off the hook and told me he got it.”
“After you told him I felt uncomfortable?” Anger rises in your voice. Quite surely, you sound more offended than you actually are. Nonetheless, that explanation from Mark did irk you a bit when Jaemin had told you.
Mark looks sheepishly at you and takes a timid sip. “Well, didn’t you? Isn’t that why you stormed off?! When have you ever talked about nudes, or having sex for that matter?”
Scoffing, you couldn’t believe him. Your face gets warm from the spotlight he has you under. It’s complete disbelief that fuels your next line and you shout over the music, “That doesn’t mean I don’t have sex. I have sex!”
“Who is having sex?” The baritone voice sneaks up from behind you and a hot hand touches the small of your lower back. You seize up at the physical intimacy, turning around to see Jaemin looking as charming as ever. The pure visual of him has hearts in your eyes.
Mark laughs, not noticing how Jaemin snakes his hand around and rests it on your hip. He pulls you a bit closer so that your body leans against his strong arm. “We were just talking about what happened between you two a couple of weeks ago.”
Jaemin nods, as if he understands the situation completely without much context. He looks down at you and smiles sweetly, “did something happen between us?”
He doesn’t break eye contact with you, barely paying attention to Mark, who you’ve also tuned out of this conversation. The quiver in your voice is obvious and Jaemin’s eyes gleam upon hearing your sudden shyness. “No. You just drove me home.”
“Yeah, you heard it here first.” Jaemin switches to an excited and peppy demeanor, as if all is well and you two aren’t acting extremely suspicious.
Though, Mark is incredibly oblivious so he isn’t hard to fool. He doesn’t press on and gets pulled off to the side by Haechan to fix one of the speakers, leaving you and Jaemin alone among the drunken party goers. Your throat feels like it's closing in on itself, nervousness building your stomach yet again.
Jaemin swiftly turns you to face him fully, both hands holding your arms as he admires how you’ve dressed up tonight. “I’ve always liked this shirt on you. How have you been? I noticed you haven’t come around lately.”
“I’ve been busy.” You’re as quiet as a mouse, but Jaemin hears you loud and clear. You’re extremely conscious of the two of you openly together for everyone to watch or listen in, but Jaemin’s attention is solely on you.
“Busy avoiding me?” The way he asks is lighthearted. He isn’t trying to instigate the way Mark was, it's playful and unserious, even if the question did hold some genuine curiosity.
“I don’t know.” It’s easier for you to be truthful with Jaemin compared to Mark. After that brief chat in his car, you felt like you could be honest with him as he was with you. As if somehow, that one pivotal night changed the dynamic of your nonexistent friendship completely.
You feel connected to him. Seen by him. “If I did something wrong to make you want to avoid me, you gotta tell me.” Jaemin begins, sincerity heavy in his round eyes and tone.
However, you stop him from continuing. “There is nothing wrong with what you did. I liked it, alot. I avoided coming because you make me feel nervous and shy.” Perhaps you are revealing too much too soon, but you can’t help it with the way Jaemin looks at you.
He grins, “you’ve always been nervous and shy around me. Those feelings never stopped you from coming around before.”
You’re stunned at how observant he actually is. All this time, you thought you did a good job at keeping those feelings internal. Jaemin and you never shared an extensive conversation before that night, but you didn’t completely ignore him whenever he was in the room.
Whenever you two would be physically near each other, you’d strike up small talk about classes and ask how he’s been – even if you had to build up the courage to say something.
You would always greet him back when he would arrive home or if he appeared from upstairs. There would’ve been no way he could’ve seen how your hands fidgeted or hear your voice shake or when you’d avert your gaze. Right?
But he did. He saw through it all. And it hit you that Jaemin had really been observing you this entire time, beyond a simple notice. “Sure, they didn’t before. This time, things feel different between us.”
“I like when you talk about there being an us.” Jaemin beams, “it’s cute. We never got to have that all this time.” He resembles a happy kid on Christmas day, opening a present that he had been good for all year. It’s hopeful and quite touching that he thought about growing closer to you.
“Do you feel like it’s different between us?” You ask timidly. The feeling of possible rejection lingers in the back of your heart. This could all be a misunderstanding and you read it all wrong.
He ponders for a bit, eyes darting to the ceiling and then back at you. “Yes, but not entirely. I think you’ve gotten more comfortable opening up to me, but my feelings toward you haven’t changed.”
Hadn’t Jaemin brought it up, you really didn’t know that your heart opened up as much as it did for him. It was all natural, seamless. He didn’t have to speedrun questions like an investigator to get you to talk, everything just flowed. The second part of his answer did prompt more curiosity rather than something definitive.
How does he feel about you?
As you debated a follow up question, the two of you get interrupted by a small group of people pulling at Jaemin’s shoulder. He is brought back to the swarm of a party and you’re retreating into the background. “Na Jaemin! We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Before he could excuse himself, they whisk him away deep into the dark sea of dancing individuals. Sighing, you’re left with the same emptiness you felt two weeks ago. Mark comes stumbling back, the beer in his hand now nearly finished.
“Are you drunk off of a Bud Light?” You snicker at your friend’s wobbly entrance. Your heart is heavy in your chest, but you let these emotions subside.
He takes a final drink, “I’m just feeling a little loose. I think it’s finally time you get some.”
You give in, especially now that Jaemin has reeled you in and left you without any clarity. You need a drink to calm all the nerves that he lit up, ease all the pent up tension he created.
“Only if it’s not what you’re having.” Mark’s head swishes heavily on his shoulders, peering around to find the man with the alcohol supply. He gestures to Jeno from the opposite side of the room for two shots and you laugh at their silly roleplay.
Jeno walks over and greets you with a smile, realizing he didn’t see you come in this whole time. He pours a dangerous amount of Vodka that overflows out of the small glass.
“Dude! You suck as a bartender, you’re fired!” Mark giggles drunkenly at Jeno’s heavy hand and clinks the shot glasses. “Best friend shots!” He squeals happily at you.
You oblige, holding your breath for the intake of alcohol. Wincing at the taste, you down the shot as best as you can. It’s dreadful, but somehow your muscles relax and your mind clears from the running thoughts of Jaemin.
“Another one!” Jeno cheers. This time, he prepares three shots and joins in on the random celebratory atmosphere that Mark established.
The responsible side is signaling alarm bells to slow down, but the side intoxicated with disruptive feelings of Jaemin is silencing them all. So you think, one more shot won’t hurt.
You’re unsure of how much time has passed. Twenty minutes? An hour? Maybe even two hours. It feels late and early all at the same time. At this point, you’re experiencing a good buzz after the last few rounds of shots with Jeno and Mark.
The liquid courage has you asking for Jaemin’s whereabouts.
“I think he’s upstairs in the bathroom with someone.” Mark slurs his words, clearly not knowing the magnitude of this information. Your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach, a ton of bricks hitting you. You’ve tuned out the booming music and Mark’s words play on a loop.
“When did you see him go up with someone?” You ask again, not wanting to believe Mark’s words. Could it have been one of the people from the group that stole him away? An old fling. A friend with benefits. An ex-lover. An admirer. The list unravels itself like a never ending scroll.
He shrugs, it’s obvious this man has no actual idea what is going on or how much it's affecting you. “Check for yourself.” The edge of sass in his tone has you feeling challenged. Mark always gets a bit snarky and direct whenever he’s intoxicated.
You’re going back and forth with yourself – stay or find him. If you see him making out with someone else, then what? It would actually hurt you and you only have your own blossoming feelings to blame. If he is alone, then what? Will he finally tell you how he feels about you? Will he finally kiss you? The desire for that is enough drive for you.
And so you go.
Heading up the stairs, the mess of the party downstairs fades into the background. Your palms grow sweaty as you walk down the long hallway toward the looming bathroom. Light flows through the bottom crack of the door. Not knowing what to expect, you’re just hoping what Mark said isn’t true.
Your hand holds onto the shiny knob, hesitant to get your ego bruised at the sight of Jaemin with another person. Taking a deep breath, you open the door.
Jaemin is in the midst of zipping up his jeans, the belt around his waist unbuckled. However, he is alone and oddly enough, the sound of the running toilet brings an ounce of reassurance for you. He looks up and your grip relaxes on the knob.
Upon seeing your figure, Jaemin shakes his head with a sneaky smirk. He goes about washing his hands as normal and says, “we really need to stop meeting like this.”
“Maybe you should try locking the door for once.”
“I do. Somehow, it’s always unlocked when you’re around.” He sounds so innocent lying through his teeth. Jaemin wipes his hands on the hand towel and leans against the door frame, “now are you actually going to use the bathroom or did you know I’d be here waiting for you?”
Your mouth opens to speak, but no words form. Jaemin’s gaze eats you up again, taking in your attire and dolled up look once more. His playful smile disappears and is replaced with a thin line, his jaw tightening. “So pretty.” His low voice whispers, eyes never leaving your lips.
Right then and there, the want to kiss him surges throughout your body. There is nothing stopping you from diving into Jaemin, letting him have you utterly and completely. No consequences filter through your head, no other thoughts besides what his lips taste like. It could be the alcohol, but you’re fully drunk off his sultry stare and his feathering touches on your wrist.
He leans in toward you, head tilting as he inches closer to your face. Closing your eyes, you await the kiss you’ve longed for. Blood pumping in your veins and heart doing somersaults in your chest.
“Did you drink?” You quickly open your eyes at his question and see Jaemin pulling back. The familiar feeling of disappointment floods your body too well.
“I took a few shots.” You’re biting the inside of your cheek, trying to not look embarrassed at how badly you wanted him to kiss you. The smell of alcohol is still hot on your breath and you’re even surprised at how composed you’ve managed to be.
“Sweetheart, I don’t want to kiss you like this.” Jaemin’s tone is sweet, but firm. Although you were nowhere near black out drunk, you understood his sentiments. He wanted to kiss you without any chance of regret. He wants to do it right.
“I blame Mark for this.” A heavy sigh falls at the end of your sentence. You roll your eyes at the sound of Mark’s voice from downstairs. Regardless of your disappointment, your heart is still burning at how he called you sweetheart. You didn’t know how good it would sound until it left his mouth.
In a blink of an eye, he quickly kisses your cheek. “That will have to do for now.” Jaemin smiles, wide and toothy.
You don’t have enough time to process, still stuck at the small pet name, as he whisks you back down to join everyone at the party. Your eyes widen, cheeks grow hot, butterflies grow in your lower abdomen, and wild thoughts swirl in your head. All of which didn’t need Jaemin’s nude for these effects to arise.
“You know, Jaemin has started asking about you a lot.” Mark looks up from his laptop, taking a break from his strenuous essay. It had been a week after the party and everything fell right back into routine. You’d show up to their house as if you never stopped coming around.
The only difference is that you’re not here to see Mark anymore. You’re here for Jaemin. As clingy and corny as that seemed, you left every day happy that you got to talk to him. The two of you had been texting since the night of the party, mostly brief conversations about your day, but he never forgets to wish you a good morning.
Whenever you’re at the house, Jaemin would join you and Mark when he’d come home. Initially, Mark didn’t seem to notice that his housemate would linger for as long as you’d be here or that Jaemin would purposefully sit close to you, or those longing stares you two would share across the table.
It wasn’t until you were drinking water and Jaemin had casually asked for a sip. Then, it clicked. Mark jumped, he pointed fingers, he accused. All of which, you two blinked innocently at him in confusion, Jaemin’s bottom lip touching the rim of your bottle.
Jaemin and you denied everything Mark tried to throw at you two, given that in all actuality, you two are only getting to know each other. He still hasn’t kissed you on the lips. He still hasn’t really spent time with you alone again, though you are incredibly nervous at that potential idea coming to fruition.
After the night of the party, you’ve been wondering and waiting for his move. It did bother you the first few days, but his sweet texts always had a grin growing on your face. Jaemin played a very long game.
“Really? Like what?” You try to hide your undying curiosity. Not looking up from your screen, you pretend to browse through empty tabs to seem like you are too busy to care. But deep down, it has been eating away at you wondering how Jaemin feels.
Mark smirks, “tell me what has been going on between you two and then I’ll tell you.”
Scoffing, you roll your eyes at his deal. “That just sounds like you’re making shit up.”
“So there is something going on between you two!” His voice grows louder, a bit more accusatorial. His eyes narrow, “you know I expected secrets from him, but not from you! You’re my best friend.” Mark’s sad pout tugs at your heartstrings.
A sigh escapes your lips and you give him your full attention. It didn’t feel good having to keep things from him, but you thought to wait until something actually happened before saying anything. Nonetheless, since you can’t stand seeing your best friend sad, you decide to just come clean from the beginning.
“He sent you that nude!?” Mark gasps as you reveal the night Jaemin drove you home. The more you talk about your encounters with Jaemin and your thought process, the more you realize how much you like him. Beyond attraction, beyond his chivalry. A flower has grown from the seed he watered.
“No wonder why there is this weird tension whenever we’re all together. It’s because you two are literally eye fucking each other across the room.” Mark grumbles, but he lets you finish telling your piece. From the nude to the conversation in the kitchen to the kiss on the cheek. He now knows everything you’ve experienced and how you’re wrapped around Jaemin’s finger.
A part of you prepares for the teasing and the gross kissing noises, but your best friend just nods silently. His stare is blank, like he is trying to process the everything and nothing you’ve been through. Growing nervous, you shift uncomfortably on the couch.
“Jaemin asked me about your favorite things. He told me that it’s something that would come in handy one day.” Mark clears his throat and can barely look you in the eye, almost embarrassed to share such an intimate question his friend asked about you. “He also asked if I had feelings for you.”
Your jaw drops, heart falling to the pit of your stomach. This is unexplored terrain – the two of you never touched on the topic of potentially becoming romantic. It had always just felt mutually platonic. Sitting up quickly, you lean closer toward him.
He sends a weird stare at your sudden attentive figure. “I don’t, first of all, don’t get too excited here.”
The anticipation leaves your system, falling back against the cushion and going back to your homework. “I thought you were going to reveal some crazy backstory with the way you’re acting.”
Mark laughs, mockingly. “We’re nearly siblings. I’ve seen every bad part of you, your charm doesn’t work on me.”
“Well, the feeling is mutual!” You ruffle his hair, messing it up between your fingers as he tries to push you off. A fit of giggles fill the room that the two of you don’t hear the front door open.
When the door shuts, you glance over to see Jaemin stripping his shirt. Cursing under your breath, your eyes remain stuck on all his bare skin. His whole chest and abs glisten with droplets of sweat, veins popping from whatever pump he got from the gym. His track pants hang low, the waistband of his briefs peeking through.
Mark laughs at how you’re practically frozen over Jaemin. Jaemin looks your way and his familiar, sweet smile greets you. “Hey cutie, did you finish your project?”
He walks over, his shirt thrown over his broad shoulders. Heat travels across your cheeks, you swear the temperature in the room went up several degrees. You’re batting your eyelashes, but averting any attention from his defined figure as he closes the space between you two.
Jaemin’s heart swells at the sight of your shy antics. He can’t imagine anyone as cute as you, so reactive to every little thing he does. He doesn’t even see Mark in the room, all he wants to pay attention to is you.
“Almost. Mark has been distracting.” Maybe your voice naturally gets airy around him, Jaemin just makes you want to twirl your hair and smile all the time. He takes a seat on the armrest next to you. As he crosses his arms, his biceps make their appearance once again – all voluptuous and strong.
“Oh? How so?” He cocks a curious brow, finally taking a glance over at his housemate. Mark snickers at how differently you react to Jaemin’s casual demeanor. For all he has known, this is how Jaemin is. He’ll walk around shirtless, even pants less, as if it is any normal day. But since Mark kindly warns him that you’re going to be coming around, he complies.
Now, Jaemin just wants to drive you into delirium.
Your mind is absolutely wiped, there is nothing more distracting than a half naked Jaemin – this you knew too well. As you tremble over your words, Mark saves the day by falsely admitting how he’s been trying to chat with you so he didn’t have to do his essay.
“Ah, chatterbox. I’m jealous.” Jaemin gets up and spins on his heel, heading toward the stairs. Your body unknowingly leans toward his fleeting figure, a pout tugging at the corner of your lips.
Jaemin’s finger taps along the railing, drawing a trail as he walks up each step. “I wish I got to distract you from your project, talk to you for hours.”
You’re freaking out internally, trying to decipher if he had just spit out an innuendo or if he genuinely meant it. You fight the urge to completely yell at the top of your lungs how much you’d love him to. Mark also bites back the scream that threatens to escape, not believing what he is a witness to.
“You can!” Your chirpy, forced tone nearly cracks from your nervousness. “Join us after your shower.” Even if you wanted him alone, you’re willing to settle for moments with Mark in them.
“I’ll come, don’t worry.” No flirtation, no smug smirks, Jaemin gently reassures you that he’ll come back for you. And while the heavy tension in the air dissipates, you’re finding your heart to throb at his thoughtfulness.
“Dude, you’re so whipped for him.” Mark giggles and you’re throwing a decorative pillow at his chest, very much embarrassed. “I should let you guys be alone, would you want that?”
The second Mark proposes his question, your heart shakes at the possibility of Jaemin and you finally alone again for an extended period of time. It is a nerve wrecking thought, you can feel your pulse racing. Not that you had avoided such a potential situation, but you didn’t really think you would get the chance to. Now that your good friend knows everything, he has the power to help you out.
“I do.” You’re admitting so much of your vulnerability that Mark actually softens at your tiny request. He nods and packs up his things without any hesitation. “But where are you going to go?” You didn’t want to seem like you were kicking out your friend from his own house.
He brushes off your guilty tone, “don’t worry. There’s a study session happening in 15 minutes for one of my classes.” With that, he slings his backpack over his shoulder and takes a moment to look at you. His facial expression is hard to decipher.
You stand and he holds your shoulders, “no more secrets.” Mark says with glossy eyes and a small smile. “And use protection.” He laughs, breaking the almost sweet and serious moment you two rarely share. You push him off and roll your eyes, though secretly grateful that you have Mark in your life.
It’s agonizing as you wait for Jaemin to come out of the shower, being completely alone with your hypotheticals and expectations eating away at you. There’s no way you have the capacity right now to focus on your project and homework. Jaemin just consumed every bit of you.
When he finally walks down the stairs, fully clothed and hair freshly blow dried, you pretend again that you’re too busy to notice. He heads toward the kitchen to open a can of Diet Pepsi and makes his way back. Jaemin snuggles up next to you, arm draped around the back of your side of the couch and you’re drowning in the scent of his body wash.
“Mark left?” He sips, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his jaw tightening with each gulp. You’re lost in his seeping aura, wondering how the fuck he looks so good doing something so simple.
Clearing your throat, you place your laptop on the coffee table and face up at him. He meets your starry eyes and it takes so much in you to not break away. “Study session.”
Jaemin nods knowingly, leaning forward to also neatly set down his can. Almost immediately, the atmosphere in the room shifts from light hearted to heavy sensual tension. Not that either one of you expected anything to happen, but just being in each other’s presence is suffocating and intoxicating all at once.
Now that you’re finally alone with him, you can’t help all the nerves and flips in your stomach from happening. “I kept you waiting then.” His voice is raspy, causing it to sound deeper than normal.
Shaking your head, you say the first thing your heart thinks of. “I’m always willing to wait for you.” Jaemin lifts an eyebrow at your statement, noting the shock in your face as soon as it filled the air. His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you onto his lap and you’re maneuvering your legs to straddle him.
This intimate position has your heart springing out of your chest, thumping so aggressively that you swear he can feel it against his own. His hands are politely placed on your back and he peers up at you with a sultry stare. You’re holding your breath and unsure where to place your hands, losing your wits already at how things have escalated.
“Is this alright with you? Am I doing too much?” He cautiously asks, ready to set you back down to where he had selfishly pulled you from.
“This,” Scrambling, tripping, cat’s got your tongue! Jaemin doesn’t realize how your mind has been lit with flames all from this one swift movement. “This is fine. I like this.”
He smirks, “you like being on top of me?” When he asks such a nasty question, you’re too bashful to play along. Jaemin chuckles, “you’re driving me crazy right now.”
You are? It’s quite unbelievable that any of this has an effect on him. Perhaps he is better at holding back his reactive facial expressions, but Jaemin seems so laid back and unphased. “Me? I’ve barely said more than a few sentences.”
“It’s not about the quantity, you can say anything to me and I’d be smitten for you.” Jaemin taps your nose, in a loving and endearing way. You’re getting a side of him you’ve never really seen before – this head over heels, heart eyed fool. A part of you craves more of this, feeling special at how he only has eyes for you.
The other part is shocked that you’re even experiencing any of this, how did you get so lucky?
“Jaem, are you going to finally tell me how you feel about me?” When you say his name, his nonchalant attitude almost falters. His ears perk up, eyes alert and a tighter grip on the hem of your shirt. “How did we get here?”
He purses his lips, contemplating long and hard about how he should go about explaining himself. Your voice is more stern, he can tell you’ve been wanting to get an answer to this for a while.
“I like you.” Jaemin says it so easily, those words roll off of his tongue effortlessly that it surprises himself.
“Since when?” You don’t mean to sound so interrogative, but all this time, this didn’t make any sense to you. Maybe your own lovey eyes blinded you from seeing his feelings or that your own self esteem halted you from believing someone like him could like you back. Nevertheless, this all came about so suddenly for you.
A small smile grows on his face as he thinks back to the first time he saw you. Your timid introduction and you glued to Mark’s side, but none of that could take away from how pretty you looked.
And when he first heard you laugh, like really laugh, he swore he needed to hear it again, and again, and again. Sooner or later, he found your shyness irresistibly adorable and he only wanted to interact with you more, but was unsure about your relationship with Mark.
Ultimately, Jaemin decided to keep his distance because you and Mark seemed more than close. However, the more he pulled away, the more you filled his empty thoughts and daydreams.
Whenever you came around, he found himself happier just upon seeing you for a brief second and hearing your silly anecdotes to Mark all the way from his room. If all you two had exchanged was a small greeting, Jaemin would be satisfied.
Until the night you stayed for one of their drunk kickbacks, and something inside of him unlocked. A new sense of desire? The introduction of lust and curiosity.
Jaemin noted the way you’d squirm, dig yourself deeper into the cushions, hide your face in your shirt. Your reactions to his friends’ sexual adventures were typical, full of gasps and slight embarrassment, but your eyes were more than telling of your piqued interest. The one thing that he hated was that you never openly shared a single thing, even when asked.
So, that meant he didn’t either. In a more respectful sense, he normally doesn’t dive into the nitty details as much as his housemates do, but you were such a mysterious person. He wanted to keep himself that way as well, making him as alluring as you were. The art of not knowing, just makes you want to know more.
And when you would stand up for him against the other boys, that boldness only made you more attractive. Maybe you didn’t want to know about his personal endeavors, regardless, you respected his privacy and were willing to break out of your shell for him.
What other layers of you has he not seen? That caused him to wonder how much he could push you, what other reactions he could draw out of you, and gauge if you had any interest in him.
In between your nervous stammers and long stares, Jaemin had some inkling that you might be into him. However, he couldn’t tell if that was just his ego deluding his judgment or if it was the actual truth.
He had something less drastic in mind than you walking in on him in the bathroom. But, he thought if he waited and hesitated as much as he did before, there would never really be another chance. If you were disinterested, it would’ve been a lighthearted mistake and brief awkwardness. If you were interested, then it opens the door metaphorically as well.
So in the spur of the moment, as he heard your voice and footsteps down the hallway, he quickly unlocked the door. His heart pounded rapidly in his chest as he tried to keep his phone steady.
Act natural. Be cool. Be confident.
He just hoped you couldn’t see right through his desperate act. And when you opened the door and everything that followed after, it was enough to wash away any doubt he had before.
After dropping you off, he decided right then and there that he was going to pursue you.
“Would you believe me if I told you it was since the day I met you?” His voice is soft and quiet. Jaemin brushes a few strands of hair out of your face, gently tucking it behind your ear. “I was looking forward to your presence without realizing it. I’d tell Haechan and Jeno how I was excited to hear your voice, even if it wasn’t speaking to me.”
He could be such a romantic, though this didn’t come too much of a shock to you. You couldn’t believe that you’d be the recipient of it one day. “Since the day we met. That feels like ages ago.” Your eyes wander off, trying to regain the distant memory.
You could barely remember the day Mark introduced you to his housemates. It was such a blurry scene, mostly because you were so painstakingly nervous so you tried to bury it in the depths of your mind. The only thing you remember was the tight grip you had on Mark’s sleeve and Jaemin’s gorgeous smile.
“Why didn’t you try approaching me? Be my friend, get to know me back then?” You ask, a small edge in your tone. Instead of months of googly, heart eyed stares, you two could’ve been acquainted much earlier. Your relationship would’ve been so far along, milestones would’ve already been hit. A thousand kisses would’ve already been exchanged.
Jaemin is well aware of his lack of action, “I wasn’t sure about you and Mark. I didn’t want to overstep and initially, I couldn’t tell if you even wanted to be around anyone besides him.” Now his questions to both you and Mark made sense.
He wanted to be absolutely certain that there would be no conflict. No room for anyone else. No blurred lines. Jaemin wanted to do it right.
“So, me walking in on you in the bathroom… was that an honest mistake?” As all the dots connected and all the lines matched up, you’re replaying all the moments that led up to this point.
He can see the gears turning in your beautiful head and laughs, “like I said, somehow, it’s always unlocked when you’re around.”
Rolling your eyes, you settle with your own conclusion that perhaps it was in his plans all along to fluster the fuck out of you. As much as you hate to admit it, it worked. Hook, line and sinker.
“How do you feel?” Jaemin asks, as his knuckles rub lovingly against your cheek. His big hand slides toward your jawline and he firmly cups your face, a quick flicker from your eyes to your lips.
Intense. That is how you feel. At any second, you are a volcano ready to erupt. All these pent up emotions – lust, fondness, frustration – burst at your seams. All of which is unbeknownst to Jaemin, despite being the very spark of it.
“I feel like you should kiss me now.” Spoken confidently, Jaemin is shocked at your response. You didn’t have to ask him twice though, as he pulled you into him without missing a beat.
The kiss is slow and cautious, like he is holding back from doing too much, taking too much. He guides your hands onto his collarbones and across his toned chest. Underneath his thin shirt, you feel how strong and defined he is. You’re hesitant at first, unaware of how much you could feel.
Jaemin could sense it, pausing in between your small kisses to take off his shirt. You’re wide eyed, fully shocked at his chiseled body right in front of you. It’s just like how you remembered from his photo, except now it’s not through a tiny phone screen. All on display, Jaemin takes your shaky hands and places them delicately on his broad shoulders.
“Touch me.” It’s all he has to say until your lips are connected again. His hot skin against your fingertips as you’re dragging them down his biceps, moving along all of his exposed terrain.
Adrenaline fills your system and you can’t even begin to stop all the lustful and romantic feelings that bubble across your chest. So, you fervently kiss him back to signal just how much you want it, how much you wish to be kissed by him.
Jaemin loses it between your sweet touches and your eagerness, both hands now holding your face steady for him to deepen the kiss. The feverish glide of his lips on yours is something unforgettable. It’s inimitable, a passion that solely exists for the two of you. Kissing Jaemin is blissful, like nothing matters more than being here lips locked and hands on his bare chest.
Kissing Jaemin also ruined you. Moving forward, you’ll crave this feeling forever. How are you supposed to kiss anyone else in this world now? How will you ever want to kiss anyone else knowing you’ve experienced this?
You two make out until condensation forms on the outside of his Diet Pepsi can. There is a lingering taste of the soda on his tongue; a taste you once hated so much is now something you can’t get enough of.
When you’re both finally pulling away, your lips are puffy and Jaemin is catching his breath. He could feel his heart bursting at the sight of your disheveled hair and pouty lips. You’re the prettiest baby he’s ever seen.
He’s staring at you with tiny stars in his eyes, ones that reflect your own. And he breaks the silence, “now we can finally tell Mark we kissed.” A sweet, kind smile appears at the end of his sentence.
You’re laughing, and Jaemin’s heart flutters knowing he is the reason behind that melodic sound he loves hearing so much.
you live in a shitty apartment in a shitty neighbourhood surrounded by shitty neighbours who seem to make it their life’s work to make your life a living hell
the guy that lives across from you is an aspiring dj, emphasis on aspiring
unfortunately with him working the late shift at his supermarket job, it means he likes to practice late into the night
after the first 5 noice complaints, you just gave up trying to get a decent night sleep; part of you thinks he carried on just as one giant ‘fuck you’
the family that live upstairs aren’t great either
the son—timmy? tommy? who cares—thinks it’s fun to sit on the stairs with his buddies and smoke anything they can get their hands on
your air freshener is the only thing keeping you from losing your mind at them! well, that and the fact that quite frankly him and his friends terrify you
they watch you carefully as you make your way down the stairs, pushing through their congregation with a tight lipped, overly polite smile on your face
usually they don’t say a word, giving you little more acknowledgment than a hum as you thank them for barely making enough room for you to push through them
they make you nervous, you can’t deny that, and half of you thinks that’s the whole point
it’s like it’s some sort of strange power play to keep you from complaining to his parents, or worse, the landlord
not exactly a threat, but not not one
maybe it’s those nerves that made you open up to your friend one day
you’d met up with him at a local cafe, offering to pay for his coffee if he gave you half of the sandwich he’d brought with him
“they just spook me a little, y’know?” you mumble as a few crumbs topple over your bottom lip and onto your chin, “it’s a group of 10 over-grown teenage boys; it’s fucking intimidating!”
mingi just nods along, a small frown on his face as he listens to you complain about your living conditions for what seems like the millionth time
he gets it; moving is expensive, especially in the city, and you need to stay relatively close to where you work since you don’t have a car
it doesn’t mean he has to like it, though
“what about a guar—”
“a guard dog?” you cut him off, “mingi, we’ve had this conversation so many times before!”
it’s the truth; it seems like every single time you see him he brings up the same suggestion; scary dog privileges can get you very far in life according to you friend
“too mentally ill to look after another life, sure,” he reiterates the same point you make every single time, “but what about a hybrid?”
again, it feels like you’re in a constant loop of deja vu, destined to relive this conversation over and over again until you can finally afford to move out of that shit hole
“i can’t aff—”
“—afford a hybrid, yeah i know,” you roll your eyes as he finishes your sentence; jesus, he’s annoying, “but what if i told you i knew a guy?”
it sounds suspicious, but you won’t lie and say you’re not a little curious
perhaps you’re just a little too nosy to not lean in a little closer with a brow cocked a question of ‘who?’ primed on your tongue
“can’t say,” is all mingi says, “he doesn’t like people poking around in his business.”
he says it so nonchalantly as if he’s not your best friend who’s just announced that he knows someone who is almost definitely into some dodgy shit
you’d be a bad friend if you didn’t ask at least a few questions, but before you can even open your mouth, mingi beats you to it
“£200 will get you a hybrid though,” you almost choke on the sandwich at the price; this is some seriously dodgy guy if he’s selling hybrids for that little, “£300 if you start laying down preferences.”
“mingi,” you begin, about to beg him to get out of whatever business he’s getting himself involved in
“i’m assuming it’s a no?” he raises an eyebrow; you don’t even have to nod for him to understand your answer
he concedes, throwing his hands up in surrender like he always does whenever you have this conversation
still, the smirk on his face as the conversation moves onto something else doesn’t fill you with the upmost confidence
a week passes by rather quickly; you work, you come home, you go about your evenings as normal, you sleep
nothing seems any different, and why would it? nothing about your life ever really changes without some sort of built up or expectation
and then your doorbell rings
you assume it’s just your neighbour again, around at yours to ask you some sort of stupid question that could easy be solved using a single braincell and google
you trudge to the door with a sour look on your face and a bitterness already growing on your tongue, just to swing it open to see… not your neighbour
not anyone you recognise for that matter
your gaze travels up from the chest you stand eye-to-eye with, traipsing lazily over the defined muscles on his neck before reaching his face
a jaw set in stone, two steely brown eyes and a pair of jet black dog ears are what immediately catch your attention
that and the fact that he’s very handsome; so much so that it takes everything in you not to stare at him with your mouth wide open
“are you going to let me in?” he says as if the hybrid’s arrival at your door was at all expected by you
“who are you?” is the only response you can
“your guard dog,” he replies, and just like that everything clicks into place
mingi, that bastard
“but i didn’t pay for a guard dog,” you argue, hoping that it’ll be enough to make him go back to whatever creep it is that mingi has gotten involved with
“well, someone did.”
he looks bored as he uses a hand to push you aside and steps past you into your tiny apartment, as if this is just another day for him
maybe it is; you don’t know much about hybrids, but you’ve heard enough stories to know just how many of them go through life without a permanent home
they’re tossed from pillar to post as if they’re not conscious beings with minds and lives of their own
it’s sad, the fact that they can be so easily tossed aside by so many people
it’s even sadder to find yourself relating to that feeling
you shut the door, twisting the lock with a finality that you’re not sure you understand
“what’s your name?” you ask as you turn to face him
“yunho,” he sighs
it’s a pretty name, you think to yourself
one that you wouldn’t mind saying over and over again for the… foreseeable future…
seriously, fuck song mingi
“well i’m—”
“i know your name, puppy,” your mouth snaps shut at the authority that laces itself into his words, “it’s all i’ve heard for the past few days.”
you zip your mouth shut, something in your brain warning you not to speak out of turn
something in your brain seems to forget that this is your own home; surely you can speak whenever you want to
“i wasn’t sure what to expect, but you seem to fit the bill,” dark pupils land on your body, dancing up and down your form before finally meeting your eyes, “a pretty thing like you in a town like this? i’m shocked you’re still in one piece.”
“how dare you, i—”
“where am i sleeping?” he cuts you off like your complaints are little more than the stubborn words of a child
it irritates you to no end, and yet you can’t find the words to fight back
there’s just something in his eyes that has you convinced that maybe you’re not the one in charge here
“the couch,” you point to the ratty leather thing, feeling a slight twinge of guilt that it’s the only thing you have to offer
he takes a glance at at for just a second or two before shaking his head
“no,” he replies, “you have a double bed, right?”
“a double—” your eyes go wide, “you’re not sleeping in my bed!”
“yes, i am,” he insists, condescending and annoying. you hate him already, “because i’m certainly not sleeping on that thing, puppy.”
it doesn’t go unnoticed that he’s yet to use your name, instead sticking to that godforsaken nickname
if you thought it would make a difference, you might say something about it, but the stubborn arsehole has already shown enough of himself to make you understand that it would do very little
“the floor is available,” you spit, venemously
“and yet it tempts me even less than the sofa,” he smiles sarcastically and it boils your blood, “you’re just gonna have to get used to sharing.”
he takes a few paces forward until you’re having to crane your neck to look him in the eyes
you can practically feel his breath dancing across your cheeks as he lets out a low chuckle, a darkness washing over his face as he studies you
“you’re gonna have to get used to a lot of things now that i’m here,” warmth spreads across your cheek as his palm moves to cup it, “but that’s okay puppy, i can be patient while you learn.”
