cheollollipop
cheollollipop
야 이 새끼야
242 posts
26 | infp SEUNGCHEOL SEUNGCHEOL SEUNGCHEOL (ot13 fr)
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
cheollollipop · 5 days ago
Text
🕯
🕯 🕯
🕯 🕯
🕯 blonde jeno 🕯
🕯 🕯
🕯 🕯
8 notes · View notes
cheollollipop · 11 days ago
Text
Me core
Tumblr media Tumblr media
607 notes · View notes
cheollollipop · 15 days ago
Text
The Nine and the One | song mingi
Tumblr media
summary: yn didn’t plan on standing out. At 26, she’s one of kq’s oldest trainees — quiet, focused, and four years into chasing a dream that still feels far away. but when she’s thrown into a survival show with eighteen girls and only nine spots for kq's very first girl group, things don’t stay quiet for long. between forming unexpected bonds and being noticed by someone she definitely wasn’t supposed to — her label sunbae, mingi — yn starts to realize that debut might not be the only thing on the line.
pairing: song mingi x reader
genre: 18+ (mdni) acquaintances to lovers, trainee au, slow burn | fluff, angst, smut
general warnings: cussing, mature language/sexual content, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex | additional warnings will be posted on each chapter.
release: TBA
Tumblr media
26 notes · View notes
cheollollipop · 18 days ago
Text
seeing ateez in chicago and then going to lolla wowowowowowow thank GAWD!
1 note · View note
cheollollipop · 23 days ago
Text
Fragments of Us - Chapter 5. | c.sc
Tumblr media
pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader genre: angst, fluff, smut (minors fuck off, in the nicest way possible) warning(s): just teenage angst tbh. nothing crazy. summary: two years after a messy breakup, seungcheol and yn reconnect unexpectedly. word count: 17k (?) start date: nov. 20, 2024
a/n: trying to post this has been a pain in my ass!!!!! the formatting might be off idkidkidk. anyways, here's a throwback ch. of how everyone becomes friends. even a romance that no one sees coming :)
Tumblr media
I didn’t expect the group chat to explode when I sent the text. I thought I'd get a thumbs-up emoji, maybe a "cool" from Jeonghan.
Instead, I got this: GROUP CHAT: chaos but make it childhood trauma
Me: so uh I'm transferring to seoul high lol...
Dokyeom: WHAT?!?!
Jeonghan: I JUST WOKE UP AND YOU'RE DROPPING LORE????
Jihoon: It is 8:07... Can we not do this right now?
Me: surprise...? starting monday lol
Jeonghan: MONDAY? MONDAY AS IN TOMORROW MONDAY?!
Dokyeom: I AM SWEATING THROUGH MY PAJAMAS! I'M TOO YOUNG FOR THIS MUCH JOY
Jihoon: You're fifteen.
Dokyeom: EXACTLY!
Me: I finally convinced my parents. gave a whole speech about how I am emotionally dependent on you guys. very persuasive stuff...also may have cried a little. theatrically.
Jeonghan: That's my girl.
Dokyeom: THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!
Jeonghan: wait DO YOU GUYS REALIZE WHAT THIS MEANS?!
Dokyeom: hallway chaos? synchronized class skipping? group projects that get nothing done?! COMFORT LUNCHES???? we are gonna be unstoppable
Jeongahn: no no. bigger than that! SHE HASN'T MET SEUNGCHEOL YET
Me: uh..who?
Dokyeom: oh this is going to be good
Jeonghan: I bet he falls for her in a week
Dokyeom: bold. i say three days
Me: WHO IS SEUNGCHEOL? WHY IS HE FALLING? 
Jihoon: Please. Do not encourage them.
Jeonghan: Seungcheol is just... you'll see. tall. soft-spoken. occasional disaster.
Dokyeom: mysterious hallway menace. emotionally stable-ish. probably writes poetry in his notes app.  no. he DEFINITELY does.
Me: you guys are weird.
Jihoon: You're just now realizing this?
Jeonghan: anyway. we're doing a full seoul high crash course tomorrow. meet at the park, 1pm. bring snacks and an open mind.
Me: should I be worried?
Jihoon: Yes.
The group chat has been suspiciously quiet since last night. Which can only mean one of two things: 1. They've fallen into a group nap. 2. They're planning something.
And based on the fact that Jeonghan texted me this morning—just a selfie with two sunglasses on and the words "ready for war"—I'm guessing it's option two. When I get to the park, they're already waiting on our usual patch of grass near the busted basketball court.
Jeonghan's lying down like a man who's never known stress. He's got a cold drink in one hand and his phone in the other, probably making a playlist for "walking around and talking like we're in a coming-of-age movie."
Dokyeom sees me first and immediately jumps to his feet like I just stepped off a plane from overseas.
"THERE SHE IS!" he yells, full of golden retriever energy. "BACK FROM THE ACADEMIC VOID!"
I laugh as he jogs over and pulls me into the tightest, most dramatic hug possible. "You saw me last week."
"Yeah, but now you're a Seoul High kid. There's a difference. You've been reborn."
"Okay, calm down. I haven't even walked through the gates yet."
He holds me at arm's length. "You're glowing. It's the transfer student effect."
"Please stop," Jihoon mutters as he arrives, earbuds still in and energy already drained. "It's not even 1:05 and I'm regretting this."
Jeonghan finally sits up, brushing grass off his jeans. "Come on, Ji. It's her prep day. Our girl's about to enter the war zone that is public education with no map."
"I was at a different school for two weeks, not exiled."
"Same thing," Jeonghan shrugs. "Anyway. Welcome to Seoul High Orientation, Chaos Edition."
He stands dramatically and pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
"You made an itinerary?" I ask.
"It's color-coded."
"I'm scared."
Dokyeom leans in. "I helped. My section is the cafeteria, obviously."
"I'm going to regret this," Jihoon says again, but he follows us anyway.
Stop #1: The Front Gate:
"This is where you'll see at least four couples pretending not to be dating," Jeonghan says, pointing at a bench by the sidewalk.
"Also," Dokyeom adds, "don't walk near the bushes after fifth period. One time I saw someone get tackled by a rogue soccer ball and it never left me."
"Duly noted."
Stop #2: The Vending Machines:
"Row three. Bottom left," Dokyeom says with a hand on his heart. "That chocolate milk will change your life."
"The green tea's okay too," Jeonghan adds, "if you want to feel emotionally empty for forty-five minutes."
Jihoon throws a pack of crackers at him. "It's just tea, Han."
"It's a lifestyle, Ji."
Stop #3: The Courtyard:
"This is where we eat," Jeonghan says proudly, spreading his arms out like he's presenting a kingdom. "Under the big tree. Shade, good breeze, low teacher traffic."
I smile as I take it in. "It's cute."
"We're not," Jihoon says.
"No," I agree. "But this is."
By the time we're halfway through the tour, I've got a mental folder labeled "Seoul High Survival" and about thirty Jeonghan-led side tangents I did not ask for. But the truth is... this? This is everything I missed.
The laughing. The bickering. Jihoon pretending not to care while handing me the exact snack I love without saying a word. Jeonghan spinning wild tales of hallway drama. Dokyeom trailing behind me to make sure I don't get trampled by a roaming club rush. I feel... settled.
Like the two weird weeks at my old school were a glitch in the system, and this chaos, noise, and love is where I'm meant to be. We end the day back at the park, laying in the grass like we're thirteen again and avoiding responsibility.
"I still can't believe you're gonna be with us again," Dokyeom says, arms stretched above his head.
"Yeah," I say softly. "Me either."
There's a pause. Just long enough for Jeonghan to get ideas.
"So," he says slowly, "on a scale of 1 to 'should I get my tux ready,' how soon do we think Seungcheol's gonna fall for her?"
I groan. "Why are we back on this?"
Jihoon sighs. "We never left it."
"Who is this guy again?" I ask, squinting at them.
"He's in our lunch period," Jeonghan says. "Tall. Wears hoodies like they're armor. Brooding, soft-spoken, suspiciously poetic."
Dokyeom nods. "He's also weirdly graceful. Like, if a cat and a tree had a baby."
"What does that even mean?"
"You'll see."
"Is he nice?"
"Too nice," Jeonghan says. "It's suspicious."
"He's gonna fall for you in under a week," Dokyeom adds.
I roll onto my side and squint at the sky. "You two are insufferable."
"And yet," Jeonghan sings, "you love us."
"Regrettably."
Jihoon tosses a leaf in my face. "Can we go home now?"
"Yeah," I say, still smiling. "Let's go."
Tomorrow's going to be the first page of a brand new chapter. Same neighborhood, same chaos, new school. And maybe... a new character.
We end up at my place because, well, we always do. I don't remember when it started—sometime around elementary school when my house became the designated "safe zone" after long days of bike riding, hide-and-seek, and overly competitive UNO games. But even now, the pattern hasn't changed. They drift toward my front door like gravity pulls them here.
My mom isn't even surprised when we walk in. She waves from the couch and asks if we want tteokbokki or ramyeon for dinner.
"Both?" Dokyeom asks, hopeful.
She nods like she expected that answer, already moving to the kitchen. Legend.
We pile into the living room—bags tossed in the hallway, shoes left in a mess near the door (except Jihoon, who lines his up neatly like the responsible citizen he is). The TV's playing something none of us are paying attention to, and Jeonghan claims his usual spot on the beanbag like a throne.
"This house smells the same," he says, inhaling dramatically. "Like candles and comfort."
"Like old books and guilt," Jihoon mutters.
"Like snacks and serotonin," Dokyeom adds with a dreamy sigh, already halfway through the chips he found in the cabinet without asking.
"You're welcome," I say, flopping onto the floor with a soda in hand. We hang out like that for hours.
Jeonghan plays with the filters on my phone and takes the ugliest selfies known to man. Dokyeom puts on music and dramatically lip-syncs to every chorus like we're in a music video. Jihoon half-watches from the couch, half-judging all of us, but he doesn't move or leave—he never does. And me? I soak it all in.
The noise. The laughter. The bickering. The way Jeonghan throws popcorn at Jihoon and misses, hitting my ceiling instead. The way Dokyeom sings off-key just to make me laugh. The way Jihoon pretends to hate it, but keeps pushing the bowl of snacks closer to me whenever it gets too far. This is what I missed. Not just the chaos. The comfort. The absolute certainty that no matter how weird or awful or overwhelming tomorrow is... I'll have this. These people. 
Around 8:30, we're sprawled out on every available surface—Dokyeom upside-down on the recliner, Jeonghan draped over half the beanbag like a Victorian ghost, and Jihoon holding the remote like he's the last sane person left on Earth.
"We should go over the schedule again," Jihoon says suddenly.
Jeonghan groans. "We already did that."
"I wasn't paying attention," I admit, taking a long sip from my drink.
"See?" Jihoon gestures toward me like he's in a courtroom.
He pulls out his phone and opens the Seoul High schedule app. "You start with History. Room 2B. I'm in 2C, so we'll walk over together."
"You memorized my schedule?"
"No," he says too fast.
Jeonghan coughs, "Soft."
"I'm being helpful," Jihoon mutters.
Dokyeom sits up like he's had an epiphany. "Wait, who's walking her to lunch?"
Everyone looks at each other.
"Not it," Jihoon says immediately.
Jeonghan gasps. "How dare you."
Eventually, my mom calls us for dinner and we crowd around the table like we're still kids coming in from playing outside. Elbows bump. Someone drops chopsticks. Jeonghan steals from my bowl. Jihoon sighs. Dokyeom does his happy food dance. Everything feels stupidly perfect.
Later, when they've all gone home and I'm finally alone in my room, the silence feels louder—but not empty. There's a warmth in it. A weightless sort of joy that hums beneath the quiet.
I set out my uniform for tomorrow, check my backpack one more time and then crawl under the covers.
My alarm goes off at 6:45.
It's rude. Aggressively loud. Too chipper for this hour. I silence it with the strength of someone who briefly considers faking an illness but remembers she fought tooth and nail to transfer here. No backing out now.
I lie in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting the reality settle in: I'm starting over. Sort of. New school. New teachers. New classmates. But not totally new.
I get up and head to the bathroom. My uniform looks fine—I tried it on twice yesterday to make sure it wasn't weirdly too long or too short. I do my hair in a simple style and throw on a little lip balm before grabbing my backpack and heading downstairs. Mom's already up, making toast. She smiles when she sees me.
"Nervous?"
I shrug, slipping on my shoes. "Excited. Mostly."
She hands me a packed lunch. "You're going to be great."
"Thanks, Mom."
"Say hi to the boys for me. Especially Jihoon. He's the only one I trust not to set something on fire."
"I'll let him know he's the chosen one," I laugh, heading for the door.
We agreed to meet at the corner near Jeonghan's house—same spot we've used as our unofficial meet-up location since elementary school. I'm a few minutes early. I adjust my bag, check my phone, and take a deep breath. The air is crisp, that September kind of cool that says summer's still hanging on but barely.
"Wow," a voice says behind me. "You actually showed up on time. New year, new you?"
I turn around and roll my eyes. "Hello to you, too, Jihoon."
He's in uniform too, blazer slightly wrinkled like he didn't bother ironing it. His backpack looks like it's already carrying emotional damage.
"I had a feeling you'd say that," I grin.
"I had a feeling you'd be annoying this early in the morning," he deadpans.
"Don't worry. I'm just getting started."
Before he can respond, someone yells, "FRESHMAN PRINCESS!" from across the street.
Jeonghan.
He runs up dramatically, iced coffee in hand, sunglasses on like it's not 7:20 a.m.
"You're lucky I'm walking with you," he says, looping his arm through mine. "The hallways are a battlefield. I will protect you."
"Why do you look like you're attending a music festival?" Jihoon asks.
"It's called style, Hoonie. Look it up."
Dokyeom appears seconds later, full of sunshine as usual. "WE'RE DOING THIS, GUYS!"
"We are," I say, grinning. "Day one."
Jeonghan adjusts his sunglasses. "Let the chaos begin."
The four of us start walking—shoulders bumping, shoes dragging, backpacks swaying. It feels weirdly perfect. Like we've done this forever.
Jeonghan launches into a dramatic retelling of a cafeteria fight he witnessed last week (spoiler: it involved pudding and questionable martial arts), while Dokyeom swears someone in the second-year class is secretly famous on TikTok. Jihoon grunts at regular intervals to remind us that he's still here and still suffering.
The sidewalk, the trees, the sound of their voices bouncing off each other like background music in the best kind of teen drama.
The front gate is already swarming when we get there—students spilling onto campus in loose clusters, backpacks slung over shoulders, half-asleep conversations floating through the air. It's loud and chaotic in a way that feels alive. The moment we step through the gates, Jeonghan slings an arm across my shoulders like we're on parade.
"Fresh meat," he whispers dramatically. "Do you smell it, Jihoon?"
"Please don't talk to me."
Jeonghan completely ignores him and gestures to a group of students near the front steps. "That's where the morning gossip happens. Most of it's fake. All of it's entertaining."
Dokyeom leans in like he's narrating a documentary. "That corner near the vending machines? That's where couples break up before first period."
I squint. "Is that real?"
"Yup," Jeonghan says. "We once saw someone dump their boyfriend with a Post-it note. Iconic."
We make our way through the hallways, Jeonghan pointing out every landmark like he's a tour guide and I'm a visiting diplomat.
"Left hallway is the music room. Where dreams go to die."
"I thought you liked music class," I say.
"I do. I just hate being graded on vibes."
Jihoon groans. "I swear to God—"
"Language," Jeonghan says sweetly.
By the time the warning bell rings, I've got a decent sense of the building—where my classes are, which bathroom stalls to avoid, which stairwells are used for crying.
I make it through first period with only one awkward "Are you new here?" moment. Second period is better. By third, I manage to raise my hand without my voice shaking. And suddenly, it's lunch.
"So," Jeonghan says, linking our arms as we weave through the courtyard, "are you emotionally prepared to meet the guy we've already decided is going to fall in love with you?"
"I'm sorry?" I blink. "Back up."
"Seungcheol," he sing-songs. "Tall, quiet, mysterious. Hoodie guy. Pretty eyes. You've heard us mention him."
"I thought you were joking when you said he writes poems and sulks during gym."
"Oh, he does. But he's also a walking soft boy aesthetic, and I just know you're his exact type."
I narrow my eyes. "And what exactly is his type?"
"Dangerously witty, occasionally unhinged girls who will probably roast him for wearing the same hoodie four days in a row."
"I'm honored," I deadpan.
"Listen," Jeonghan grins. "If he doesn't fall in love by the end of lunch, I'll give you five bucks."
"That's it?"
"Emotional damage isn't cheap, YN."
We round the corner and there they are—Jihoon, sitting cross-legged on the grass like he's contemplating life, and Dokyeom, animatedly telling a story with full body gestures and a dramatic reenactment.
Jeonghan waves like he's entering a fan meet. "Boys! Look who I found lurking in the halls like a lost soul."
Jihoon groans. "God, spare me."
"Jihoon," I grin. "Still allergic to joy, I see."
"Still the human equivalent of spilled soda," he mutters, but he shifts slightly so I can sit beside him.
Dokyeom cheers. "Our girl's officially one of us again! Let the unhinged lunch sessions resume!"
"Can't wait," I laugh, sitting down and pulling out my lunch.
"So—how's Seoul High treating you so far?"
"Eh," I shrug. "Nothing chaotic so far".
"Yet," Jihoon adds.
Jeonghan suddenly sits up straighter, lips curling. "Incoming."
I glance toward where he's looking. And then I see him.
Seungcheol.
Tall, broad-shouldered, sleeves half-covering his hands, hoodie slightly oversized. He's walking toward us with the calm of someone who's used to being invisible, but the kind of invisible people still notice. And he's looking at me. Just for a second. Then he looks away.
When he sits, he doesn't say anything. He just nods at Jeonghan, gives Dokyeom a quiet greeting, and glances in Jihoon's direction like he's silently asking about my presence.
"This," Jeonghan says, all false casual, "is YN."
Seungcheol turns to me, eyes soft but unreadable. "You're the transfer?"
"That's me," I nod. "Fresh meat. Bring on the hazing."
He blinks. Slowly. "We don't really do that here."
"Shame," I say. "I had a whole dramatic speech prepared about rising from the ashes."
A pause. Then, just barely—he smiles.
Oh no.
His smile is the quiet kind. The kind you almost miss if you're not paying attention. But I see it.
Dokyeom's eyes widen ever so slightly.
Jeonghan hides a cough behind his hand.
Jihoon mutters, "Here we go."
"So," I continue, leaning back on my palms, "you're Seungcheol. I've heard things."
That gets his attention. "Like what?"
"Mostly that you wear hoodies like armor and possibly write sad poetry."
He looks stunned for half a second. Then says, "...I plead the fifth."
Jeonghan loses it.
"God, you're already corrupted," Jihoon mutters, stabbing at his lunch like it wronged him.
"Don't worry, Ji," I grin at him. "I'll leave your delicate moral compass intact."
"You broke that years ago."
"I never touched it."
"You threw it out a window."
I grin. "You're just mad I beat you in Mario Kart and the spelling bee."
Jeonghan gasps. "You did not bring up the spelling bee."
"She spelled 'acquiesce' in record time," Dokyeom says proudly.
"She whispered it," Jihoon grumbles.
"Power move," I say with a shrug.
Seungcheol is quiet—but I catch him smiling again.
Twice in one lunch. Interesting.
As we all start eating, I feel Jeonghan nudge my shoulder. When I glance over, he's grinning like a devil.
"No love at first sight," he whispers, "but I'm feeling a solid slow burn."
"Shut up and eat your rice," I whisper back.
But I'm smiling, too. And across from me, Seungcheol keeps glancing my way.
By the time I unwrap the sandwich my mom made me, the conversation has unraveled into three different threads: Dokyeom trying to convince us that aliens are real, Jeonghan attempting to set up an impromptu talent show, and Jihoon—bless him—trying to ignore all of it while chewing like it's a stress reliever. And then there's Seungcheol. Silent. Observing.
Twisting the cap of his drink back and forth between his fingers like it's giving him something to focus on. I don't know what it is exactly, but something about him makes me... curious. He's not cold, not standoffish—but there's a distance. Like he's not sure if he should be here, but he is. Like he's still deciding what kind of person he's allowed to be in front of me. Which, okay, that might be projecting. But I'm intrigued.
"So, Cheol," Jeonghan says out of nowhere, eyes sharp with barely contained mischief. "YN is a spelling bee champion. Impressive, right?"
Seungcheol looks up mid-sip. "Spelling bee?"
"It was fifth grade," I say quickly. "Jeonghan's just bitter because I beat him."
"She spelled 'rendezvous' and I panicked and said 'cow,'" he says, hand to chest. "A dark day for me."
Jihoon sighs. "You spelled 'cow' in a French vocabulary competition."
"And I spelled it perfectly."
Seungcheol blinks. "Sounds like you deserved that loss."
Oh. Oh. He speaks. Seungcheol actually laughs. Just once. Soft and a little caught off guard, like he didn't mean to. Jeonghan stares at him like he's just grown wings.
Dokyeom, not even trying to be subtle, leans over and fake-whispers, "Is this... is this the most Cheol's ever spoken to a new person?"
Seungcheol shoots him a look. "You're not helping."
"I'm not trying to."
Jeonghan leans in. "This is a safe space, Cheol. You can admit you like her."
My head snaps around. "Jeonghan!"
"What?" he says innocently. "He's clearly smiling in, like, two-minute intervals. That's basically a love confession." Seungcheol buries his face in his hand.
Dokyeom claps. "I knew it! I said three days. We're ahead of schedule."
Jihoon doesn't even look up. "You two are the reason I have stress-induced eye twitching."
"I'm honored," Jeonghan beams.
I wave my sandwich between them. "Can we maybe not make my first lunch here about whether or not I'm breaking someone's emotional armor?"
Seungcheol peeks up from behind his hand, gaze flickering to mine, half amused, half mortified.
"I don't have emotional armor," he mumbles.
"Sure," I say, giving him a playful look. "You've got hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands like they're hiding state secrets."
He blinks. Then smiles. Again. That's smile number three. We're keeping count now. Jihoon pinches the bridge of his nose.
"I can't do four years of this."
"Oh, you can," I say sweetly. "And you will."
Jeonghan claps. "God, I missed her."
"Missed?" Jihoon repeats. "She's been gone two weeks."
"Two long weeks," Dokyeom sighs dramatically.
"Thank you for acknowledging my impact," I say, wiping my hands on a napkin. "I like to think I leave a small trail of chaos wherever I go."
Seungcheol glances at me. "You do."
I raise a brow. "You say that like you have evidence."
"I've known you for thirty minutes."
"And that's enough?"
He pauses. Then nods.
I smile, leaning back on my hands. "Fair."
The bell rings not long after that, too loud, too soon.
Everyone groans, especially Dokyeom, who slumps forward like the concept of geometry is personally attacking him. As we start packing up, I catch Seungcheol glancing at me again. Just for a moment. Then he looks away like it didn't happen. Jeonghan sees it, of course. He lives for it. But, for once, he says nothing. Which somehow feels louder. As we all start heading toward the building again—Jihoon and Dokyeom walking ahead, already arguing over which staircase is faster—Jeonghan lingers behind with me.
He leans in close, voice low. "So. Thoughts?"
I raise a brow. "On what?"
"On the quiet boy who, by the way, totally laughed at your joke and voluntarily spoke to you more than six syllables."
"Maybe he's warming up to me."
"Maybe you're the sun."
I scoff. "You are so dramatic."
"And you," he says, nudging my side, "are so lying if you say you didn't like it."
I don't answer. Because I don't have to. I'm still smiling.
Back inside, the hallways feel stuffier somehow—more humid, more crowded. Someone's playing music on a Bluetooth speaker a few lockers down, and two second-years are mock-arguing about who owes whom bread from the vending machine. It's normal chaos.
I trail behind the boys as we head to our lockers. Jeonghan's retelling the story of the "spelling bee betrayal" for the third time in twenty minutes with new embellishments. Apparently, I now wore sunglasses and whispered the final word like a spy. Jihoon is visibly trying not to throttle him.
"Please," Jihoon groans, "I will pay you to shut up."
"Okay, but like... ten bucks minimum," Jeonghan says without missing a beat.
Dokyeom turns to me. "So what's your next class?"
"Math," I say, feigning dread. "Room 1C. I had a good streak going and now it ends."
"You're with me," Jihoon grunts. "Come on, let's go before the students clog the stairs."
"Your optimism is infectious."
He just rolls his eyes and starts walking, and I follow—throwing a quick wave back at Jeonghan and Dokyeom. Seungcheol's there too, halfway turned, backpack over one shoulder. Our eyes meet briefly. It's not a long look. Just one of those quick, tiny moments of recognition. But it lands. Harder than I expected.
Math Class – 10 Minutes Later - It's exactly as tragic as I feared. The teacher drones on about number sets and functions while my brain tries desperately to remember what integers even are. Jihoon passes me a spare pencil when mine breaks, muttering something about "karma for being smug."
I spend half the class doodling stars in the corner of my notebook and pretending I'm absorbing something. I catch Jihoon glancing over once to see if I'm paying attention—he doesn't say anything, but I feel the judgment.
By the time the bell rings, I've retained maybe five percent of the material and zero percent of my dignity.
"Remind me to steal your notes later," I say as we pack up.
"I won't."
"Wow. Some best friend you are."
He slams his notebook closed. "Some best friend you are. You abandoned me for two weeks and came back with main character energy."
"That's because I am the main character."
"God help us all.
I meet up with Jeonghan and Dokyeom in the stairwell before our last class of the day. Seungcheol's already there too, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. He glances up when I approach. Doesn't say anything. Just gives a small nod. I return it with a smile and nudge Jeonghan. "So how much longer are you guys pretending you're not planning something?"
He puts on his best "Who, me?" face.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Sure."
"I just think it's cute," he says, way too casually. "The quiet boy and the witty transfer. Enemies to lovers but, like, without the enemies part."
"You've been watching too many dramas."
"Only for research."
"On what?"
"Your life arc," he says, linking arms with me again. "And frankly, it's delivering."
I groan. "Please let me survive a week here before you assign me a love interest."
"No promises."
Last Period – Literature: We file into class and the teacher, Mr. Park, gives a welcoming smile and points me to a desk near the middle.
To my left: Jeonghan. Of course.
To my right? Seungcheol. Because fate is a very funny, very chaotic little thing.
We exchange a brief glance and both pretend we're not aware of the other's presence. Jeonghan's already watching us like a director behind a camera lens.
"You good?" Seungcheol asks quietly once the teacher starts talking.
His voice is soft. A little husky, like he doesn't talk much by the end of the day. I glance at him, then nod. "Yeah. Math tried to kill me, but I pulled through."
He chuckles under his breath. "Jihoon?"
"Obviously."
"I could tell. You looked like you were planning your escape."
"Still am."
Another small smile. God, he's unfair.
Class goes on, and we don't talk much after that, but he's there. He passes me a spare worksheet when mine goes missing. I hand him an extra pen when his runs out. Small things. Quiet things. Things I didn't expect to matter. But they do.
By the end of class, I don't know what we are. Not friends. Not strangers. Something in between. But as we walk out and our arms brush just barely in the hallway, I kind of want to find out. The moment the final bell rings, the hallways erupt like a prison break.
Bags zip. Lockers slam. Someone's already blasting music from their phone and another kid's yelling about losing a shoe.
I find Jeonghan, Dokyeom, and Jihoon by the usual stairwell. Jeonghan's sitting on the ledge like he owns the building. Dokyeom's halfway through a banana. Jihoon's glaring at both of them like he's aged five years since lunch.
"Everyone survive?" I ask as I approach.
"Barely," Jihoon mutters. "I had to stop Jeonghan from starting a fake fire drill."
"It was a tiny flame."
"It was a lighter," Jihoon snaps. "And you tried to pass it off as a 'science experiment.'"
"Art is subjective," Jeonghan shrugs.
Dokyeom claps me on the shoulder. "First day down. Look at you. Thriving."
"Thriving is a stretch," I say, adjusting my backpack. "But I didn't fall down the stairs, so I'll take it."
"Low bar," Jihoon says.
"High success rate," I shoot back.
We fall into our usual rhythm, feet dragging down the sidewalk toward our neighborhood. The sun's dipped lower in the sky, softening everything into gold. The street's quiet, familiar.
"I still can't believe you're actually here," Dokyeom says, smiling. "Like, physically attending our school. Eating our cafeteria food. Existing in the same hallways."
"You say that like I moved across the country and didn't just live ten minutes away."
Jeonghan loops his arms around both mine and Dokyeom's. "It felt like long-distance."
Jihoon walks a few steps ahead, muttering, "She was literally here last weekend."
"Emotionally long-distance," Jeonghan corrects.
"Unbearable," I say dramatically. "I had to spend lunch with strangers for two weeks. Strangers. Who didn't even know about Jihoon's middle school bowl cut."
Dokyeom gasps. "The legend returns."
Jihoon glares over his shoulder. "I will destroy you all."
"Anyway," Jeonghan cuts in, grinning, "now that we're whole again, I propose a welcome-home homework session."
"Which means...?" I raise an eyebrow.
"We invade your house."
"Obviously," Dokyeom grins.
I don't even bother pretending to argue.
We tumble into my house like we own it. Shoes come off, bags hit the floor, and my mom just glances up from the kitchen with a raised brow.
"Living room. No fire hazards this time."
"That was one time!" Jeonghan shouts.
"It was smoke," Dokyeom adds helpfully.
"It was scorched noodles," Jihoon mutters, heading straight to the dining table like this is a business meeting.
I head to the kitchen to grab snacks while Jeonghan and Dokyeom claim the couch like they're royalty returning to their thrones.
As I come back with chips and sodas, I catch Jeonghan elbowing Dokyeom with a smirk.
"Operation Slow-Burn is already underway," he whispers.
"Did you see how he looked at her during lunch?" Dokyeom stage-whispers back. "I thought he was gonna short-circuit."
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing!" Jeonghan says brightly. "Love the snacks."
"You're terrible liars."
"We're visionaries," Jeonghan corrects. "There's a difference."
"I have literally no idea what you're talking about."
Dokyeom gives me a very unsubtle side-eye. "No thoughts about a certain quiet boy with hoodie sleeves and resting brooding face?"
I throw a chip at him. "You're reading into things."
"Sure," Jeonghan hums. "And he definitely wasn't looking at you like you hang the stars."
"I—" I pause. "He barely said five words to me."
"But he said them with feeling," Dokyeom nods, serious.
"You guys need help."
"You need to admit you're thinking about him," Jeonghan sings.
"I'm thinking about getting through math homework without setting something on fire."
Jihoon, without looking up: "You're all exhausting."
"Thank you for your support," I say.
He gestures with his pencil. "Don't drag me into your weird rom-com subplot."
"It's not a rom-com subplot," I say quickly.
"Uh-huh."
I flop down onto the carpet with a dramatic groan. "Why did I transfer again?"
"Because you missed us," Jeonghan says, already stealing a chip. "And because fate clearly wants you to fall in love with someone who wears the same hoodie every Tuesday."
"I literally just got here."
"Exactly," Dokyeom grins. "Perfect timing."
I groan again, but as I open my notebook, my brain is already replaying the exact way Seungcheol smiled at me in Lit class. Soft. Cautious. Real.
Which is so not helpful. At all.
The house is quiet now. Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that only happens after the storm—that specific kind of stillness that lingers after Jeonghan has stopped singing show tunes, Dokyeom has stopped dramatically reenacting hallway drama, and Jihoon has stopped muttering about all of us being incurable idiots.
They left an hour ago, but the energy still lingers in the living room. Empty soda cans on the coffee table. An abandoned sock (Jeonghan's, probably). Jihoon's neatly stacked math notes, which he "accidentally" left behind so I'd study properly.
I clean up on autopilot, the rhythm of it soothing in that "I'm trying not to think about things" kind of way. But of course, the moment my hands aren't busy, my brain betrays me.
Seungcheol. Ugh.
I flop onto my bed, face buried in my pillow. This is ridiculous. We barely spoke. A few jokes. A soft smile. Some hoodie-based banter. That's it. Right? So why did I feel so weird when he looked at me? Not bad weird. Just... noticeable. Like something was shifting and I hadn't caught up to it yet.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. I try to convince myself I'm just reacting to the idea Jeonghan and Dokyeom planted in my head.
But still... He was so quiet, but not in a dismissive way. Just careful. Measured. Like he didn't waste words, so when he did speak—when he asked if I was okay, or offered a pen, or actually laughed—it felt... important.
And now my best friends are trying to turn this into a slow-burn romance with plot twists and emotional development and who knows what else. I should tell them to chill. I should also tell myself to chill.
Instead, I reach for my phone. No texts from Seungcheol, obviously. Why would there be?
Just the group chat, where Jeonghan has sent a blurry picture of Jihoon looking like he's contemplating homicide and labeled it: "mood when YN and Cheol lock eyes again tomorrow."
I snort. I hate them.
I also love them.
I send a single middle finger emoji in response and toss my phone aside. Then I get up to get ready for bed.
Shower. Skincare. Pajamas.
I brush my hair out slowly, the silence in my room now soft instead of heavy. Comfortable. I line up my uniform for the next day. Repack my bag. Plug in my phone. When I crawl under the covers, I feel it again—that calm hum in my chest. A flicker of something new.
Hope? Excitement? I'm not sure. But whatever it is... it feels good. Like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Maybe Jeonghan's right. Perhaps something is happening. Maybe not. Either way... I think I'm okay with finding out.
I wake up before my alarm. Which is disgusting. And uncalled for.
I lie there for a moment, blinking at the ceiling like the main character in a coming-of-age movie. Then I remember: I go to Seoul High now. With my best friends. With a hoodie-wearing boy who may or may not be quietly unraveling every time I look at him.
Cool. Not thinking about that.
I get up, get dressed, pull my hair into something presentable, and head out with my backpack slung over one shoulder. As I step outside, I see Jihoon waiting at the corner of the street, already holding a convenience store coffee and looking like this is the 37th Monday he's endured in a row.
"You're early," I say, blinking.
"You're late," he says, even though I'm literally on time.
"Someone's cranky."
"I'm walking to school with Jeonghan and Dokyeom. Of course I'm cranky."
Right on cue, we hear them before we see them. Jeonghan's singing something dramatic and entirely off-key, and Dokyeom is beatboxing badly in support.
"They've been like this since I left the house," Jihoon mutters.
"God gives his toughest battles to his most sleep-deprived soldiers," I say solemnly.
The boys turn the corner, and Jeonghan gasps like he's seeing me for the first time in years.
"There she is! The girl who haunts our group chat dreams!"
"Hello to you too," I say, rolling my eyes.
"We were just talking about how love can bloom in the quietest corners of a lunch period," Dokyeom says, completely unprovoked.
"Not this again."
"Sweetie," Jeonghan says, linking arms with me. "We're not saying you're in love. We're just saying if this were a drama, yesterday would've been the pilot episode, and the viewers are already emotionally invested."
Jihoon groans and we start walking.
"Anyway," I say casually, "what classes do we all have today?"
"History first for me," Jeonghan says. "Gonna sleep through 70% of it."
"I've got physics," Dokyeom sighs. "Pray for me."
"History," Jihoon mutters. "You too, right?"
I nod. "Yup. And Seungcheol, I think."
There's a subtle pause. Jeonghan smirks and Dokyeom quietly gasps. Jihoon speeds up like he's trying to leave the conversation physically.
"I swear we didn't plan that," Jeonghan says.
"Again, terrible liars."
At School – Before First Period: I'm heading toward History when someone falls into step beside me.
"Morning."
I turn. It's Seungcheol. Same hoodie (black this time), hair slightly damp like he just showered, eyes a little sleepy.
"Oh. Hey," I say, surprised. "Didn't think you were an 'early to school' kind of guy."
He shrugs. "Usually not. Got a ride today."
"From who?"
"Hyung."
He doesn't elaborate.
I nod like that explains something. "You ready to sit through Mr. Ahn's metaphors of doom again?"
"No," he says. "But I brought gum."
I grin. "A man with a plan."
He glances at me, lips twitching. "Want one?"
I blink. "Seriously?"
He offers me the pack like it's no big deal. I take one. Our fingers brush. (It means nothing. I tell myself that twice.)
"Thanks," I say.
He hums in response, and we walk the rest of the way in companionable silence. Not awkward. Just quiet. Safe.
History Class – Partner Work: Mr. Ahn's in rare form today, assigning a group analysis project and giving us exactly two class periods to finish it. "Pick someone near you," he says. "Someone you won't get distracted with."
Naturally, I turn to my right and meet Seungcheol's gaze at the same time he meets mine.
There's a silent moment of agreement.
We pair up again.
"Déjà vu," I say as we pull out our notes.
"You regretting it already?"
"Too soon to tell." He chuckles.
We start reading the passage together, breaking it down. He's sharp. More insightful than he lets on. His handwriting's messier today, and he keeps clicking his pen like it's a nervous habit. He only glances at me three times while I talk.
(Okay, four.)
And every time I catch him doing it, he looks away fast, like he got caught shoplifting. I pretend not to notice.
After Class – In the Hallway: I'm gathering my things when Jeonghan and Dokyeom ambush me like I just won a prize.
"So?" Jeonghan asks.
"How was group project part two?" Dokyeom grins.
"Educational," I say dryly. "About the text. And nothing else."
"Oh please," Jeonghan says. "I saw the gum exchange. Very flirty. Very symbolic."
"He handed me a stick of gum, not his heart."
"Same thing, if you squint."
Jihoon appears out of nowhere and shoves a worksheet into Jeonghan's chest. "This is what you should be focused on."
"Oh god," Jeonghan groans. "Homework? Already? YN, distract him."
"Yeah," Jihoon says. "That's going well."
I make a face. "You guys are insufferable."
And yet, when I glance down the hallway and see Seungcheol turning the corner—
I smile.
After Literature, the day picks up speed. There's a moment between classes where I find myself alone for the first time all day—just me and a hallway full of lockers and too-loud morning announcements. Jeonghan and Dokyeom are in gym. Jihoon had to go to the music room. Seungcheol disappeared like a vapor trail the second class ended.
So, for now, it's just me. And honestly? It's kind of nice.
Third Period – Environmental Science: I slide into a seat near the middle and pull out my notebook. The room smells like pencil shavings and leftover dissection trauma. There's a poster of a polar bear on the wall that looks weirdly judgmental.
A guy drops into the seat next to me a few seconds later. Tall-ish, tousled hair, blazer unbuttoned like a walking dress code violation.
"Hey," he says, friendly. "You're new, right?"
I blink. "Wow. How'd you guess?"
"You still look like you're trying to map out the school in your head."
"I am. I'm also emotionally invested in locating the vending machine that doesn't steal my money."
He grins. "West wing. Third floor. Kinda cursed, but it spits out two sodas if you hit it just right."
I squint. "You're joking."
"Only sometimes. I'm Taeyang, by the way."
"YN."
"Cool name."
"Cool vending machine tip."
He laughs, and the teacher calls class to attention before he can say anything else. We end up as lab partners for the day. He's sharp and surprisingly funny, and he doesn't hesitate to hand me the better pencil when mine breaks again.
It's... easy. Different.
Flirty, maybe?
No. I'm reading into it. Probably.
Fourth Period – Art
Art ends up being the class where I meet two girls who immediately adopt me like I'm their new emotionally damaged project.
"Transfer?" one of them asks, a girl with pink clips in her hair and a neon green pencil case that could double as a weapon.
I nod. "Is it that obvious?"
"You're not slumped over like the rest of us," the other one says, pulling out paintbrushes. "That's how you spot the new blood."
I laugh. "I'll slump soon. Just give me time."
They introduce themselves as Jiwon and Hyejin. We get paired up for the color theory project, and within ten minutes, they've added me to their group chat, offered me half their snacks, and told me everything about the "hallway couples ranking" that apparently exists.
They're weird. I like them immediately.
Halfway through class, Hyejin leans in. "Be honest. Are you dating that tall guy from lunch yesterday?"
"Who?"
"You were sitting across from him. Hoodie. Deep voice. Intense stare. He looked like he'd murder someone if they took the last bread from the cafeteria."
"...Seungcheol?"
"YES."
Jiwon hums. "He doesn't talk to people. And he laughed when you made that ramen joke."
"You were sitting near us?"
"We're professional eavesdroppers," Hyejin says proudly.
"She made him laugh," Jiwon repeats. "That's not normal."
"I'm not dating anyone," I say quickly.
But my face is warm and they notice. Of course they do.
By the time the final bell rings, I'm exhausted—but in a good way. Like I actually survived the day without totally embarrassing myself. I head to my locker, swinging my bag over my shoulder. As I round the corner, I see Taeyang again, leaning against the wall like it's his part-time job.
"Hey," he says when he sees me. "You made it through the cursed vending machine and polar bear judgment class."
"Barely," I say, smiling.
"You walking home?"
I hesitate.
Before I can answer, someone appears just past his shoulder—hands in his pockets, hoodie up.
Seungcheol.
He doesn't say anything at first. Just nods at me.
"You coming?"
It's directed at me. Not rude. Not rushed. Just... expectant. Like he already knows what the answer is.
Taeyang raises an eyebrow but steps aside. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yeah," I say. "See you."
I fall into step beside Seungcheol as we head toward the school gate. He doesn't ask about the other guy. Doesn't say much at all. But his shoulders are a little stiffer than usual. And when he hands me a piece of gum again without looking at me? I take it. And I definitely notice the way his fingers linger an extra second this time.
"That guy," he says.
I glance at him. "Huh?"
He nods toward the building. "From earlier. Tall. Wavy hair. He was talking to you.”
Oh.
He means Taeyang.
"Right," I say slowly. "That's Taeyang."
He waits. Like maybe I'll offer more.
I do, eventually. "We had science together today. He's... chill."
"Chill," Seungcheol echoes, like it's a word he's holding up to the light.
I squint at him. "Why?"
"No reason."
There's a silence.
Not awkward. But dense.
He looks straight ahead, jaw tight in that unreadable way that makes me wonder if he's actually annoyed, or just thinking really, really hard.
"You don't like him?" I ask, half-teasing.
"I don't know him," he says. "I just—he looked familiar."
"You mean you were watching?"
He cuts me a look. "No."
I smirk. "You sound a little defensive."
"I'm not."
"You sure?"
He exhales slowly, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like "Jeonghan warned me."
I snort. "Okay. That's ominous."
He finally meets my eyes again. "He said you'd be loud. Smart. Kind of a menace."
"Accurate."
"He didn't say anything about the guy with the vending machine tips."
I blink.
And suddenly I get it.
"Oh my god," I say slowly. "Are you asking if I like him?"
His face doesn't change.
But his ears go pink.
"I'm just asking."
"Are you?"
He's quiet for a beat.
Then, without looking at me: "You seem... interested."
I raise an eyebrow. "And that matters to you?"
He freezes. Almost like that question knocked the wind out of him.
Neither of us has spoken for a few moments, but the quiet between us doesn't feel awkward—it feels... new. The kind of silence that makes your heart race a little faster because it feels full of possibilities. I shift on my feet, gripping the strap of my backpack, suddenly very aware of how close he's standing. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I notice the warmth coming off his arm. If I leaned even slightly—
I don't.
Before I can say anything, voices ring across the courtyard. Jeonghan's dramatic tone and Dokyeom's telltale laughter echo toward us, Jihoon's quieter voice not far behind. The rest of our trio. I instinctively take a step back, just a small one. Not because I'm nervous—but because I can already hear the teasing. Sure enough, Jeonghan spots us and throws his arms out like he's discovered something scandalous.
"There you are!" he cries. "Were you two having a dramatic goodbye scene? Did I miss a confession? A single tear?"
Dokyeom gasps, clutching his chest. "They were definitely about to ride off into the sunset."
"We were just talking," I say, trying for casual but not quite managing it. I tug at the strap of my backpack. "Nothing scandalous."
Seungcheol laughs softly beside me, scratching the back of his neck. He looks flustered—but in a good way. A small smile tugs at his lips, and he doesn't move away.
"Just talking, huh?" Jeonghan peers between us, pretending to analyze the situation like a detective. "Then why are both of you blushing?"
"We are not—" I start, but Dokyeom gasps again, exaggerated.
"I knew it," he declares. "Even Jihoon can see the tension."
Jihoon raises an eyebrow. "I see a group of idiots standing in the way of me going home."
That shuts them up for half a second.
Seungcheol steps forward, lightly herding us toward the sidewalk. "Come on," he says, voice warm. "Let's walk."
The teasing simmers but doesn't disappear. Jeonghan throws an arm around my shoulder while Dokyeom hums some made-up theme song behind us. Jihoon trails behind with a dramatic sigh like he's already regretting this friendship.
Eventually, the group shifts and rearranges, and I find myself walking next to Seungcheol again. We're quiet for a few minutes. Our friends are louder ahead of us, bouncing jokes and stories back and forth like it's a game.
I don't mind the quiet. In fact, it feels... easy. Comfortable.
At some point, the group starts to split off—first Jihoon, then Jeonghan and Dokyeom, with parting quips that make me roll my eyes and laugh anyway. And then it's just me and Seungcheol again, heading toward my block under the soft pink-orange glow of sunset.
We slow near my house, and I turn toward him.
"Well," I say lightly, "this is me."
He nods, hands still tucked in his pockets. "Thanks for letting me walk with you."
"Thanks for not letting me get roasted alone," I reply, smiling.
His laugh is soft. "I tried my best."
A breeze picks up, rustling the trees overhead. I tug my hoodie sleeves over my hands and glance at him.
"I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" I ask.
"You better," he says, and the easy way he says it makes my heart skip.
I laugh. "Okay. Goodnight, Seungcheol."
He offers a wave, stepping back a little. "Goodnight, YN."
Just a quiet goodbye, a shared smile, and something lingering in the air—something that feels like the beginning of whatever this is turning into.
The next month is... a lot. In the best, most overwhelming, "how is it still only October?" kind of way.
I start to feel more settled. My locker stops rebelling against me. The cafeteria lady remembers my name (and my love for extra dumplings). I finally master the timing of the vending machines, so I don't end up behind the juniors who take ten years to choose between chips.
I make more friends, too. A few girls from chemistry. A tall kid from art class who speaks exclusively in dramatic metaphors. Taeyang, who seems weirdly dedicated to impressing me.
And I mean dedicated.
Every other day, he's got some new joke or skill to show off.
"You like magic tricks?" "Not particularly." "Too bad. Pick a card."
He's sweet. Harmless. His confidence is... kind of admirable, in a dizzying, secondhand-embarrassment way. But he's not the one I keep looking for across the hallway.
That's still Seungcheol. Or it was, anyway.
Things started off light. Banter. Subtle smiles. The kind of soft teasing that made my stomach flip. But lately... something's changed. He's still kind. Still around. But the playful touches and lingering glances? Gone. Like he flipped a switch.
One day we're laughing about Jihoon's handwriting in homeroom, and the next, he's slipping out early without a word. I can't tell if I did something wrong. If I imagined all of it. And maybe I'd spiral about it more if life didn't hit the accelerate button halfway through the month. Because that's when the transfers arrived.
Sonya. Wonwoo. Mingyu.
Sonya and I clicked instantly—like, soul-twin, "why haven't we met before?" levels of fast. She's sharp, effortlessly cool, and chaotic in all the best ways. The kind of person who could break your heart or braid your hair while texting four people at once. She's already doodled all over my notebooks and claimed the empty seat next to me in nearly every class we have together.
Wonwoo is quiet, unreadable, and low-key the reason Sonya's been wearing lip gloss every day. I caught her once staring at him during physics like he was the main plot and Newton's Laws were filler. She hasn't denied it.
And then there's Mingyu.
He's tall. Stupidly tall. With a smile so dazzling it should come with a warning label. The second he tripped over a desk in the middle of our history class and tried to play it off by finger-gunning the teacher, I felt it—just the tiniest flutter. A tiny, potentially dangerous flutter.
We started talking after class. Nothing big. Just little moments. Laughing at the same memes. Complaining about Mr. Cho's ancient projector. And maybe, just maybe, I started to enjoy seeing him walk through the door a little more than I should've.
Our friend group grows faster than I can keep track of. One minute it's just us—me, Jeonghan, DK, Jihoon, and (sometimes) Seungcheol—and the next, we've absorbed half the school.
Soonyoung (the human equivalent of a triple-shot espresso). Joshua (so nice it's suspicious). Jun and Minghao (from China, both effortlessly cool and too pretty to be real). Vernon (the calm one who quietly says the funniest thing you've ever heard). Chan, who insists we call him Dino and corrects us every single time. And Seungkwan, who could probably emcee the school assembly and a karaoke night back to back.
It's a lot. But it's also kind of magical.
There's something about walking into the courtyard and seeing all of them spread out—laughing, shouting over each other, fighting over snacks—and realizing they're my people now. This is my world. And it's getting bigger, louder, better by the day.
Still, every now and then, I catch Seungcheol watching from the sidelines. Not distant, exactly. Just... unsure. Like he's holding something back. And I don't know if it's because of me. But I miss the way we used to orbit closer. I miss the tension, the teasing. The not-so-subtle "maybe" that hung in the air between us. I don't know what's happening anymore.
Then:
It starts with a pencil.
Not in a cliché, "he lent me his and our fingers brushed" kind of way. No, it's much more embarrassing than that.
I forgot mine during a quiz. And panicked.
Mingyu noticed before I could even fake confidence. He tapped his pencil twice on his desk, then slid it toward me with a little smirk like he was waiting for me to crumble.
"You look like you were about to borrow Jihoon's soul instead," he whispered.
I stared at the pencil, then at him. "You're a lifesaver."
"No worries," he grinned. "But you owe me. Pencil tax."
"What's pencil tax?"
"I'll come up with something dramatic later."
And he did.
Later turned into a boba run after school, "to repay the pencil debt." He insisted on paying anyway, even though I argued it defeated the purpose. "Consider it interest," he said, before handing me my favorite drink—somehow, he remembered. Things like that keep happening.
He finds me at lunch, dropping into the seat across from me like he's always been there. Laughs a little too hard at my jokes. Offers to carry my books between classes. Sometimes I catch him watching me from across the room, and when I glance back, he just grins like I've proven a point he never said out loud.
Sonya teases me constantly now. Elbows me every time Mingyu says something even vaguely flirty. "You like him," she sings once, and I almost launch a shoe at her.
But she's not entirely wrong. There's a tension there. A spark. Something light and new and easy. And it's exciting. Still... it feels different. Not better, not worse. Just different.
Like Mingyu flirts to make me smile—and Seungcheol used to flirt like he couldn't help it.
And lately, Seungcheol's been quieter than ever.
I still catch him around the group. He's still himself, still warm, still steady. But he doesn't sit next to me anymore when there's space. Doesn't say much unless someone asks. There's a distance there now, soft and subtle but noticeable if you're looking. Which I am.
Especially when I see him glance between me and Mingyu and then look away, like something stings and he's pretending it doesn't.
Jeonghan notices, of course. He watches me watch Seungcheol like he's tracking subtext in a romcom and mentally rating our tension out of ten.
Meanwhile, Dokyeom's thriving on the chaos. He makes jokes. "So YN's starting a love triangle? Bold of you this early in the year." He says it with popcorn in hand like he's waiting for someone to make a dramatic confession under the bleachers.
Jihoon, as always, is unimpressed. "It's not a triangle," he mutters one afternoon. "It's a bunch of teenagers too emotionally repressed to talk to each other."
"Beautiful," Jeonghan says. "Poetic. But I'm still taking bets."
I don't say much. Because I don't know how I feel. Mingyu is warm, sweet, and charming. He makes me laugh. He makes it easy. But Seungcheol still lingers in my head—quiet and careful and frustrating in a way that makes me miss him even when we're standing in the same room.
And if I'm honest? I don't know who I want to pull me closer first. But I know I'm waiting for someone to try.
It all comes to a head on a Wednesday.
We're at the table behind the science building, the one our whole group's unofficially claimed as our own. It's shaded, slightly cracked, and only fits half of us comfortably, which means someone's always sitting on the tabletop, legs swinging over the side, or plopped on the ground with a bag as a makeshift pillow.
Today, it's a full house. Joshua's trying to teach Jun and Minghao how to play some card game with far too many rules. Dino's munching chips and yelling "no spoilers!" every time someone even hints at the ending of the movie we're watching this weekend. Seungkwan is explaining, in alarming detail, the ranking of idol survival shows based on emotional damage. It's chaos. Loud and colorful and familiar.
I'm perched on the bench beside Sonya, legs crossed under me, sipping a cold drink she made me try from the corner store. It's too sweet. I love it anyway. Mingyu flops down dramatically across from us, hair ruffled, tie loose around his neck. "Is it hot, or is it just me?"
"It's always just you," Seungkwan mutters.
"It's hot," I say, fanning myself with a worksheet. "Maybe you shouldn't sprint here from PE like the main character in a drama."
"Hey, I make it look good," Mingyu winks.
Sonya leans toward me, whispering out of the side of her mouth, "He's flirting again."
"I know."
"Do you like it?"
"I don't know."
Across the table, Seungcheol's quiet. He's sitting with his elbows on his knees, picking at the label of his water bottle. Not sulking, exactly. But not present, either. He hasn't joined in the conversation, hasn't made a snarky remark in minutes. He only glances up when I laugh at something Mingyu says.
And it's a glance like a paper cut—quick, sharp, barely there, but it stings all the same.
Later, I sit on the edge of the table with Sonya and Jun, dangling my legs while they argue about the worst cafeteria meals. Mingyu comes up behind me and taps my shoulder with the back of his hand.
"Hey, YN. I was wondering—do you wanna study for the bio quiz later? I was gonna hit the library after school."
Before I can answer, I feel eyes on me. I look up instinctively, and sure enough—across the yard, Seungcheol's looking right at us. I freeze. He doesn't. He just holds my gaze for a beat too long, then turns away like nothing happened.
"Uh, maybe," I tell Mingyu. "Let me check my notes. I'll text you."
He beams. "Cool. No pressure."
As he walks away, Sonya nudges me again. "You're torn," she whispers.
"Yeah," I breathe. "I think I am."
Because here's the thing: Mingyu makes me feel wanted. But Seungcheol makes me feel seen.
And lately, I'm starting to realize—those aren't the same thing.
That night, Jeonghan calls me.
"I'm just saying," he starts without so much as a hello, "I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."
"I don't know what you mean."
"You do."
"I really don't."
There's a pause.
Then, softer: "Do you like him?"
I don't answer. Mostly because I don't know how.
Jeonghan sighs. "YN. Look, I'm not trying to rush you. But you gotta figure it out before someone gets hurt."
He doesn't say who. He doesn't have to.
The next day, Seungcheol doesn't sit next to me in class. And I realize it's the first time in weeks he hasn't. Something's shifting. And I have no idea which way it's about to go.
By Friday, I've had enough.
Enough of the tension, the unreadable glances, the way Seungcheol pulls away just when it feels like we're getting close. It's like trying to hold smoke. One second he's warm and steady by my side—the next, he's distant, half-vanished, like I imagined the whole thing.
And I'm tired of waiting. For a look. For a sign. For a maybe. So I make a choice. It starts with a simple yes.
"Yes," I say, turning toward Mingyu in the middle of lunch, interrupting a story about the disastrous time he tried to cook instant noodles without water.
"Yes?"
"To studying," I clarify, smiling. "Today. After school. I'm free."
He grins like I just handed him front-row tickets to his own birthday party. "Really? Nice. I'll even buy you snacks. Brain fuel. My treat."
"Careful," Jeonghan chimes in, not even looking up from his phone. "She has expensive taste."
"She eats hot Cheetos and banana milk like it's a five-star combo," Jihoon deadpans.
"She's consistent," Dokyeom defends, patting my back. "I respect that."
Mingyu laughs, turning back to me. "Whatever you want. I'm just happy you said yes."
It's cute. He's cute.
And when he smiles like that—boyish, soft around the edges—I let myself feel it. The flutter in my chest. The way my cheeks warm just slightly. I let myself feel wanted.
After school, we sit across from each other at the library table closest to the window. Golden light filters through the blinds, striping his notebook and my half-eaten snack bag. He's easy to talk to. Funny. A little clumsy—he drops his pen twice and accidentally elbows his drink across the table—but he makes me laugh in the way that makes your stomach clench and your jaw ache.
We quiz each other until the sun dips low enough that the librarian flips the lights on, and even then, we don't leave right away. We just linger—talking about music, favorite ramen shops, weird childhood dreams.
I don't realize I've been smiling for most of it until Mingyu says, "I like it when you laugh."
"What?"
He shrugs sheepishly. "You laugh like you mean it. Like it takes over your whole face."
And I feel it again—that tiny flutter. Except this time, there's no guilt tethered to it.
"I laugh a lot around you," I say, quiet but honest.
He doesn't say anything. Just reaches out and flicks a crumb from my sleeve with this soft, fond expression that makes something in me shift.
Maybe I'm allowed to like this. Maybe I'm allowed to let it happen.
The following day, I walk into school and find Jeonghan already waiting at my locker like a nosy guardian angel.
"So?" he asks, eyes twinkling. "How was your little study date?"
"It wasn't a date," I say, unlocking my locker.
He gasps. "That means it went well."
I roll my eyes, but I can't help but smile. "It was... nice. Mingyu's nice."
He hums. "Seungcheol's been sulking."
I glance at him sharply. "What?"
He shrugs. "Didn't say anything, but he had That Look on his face when you left with Mingyu. You know the one."
I don't answer. Because I do know the one. And because part of me wants to look back and ask, why didn't he say anything? But I don't.
Instead, I close my locker and say, "Well, I'm done waiting."
And for the first time in weeks, I mean it.
The next few days are a whirlwind. Mingyu finds any excuse to talk to me—passing notes in class, sliding into group conversations with ease, offering me the last choco pie from his lunchbox like it's a rare gem. It's sweet. He's sweet.
After all, Seungcheol has been nothing but quiet glances and half-smiles lately. A ghost of what we almost were, if we were ever anything at all. And I'm not chasing ghosts anymore.
So when Mingyu slings his arm over my shoulders during a group project and leans in a little too close to whisper a joke in my ear—I laugh. Loudly. And I feel Seungcheol's eyes on me across the room. Burning. Brief. Then gone.
It happens again at lunch. Mingyu's sitting beside me, our knees brushing beneath the table, and he's animatedly recounting a story about him and Wonwoo getting chased by a rogue cat outside a convenience store. My head tips back in laughter just as Seungcheol sits down across from us, tray clattering a little louder than necessary.
Dokyeom clocks it immediately. His eyes dart between Seungcheol and me like he's watching a tennis match.
"So," he says loudly, drawing out the word, "how's the new dynamic duo?"
"Us?"
Mingyu flashes that dimpled grin. "We make a good team. YN's the brains, I'm the moral support."
"And the walking disaster," I tease, nudging his knee.
Seungcheol's fork pauses midair.
Jeonghan leans back in his seat, hands behind his head, wearing the smuggest grin I've ever seen. "You know, this is fascinating. Really. The romantic tension in this group is going to reach critical mass soon."
"You're not allowed to turn real life into fanfiction," Jihoon says flatly, not looking up from his lunch.
Minghao glances between all of us, brows raised. "Do I want to know?"
"No," Seungcheol mutters, stabbing a piece of kimchi like it insulted him personally.
I glance at him, heart hiccuping at the tension in his jaw. There's something different in his gaze today. Not soft. Not shy. Sharp, almost. And for the first time, I'm the one feeling watched. Later, after lunch, as I'm walking to class with Sonya and Mingyu, I hear footsteps fall into rhythm beside me. Seungcheol.
"Hey," he says, voice low. He's not looking at me, just forward.
"Hey," I echo, unsure.
A pause.
Then, suddenly: "You and Mingyu."
I glance at him. "What about us?"
"Are you...?" He trails off, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "Never mind."
I stop walking. "Cheol."
He stops too, just ahead of me. Turns around slowly. His expression is unreadable. Quiet and conflicted in that Seungcheol way I'm starting to resent a little. The silence stretches until it stings.
"You don't get to ask," I say softly. "Not if you're not going to answer anything yourself."
He swallows. Nods once. "Fair."
Then he walks away. I stay frozen for a moment, heart tight in my chest.
Behind me, Mingyu gently touches my arm. "You okay?"
I turn to him. Smile. "Yeah. Let's go."
Because maybe Seungcheol is finally feeling something. But right now, I want someone who's showing it. And Mingyu's hand brushing mine as we walk says more than Seungcheol ever has.
Over the next week, Mingyu becomes a permanent fixture at my side.
At lunch, he claims the spot next to me before anyone else can. In the hallway, his hand always hovers a little too close to mine. When we're paired for assignments, he grins like he's just won the lottery.
I don't stop him. If anything, I lean in—literally and figuratively.
"YN, are you even listening?" Mingyu nudges me during study hall.
I blink, caught mid-daydream. "Huh?"
He chuckles, tilting his head, his smile doing that devastating thing again. "I was saying if we survive this group project, I owe you bubble tea. But now I'm thinking you owe me one, for enduring your zoning out."
"I was thinking deeply about math, thank you very much."
He raises an eyebrow. "Right. Totally math. Not me."
I roll my eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, Kim." But my grin gives me away.
After school, he walks me home. Not always—but more often than not. He kicks pebbles down the sidewalk and talks about his dog, his love for horror movies, how he once tried to dye his hair blue and ended up looking like a Smurf. I laugh until my stomach hurts. And I realize—somewhere along the way—I look forward to this. To him.
He's warm, magnetic, easy in a way that makes me want to stay close. And he's not shy about how he feels, either.
"You ever gonna let me take you out?" he asks one evening, casual like it's not the question that's been hanging in the air for days.
I freeze for a heartbeat, startled. "Is that what this has been? You flirting with me to get a date?"
He chuckles. "What gave it away?"
"I don't know... the constant compliments? The boba bribes?"
"Hey," he says, feigning offense, "you never said no to the boba."
I smile. "Maybe I didn't want to."
He slows to a stop, just outside my gate, backpack slung over one shoulder. "So? You gonna let me?"
There's a beat of silence between us. Then I step forward, poking him lightly in the chest. "Only if you let me pay for the second date."
His grin is immediate. "Deal."
Across the street, someone calls his name—Wonwoo, waiting at the corner.
"I'll text you," Mingyu says as he jogs backward, that smile never leaving his face. "Don't ghost me, YN!"
"I won't!" I call, heart thudding in my chest.
And I mean it.
This feels like me choosing myself. Even if, somewhere deep down, part of me wonders what Seungcheol would've done if I hadn't said yes.
It only takes a day for the news to travel.
Okay, maybe not "news" exactly—but in the world of high school hallways and group chats that never sleep, one look at the way Mingyu slings an arm around my shoulder as we walk into school the next morning is enough to set the tone.
"So," Sonya drawls, flopping into her seat beside me in homeroom, "did I miss the memo or are we officially crushing on the tall golden retriever now?"
I open my mouth to deny it—and immediately close it again when Mingyu appears in the doorway and flashes me that sunbeam of a smile.
Sonya follows my gaze. "Aha."
We haven't labeled anything, not really. But when we sit next to each other in class, his knee taps mine like a secret. When we pass each other in the hallway, his fingers find mine for a second longer than necessary. During lunch, he doesn't even ask before dropping his tray next to mine like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"You two are gross," Jeonghan declares one afternoon, after watching Mingyu wipe sauce from the corner of my mouth with his thumb.
I snort into my drink. "Says the guy who made Dokyeom recreate a proposal with a bread roll in the cafeteria last week."
"That was performance art," Dokyeom argues, dead serious.
Seungcheol, sitting across from me, says nothing. He's been quieter lately—still around, still part of the group, but the easy rhythm we were building before has shifted. I catch him watching sometimes—his gaze lingering a little too long, his laugh just a beat late. And when Mingyu leans in close to whisper something in my ear, I swear Seungcheol's whole body tenses, just for a second.
Jihoon notices too. I can tell by the way he watches Seungcheol watching me. But he doesn't say anything. Just occasionally shoots me a look across the table like he's silently asking, You good? I am. I think.
Mingyu makes it easy. He's warm and silly, and ridiculously charming in that "trip over his own feet and still land cool" kind of way. He gives me attention without making it feel like pressure. He listens when I ramble about my favorite books, offers to carry my backpack when I'm too tired, and remembers that I like exactly three ice cubes in my iced coffee—not two, not four, three.
We aren't official. But everyone knows So when Mingyu finds me by the vending machine after sixth period and grins, I already know something ridiculous is coming.
"Date idea," he says. "We recreate that scene from Titanic."
"You mean—the boat?"
"No," he says seriously. "The door. We build a raft and test whether both of us could've survived."
I stare at him. "Why are you like this?"
He just shrugs, still grinning. "If we're gonna be iconic, we might as well start now."
I laugh, and his fingers brush mine, soft and deliberate. Behind him, down the hall, I catch Seungcheol standing by his locker. Our eyes meet. And just like that, the breath in my chest wobbles. But Mingyu's hand finds mine again, and the moment passes.
At lunch the next day, Jeonghan pokes me on the side as he plops down beside me. "So... when's the wedding?"
I throw a carrot stick at his head. Dokyeom catches it mid-air and eats it like it's a treat. Jihoon rolls his eyes so hard they practically leave orbit. And across the table, Seungcheol watches me and Mingyu laugh with that unreadable expression again—like he's trying to figure out when exactly everything changed. And maybe—just maybe—he's wondering if it's too late to change it back.
Then, a note. Not a text. Not a DM. A literal folded-up scrap of notebook paper slipped under my water bottle during lunch while I'm deep in conversation with Sonya.
I blink down at it: For YN (a very important human). Do not open until after lunch. This is very serious.
I raise an eyebrow.
Across the table, Mingyu is very busy pretending he isn't watching me. He's focused on peeling the sticker off his banana like it's a bomb he's disarming.
"Did you just—" I start.
"—hmm?" he says innocently, eyes wide. "Banana?"
Sonya leans in. "Girl, open it."
I wait. I do. But the second the lunch bell rings and trays start clattering, I unfold the note. Inside, written in very questionable handwriting and at least two different pen colors:
YN,
This is going to sound cooler in my head than it probably does in real life, but go with me here:
You're one of my favorite people. You're funny and smart and terrifyingly good at making fun of me. You make school days feel like movie scenes. And I like being near you. So I was wondering— Wanna go on a date?
Like a real one. Just me. Just you. No Jeonghan hiding in a tree with binoculars (hopefully). Just us.
I can even promise I won't talk about conspiracy theories or make you taste-test my weird smoothie recipes. (Unless you want to.) Check yes or yes:
[] yes [] also yes — Mingyu
P.S. If this note flopped, pretend I dropped it by accident and never read it. I'll fake a nosebleed and run.
Mingyu is still at the trash can, very slowly and very dramatically throwing away a banana peel like he's buying himself time to pretend this isn't happening.
I stand, and he turns, eyes locking with mine, hopeful and slightly terrified. I hold up the note, shake it once in the air, then grin. "You forgot a box that says obviously."
His jaw drops, and Sonya whoops behind me. Mingyu bolts over like a golden retriever off the leash. "Wait, is that—was that a yes? That's a yes, right?"
I laugh. "Yes, Kim Mingyu. It's a yes." He fist pumps. Loudly. And then, without warning, spins me in a circle like we're in a Disney Channel hallway. We nearly knock over a trash can.
Jihoon—passing by—pauses, blinks, and just mutters, "I hate all of you," before walking off.
That night, I text him:
Where are we going?
He sends back:
Anywhere. But I hear the smoothie place by your house now has a "girlfriend discount."
Me: ...so that's what this was about.
Mingyu: Only partially. Mostly I just like you. Also I need you to tell me if my shirt options are ugly.
The Date: The smoothie shop near my house is a little too on-the-nose. Cute fairy lights strung across the windows, chalkboard specials written in curly letters, and some kind of acoustic cover of "Love Story" playing faintly over the speakers. It feels like it should be cheesy. But with Mingyu bouncing beside me in a denim jacket two sizes too big, it just feels right.
"This is totally not a first date spot," I tease as we step inside.
"Oh, no," he says seriously. "It's way better. I figured, why not take the prettiest girl I know to the ugliest-tasting smoothie bar in Seoul?"
"Wait, the smoothies are bad?"
"Terrible," he grins, eyes crinkling. "But the straws are biodegradable."
We both burst out laughing. We order something purple and suspicious-looking, and Mingyu insists on paying ("They're giving me the loyal customer in love discount," he claims). He grabs the booth in the corner, then proceeds to quiz me on my zombie apocalypse plan, my Hogwarts house, and whether I believe in aliens.
"Your ideal date involves conspiracy theories and doomsday scenarios?" I laugh.
"Only if they end with me holding your hand."
My face burns. He's grinning like a goof and not even trying to be smooth—but that's the thing. It works on me. Everything about him does.
Later, we walk to the nearby park, still sipping from those stupid smoothies and talking about everything from childhood dreams to who we'd pick as our three-person heist team (Mingyu, of course, picks himself three times). And as the sun dips low, casting pink and gold across the sky, Mingyu reaches for my hand. Not in a big, dramatic way. Just a soft brush, fingers curling slowly around mine like he's testing the waters.
I let him. And squeeze back.
The Next Day – Lunch Table Chaos: I barely sit down at our usual lunch table before Sonya blurts, "So? How was it?!"
Dokyeom nearly spills his milk. "Wait—it happened?!"
Jeonghan, of course, is already leaning across the table like an aunt at a family reunion. "Tell us everything. Did he cry? He looks like he'd cry on first dates."
"He did not cry," I laugh, stealing a bite of Sonya's lunch. "But he did try to convince me Bigfoot is a misunderstood forest gentleman."
"I stand by that," Mingyu calls out from the other side, cheeks puffed with rice.
Joshua, wide-eyed and clutching his tray, just hums. "Honestly? I kinda believe that."
"Of course you do," Jihoon mutters, stabbing at his food.
I glance around, still giggling from the whirlwind of voices—and that's when I notice. Seungcheol isn't here. The realization hits me like a wrong note in an otherwise perfect chord. His usual spot, right across from Jihoon, is empty. Untouched lunch tray. Unclaimed seat.
"Where's Cheol?" I ask, trying to sound casual.
Jihoon doesn't look up. "Said he wasn't hungry."
Jeonghan glances at me briefly, something unreadable flashing in his eyes before he shrugs. "Probably sulking about that gym class dodgeball loss." But he's lying. I can tell.
And when Sonya nudges me under the table and raises her eyebrows, I realize she knows it too.
Mingyu, bless his oblivious heart, just throws an arm over the back of my chair and starts talking about a new movie he wants us to watch together. And I nod and laugh and listen...
But in the corner of my mind, all I can think about is that empty seat—and what it might mean.
Later That Day — After School: The hallway is quieter than usual. Most students have already scattered, and I linger near the lockers, heart thudding just a little faster than normal.
I spot him down the corridor—leaning against the vending machine, hood up, staring blankly at the row of drinks like they personally offended him.
"Hey," I say softly, stepping up beside him.
Seungcheol doesn't look at me right away. He just shoves some coins into the machine and presses a button. "Hey."
I rock back on my heels. "You missed lunch."
"Yeah," he mutters. The bottle thuds into the slot below, and he bends to grab it.
I pause. "You okay?"
He twists the cap off the drink. Shrugs. "Just had stuff to do."
"Right," I nod slowly. "Important vending machine business."
That gets the faintest twitch of his lips—but it doesn't reach his eyes.
"I noticed you didn't say much today." I tilt my head, watching him. "Everything cool between us?"
He finally looks at me. His gaze is steady, a little guarded, but not cold. "You and Mingyu looked pretty happy."
The shift in my stomach is immediate. I blink. "We are," I say carefully. "But that doesn't mean I want... weirdness between us."
Seungcheol huffs out a quiet breath—half laugh, half sigh. "There's no weirdness, YN."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure," he says, offering a small smile that looks practiced. "We're good."
But I don't quite believe him. He takes a sip of his drink, and before I can say anything else, he pushes off the vending machine and gives me a gentle nod. "See you tomorrow."
And just like that, he walks off. And it hurts more than I expected.
The Rest of the Week — Group Dynamics Shift: By Tuesday, things settle... sort of.
Mingyu's still walking me to class with his ridiculous grin and carrying my backpack like it's a love declaration. Sonya has become the official president of the Mingyu and YN Defense Squad (self-appointed, naturally). Dokyeom and Jeonghan are insufferable about it, whispering behind their hands every time Mingyu so much as breathes near me.
"Should we start planning the wedding now, or...?" Jeonghan hums, scrolling on his phone.
"I call best man," Dokyeom says immediately.
"You're both banned," I deadpan.
But behind the teasing, I notice the subtle shifts.
Seungcheol still shows up—but he's quieter. Laughs when someone cracks a joke, but it doesn't stick. He doesn't sit next to me anymore. Doesn't meet my eyes as often. Even Jihoon notices.
"You know," he says one afternoon, sitting across from me as we all do homework at the café down the block, "he's not mad at you."
I look up from my notebook. "I never said he was."
"You don't have to," Jihoon says bluntly. "Just saying... he's still figuring out how to be okay."
I glance toward where Seungcheol sits at the far end of the booth, headphones in, nodding along to whatever playlist he's buried in. He looks calm. But I know him well enough now to recognize a performance when I see one.
Still, I can't bring myself to fix it. Not yet. Not when I'm still trying to figure out if I made the right choice—or if this ache in my chest is trying to tell me something I'm not ready to admit.
Thursday Evening – My Room: My curtains are drawn, the soft yellow glow from my desk lamp the only light in the room. The usual clutter—books, my hoodie draped over the chair, a pair of mismatched socks near the bed—makes it feel lived in, but tonight, it just feels... still.
I'm lying on my stomach, chin resting on my crossed arms, while Jihoon sits in the beanbag near the window. He's been here for about an hour, supposedly helping me revise for our bio quiz. But so far, we've gotten through maybe one and a half flashcards.
My head's been elsewhere. And Jihoon knows it.
"Okay," he finally says, flipping the flashcard in his hand without even looking at it. "Spit it out."
"What?"
"You've been sighing like a drama heroine for the past twenty minutes," he deadpans. "What's going on in that overactive brain of yours?"
I let out another sigh for good measure. "It's nothing."
Jihoon levels me with a look. "YN."
I groan and bury my face in my arms. "It's just... everything."
"Be more vague," he says dryly. "I dare you."
I push myself up so I'm sitting cross-legged, fiddling with the string on my sweatpants. "It's Mingyu. And Seungcheol. And me. And the universe, probably."
"That narrows it down."
I toss a pillow at him. He dodges it with a smirk and waits.
"I like Mingyu," I admit quietly. "I really do. He's funny, and sweet, and he makes everything feel easy."
Jihoon nods, not saying anything yet.
"But..." I pause. "There's always a but, isn't there?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Usually."
"It's just—Cheol." My voice dips without meaning to. "He's been pulling away, and I keep wondering if I did something wrong. If... I misread everything from the beginning."
Jihoon leans his head back against the wall, thoughtful. "You didn't misread it."
I look up, surprised. "What?"
"He likes you," Jihoon says simply. "It's obvious. Has been since the second he met you."
"Then why—?"
"Because he's Seungcheol," Jihoon shrugs. "He cares too much and doesn't always know what to do with it."
I chew on my bottom lip, heart heavy. "So now what? I'm dating Mingyu. I chose him. But... sometimes I still catch Seungcheol looking at me like—like he's still hoping."
Jihoon doesn't respond right away. He watches me for a long moment, then finally speaks.
"You don't have to have all the answers right now. But you do have to be honest—with yourself and with them. Especially with Mingyu."
That hits a little too close. I look down, twisting the cardigan sleeve I'm wearing—Seungcheol's cardigan, still folded around me like a comfort I can't let go of.
"I didn't mean for it to get this complicated," I whisper.
"Yeah, well," Jihoon mutters, grabbing a second flashcard. "It's high school. Welcome to the chaos."
I huff a quiet laugh, even as my heart tightens in my chest.
Jihoon's about to say something else when my door creaks open without warning.
"Hope I'm not interrupting anything scandalous," Sonya says, poking her head in with a teasing grin. "But someone left the kettle on, and I figured you'd want tea before your existential crisis fully peaks."
"You made tea?"
"Peppermint," she says, stepping into the room and holding out a steaming mug like peace offering. "And don't worry—I added a spoon of honey, because you look like you've been dragged through three emotional monologues and a slow burn romance arc."
Jihoon snorts from his beanbag. "She's halfway through act three, yeah."
"Perfect," Sonya says, settling cross-legged beside me and handing over the mug. "Now spill. What's the verdict? Are we madly in love with Mingyu? Or is the Seungcheol situation still taking up real estate in your head?"
My cheeks burn. "You guys make it sound like I'm living in a soap opera."
"You kind of are," Sonya says, not unkindly. "With less backstabbing and more brooding hallway glances."
"She's not wrong," Jihoon murmurs.
I take a sip of tea, the warmth blooming in my chest like something close to comfort. "It's not that I don't like Mingyu," I say quietly. "I do. He's... everything, really. And I'm happy."
Sonya hums. "But?"
I stare at the rim of my mug. "But sometimes I think about Seungcheol. And not in a what if I picked him instead kind of way, just... in this quiet, sad sort of way. Like we missed something."
Sonya is quiet for a beat. "I think that's allowed," she says finally. "You're not a robot. You're allowed to feel complicated things."
Jihoon sighs like this entire conversation has emotionally aged him ten years. "You should just host a love triangle support group at this point. I'll make snacks."
Sonya grins. "I'll bring tissues."
I laugh, setting the mug on my nightstand. "You guys are the worst."
"But also the best," Sonya says, bumping her shoulder into mine. "And for what it's worth? Mingyu clearly adores you. And Seungcheol... well, let's just say the boy's been looking like a kicked puppy every time you're not around."
"That's an insult to puppies," Jihoon mutters, but he doesn't deny it.
I bury my face in my hands and groan. "This is so messy."
Sonya leans back on her palms, giving me a knowing look. "Yeah. But if anyone's going to make it through high school love geometry without combusting, it's you."
Jihoon lifts his mug in mock toast. "To surviving teenage angst."
I lift mine too. "Barely."
Sonya smiles, clinking her mug against ours. "To the chaos. And to figuring it out."
If you had told me a month ago that I'd start dating Mingyu, spend almost every lunch by his side, walk home with our hands brushing more often than not, and then break up without a single tear or fight—I would've laughed in your face.
But here we are. A month later. Still sitting across from each other at lunch. Still teasing, still bickering like always. The only difference now? There's no flutter in my chest when he smiles. No skipped heartbeat when our shoulders bump. And the same goes for him.
It didn't happen all at once. There wasn't a big moment or a dramatic shift. Just... a series of little ones.
The way our conversations started drifting toward other people. How we started hanging out with the group more than just the two of us. How I stopped overthinking my texts, and he stopped calling me babe and went back to YN without either of us flinching.
And then one night, walking home, we looked at each other and just kind of... laughed.
"This feels weird, right?" he said, tugging at his hoodie strings.
I snorted. "So weird."
He smiled at me. "I think I like you better as my chaos partner."
"Same," I said without missing a beat. "You're a terrible flirt anyway."
"Wow," he gasped, clutching his chest. "And to think I almost let you meet my dog."
"You don't even have a dog."
"I was gonna get one for the bit!"
We broke up right there on the sidewalk—if you can even call it that. No tears. No bitterness. Just two people realizing the thing they were holding onto so carefully wasn't quite the thing they thought it was. And that was okay.
Of course, the group didn't take it quite as smoothly.
"You what?" Jeonghan asked the next morning at lunch, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head.
"We broke up," I said simply, popping a grape into my mouth.
Dokyeom blinked. "Since when?"
"Last night."
"And you're... fine?" Jeonghan asked, narrowing his eyes like he was waiting for the emotional breakdown to surface.
"We're good," Mingyu confirmed, sitting beside me and digging into his sandwich like he hadn't just blown everyone's minds.
Jihoon, across the table, barely looked up from his notes. "Told you it wasn't gonna last," he mumbled, scribbling something in his margins.
"Wow, thanks for the optimism, Ji," I said dryly.
He shrugged. "You're happier now. That's what matters."
Meanwhile, Soonyoung sat frozen, blinking rapidly. "Wait. So you're not together? At all?"
"Nope."
"And there's... no secret pining? No dramatic tension? No hidden love letters?"
Mingyu and I looked at each other and then back at him. "Nope," we said in unison.
Soonyoung slumped dramatically in his seat. "Man, what's the point of even being in high school if we're not living in a K-drama?"
Joshua laughed from down the table. "They're being adults about it. You should try it sometime."
"Never," Soonyoung replied. "I live for the drama."
Mingyu just leaned back, grinning. "Then you're watching the wrong couple."
Everyone's gaze collectively shifted.
And I didn't even have to look to know who they were looking at.
Because the moment that sentence left Mingyu's mouth, I could feel it.
The way Seungcheol went quiet across the courtyard. The way his eyes flicked to me just a second too long. The way Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, and Jihoon sighed like he was already bracing for what came next.
But that? That's another story.
For now, I'm single again. And strangely at peace.
Mingyu and I still share jokes. Sonya's still my right-hand girl. And Seungcheol... well. He's still watching from a distance.
The rest of lunch goes by in a blur of half-listened conversations and forced laughter. Mingyu's still cracking jokes, Sonya's nudging my elbow every time someone mentions anything remotely flirty, and Dokyeom keeps dramatically reenacting his imagined version of our breakup like it was some tragic K-drama finale.
"But what about the line, YN?" he cries, clutching his chest. "The 'I like you better as my chaos partner'—oh my god, it's like Shakespeare in hoodies."
"Please stop," I mutter, hiding my face behind my water bottle.
Seungcheol hasn't said a word.
He's at the end of the table, poking at his rice like it personally offended him, occasionally muttering something to Jihoon or Vernon but otherwise staying quiet. I sneak a glance his way and catch him already looking. He looks away just as fast.
I sigh and peel the wrapper off my snack bar with too much force, the plastic crinkling louder than it should.
He's been like this for weeks now—ever since I started getting closer to Mingyu. No more casual banter, no more half-smiles between classes, no more sarcastic jabs that made my stomach flip for no good reason. He hasn't been rude, exactly. Just... distant. Neutral. Professional, almost. Like we're classmates, not friends. Like we never spent an entire walk home laughing about nothing. Like he never let his hand rest on the small of my back like it meant something. It's driving me insane.
After lunch, I catch up with Sonya while heading to science class.
"Okay," she says, pushing her hair out of her face, "you and Mingyu are good, we've emotionally processed that, blah blah—now can we talk about the fact that someone hasn't looked at you for more than two seconds all week?"
"Which 'someone' are we referring to?" I ask innocently, even though I already know exactly who she means.
Sonya gives me a deadpan look. "Cheol. Your mysterious, broody almost-but-not-quite something."
I snort. "We were never—"
"Oh, save it," she says, waving me off. "I was there when he offered you his cardigan and stood outside your gate like he was auditioning for a romance movie. That's not 'just friends' energy."
I open my mouth, then shut it again. Because she's not wrong.
"I don't get it," I finally say, rounding the corner with her. "He was warm and sweet and borderline flirty for a solid two weeks. Then I start talking to someone else and he ghosts me emotionally. Like, what is that?"
"He likes you," she says easily. "And he's sulking."
"That's not how you handle your feelings."
"It is when you're a teenage boy with the emotional range of a teaspoon," she says, dead serious. "Give him time. Or don't. You could always call him out and see what happens."
I hesitate. "That feels... risky."
Sonya shrugs. "So is every good story. But for now, we let him simmer in his mysteriousness. Come on. Mr. Lee's class awaits."
We slide into our seats just as the bell rings. I try to focus on the whiteboard, the lesson, anything that isn't the brooding figure two rows behind me who won't even breathe in my direction. But I can feel it—the way the air changes when he shifts, the tension rolling off of him like a silent tide.
He's not mad. But he's definitely something. And for the first time in weeks, I realize: I want to know what it is.
The courtyard is quiet. Golden sunlight spills across the cracked pavement as the last few students filter out of the gates, voices trailing behind them until they're swallowed by the street noise beyond. I should be heading home. I know that. But I linger by the gate, backpack strap gripped tight in one hand. I had told the others I'd wait for them—Jeonghan, Jihoon, DK—but somewhere between my last class and the front gate, I changed my mind. I wanted space.
"Hey," a voice says behind me. Familiar. Soft.
I don't turn around immediately, but I already know who it is. Seungcheol. He approaches slowly, like he's not sure he has the right to. Maybe he doesn't.
"You waiting for the guys?" he asks, tentative.
I shake my head. "Decided to walk home alone today."
He stops a few steps from me. "Oh."
I don't say anything. I shift my weight, eyes fixed on the sidewalk ahead like it might open up and swallow me whole.
There's a long pause. The kind that makes you feel every second pressing down on your chest.
"I wasn't sure if you'd talk to me," he says eventually.
I glance over at him, just enough to meet his eyes. "I'm still not sure I want to."
His face tightens, just a little, like he expected it but still hoped for something else. "Fair."
I start walking. Not fast, just enough to signal that I'm not interested in standing still. He hesitates for a second, then follows beside me, matching my pace.
We walk in silence for a block. A cool breeze kicks up, rustling the trees above. I don't look at him, and he doesn't push.
Then, finally: "I owe you an apology."
I stay quiet. He continues anyway.
"I should've said something. Should've explained why I pulled back. But I didn't. I just... left you hanging."
I stop walking. He stops too. I turn toward him. "Yeah. You did."
The air shifts between us, heavier now.
"I got jealous," he admits, voice low. "That's not an excuse, but... it's the truth. I didn't know how to deal with it. Seeing you and Mingyu—he's easy to like. He makes you laugh. You looked happy, and I thought maybe that was better for you. Safer."
I blink at him, stunned—not by the words themselves, but by the nerve of him saying them now, like we could just pick up where he left me.
"You ghosted me because you were jealous?" I repeat, disbelief threading into my tone.
"I didn't mean to—"
"But you did." My voice is soft, but it doesn't waver. "You disappeared. You didn't check in. You didn't say a thing. Not even when everything felt like it was falling apart."
He looks like he wants to reach for me, to close the space between us, but he doesn't.
"I'm sorry," he says again, quieter this time. "I really am."
"I'm not saying I don't care," I say, biting the inside of my cheek. "Because I do. That's what makes this worse. You were my friend, Cheol. You mattered to me. And you just... vanished."
He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again. The streetlamp above us flickers, casting long shadows that dance at our feet.
"I get it," he finally says. "I messed up."
I nod once, slow and deliberate. "Yeah. You did."
Another pause.
"I don't expect you to forgive me right now," he says. "I just... needed you to know. I never stopped wanting to be around you. I just got scared. And stupid."
I close my eyes for a beat, then take a breath. When I open them, I meet his gaze squarely.
"I need time, Seungcheol."
"Okay."
"I don't hate you. But I'm still hurt. And I don't want to pretend like that didn't happen just because it's easier now."
"I'm not asking you to," he says gently. "Take all the time you need."
I nod, hugging my arms around myself.
"I'll head home from here," I say, already taking a step back toward my side street. "I just want to walk the rest of the way alone."
He gives a short, understanding nod. "Okay."
"Goodnight, Seungcheol."
"Goodnight, YN."
And just like that, I turn and walk away. Not angry. Not broken. Just tired—and healing.
The morning sun barely filters through the half-drawn blinds when I settle into my seat for first period. The classroom buzzes with the usual energy—shuffling bags, chairs dragging across tile, someone in the back already cracking dumb jokes—but it all feels muted to me. Distant.
I rest my chin on my hand and let my eyes wander to the window. The teacher walks in and starts reviewing the homework, but the words blur around the edges. I manage to scribble down a few things, but I can feel it—everyone else is moving forward, laughing, chatting, doing normal high school things, and I'm stuck.
It's not that I want to mope. I hate being that person. But after last night—after Seungcheol's awkward half-confession and my own barely stitched-together response—I don't exactly feel like myself. The whole walk home played in my head like a loop I couldn't escape. The way he said it was jealousy. The way I had to shut it down.
"YN," the teacher calls, snapping me out of my daze. "Can you read question five?"
"Uh—yeah. Sorry." I fumble with my textbook, cheeks warm, and read the question aloud, trying to focus. But it's hard when I can feel the eyes on me.
Sonya leans over as soon as we're dismissed for group work, her voice hushed. "You good?"
I nod, too quickly. "Yeah. Just tired."
She doesn't push, just shoots me a look that says she doesn't believe me but will wait. That's the thing about her—she always waits. By the time lunch rolls around, I already know I'm not going. I shove my bento back into my bag and make a beeline for the music room instead. It's usually empty during this time, the piano tucked in the corner and sunlight pouring in through the tall windows. Peaceful. Quiet.
I slide into the back row and pull out my sketchbook, pretending to doodle while my thoughts swirl. Somewhere down the hall, I hear laughter—the kind that belongs to Jeonghan and Dokyeom, probably arguing about who forgot to grab snacks for the table. I imagine Jihoon rolling his eyes. I imagine Seungcheol sitting there too, pretending not to notice I'm missing.
But I hope he does. Because maybe if he notices I'm gone, he'll realize how much he made me feel like I wasn't worth staying for. And maybe, just maybe... he'll finally do something about it.
────────────────
back | masterlist | next
20 notes · View notes
cheollollipop · 24 days ago
Text
Trying to post the next chapter of Fragments of Us and tumble isn't letting me lolololol please help! its like 18k+ words and I'm not understanding whats happening
0 notes
cheollollipop · 25 days ago
Text
oh he's so sexy for that
Tumblr media
988 notes · View notes
cheollollipop · 25 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
cherry on top (seungcheol x reader).
⤿ a four-part series chronicling what happens after you accidentally kidnap a mafia boss named S.Coups.
𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 —
🍒 PART ONE.
picture this: you're taking home an attractive guy you met on your night out. you're both a little drunk but still very much willing to go at it— that is, until you try to handcuff him and you realize you've lost the key to said cuffs.
🍒 PART TWO.
as the song goes, you can never get away from the sound of a woman that loves you. or in this case: you're not about to get away from a woman who knows your boba order.
🍒 PART THREE.
being in a situationship is already pretty hard. being in a situationship with a petty mafia boss who has never dated before? much, much harder.
🍒 PART FOUR.
stories like this always end with a damsel in distress. except— this time around— you're not the one who needs saving.
ⓘ mafia boss!seungcheol, romance, humor/crack. depictions of violence, cussing/swearing. ??? to lovers, reader is down bad. more tags to be added.
Tumblr media
𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒 —
this seungcheol first appeared in my svt x reverse tropes smau, and was briefly expounded on in this ask before becoming a full-fledged series.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —
Tumblr media
with love, kae ✎ this was a looong time coming. trying to get back into the groove of writing, and i thought this silly little au would be as good as any place to start :) there are many couprangs in my life that i adore to no end, and so this one goes out to all of them.
see you all for cherry on top! <3
Tumblr media
› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao
634 notes · View notes
cheollollipop · 28 days ago
Text
Seventeen Masterlist
Tumblr media
All SVT related stories here !
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
Tumblr media
-Fragments of Us
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
Tumblr media
tba!
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
Tumblr media
tba!
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
Tumblr media
tba!
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
Tumblr media
tba!
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
Tumblr media
tba!
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
Tumblr media
tba!
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
Tumblr media
tba!
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
Tumblr media
tba!
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
Tumblr media
tba!
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
Tumblr media
tba!
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
Tumblr media
tba!
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
Tumblr media
tba!
6 notes · View notes
cheollollipop · 2 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
53K notes · View notes
cheollollipop · 2 months ago
Text
svthub official application post !
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
want to meet more writers and make friends? want to get involved in the caratblr writing community? svthub is looking for new members, and we might just be the place for you!
Tumblr media
.∿⊹﹟ are you ready to join us ?
if you . . .
✔️ are an adult 18+
✔️ write seventeen fanfiction
✔️ reblogged this post
✔️ have read our rules and guidelines
. . . then you're ready to fill out our membership application form! we can't wait to meet you!
Tumblr media
© svthub — est. 09.13.2022
296 notes · View notes
cheollollipop · 2 months ago
Note
I love you
oh! thank you so much 🥹
0 notes
cheollollipop · 2 months ago
Text
Fragments of Us - Chapter 4. | c.sc
Tumblr media
pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader genre: angst, fluff, smut (minors fuck off, in the nicest way possible) warning(s): mentions of drinking, swearing, yn has a few moments of anxiety, SMUUUUT!!!! (MDNI) seungcheol is big mad summary: two years after a messy breakup, seungcheol and yn reconnect unexpectedly. word count: 12k start date: nov. 20, 2024 end date: -
A/N: this is a LOOOOONG one! happy reading<3
Tumblr media
I woke up groggy and disoriented as soft morning light filtered through the sheer curtains. For a moment, I didn't know where I was or how I'd gotten here. The last thing I remembered was sitting on the couch with Subin, the two of us huddled under a shared blanket, the overly dramatic soundtrack of New Moon playing in the background.
My fingers brushed over the fabric of the hoodie I was wearing—his hoodie. It was oversized, soft, and warm, still carrying that distinct scent of Subin: clean, woodsy, with just a hint of spice. The memories came back in flashes. We'd been laughing about how serious Edward looked when he left Bella in the forest, comparing it to the kind of over-the-top breakup scenes you'd see in old soap operas. At some point, I'd started talking about my mom—how she used to watch those movies with me, how much I missed her.
Subin hadn't said much, but his presence had been steady. Grounding. He had a way of making me feel like it was okay to say things I usually kept locked away.
The last thing I remembered was the slow monotony of Bella's heartbreak montage and the unbearable heaviness of my eyelids. I must have fallen asleep right there on the couch.
So why was I in my bed?
I swung my legs over the side and padded out of my room, tugging the hoodie tighter around me. The apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the fridge. As I stepped into the living room, I spotted Subin sprawled out on the couch.
He was a mess. One arm slung over his head, hair sticking up in every direction. His long legs, too big for the couch, were bent awkwardly, and the throw blanket barely covered his torso. His face was peaceful in sleep, lips slightly parted, his usual teasing expression nowhere in sight. Without his smirk, he looked almost... vulnerable.
I hesitated in the doorway, watching him for a moment. It wasn't often I saw Subin like this—unguarded. The urge to grab my phone and snap a picture was strong, but I resisted.
"You know," his voice was rough with sleep, "staring at people while they sleep is kinda creepy."
I jumped, heart, lurching in my chest as his eyes cracked open, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"I wasn't staring!" I blurted, crossing my arms. "I was just... making sure you were alive."
"Uh-huh." He pushed himself up on one elbow, blinking sleepily. His hair was even worse now, sticking out in all directions. "And? What's the diagnosis, Doc?"
"You look terrible," I said flatly, though my lips twitched upward. "Like you got run over by a truck."
"And yet, still devastatingly handsome," he shot back, running a hand through his hair.
I rolled my eyes but couldn't hold back a smile. "What are you even still doing here? Did you sleep on the couch all night?"
"You fell asleep first," he said simply. "I wasn't gonna leave you there. So I carried you to bed, and the couch looked... inviting."
"You carried me?" My voice rose slightly, my face heating at the thought.
"Relax, it's not like I tucked you in or anything," he teased, though the glint in his eye suggested otherwise. "But you're welcome."
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "You're impossible."
"And yet, you keep me around," he said, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch. His T-shirt had ridden up slightly, revealing a strip of skin above his waistband. I quickly averted my eyes, pretending to focus on the empty takeout containers on the table.
"I guess I should thank you," I muttered, grabbing the containers and heading toward the kitchen.
Subin followed, leaning against the counter as I dumped the trash. "Thank me? Oh no, no, no. You should apologize."
"For what?"
"For making me sleep on that lumpy excuse for a couch." He gestured dramatically behind him. "I'm probably permanently disfigured. My spine will never be the same."
"You're so dramatic."
"This is serious, YN. I sacrificed my well-being for you, and this is the thanks I get?"
"You can have your hoodie back," I offered, tugging at the hem. "That's all you're getting from me."
His gaze flickered down to the hoodie, and something unreadable crossed his expression before he smirked. "Nah, keep it," he said, his voice softer. "It looks better on you anyway."
I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came. There was something about the way he said it—so casual, yet so... intentional. My cheeks warmed, and I busied myself rinsing a coffee mug to avoid his gaze.
"So," he said after a moment, watching me with mild curiosity, "when's Sonya's engagement party again? I should probably start mentally preparing to meet the best friend."
My stomach dropped. I'd gotten ahead of myself last night and asked him to come.
"Um..." I hesitated, staring hard at the mug. "It's... tomorrow."
Subin froze. "Tomorrow? As in the day after today?"
"...Yes?"
He threw his hands up, pacing dramatically across the kitchen. "You've gotta be kidding me! Tomorrow? And you're just telling me now? I don't even have a suit ready! Or a tie! Do I need to match you? Is there a theme? Oh my god, what if there's a photo booth and I look terrible?"
I laughed, especially when he grabbed a dish towel and flung it over his shoulder like a damsel in distress.
"Subin, calm down. It's not that big a deal."
"Not that big a deal?" He pointed an accusatory finger at me. "You don't just spring an engagement party on someone! These things require preparation! Strategy! Emotional readiness!"
"It's not even your party!" I gasped, laughing so hard I had to set the mug down.
"That's not the point!" His lips twitched despite his dramatic rant. "What if I embarrass you? What if I trip and knock over the cake?"
"Then I'll laugh at you." I shrugged. "Like I always do."
He narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. "You're way too calm about this."
"Maybe you're just too high-strung."
He took another step, the banter softening into something quieter. "Or maybe," he said, voice lower now, "I just don't want to mess up when it comes to you."
My breath hitched. His gaze was steady, uncharacteristically serious, and my heart skipped in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.
"Subin..." I started, but the words tangled in my throat.
His grin returned, smaller this time. "Relax, YN. I'll make it work," he said, reaching out to flick the hood of his hoodie. "Besides, how bad can it be?"
Before I could respond, he turned toward the fridge.
"Eggs?" he called. "I also make a mean omelet."
I shook my head, smiling.
Subin might be impossible, but he was my impossible.
And I wasn't sure I'd have it any other way.
I rolled my eyes and reached for the eggs in his hand. "Sit down. I'll make something edible."
His eyebrows lifted in mock surprise. "You cook?"
"I can manage breakfast," I shot back, cracking an egg into the pan.
Subin settled onto one of the barstools, resting his chin in his hand as he watched me work. "So... the party. What's the game plan? Do I play the role of a doting fake boyfriend, or are we going for mysterious and aloof?"
I snorted. "You're incapable of being aloof."
"Fair point," he said with a smirk. "Guess I'll just be my usual, irresistible self then."
I shook my head, flipping the eggs. "Just don't embarrass me, and we'll be fine."
There was a pause before his voice turned quieter, more thoughtful. "You really think I'd embarrass you?"
I glanced over my shoulder, surprised by the hint of sincerity in his tone. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by something unreadable.
"No," I admitted, my voice softer now. "I think you'll be fine."
Something passed between us then—unspoken but lingering—a quiet understanding.
I turned back to the stove, but I could still feel his gaze on me. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't afraid of what that meant. But something else gnawed at me. Seungcheol. As if on cue, Subin must have sensed my shift in mood.
"There's something you're not telling me."
"Wh—Psh. No," I stammered.
"YN, come on. I told you I need to be mentally prepared. What, is there an ex coming or something?" His tone was joking, but he couldn't have been more right.
"Well..."
"Oh, shit. I'm sorry, I didn't mean—" He started, but I quickly shook my hands.
"It's fine. Um... I guess since you brought it up, we should maybe... talk."
The look on his face made my heart sink. I sighed and dropped onto the stool across from him. He followed, watching me intently.
"Okay. So, I know there's a lot we still don't know about each other. It's only fair that I tell you this—especially since you'll potentially be meeting my entire friend group, including him."
Subin's gaze never wavered, his expression unreadable but steady, like he was bracing himself.
I let out a long breath before continuing.
"I grew up with these people. Some of them I've known since I was in diapers. I met Seungcheol in high school, and we ended up dating. Two years ago, I lost my mom, and after that, I just felt... lost. She was my best friend. My entire world. When she died, I felt so disconnected from everything. Like I was moving through life in a haze, and no one around me could understand what I was going through. So, I shut down."
I paused, swallowing hard.
"Hey, you don't have to—" Subin started, but I shook my head.
"It got to the point where I felt invisible. No one got it. And I hated them for not understanding, even though I knew it wasn't fair. Saying it out loud now, I realize how selfish it was, but... I couldn't help it."
Silence settled between us as I gathered my thoughts.
"Anyway, two years ago, on my birthday to be exact, Seungcheol threw me a surprise party. At the time, I thought it was the worst thing he could have possibly done. His intentions weren't bad—I know that now. But I was already so angry. And then, during the party, he proposed."
Subin's brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.
"I said yes." My voice was barely above a whisper. "Not because I wanted to, but because we were in front of everyone—our friends, our families. It was humiliating. He was so happy. Everyone was so happy. And I was just..." My voice wavered, and I felt tears prick at my eyes.
Subin reached out, placing his hand over mine. He didn't say anything. Just let me sit with it for a moment.
"When we got home that night, we had the biggest argument of our lives. I said things I regret every single day. And one day, while he was at work, I packed up my things, called Sonya, and... well, now we're here."
The weight of the silence that followed felt suffocating.
Subin exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. I could tell he was searching for the right words, but none came.
"There's more," I said quietly.
He blinked. "Oh."
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. "Last week, Seungcheol found out about my dad. I guess he was on his way to see me when he got into a car accident." The words felt heavy on my tongue. "It was the first time I'd seen him since everything happened, and... it wasn't good. Old feelings—bad feelings—came up, and I just... lost it. I said things I shouldn't have. It got ugly."
Subin didn't interrupt. He just watched me, his gaze steady, like he was waiting for the rest.
I fiddled with the hem of the hoodie I was still wearing. "Remember when I told you I reconnected with some old friends in Gangnam? That's what I was talking about. Some of them have been reaching out—Jihoon, Dokyeom. But now Jihoon's mad at me, and... it's just a lot."
I let out a slow breath, finally looking up at him. "So yeah. That's where I'm at."
Subin sat quietly for a moment, then let out a low whistle. "Damn, YN."
I let out a hollow laugh. "Yeah. Pretty much."
Subin stays quiet for a long moment, his thumb absently tracing small circles against the back of my hand. His expression is unreadable—no teasing smirk, no easy joke to break the tension—just quiet contemplation.
Finally, he exhales, running a hand through his already messy hair. "YN." His voice is softer than I expected, laced with something that almost sounds like regret. "I had no idea."
I let out a shaky breath, my fingers tightening around his without thinking. "Yeah. I don't really talk about it."
"I get that," he says, his gaze still locked onto mine. "But... you've been carrying all that by yourself? This whole time?"
I shrug, suddenly feeling exposed. "I guess I just figured... it was easier that way."
Subin shakes his head, his grip on my hand tightening slightly. "Easier doesn't mean better."
I huff out a small, humorless laugh. "Trust me, I'm aware."
There's another pause, and then Subin sighs, leaning back against the counter. "So... this guy. Seungcheol." He says the name carefully like he's testing how it feels on his tongue. "How do you feel about seeing him again?"
I swallow hard. "I don't know." It's the truth. "Part of me wants to pretend like none of it happened, like I can just show up, smile, and move on. But another part of me..." I trail off, shaking my head. "I just don't know."
Subin studies me for a second before nodding. "Okay."
I blink. "Okay?"
"Yeah." He straightens up, rolling his shoulders like he's shaking off the weight of the conversation. "If you don't know how you feel, then I'll just be there to make sure whatever happens, you don't have to deal with it alone."
My throat tightens. "Subin, you don't have to—"
"YN," he interrupts gently, tilting his head. "I know I don't have to. I want to."
His words settle deep in my chest, warm and steady, and I suddenly feel dangerously close to crying again. I look away, blinking rapidly. "You're really annoying, you know that?"
He grins, the tension in the air easing just a bit. "Yeah, but you like me for it."
I scoff, but there's no real heat behind it. "Debatable."
"Sure, sure," he says, pushing himself up and stretching. "Alright, let's talk new game plan. Am I going full 'supportive fake boyfriend' mode, or should I be ready to throw hands if Seungcheol so much as looks at you the wrong way?"
I snort despite myself. "You're ridiculous."
He winks.
I shake my head, but I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. For the first time since the engagement party came up, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I won't completely fall apart. Because no matter what happens, Subin will be there. And somehow, that makes all the difference.
Subin stretches his arms over his head, letting out an exaggerated groan before hopping off the stool. "Alright, enough emotional damage for one morning. I vote we do nothing for the rest of the day."
I blink at him. "Nothing?"
"Absolutely nothing." He gestures vaguely around the apartment. "No serious conversations, no stress, no thinking about... you-know-who. Just good, old-fashioned laziness."
I hesitate. Part of me wants to protest—there are always things to do, things to think about—but another part, the tired part, is tempted by the idea of shutting my brain off for a while.
Subin must see the indecision on my face because he nudges my shoulder. "Come on, YN. When's the last time you had a proper lazy day?"
I press my lips together, thinking.
"Exactly," he says before I can answer. "You deserve it."
I sigh, rolling my eyes for effect. "Fine. But if you think I'm letting you pick another Twilight movie—"
"Oh, no. No more sparkly vampires," he agrees, already moving toward the couch. "We're going for peak comfort today. Hoodies, blankets, and a movie that requires zero brain power."
This is how, fifteen minutes later, we find ourselves sprawled on the couch, wrapped in blankets, a bowl of popcorn between us. The hoodie I borrowed is still comfortably oversized on me, and Subin—now in a different hoodie of his own—looks way too pleased with himself.
"You're awfully smug for someone who just lost rock-paper-scissors," I point out as I scroll through the movie options.
"Because I'm still winning," he says, stretching his arms along the back of the couch. "I got you to actually relax for once."
I huff, but don't argue. He's not wrong.
We settle on some ridiculous action-comedy, the kind with over-the-top fight scenes and one-liners that make no sense. Every so often, Subin tosses popcorn in the air, trying to catch it in his mouth—and missing more than he lands.
"This is embarrassing," I tease, watching another piece bounce off his chin.
He points at me. "You say that, but I bet you can't do it either."
Challenge accepted. I grab a handful of popcorn and attempt my own toss—only for it to land squarely on my forehead before rolling onto my lap.
Subin bursts out laughing. "Oh, that was tragic."
"Shut up," I grumble, snatching another piece and trying again. This time, I get it—barely. I pump a fist in victory while Subin shakes his head.
We go back and forth like that for a while, the movie becoming background noise to our ridiculous competitions—who can catch the most popcorn in a row, throw one the farthest, and balance a piece on their nose the longest.
It's stupid. It's childish.
And it's exactly what I need.
At some point, we migrate to the floor, blankets dragged down with us, and an old deck of cards between us. Subin insists on teaching me some convoluted game I don't think even he fully understands. I lose spectacularly—twice.
The afternoon melts away in lazy conversation, playful bickering, and laughter that comes easier than it has in a long time.
By the time the sun started to dip, casting warm orange light through the windows, I realized that, for the first time in days, I hadn't thought about anything outside this moment. No nagging worries, no engagement party looming over me, no weight of the past creeping in.
Just this. Just us.
Subin flicks a playing card at me with a triumphant grin, and I roll my eyes, trying to suppress the flutter in my stomach. But it's there—the warmth, the lightness, the quiet thrill that's been creeping up on me all day.
He tilts his head slightly as if catching onto something, and before I can overthink it, I lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
"Oh?" He blinks, grinning.
"What was that for?" he asks, voice teasing but laced with curiosity.
"I just felt like it," I say with a slight shrug, feigning nonchalance, though my heart pounds harder than it should.
"Hm." He hums, eyes studying mine. "That won't do."
Before I can ask what he means, he closes the distance between us, his lips meeting mine again—this time slower, deeper. The shift is subtle but unmistakable. What started as something light turned into something else entirely.
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing against my skin as our lips move together. There's something about the way he kisses me—like he's memorizing the shape of my mouth like he's been waiting for this longer than he'll admit.
I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, and the groan that escapes him sends a shiver down my spine. The sound sparks something in me, something hungry, something desperate. I kiss him harder, chasing that feeling, letting it consume me.
We move without thinking, without breaking apart, until the backs of his knees hit the couch, and he sinks down onto it, pulling me with him. I straddle his lap, my hands still buried in his hair, his fingers pressing into my waist. The movie flickers on in the background, long forgotten.
He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and the way he hums against my mouth makes my breath hitch.
By the time we finally pull back for air, his pupils are blown, his chest rising and falling beneath me.
I've never seen him like this before—eyes dark, lips slightly parted, expression unreadable.
And God, I want more.
"I want you," I whisper as our foreheads connect, our breaths mixing together.
"You sur-"
"Subin."
He crashes his lips against mine, the kiss messy and desperate. His tongue brushes against my lips, asking for permission, and I part them without hesitation. When he nips at my lower lip, a moan slips out before I can stop it, and he groans in response, his hips bucking involuntarily.
It's only then that I feel just how hard he is, and the realization sends a rush of heat through me, leaving me breathless.
"Bed. Now," I murmur against his lips, and he doesn't hesitate. In one swift motion, he lifts me into his arms, kissing me fiercely as he stumbles toward my room. We both chuckle into the kiss, the urgency laced with amusement before he finally reaches the bed and sets me down.
He tugs off his hoodie without breaking eye contact, revealing his bare chest. My gaze trails over him, taking in the definition I hadn't quite expected, the way his muscles shift as he moves.
I bite my lip, fighting back a grin, but from the way his eyes darken, I know he notices.
"You mind if I?" Subin murmurs, nodding toward my lower body, his voice thick with anticipation.
I swallow, my pulse hammering as I give a slight nod and scoot back on the bed.
He follows, his movements slow and deliberate. His lips find mine again, softer this time, almost reverent. There's something mesmerizing about the way he kisses me—like he's savoring every second. He trails a path down my jaw, then lowers it, his breath warm against my skin. My body arches instinctively as he reaches for the hem of my hoodie, his fingers grazing my sides as he lifts it over my head, my shirt coming off with it.
His gaze darkens as he takes me in, but he says nothing—just presses a lingering kiss to my sternum before continuing downward. Every touch, every brush of his lips against my skin, sends a shiver through me. He pauses at the waistband of my shorts, glancing up through his lashes, silently asking.
Another nod.
The fabric is gone in an instant, leaving me bare beneath him. He lets out a quiet, satisfied hum, his hands firm on my thighs as he pulls me closer. The heat between us is nearly unbearable, my skin burning everywhere he touches.
"Subin," I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath. "Please."
His lips curve into a smirk against my skin, teasing, testing my patience. His hands grip my thighs, spreading me open, and I feel his breath against me—warm, tantalizing, making my head spin.
The first brush of his lips is gentle, almost unbearably so, sending a shockwave through my body. My breath catches as he finds a slow, deliberate rhythm, his hands keeping me exactly where he wants me. A strangled moan escapes me before I can stop it, my fingers tangling in the sheets as I fight for control.
But control is slipping—fast.
My body reacts before my mind can process it, arching into him, desperate for more. The pressure builds, unbearable and intoxicating all at once. The world narrows to the sensation of his touch, the way he reads my body so effortlessly, coaxing sounds from me I didn't know I was capable of making.
A sharp gasp leaves my lips as he changes pace, teasing, pulling me to the edge only to draw me back. I don't realize I'm begging until the words tumble out between breathless moans.
"More," I plead. "Please, more—"
Subin hums in satisfaction, the vibration sending another shudder through me. His fingers join the slow, intoxicating rhythm, pushing me closer and closer until the pressure finally snaps.
I come undone with a strangled cry, the pleasure crashing over me in waves, my vision hazy as I struggle to catch my breath.
When I finally open my eyes, he's already moving, crawling back up to meet me, his lips capturing mine in a slow, lingering kiss.
"Holy shit," I pant against his mouth, still breathless.
He chuckles, brushing his nose against mine. "Gonna be honest—I didn't think you had it in you."
A breathy laugh escapes him. "Ouch."
"Well, I'll have you know—that was just the beginning." His voice is low and teasing, lips grazing my jaw as he speaks. "Up for more?"
A thrill rushes through me, my pulse quickening all over again. But I'm not about to let him take the lead this time.
"Aht," I murmur, flipping us over in one swift motion. His eyes widen, startled, before he lets out a low, surprised chuckle.
"My turn."
He barely has time to react before I'm kissing him, slow and purposeful, trailing down his neck. His breath hitches as I find a sensitive spot, his hands twitching at his sides.
"You're so beautiful, YN," he murmurs, his voice rough with admiration.
I pause, lips still brushing his skin. "You can't say stuff like that."
"What?" He exhales sharply when I nip at his collarbone. "I'm telling the tru—ahh—" His words cut off as I continue my descent, leaving him breathless beneath me.
I smirk against his skin. "Stop talking."
And then I go lower.
Slowly and deliberately, I trail my lips down his neck, savoring the way his breath hitches beneath me. My hands roam over his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense under my touch as I move lower. When I reach his waistband, I glance up through my lashes, then tug at the fabric with my teeth.
"Mind if I?" I murmur, a teasing lilt in my voice, throwing his own words back at him.
He exhales a breathy laugh, though his voice is rough when he replies. "Ha ha, very funny."
But the humor barely lingers as I pull his pants and boxers down, freeing him. He's painfully hard, the tip flushed deep red, glistening in the dim light. I take a moment to admire him, wrapping my fingers around his thick length, barely able to close my hand around him.
"Jesus, YN," he breathes, his head falling back against the pillow as I give him a slow stroke. His hand twitches at his side like he's fighting the urge to grab and guide me.
I let my lips ghost over him, just barely touching, teasing. "Impatient?"
He lets out a low groan, lifting his head to glare down at me. "You have no idea."
I smirk, but before he can say anything else, I take him into my mouth, inch by inch.
A sharp inhale leaves him, his fingers threading into my hair as I begin to move. I start slow, testing, teasing, feeling the way he shudders each time my tongue swirls around him. With every downward motion, I take him deeper, feeling his grip tighten slightly, his restraint slipping.
"Fuck," he hisses, his voice strained. "Feels so—shit, just like that."
On the next descent, I pause halfway, letting my tongue press against that sensitive spot just beneath his tip. His reaction is instant—a deep, guttural moan as his grip in my hair tightens, his thighs trembling beneath my palms. He's holding himself back, barely. I can feel it in the way his muscles tense, in the way his hips twitch, fighting the urge to thrust deeper.
"God, YN, you're gonna drive me insane," he groans, voice shaky.
I smirk around him, giving his thigh a reassuring squeeze before I start moving again. This time, I hollow my cheeks, increasing the suction. The effect is immediate. His breaths turn ragged, his moans raw, his fingers flexing in my hair with every stroke.
"Shit—" His voice cuts off into a choked gasp as I take him deeper, my tongue teasing along the underside.
"You're—fuck—you're so good at this," he breathes out, his head dropping back against the pillows. "I—God, I wanna—"
He stops himself, breathing heavily, hands tightening in my hair like he's barely holding on.
I pull back slightly, stroking him slowly, looking up at him. "What do you want, Subin?"
His half-lidded eyes meet mine, dark and desperate. "I wanna come, but—fuck—I don't wanna stop."
His words send a thrill through me, and I hum around him in response. The vibrations make him shudder, his whole body tensing.
"Shit, YN—" He swears under his breath, his thighs trembling. "I'm close. You need to—"
His hand moves as if to gently pull me away, but I press my palm against his abdomen, pushing him back down. Not yet.
"Fuck," he groans, his head falling back against the pillow. "You're really not gonna let me stop, huh?"
I shake my head, keeping my mouth on him, making sure he feels every inch of warmth, every flick of my tongue.
His restraint finally snaps. His hips jerk up, his hands tightening in my hair, and a deep, broken moan rips from his throat as he unravels completely.
I swallow every last drop, milking him through the aftershocks, until he finally lets out a shaky breath and pulls me off, the sensations too much.
I rest my head against his knee, licking my lips as the taste of him lingers on my tongue. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his hand dragging through his damp hair as he blinks down at me, still dazed.
"Fuck," he mutters, voice wrecked. "You're actually trying to kill me."
I smirk, wiping the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. "That was the plan."
His lips twitch, still catching his breath. "Evil."
I laugh softly, kissing his knee. "You love it."
He reaches for me then, tugging me up until I'm straddling his lap. His fingers thread through my hair, his eyes dark but playful as he pulls me in for a kiss.
"You're dangerous," he murmurs against my lips. "And I fucking love it."
I grin, letting my hands roam over his chest. "Good. Because I'm not done with you yet."
"Oh, is that so?" he laughs and flips us over as begins to hover over me. His eyes scan over my face as if he's trying to memorize every inch of it before leaning down to kiss me deeply.
I moan softly, lifting my hips to press against him, feeling the heat of his body and the new hardness pressing between my thighs. A sharp inhale leaves his lips as he positions himself, sliding his length between my folds before pushing into me with one deep, unrelenting thrust.
I gasp, pleasure and the slight sting of fullness mixing into something intoxicating. My fingers grasp at his arms, needing something to hold onto.
"Move, please," I beg, voice breathless.
As soon as the words leave my mouth, he obeys, setting a steady rhythm, his hips snapping against mine with an intensity that has me unraveling in seconds.
"Harder. Please. Harder," I plead, needing more.
A groan rumbles from his throat as he shifts, angling himself just right, his thrusts now deeper, sharper, faster. His fingers dig into my hips with a bruising grip, as if he's afraid to let go. My moans echo through the room, feeding his desire, and his own noises—low, desperate, absolutely sinful—only push me further toward the edge.
I claw at his back, nails raking against taut muscle, trying to ground myself in the overwhelming pleasure. My orgasm builds rapidly, my body coiling tight as I pant his name. He already knows. He can feel it.
"I want you to cum for me, baby," he rasps, voice rough with restraint.
I whimper at the pet name, clinging to him, needing to feel him everywhere.
"Subin..."
"I've got you, gorgeous. Let go for me."
With one more deep thrust, pleasure crashes over me in violent waves. I cry out, body shaking beneath him, mind going blank except for the feeling of him.
Subin works me through it, slowing his movements just enough to let me breathe. When my body stops trembling, he gently rolls me onto my stomach. I try to lift my hips to accommodate him, but he presses me back down with a firm hand on my lower back.
"I've got this, pretty," he murmurs, lips grazing my ear. "Just get comfortable."
He slides into me again, his body covering mine like a heated blanket, his weight grounding me. The new angle has me gasping, pleasure striking through me like lightning.
"Fuck, baby," he groans, his breath hot against my skin. "You're so fucking beautiful."
I feel myself tightening around him. Each thrust sending me spiraling, my body a mess of sensitivity and pleasure. I can barely breathe, barely think.
"You're close again, aren't you?" His lips brush against my shoulder. "I can feel it."
I can only moan in response. My words lost in the pleasure he's giving me. His pace remains relentless, his hips driving me further into the mattress.
"Tell me what you need, pretty."
"Don't stop—" I gasp.
He doesn't. He knows exactly what I need, keeping his rhythm steady, dragging me toward another high. His lips hover over my shoulder, teasing, waiting—until he bites down gently, just enough to send me over the edge.
I scream his name, my body shattering around him, pleasure blinding and all-consuming.
He slows his motions but doesn't stop, still chasing his own release. He kisses the bite mark soothingly, whispering praises against my damp skin.
When my breathing steadies, Subin eases me onto my back, still buried deep inside me. He starts slow and gentle, letting me feel every inch of him as he waits for my eyes to meet his.
When I finally focus, he smiles down at me. "There you are."
"Subin..." I whisper voice barely there.
"I'm right here, baby." He strokes my cheek, his touch impossibly tender.
"I want you to finish," I say softly, running my fingers through his damp hair.
He groans, dropping his forehead against mine. "You keep squeezing me and looking at me like that, and I'm a goner."
A weak smirk tugs at my lips, and I clench around him just to prove a point. He gasps, his hips stuttering.
"Fuck," he breathes.
"Cum for me, please," I whisper, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
His body tenses, his rhythm faltering as he chases his release. "S-so close," he pants.
I wrap my legs around him, holding him tight, my palm pressing gently against his cheek, forcing him to keep his eyes on me. His thrusts grow erratic, his breath hitching, and then—
"YN—" he groans, his body shuddering as he finally lets go, spilling into me with a deep, guttural moan.
His hips slow to a stop, his body trembling slightly as he presses kisses against my flushed skin. He stays inside me for a moment, letting the aftershocks settle before finally collapsing onto me, breathless and spent.
For a while, neither of us speak, both lost in the lingering warmth of each other. Then, finally, he exhales a breathy laugh.
"Fucking hell," he murmurs, voice still wrecked. "That was... wow."
I smile, tracing my fingers lazily along his back. "Yeah," I whisper. "Wow."
He lifts his head, looking down at me with tired but adoring eyes. "You okay?"
I nod, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "More than okay."
His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer. "Good," he murmurs, letting his eyes slip closed.
As we both come down from our highs, the heat between us settling into a quiet hum, Subin lets out a deep breath and presses one last kiss to my shoulder before rolling onto his back. For a few moments, the only sounds in the room are our breathing and the faint rustling of the sheets.
Then, he props himself up on one elbow, glancing down at me. "You okay, pretty?" His voice is rough, still laced with exhaustion and satisfaction.
I nod, stretching slightly. "Yeah. Just... tired."
He smirks. "I would hope so."
I roll my eyes, too spent to fire back. Instead, I groan as I attempt to sit up, but Subin is already moving. "Stay put," he says, pushing himself off the bed. "I'll be back."
I watch him walk toward the bathroom, his bare back disappearing behind the door. A few seconds later, I hear the water running. When he returns, he has a warm, damp towel in his hand.
"You really don't have to—" I start, but he raises a brow, giving me a look that immediately shuts me up.
"Relax," he says, kneeling onto the bed. "Let me take care of you."
I sigh, letting my head fall back against the pillow as he gently wipes between my legs, cleaning me up with slow, careful movements. I squirm slightly at the sensitivity, but he keeps his touch light. When he's done, he tosses the towel toward the laundry hamper and leans down, pressing a quick kiss to my thigh before pulling the blankets up over me.
"Better?" he asks, slipping back under the covers beside me.
"Much," I murmur, already feeling the pull of sleep.
Subin lets out a satisfied hum and tugs me against him, his body warm against mine. "Good. Because I'm not carrying your ass to the shower."
I laugh sleepily, my fingers lazily tracing patterns on his chest. "Noted."
After we both showered and dressed, the sun has fully set, casting a soft glow through the window. The night air hums with distant city sounds, a soothing backdrop as we lie tangled together in bed, warmth radiating between us.
"So," Subin starts, his fingers lazily tracing circles on my arm. "How was it?"
I glance up at him. "Are you seriously asking if the sex was good?" I laugh, rolling my eyes.
"Jeez, YN." He scoffs, feigning offense. "I was asking how it felt to do absolutely nothing all day. But, hey, if that's where your mind went..." He smirks.
I nudge his side, suppressing a grin. "Well, for starters, I wouldn't exactly call what we did 'nothing.' But yeah, it was nice. No responsibilities, no stress... just us." As I speak, I absentmindedly intertwine our fingers, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against mine.
"See? Lazy day was a success!" He fist-pumps triumphantly.
I snort. "You're such a nerd."
"Oh, really?" His voice takes on a mischievous lilt. Before I can react, his fingers find my sides, tickling me mercilessly.
"Stop, Subin—oh my god—" I gasp between uncontrollable laughter, squirming beneath him.
"Never!" he declares dramatically, peppering my face with playful kisses.
When he finally relents, I'm breathless, my stomach aching from laughter. He stretches with an exaggerated yawn. "On a serious note, I'm wiped. Wanna call it a night?" He starts to sit up, making me frown.
"Wait. Where are you going?"
"To the doghouse," he says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"...What?"
"The couch," he clarifies. "You know, so I don't overstay my welcome."
I sit up, gaping at him. "Subin. You just had your tongue down my throat and—inside me. And now you think I'm making you sleep on the couch?"
He raises his hands in surrender. "Whoa. That was wildly vivid."
"Oh, now you want to act innocent?" I deadpan, patting the empty space beside me. "Get back here."
He shakes his head but climbs back in any way, grinning like an idiot. "You're funny," he murmurs, bopping my nose before flopping onto his side.
"Nerd."
He pulls me closer, burying his face in the crook of my neck with a deep, exaggerated sigh.
"Goodnight, beautiful," he mumbles sleepily, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of my head.
I smile against his skin, my body sinking into his warmth. "Goodnight, Subin."
Tumblr media
I wake up to the sound of my bedroom door opening and closing, the soft creak of the hinges pulling me from sleep. The sunlight filtering through the blinds is just bright enough to sting my barely opened eyes, making me instantly regret waking up. I groan and burrow deeper into the sheets.
"Oh, you're up? I was just about to wake you," a familiar voice teases.
Blinking against the light, I force my eyes open to find Subin standing near the door, already dressed. He looks effortlessly put together, his tousled hair the only sign that he was in bed with me just moments ago. I frown at the realization.
"Running out on me already?" I mumble, voice still thick with sleep.
He chuckles, stepping closer. "I got a call from Nayeon. She needs me to cover her shift—something about her mom's car breaking down."
I stretch, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Ah, got it. No worries. Are we still on for tonight?"
"Of course. I should be off in time," he assures me, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my lips. It's warm, lingering just enough to make me wish he didn't have to leave.
He pulls back with a smirk. "If you miss me too much, you know where to find me."
"Smooth," I deadpan, though I can't help but smile. "Now go before you get yelled at. Again."
He groans dramatically. "You bring it up one time, and suddenly, it's a pattern."
I laugh, shooing him toward the door. He hesitates for a second, then calls over his shoulder, "Oh, by the way—I made you breakfast."
My head snaps up. "Wait, what?"
"You heard me!" he yells back, already halfway down the hall. "Enjoy it, princess!"
I roll my eyes, but warmth spreads through my chest. After a few more minutes of lounging, I finally drag myself out of bed, curiosity getting the better of me.
Padding into the kitchen, I stop in my tracks at the sight before me.
On the counter sits a beautifully plated breakfast—perfectly golden pancakes stacked neatly with fresh fruit and syrup drizzled over the top, alongside scrambled eggs and crispy bacon. A fresh cup of coffee stands beside it, and a small sticky note sits beside the plate.
I pick it up, smiling as I read Subin's messy scrawl:
"Breakfast for my queen. Hope it's edible. If not, pretend it is. See you tonight. :) - S"
I shake my head, a laugh escaping me as I take a seat at the counter. Picking up my fork, I take my first bite, and to my surprise—it's actually good.
"Okay, chef," I mutter under my breath, grinning as I eat.
Even though he's already gone, I feel his presence lingering in the apartment, and somehow, that makes the morning a little brighter. But, after finishing the last bite of breakfast, I sit at the counter for a few extra minutes, sipping my now-lukewarm coffee, staring at nothing in particular. The weight of tonight's engagement party slowly creep back into my mind, and with it, a wave of nerves.
I push the thought aside and force myself to move, heading toward the bathroom. Maybe a shower will help clear my head.
The warm water cascades over my shoulders, loosening my tense muscles, but my mind refuses to relax. Tonight should be a celebration—good food, good company, and, most importantly, Subin by my side. That alone should make me feel better. But I can't shake the nagging feeling that not everyone will be thrilled about my presence.
I think about the forced smiles and the passive-aggressive comments disguised as well-meaning advice. The silent stares from certain people who still see me as an outsider, no matter how much time has passed.
I let out a frustrated sigh, resting my forehead against the cool tile.
"It's just one night," I murmur to myself. "You can handle this."
Just as I shut off the water and step onto the bath mat, my phone buzzes from the sink. Wrapping a towel around myself, I glance at the screen.
Sonya.
I exhale, already knowing she's about to go full interrogation mode.
I swipe to answer, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I reach for my lotion. "Hey."
"Okay, tell me the truth," she says immediately. "On a scale of one to completely losing your mind, how stressed are you?"
I let out a breathy laugh. "Shouldn't I be asking you that? It is your engagement party, after all."
"Oh, please," she scoffs. "I'm thriving. The centerpieces are perfect, the playlist is fire, and my fiancé is obsessed with me. Nothing can ruin my night."
"Must be nice," I mutter, rubbing moisturizer onto my arms.
"Knew it," she sighs. "You always do this. It's just a party, babe."
"An engagement party," I correct, reaching for my hairbrush. "Big difference."
"Right, because people getting engaged totally means everyone else suddenly stops having basic human decency," she deadpans.
I snort, shaking my head. "You say that like you don't remember how these things go."
"I do remember," she says. "I also remember that you're not the same person you were the last time you dealt with this kind of thing. And, hello, you have Subin now. That man is obsessed with you. Let him take some of the stress off your shoulders."
I pause, staring at my reflection in the mirror. "I know. I just—"
"Just what?" she presses.
I hesitate. "I guess I just don't want him to see... all of it. The weird looks, the whispered comments. The fact that some of them hate me."
Sonya is quiet for a second before sighing. "Did you tell him about everything? About Seungcheol?"
I chew on my lip. "Last night."
Her silence is loaded. "And?"
"And..." I take a deep breath. "He took it well, actually. He listened, asked questions, and didn't judge me. When I told him about the accident, how things spiraled after that, and how messy it all got the second, I saw everyone again after two years... he didn't flinch. He didn't run."
Sonya lets out a soft hum as if processing the situation. "Okay, that is a good sign."
I let out a short laugh. "Right? I mean, considering everything? I wouldn't have blamed him if he did."
"Well, I would," she says flatly. "Because he's not some random guy. He knows you. He wants to know you. And if he stuck around after hearing all of that? It means he's serious, YN. He's in this."
I swallow, letting her words sink in. "Yeah. I guess he is."
"And that means tonight? You don't have to face it alone."
I exhale, rubbing a hand down my face. "Yeah."
"Speaking of tonight," she continues, "Jihoon and Jeonghan can stay mad about the whole Seungcheol situation if they want. And Seungcheol? He can pout all he wants. They finally know the truth about why you left, and yeah, they have the right to be upset about how things played out, but if they can't at least accept it? If they can't let it go? Then you need to move on."
I close my eyes, gripping the bathroom counter.
"You did what you felt you had to do," Sonya reminds me. "You don't owe them anything. And you especially don't owe Seungcheol your guilt. He, of all people, should know that was the hardest decision you've ever made. So, if he wants to sulk, let him. If Jihoon and Jeonghan want to be bitter, let them. But you?" She pauses for emphasis. "You deserve to have fun tonight. You deserve to enjoy yourself, with your man next to you, at a party that has nothing to do with all that old drama."
I exhale slowly.
"You're right," I finally admit. "You're annoyingly right."
"I usually am." I can practically hear her smirk. "Now, are you gonna stop spiraling and start getting hyped for tonight?"
"I'll try," I laugh.
"That's all I ask."
I hear a muffled voice in the background, followed by Sonya groaning. "Ugh, I have to go—apparently, I'm 'needed' at work. Disgusting. But I better get a full recap after the party."
"Of course," I say, a small smile forming. "Thanks, Sonya."
"Anytime, babe."
As the call disconnects, I take a deep breath, standing a little taller. Maybe tonight won't be as bad as I'm making it out to be. Maybe, with Subin next to me, I can handle whatever comes my way.
And if not? At least I'll have Sonya to vent to afterward.
I spend the next few hours mentally preparing for the evening ahead. To ease my nerves, I indulge in a comprehensive self-care routine.
I start with a full skincare regimen, applying a soothing face mask and allowing it to work its magic as I lounge on the couch, ambient music playing softly in the background. After thirty minutes, I rinse off the mask, feeling a renewed sense of calm.
Returning to the bathroom, I meticulously pluck my eyebrows, ensuring they frame my face just right. I then section my hair, carefully rolling each piece into curlers, anticipating the soft waves they'll create.
As the hours pass, I focus on the positive, envisioning laughter, reconnections, and the joy of celebrating Sonya's special moment. With each step of my routine, I feel more grounded, ready to face whatever the evening holds.
As the final hour before the engagement party ticks away, I find myself standing before my closet, deliberating over what to wear. The anticipation of the evening's events mingles with a lingering apprehension, but I remind myself of Sonya's unwavering support and Subin's steadfast presence.
I select an outfit that exudes confidence—a deep emerald dress that complements my complexion and brings out the warmth in my eyes. As I slip it on, the fabric feels like a protective armor, bolstering my resolve. I remove the rollers from my hair, letting soft waves cascade over my shoulders, and apply makeup that enhances my features without masking them.
With each step of my preparation, I focus on the positive aspects of the evening: celebrating Sonya's happiness, reconnecting with old friends, and introducing Subin to the people who have shaped my past. I take a moment to breathe deeply, centering myself and embracing the excitement that now outweighs my anxiety.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The reflection staring back is one of strength, resilience, and readiness. Tonight is not just about facing the past; it's about embracing the present and looking forward to the future.
My phone vibrating brings me out of my thoughts, and I walk over to see a text from Dokyeom.
New Message: Not Donkey Kong 😔: Please tell me you haven't backed out and are still coming tonight
I sigh. I love Dokyeom. And I hate that he's in the middle of all this drama. He's probably the most kind-hearted person out of all of us and definitely an empath. I know he's just looking out for me, so I unlocked my phone to respond.
Me: Kyeomie. I wouldn't miss tonight for the world. Don't worry about me so much, okay?
New Message: Not Donkey Kong 😔: Whew. That's a relief!!! (✿ŎヮŎ) cheer up, YN!!
Just as I hit the heart reaction on Dokyeom's text, a knock at my door pulls me from my thoughts. I assume it's Subin, so I smooth down the fabric of my dress, do a quick once-over in the mirror, and head toward the door.
But when I open it, my breath catches in my throat.
Subin stands there, looking—well, amazing is an understatement. He's dressed in a sleek black suit, the jacket perfectly tailored to his frame, the dark fabric contrasting against his warm skin. The top two buttons of his dress shirt are undone, revealing just a hint of his collarbone, and his hair is styled effortlessly like he just ran his fingers through it, and somehow it turned out perfect.
His eyes flicker over me in return, widening slightly before a slow, appreciative smile spreads across his lips.
"Wow," he exhales, stepping closer. "You look... stunning."
I feel heat rush to my cheeks as I tuck a loose curl behind my ear. "You clean up pretty well yourself."
He tilts his head, smirking. "Pretty well? That's all I get?"
I roll my eyes but can't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "Okay, fine. You look ridiculously good."
"That's more like it," he chuckles, then reaches out, his fingers gently brushing my waist before settling there. "Are you ready?"
I take a deep breath, nodding. "As I'll ever be."
Subin searches my face as if checking for any signs of doubt. "Hey," he murmurs, squeezing my waist. "No matter what happens tonight, you've got me, okay?"
His words settle something deep inside me, the lingering nerves still present but slightly less suffocating. I nod again, more sure this time. "Okay."
He presses a soft kiss to my forehead before stepping back and offering his arm. "Then let's go show them how good we look together."
I laugh, linking my arm with his. "You just want to make everyone jealous, don't you?"
"Absolutely," he grins. "And because you deserve to enjoy tonight. No weird looks, no whispered comments—just us celebrating Sonya."
I squeeze his arm as we step out the door. Maybe tonight won't be so bad after all.
The drive to the venue is quiet at first, the soft hum of the car filling the silence between us. The city lights blur past the window, a gentle reminder of how much time has passed since I was last here, last surrounded by all the people I once called my closest friends.
Subin glances over at me, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the center console. "You're doing that thing again," he says lightly.
I blink, turning toward him. "What thing?"
"That thing where you get stuck in your head," he replies, stealing another glance at me before focusing back on the road. "Whatever you're overthinking, stop."
I huff out a small laugh. "Easier said than done."
He chuckles, tapping his fingers against the wheel. "Alright, then, let's get your mind off it. How about this—if you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?"
I tilt my head, considering it. "Anywhere?"
"Anywhere," he confirms.
I pretend to think for a second before smirking. "Somewhere far away from this party."
Subin laughs, shaking his head. "Okay, that was too easy. But really, if you could be anywhere, no obligations, no expectations—just you, picking a place."
I sigh, leaning back against the seat. "Maybe... a quiet beach somewhere. Somewhere warm, with soft sand and water so clear you can see straight to the bottom."
He hums in approval. "That sounds nice."
"What about you?" I ask.
Subin grins. "Same place, but only if you're there too."
I roll my eyes, but I can't fight the small smile tugging at my lips. "Smooth."
"Always," he teases, reaching over to squeeze my hand.
I glance down at our intertwined fingers, his thumb brushing soothing circles against my skin. The tension in my shoulders eases just a little.
"Thank you," I say softly, turning to him.
"For what?"
"For coming with me. For... making this easier."
Subin squeezes my hand again. "You don't have to thank me, YN. I'd follow you anywhere."
His words settle something deep in my chest, pushing away some of the lingering nerves.
As we pull up to the venue, I take one last deep breath.
Whatever happens tonight, at least I won't be facing it alone.
As we pull up to the venue, I take one last deep breath, steeling myself for what lies ahead. Subin turns off the engine, and for a moment, the quiet of the car wraps around us like a cocoon. I glance at him—his steady gaze and gentle smile remind me that, no matter what tonight brings, I'm not alone.
"Ready?" he asks softly, his hand still resting on mine.
I nod, swallowing away the last remnants of anxiety as we gather our things. The cool night air hits me as we step out of the car. The venue is bathed in a warm glow—string lights crisscross overhead, and soft laughter mingles with the hum of conversation. I can see familiar faces through the large windows, some smiling in recognition, others offering cautious glances.
Subin squeezes my hand. "Let's go show them how good we look together," he teases, a playful lilt in his voice.
I manage a small smile as we walk toward the entrance. Inside, the room buzzes with energy. The soft glow of chandeliers, the clink of glasses, and the murmur of reunions all blend together into a comforting symphony. I catch a few nods of acknowledgment from Sonya's family and even a few tentative smiles from those who might have once doubted my place here.
Sonya had mentioned that Joshua had reserved a private area just for us—and she wasn't kidding. We make our way to the roped-off section, and as we pass, several heads turn in our direction.
"Speak of the devil," Joshua calls out with a grin.
"Joshie, my goodness, it's so good to see you!" I hug him tightly.
"Looking beautiful as always. I've missed you," he says, letting go slowly, his eyes warm with genuine affection.
"Oh, stop it. I've missed you too—missed all of you!" I reply, moving through the small crowd to hug everyone. I awkwardly navigate around Seungcheol and the woman beside him.
"Jeon! Congratulations. I'm happy for you two," I say as I give him one last hug, and he places a friendly kiss on my cheek.
"About damn time!" DK chimes in, and we all burst into laughter.
"Hey, who's this, YN?" Chan asks, nodding toward the quiet figure lingering behind me.
"Oh, this is Subin—YN's friend," Sonya announces with a playful smirk. I sigh inwardly, feeling the weight of recent awkwardness.
"Sorry about that awkward encounter last week. We were just worried," she adds quickly.
Subin steps forward with an easy smile. "No need to apologize. You were just looking out for her. It's a pleasure to finally meet you—and congratulations to you both," he says, bowing slightly in a manner that makes everyone chuckle.
"Everyone, this is Subin," Sonya declares. I roll my eyes affectionately as I turn to him. "Subin, meet Jeonghan, Joshua, Soonyoung, the man of the hour Wonwoo, Jun, Mingyu, Minghao, Seungkwan, Vernon, and Chan—also known as Dino. You've kind of met DK and Jihoon already. And that's Seungcheol, and—sorry, I didn't catch your name," I say, nodding toward the stunning woman next to him.
She's striking: long, sleek black hair, a dazzling smile, a red dress that slips off her shoulders just enough, and matching deep red lipstick. I see Seungcheol tense beside her as she speaks.
"Hello! I'm Haneul. It's so nice to finally meet you; I've heard so much about you," she chirps brightly.
God, I hate how effortlessly kind she seems.
"Hm. Haneul, what a pretty name. Nice to meet you, too," I reply, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach my eyes. I steal a glance at Jihoon, who's watching me, and offer a small wave—only to see him turn away, and it stings a little more than I'd like.
"Big friend group you've got there. You sure there's room for me?" Subin jokes and laughter ripple through the crowd—everyone except Jihoon and Seungcheol, whose expressions remain guarded.
"Ah, plenty of room. The more, the merrier, right?" Joshua adds with a light laugh.
"Well, now that introductions are over, let's get this party started!" I declare, and Sonya shoots me a look that's both amused and a little puzzled.
The room erupts in cheers as drinks are poured and conversations overlap. Subin and I find seats across from Seungcheol and Haneul. I can feel his eyes on me—steady, calculating—and it reminds me that tonight is bound to be complex.
I spend a moment absorbing the scene—the clink of glasses, the buzz of reuniting voices, and the undercurrent of tension in every sideways glance. Despite the festive chaos, my mind flickers back to all that I shared with Subin last night about Seungcheol, the accident, and how things got so messy the moment I reappeared after two long years.
Later, during a lull in the mingling, Sonya corners me near the bar. "So," she says in a hushed tone.
"Sonya, you know I love you. But, this is your party. You do not need to check on me every five minutes," I groan.
Before she can respond, Dokyeom makes his way over.
"You and Subin look cozy," DK teases, and I shoot him a playful glare.
"Not a dig, I swear! You two look good," he insists, grinning.
Sonya chimes in, "Yeah, so, what's the status on that?" Her tone is light but curious.
I roll my eyes. "It's not official, I think... I don't know. He's been staying over," I admit before their eyes practically pop out in shock.
"He what!?" they all exclaim in unison.
"Oh, my bestie finally got a man!" Sonya teases and I lightly smack her arm in mock reprimand.
"Speaking of," DK says from behind me, and I turn to see Subin approaching with two cups in hand.
"Those better both be for him," Sonya remarks as Subin hands me one of the cups. I offer her an awkward smile and clink my cup with his before downing the mysterious liquid. I scrunch my nose as the alcohol burns down my throat.
"I told them to surprise me. Remind me never to do that again," Subin grumbles, setting the cups aside.
Sonya shoots me an unamused look. "We'll talk about this later," she warns, and I roll my eyes in return.
"Jihoon's been shooting daggers at you all night," DK continues. "I get Seungcheol's grumpiness, but how come you two still haven't made up? We were always three peas in a pod."
I laugh, "It's two peas, Kyeomie. And besides, he'll get over it." I cringe when Seungcheol's name is mentioned.
DK's expression darkens. "You get what I mean. He's been up Jeonghan's ass all night, too. Won't even drink with me. Why's he mad at me!?" he pouts dramatically.
I put my hands up in surrender. "Love, can we table this? Tonight's about Wonwoo and Sonya. Save the intervention for later—just give him time."
He sighs, clearly frustrated. "Whatever. I'm going to find Mingyu," he mutters, storming off.
"Seokmin, come on!" I call after him, trying to stop him, but Sonya places a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"Let it go. Enjoy the night," she says softly before walking away.
I lean back, smiling to myself. Even amidst all the teasing and drama, it's moments like these—full of laughter, banter, and genuine care—that remind me why tonight is worth embracing.
Subin sits on the stool next to me and places his hand on my knee.
"How are we feeling?"
I sigh. "Honestly, it could be worse. Enough drama, though. How are you? They seem to like you. Well, most of them, anyways," I let out a breathy laugh.
"I'm alright. If it becomes too much, just say the words, and we can leave," he squeezes my hand, and I give him a small nod.
"You should mingle. I want to check on DK, and I need to stop avoiding Jihoon—for his sake," I say firmly, pulling away with determined resolve.
"Good luck," Subin replies, kissing me one last time before we part.
I stride over to the table where Jihoon, DK, and Seungcheol are gathered, their faces drawn into a silent tableau. The room's buzz seems to pause around us for a moment.
"This is a sight for sore eyes," I remark, attempting to pierce the tension. Jihoon scoffs.
"I thought you two were just friends?" he mutters under his breath.
"Is that all you have to say? Really? Come on, Jihoon," I plead, frustration lacing my tone.
"Not mad. Just... I have nothing to say," he replies coolly, his eyes avoiding mine.
I lean over toward Seungcheol. "Is he giving you the silent treatment, too?" I ask, trying to catch even a flicker of concern in his gaze.
Seungcheol merely shrugs, his expression unreadable, his tone flat. "Pretty much."
That is the final straw. I straighten up, my voice rising over the pulsing music. "Alright, listen up!" I snap louder than I intended. "I know this isn't ideal, but can you guys at least pretend to care about your best friends getting engaged? Put your pride aside for two fucking seconds!"
For a split second, their eyes—some amused, some indifferent—are on me.
"What she said!" DK chimes in.
"And you, Seokmin, stop instigating," I added sharply.
"Hey!" Seokmin protests.
I turn back to Seungcheol, my gaze piercing. "Seungcheol, you're here with a beautiful woman, why are you sitting there pouting like you couldn't care less? Go dance with her! Jihoon, find a cute girl to dance with—or even dance with Seokmin if that's your style. Stop being mopey and act like you care about something other than yourselves tonight!"
The words hang in the air. Jihoon grumbles, "Alright, alright! Damn," and he stands, clapping DK on the back. "Seungcheol, if I have to, so do you. Get up," Jihoon adds with a nudge.
Seungcheol finally stands and grabs his crutch, his movement is sluggish, his eyes cold and indifferent as if my outburst barely registers. "Still scaring people, I see," he mutters, his voice void of any real emotion. His detached gaze sends a jolt through me—a reminder that beneath all this chaos, some wounds run deeper than playful banter.
"Told you. She hasn't changed," DK jokes and the rest of them start to disperse under my parting death glare.
For a moment, the tension lingers like a heavy fog, and I can't help but feel that sting of indifference from Seungcheol as it slices through the festive atmosphere. The noise of the party swells back around us, but a piece of my mind remains fixed on his icy detachment.
Two hours later, after rallying Jihoon, DK, and the others into a semblance of celebration, I find myself immersed in the dance floor's energy. The music pulses through my body, and laughter mingles with the clink of glasses. I let the moment wash over me, trying to forget that earlier confrontation.
Yet, even amid the swirling joy, I can't shake the memory of Seungcheol's unmoved expression. His indifference lingers like an aftertaste, a stark contrast to the warmth of our shared memories. Still, I push it aside. Tonight, I'm here to celebrate new beginnings—even if some old ghosts refuse to be exorcised completely.
As I dance with friends, I catch glimpses of their encouraging smiles, and even Jihoon eventually joins in, his earlier aloofness replaced with reluctant amusement. DK claps me on the back during a particularly energetic song, and for a fleeting moment, the night feels bright, unburdened by past dramas.
In the midst of it all, I steal a glance toward the quieter corner of the room, where Seungcheol stands apart, still wrapped in his-whatever you want to call it. A mixture of longing and frustration wells up in me—but then Subin squeezes my hand, grounding me with his reassuring warmth.
With each beat of the music, I choose to let the laughter and camaraderie carry me forward. Tonight, I decide, I will dance, I will celebrate, and I will embrace every moment—knowing that despite the lingering shadows, I am not defined by them. And if Seungcheol's indifference remains, so be it. I have Subin, I have friends, and most importantly, I have the strength to keep moving toward a happier tomorrow.
As the night slowly winds down, the energy in the room begins to shift. The once pulsating beat of the music softens, and the vibrant chatter mellows into gentle murmurs. Groups that had been dancing wildly now huddle in small clusters, sharing stories and laughter laced with fatigue and contentment. Some guests, still buoyant on a heady mix of excitement and alcohol, stagger out with bright, unsteady smiles, while others lean back into worn couches or chairs, their eyes heavy with tired joy.
I watch as the party gradually empties. Glasses clink softly on nearly empty tables, and the once-busy dance floor now hosts only the occasional slow sway of a few lingering souls. In the midst of it all, Subin catches my eye and offers a warm, understanding smile—a silent promise that our night isn't over just yet.
Just then, as the final strains of music begin to fade, Subin moves closer. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he leans in and whispers, "One last dance?"
I can feel my heart skip a beat at his request. Without hesitation, I take his hand, and together, we step onto the near-empty dance floor. The soft lights bathe us in a gentle glow as we sway slowly, our bodies moving in quiet harmony. The world around us has nearly vanished, leaving only the rhythmic pulse of our hearts and the lingering warmth of the night.
As our final song drifts softly over the dance floor, I catch a glimpse of Seungcheol standing abruptly, his face a mix of anger and sadness. Without a word, he slips away from the group, leaving an uneasy silence in his wake. For a split second, I worry—wondering if his departure might cast a shadow over the night.
But just as the tension begins to rise, Sonya and Wonwoo make their way over, grinning and determined to turn the moment around.
"Alright, let's show them how it's done," Wonwoo declares, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
Before I can protest, Subin slides back, giving my Wonwoo permission, and a lighthearted ritual quickly unfolds. Subin and Wonwoo take turns dancing with me—a slow, teasing waltz that blends silly twirls with genuine laughter. Every awkward step becomes a joke, every shared glance a burst of fun that chases away the earlier gloom.
As if catching the contagious joy, Sonya can't resist any longer. With a bright laugh, she steps onto the dance floor, joining in the merriment. Soon, Subin, Sonya, and Wonwoo rotate partners, swapping off with me in a series of impromptu slow dances. Our playful banter fills the air, and even as I steal a fleeting glance at the spot where Seungcheol had been, the energy around me feels overwhelmingly joyful.
In the midst of our dancing, Jihoon steps onto the floor and catches Subin's eye with a questioning look. Before I know it, Subin gently takes my hand and places it in Jihoon's, then makes his way back to the table. I meet Jihoon's gaze, and unexpectedly, tears begin to well up in my eyes. He sighs, lowering his voice as if afraid the noise might shatter the fragile moment.
"YN, I'm sorry," he says softly.
I remain silent for a beat, the memories of that long-ago day at the park—the promise we made to stay together no matter what—flashing unbidden through my mind. Finally, Jihoon continues, his tone laced with regret. "I just... I don't know what got over me. I couldn't help but think about that day at the park when we promised we'd never let anything tear us apart. And then you left... I never understood why. It's not fair to you, and I am so sorry."
Tears stain my cheeks as his words sink in. "You hurt me, Ji," I manage to whisper, the pain of abandonment mingling with the bittersweet nostalgia of lost promises.
"I know. I'm sorry," he replies, his voice barely audible, before pulling me into a tight, apologetic hug that speaks of longing and regret.
After a moment, he releases me gently. "Subin seems good for you. I'm happy you have him," Jihoon adds, glancing sideways at Subin, who now watches from a distance with quiet composure.
I pull back, meeting Jihoon's eyes, a small, rueful smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Are you saying you enjoy him?" I tease softly, the tension easing into a fragile humor.
"Don't make it weird," Jihoon retorts with a playful roll of his eyes. "I now understand that you did what you needed to do."
A charged silence passes between us—a mixture of apology, acceptance, and the unspoken acknowledgment that things have changed. Then, with a slight shrug and a tentative smile, Jihoon turns back toward the edge of the dance floor, leaving me with a heart that feels both heavy and strangely hopeful.
In that moment, surrounded by the fading energy of the night and the lingering warmth of our impromptu slow dance, I realize that tonight is a tapestry of emotions—joy, regret, acceptance, and the promise of new beginnings. And though the past still echoes in the quiet corners of my heart, I'm learning to embrace the present, one step—and one dance—at a time.
Sonya catches my arm and pulls me aside near the bar. Her eyes, usually brimming with playful mischief, now hold genuine concern.
"Hey, YN," she says quietly, "what was that conversation with Jihoon all about?"
I pause, glancing over at the remnants of our earlier dance with Jihoon and the others. Taking a slow breath, I meet her gaze. "It wasn't anything explosive," I reply softly. "Just a quiet understanding between us. I guess I realized that, despite everything, it's all going to be okay."
Sonya's expression relaxes, and a small, reassuring smile tugs at her lips. "That's good to hear," she murmurs. "I just needed to know you're alright."
"I am," I say, giving her a gentle squeeze of my hand. "Sometimes a quiet moment says more than all the drama in the world."
With that, Sonya nods and gives me one final hug before Subin and I head out. I step away, still feeling the warmth of her embrace as if it were a promise that everything will be alright. Outside, the cool night air greets us like a gentle reminder that a new day is on the horizon. Subin catches my hand as we make our way toward the exit, his grip firm and reassuring.
I glance back at the fading lights of the venue, letting the lingering hum of laughter and music sink in for a moment—a farewell to the chaos of the night and a silent vow to carry its lessons forward. "Everything's going to be okay," I whisper to myself, echoing the quiet understanding I just shared with Sonya.
Subin smiles at me, and in that smile, I see both comfort and resolve. "Let's go," he says softly, and together we step into the night, leaving behind the remnants of a bittersweet evening. Each step away feels like a small act of defiance against the past—a step toward new beginnings.
back | masterlist | next
65 notes · View notes
cheollollipop · 2 months ago
Text
Fragments of Us - a perfect day. (misc.)
Tumblr media
pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader genre: angst, fluff, smut (minors fuck off, in the nicest way possible) warning(s): fluff. just fluff. summary: two years after a messy breakup, seungcheol and yn reconnect unexpectedly. word count: 1.4k start date: nov. 20, 2024 end date: -
A/N: more random thoughts. this takes place during the beginning stages of cheol's and yn's relationship. just a little insight on how their friendship was. more jeonghan and yn teasing moments. i really want to touch on their friendship a bit more so you all can understand why he seems to be hurt the most (aside from jihoon of course).
Tumblr media
The sun was warm against my skin, and the breeze was just enough to keep the heat from becoming overwhelming. It was one of those rare, perfect days—the kind that made everything feel lighter and easier. The park stretched wide before us, with lush green grass dotted with wildflowers—the sound of kids playing and birds chirping blended into an easy, peaceful atmosphere.
I sat on the picnic blanket next to Seungcheol, our shoulders brushing occasionally. It wasn't much, just a simple touch, but it sent little jolts of awareness through me each time. We weren't exactly official yet, but something was happening between us, something new and exciting. I could feel it in how he looked at me and leaned just a little closer when I spoke.
"Alright, who's in charge of snacks?" Jeonghan asked, stretching his arms over his head lazily.
"I brought chips, but someone—" Jihoon shot a look at Dokyeom, who was currently chewing with a guilty expression, "—decided to open them early."
Dokyeom swallowed quickly, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Listen, they were calling my name. You can't just bring chips and expect me to wait."
Jeonghan scoffed. "Typical. What about drinks?"
"I brought some," I said, reaching for the small cooler beside me. Seungcheol beat me to it, grabbing a water bottle and handing it to me first before passing others around. It was such a small gesture, but it made my heart skip a beat.
"Thanks," I murmured, glancing at him.
His lips curved into a soft smile. "Anytime."
Jeonghan, who had been watching us with sharp eyes, let out a dramatic sigh. "Ah, young love. So sweet. So innocent."
I felt my face heat up. "Oh my God, shut up."
Seungcheol just laughed, shaking his head. "Jeonghan, don't start."
Jihoon, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly leaned back on his hands and stared at the sky. His expression was thoughtful, and his usual sharp eyes were a little softer. "You guys ever think about where we'll all be in ten or twenty years?"
The group fell silent for a moment. It wasn't often that Jihoon got like this, so when he did, we listened.
Dokyeom was the first to speak. "Hopefully, we're still stealing each other's snacks."
Jeonghan chuckled. "And annoying each other to death."
Jihoon smiled, but there was something deeper in his gaze. "No, but really. I hope we're still like this. Still friends. No matter what happens, no matter how busy life gets."
Something about his words hit me harder than I expected. I looked around at them—Jeonghan with his effortless charm, Dokyeom with his bright energy, Jihoon with his quiet depth, and Seungcheol, steady and warm beside me. These were my people. My safe place.
"I hope so, too," I said softly. "I don't want to imagine a life without you guys in it."
Seungcheol reached over, his fingers brushing against mine for a moment before he laced them together. It was the first time he'd held my hand like this in front of our friends, and I knew without looking that he was watching my reaction. My heart pounded, but I didn't pull away. Instead, I squeezed his hand gently.
"We won't let that happen," Seungcheol said firmly. "No matter where we end up, no matter what changes, we'll always have each other."
Jihoon nodded, his expression determined. "Promise?"
Jeonghan held out his pinky. "Pinky promise."
Laughing, we all linked pinkies, sealing the unspoken vow between us. It was a silly gesture, maybe, but in that moment, it meant everything.
Eventually, the sun had almost disappeared beyond the horizon, casting long shadows over the park. The warm twilight glow wrapped around us, painting the sky in soft purples and oranges. The day had been perfect—full of laughter, teasing, and quiet moments that reminded me how much I loved being with these people.
But something in the air shifted. I felt it before I even turned to look at Seungcheol.
He was sitting beside me, his posture more confident than before, his fingers lightly drumming against his knee like he was gathering his thoughts. But when I met his gaze, there was no hesitation—only certainty.
He exhaled once, steady and calm. Then, with the same confidence that made him the natural leader of our group, he spoke.
"YN."
The way he said my name sent a quiet thrill through me.
I turned toward him fully. "Yeah?"
He didn't look away. If anything, he leaned in just slightly as if making sure I could feel the weight of what he was about to say.
"I've asked you this before," he began, his voice even but laced with something deeper, "but it never felt like the right moment. I always felt like we needed more time or that I needed to wait until I was sure." His thumb grazed my hand, a touch so soft I almost didn't notice it. "But today, sitting here with you, with them—" he gestured toward the others, who were pretending not to eavesdrop "—I realized I don't want to wait anymore."
My heart pounded as he shifted, turning to face me completely. His dark eyes were warm and unwavering.
"I like you. More than just in the way I've been acting. More than just as a friend. And I don't want to keep skirting around it." He reached for my hand, lacing our fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world. "So, YN, will you be my girlfriend? For real this time?"
It wasn't a question laced with doubt. It wasn't nervous or hesitant. It was a statement—a choice he had already made.
And the best part? I didn't have to think about my answer.
A slow smile spread across my face, my chest feeling light and warm all at once. "Yes. Of course, I will."
Seungcheol's lips curved into a full grin, the kind that made his dimples appear. Without missing a beat, he tugged me closer, wrapping his arms around me in a strong, secure embrace. I hugged him as tightly, letting myself get lost in the moment.
And then—
"FINALLY!" Jeonghan's voice rang out, full of exasperation.
We pulled apart just in time to see him dramatically flop onto the picnic blanket. "Do you guys know how painful it was watching you two dance around each other?"
Dokyeom clutched his chest. "I almost lost faith in love, waiting for this to happen."
Jihoon smirked. "Speak for yourself. I always knew it'd happen—just a matter of when."
I groaned, covering my face. "You all knew?"
Jeonghan snorted. "YN, please. A blind man could see it."
Seungcheol rolled his eyes but didn't let go of my hand. "Alright, alright. That's enough."
Jeonghan smirked. "Oh, it's never enough."
Seungcheol groaned, “You guys are the worst," he muttered, but his voice had no real annoyance—just amusement.
Jeonghan leaned back on his hands, grinning. "I mean, we did have a bet going."
I blinked. "A bet?"
Dokyeom nodded eagerly. "Yep! I said Seungcheol would confess first, but Jihoon thought you would!"
I turned to Jihoon. "You bet against me?"
Jihoon shrugged. "I thought you'd get impatient waiting for him."
Seungcheol scoffed. "Wow. So much faith in me."
Dokyeom nodded eagerly. "Yeah! We need to set ground rules. Like, no excessive PDA around us lonely people."
"Speak for yourself," Jeonghan muttered. "I think it's adorable. Just, you know, not in front of me."
I laughed, feeling my cheeks warm. Seungcheol just squeezed my hand, glancing at me with a smile that sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
Jeonghan, ever the mood-breaker, smirked. “Alright, since we’re making promises and getting all sentimental, should we make it official?”
Dokyeom’s eyes lit up. “Oh! Like a blood pact?”
Jihoon groaned. “Why is that your first thought?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “We are not doing a blood pact, Dokyeom.”
Seungcheol, still holding my hand, gave it a light squeeze before letting go to stretch. “Let’s do something more fun. Like… a game.”
Jeonghan’s grin turned mischievous. “I like where this is going. Truth or dare?”
Jihoon immediately protested. “Absolutely not.”
“Jihoon,” Jeonghan sighed dramatically, “this is why you have no fun.”
“I am the reason I have no fun?” Jihoon shot back. “I have plenty of fun—just not with games that involve embarrassing myself.”
Dokyeom patted Jihoon’s back. “We’ll go easy on you. Maybe.”
I laughed. “Okay, okay, let’s do something safe. How about… ‘Most Likely To’?”
Everyone nodded in agreement. It was a simple game—someone would say a scenario, and we’d all vote on who was most likely to do it.
Jeonghan smirked. “I’ll go first. Who’s most likely to accidentally marry a stranger in Vegas?”
Before anyone could speak, everyone pointed at Dokyeom.
“HEY!” Dokyeom pouted. “Why me?!”
Seungcheol chuckled. “You literally almost signed a contract once without reading it because the guy seemed nice.”
Jihoon snorted. “We had to physically stop you from agreeing to a ‘lifetime subscription’ for free samples.”
Dokyeom huffed. “Okay, fair, but still. I’d like to think I’d know if I was getting married.”
“Would you, though?” I teased.
He muttered something under his breath about betrayal, making everyone laugh.
Seungcheol sat up a little, looking at me. “Your turn.”
I pretended to think for a moment before smirking. “Who’s most likely to cry at a rom-com and pretend they didn’t?”
Jihoon immediately pointed at Seungcheol.
Seungcheol’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?!”
“Don’t ‘excuse me’ me,” Jihoon said, crossing his arms. “I saw you wipe your eyes during that one movie.”
“It was dusty!” Seungcheol defended.
Jeonghan grinned. “Right, because the movie theater was so full of dust right when the main character confessed their love.”
Seungcheol groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You guys are the worst.”
I nudged him with my shoulder, teasing. “It’s okay, Cheol. I think it’s sweet.”
He glanced at me, something softer in his gaze. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He held my gaze for a moment before nodding. “Fine. I may have teared up a little. But only because the soundtrack was really well done.”
We all burst into laughter, and the game continued, each question bringing more teasing, more memories, more laughter.
The teasing continued, but I barely heard it. Because right now, with Seungcheol beside me, his fingers still intertwined with mine, and our friends surrounding us, everything felt exactly as it should be.
Perfect.
42 notes · View notes
cheollollipop · 2 months ago
Text
HAPPY BIRTHDAY to me and jungwoo 🥳🤭
4 notes · View notes
cheollollipop · 2 months ago
Text
Fragments of Us - Seungcheol's POV 1. (misc.)
Tumblr media
pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader genre: angst, fluff, smut (minors fuck off, in the nicest way possible) warning(s): sonya goes OFF! mentions of not wanting to be alive. YN suffering. summary: two years after a messy breakup, seungcheol and yn reconnect unexpectedly. word count: 1k start date: nov. 20, 2024 end date: -
A/N: this takes place during ch. 1 after YN leaves the hospital.
Tumblr media
She's gone.
Again.
And this time, I know—really know—she's never coming back.
The room feels suffocating like the walls are closing in like the weight of everything I've refused to acknowledge is finally crashing down on me. No one moves. No one speaks. The silence is deafening, ringing louder than any argument we just had.
Jeonghan exhales sharply, rubbing his hands over his face. "She's really gone, isn't she?"
I let out a bitter laugh, my head falling back against the pillows. "Yeah, Jeonghan. She is."
"You were mad at her too," I say, looking between Jeonghan and Jihoon, my voice raw. "Both of you. You were just as hurt when she left."
Jihoon crosses his arms, his jaw tight. "Of course we were." He hesitates, then sighs. "But that doesn't mean—"
"We all took it personally, Cheol," Jeonghan cuts in, his voice tight with emotion. "She abandoned us. We needed her too, and she just... disappeared."
I nod slowly, staring at the empty space where she stood just moments ago. "Then why does it feel like I'm the only one who still hates her for it?"
The door suddenly swings open with a force that makes everyone flinch.
"Seungcheol!"
Sonya's voice is frantic, her expression filled with panic. She rushes inside, eyes scanning the room wildly before landing on me.
"Oh my god," she breathes, making a beeline for my bedside. "I just heard—Wonwoo called me—are you okay?"
I blink at her, startled by the sheer panic in her voice.
"I—yeah," I manage, but Sonya isn't having it.
Her hands hover over me like she's afraid to touch me, afraid I might break. "Jesus, Seungcheol, you were in a car accident! You could've—" Her voice catches, and she takes a sharp breath, shaking her head like she's trying to compose herself. "Are you seriously okay?"
"I'm fine," I say, though I don't even believe it myself.
Sonya narrows her eyes. "Don't lie to me."
"Sonya, I—"
She exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. "We'll deal with that later." Then, she turns, scanning the room again. "Where is she?"
Silence.
"Where's YN?" she repeats, her voice quieter but more urgent.
Jeonghan shifts uncomfortably. "She was here."
Sonya blinks. "She was here?"
"She left," Jihoon mutters.
The worry on Sonya's face vanishes, replaced by something much darker.
Her gaze snaps back to me, sharp as a blade. "What did you fucking say to her?"
I scoff. "Oh, so now you're defending her?"
"Yes!" Sonya snaps. "Because for two years, I let you guys talk about her like she wasn't suffering, too. I let you be mad, let you blame her, but not once did any of you stop and think about why she left in the first place."
Jihoon lets out a frustrated sigh. "She left us, Sonya."
"And you think that was easy for her?" Sonya's voice rises. "You think she wanted to lose you all? You think she wanted to spend the past two years punishing herself for it?"
My jaw tightens.
"You act like she just ran off without a care in the world, but she was drowning, Seungcheol," Sonya continues, her voice laced with something almost desperate. "She needed help, and none of you saw it. None of us did. And you, of all people, should have seen it first."
That hits like a punch to the chest.
"Sonya, come on," Jeonghan mutters, but she whirls on him.
"No! Don't 'Sonya, come on' me, Jeonghan! You were mad at her, too! You and Jihoon acted like she betrayed you when she left, like she didn't just lose her mom and have her entire world fall apart!"
Jeonghan flinches slightly but stays quiet.
"And you," she turns back to me, fury burning behind her eyes. "You think she just threw everything away? That it was easy for her to walk away from the people she loved? From you?"
I don't answer.
Sonya lets out a bitter laugh. "You have no idea what these past two years have been like for her. Do you even know what she almost did? Do you even know how close you were to losing her for good?"
A heavy silence settles over the room.
"What are you talking about?" Dokyeom finally asks, his voice careful.
Sonya clenches her fists. "The only reason she's still here today is because she fought like hell to pull herself back from the edge. And she did it alone. While you were hating her and all so busy being angry, she was trying not to fall apart completely."
My stomach twists.
"You weren't there the night I found her," Sonya whispers, her voice trembling. "You didn't see the way she looked at me—like she had nothing left. Like she was already gone. I had to pull her back from the edge, Seungcheol. I had to remind her that she was worth something."
The words hit me harder than I expected. My throat tightens.
"And do you know what the worst part is?" Sonya's voice is barely above a whisper now.
I shake my head slowly, afraid of what she'll say next.
"The whole time, she still loved you." She exhales sharply. "She still loves you. Even after everything, she still loves you. But after this? I don't think she's coming back."
The finality in her words makes my chest cave in.
I already knew that, but hearing someone else say it makes it real, makes it final.
She's really gone.
And it's my fault.
The weight of Sonya's words suffocates the room.
Jihoon swallows hard. "We were wrong, weren't we?"
Sonya lets out a slow, exhausted breath. "Yes. You were all wrong."
Jeonghan rubs his face, his voice barely audible. "God... we should've known."
Soonyoung exhales sharply, looking away. "We just let her leave."
"And now," Sonya says, her voice heavy with finality, "she's never coming back."
I close my eyes, my head falling against the pillow as a sinking realization settles deep in my chest.
I lost her.
And I will never, ever get her back.
No one speaks.
Until finally, Sonya clears her throat, her voice cold and final.
"We don't speak of this conversation," she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Ever."
We all turn to her, confused.
Her expression is unreadable, her eyes sharp and unwavering.
"She'd kill me."
23 notes · View notes
cheollollipop · 2 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
in the soop 2.3
918 notes · View notes