dawn-iscozy - Tumblr blog

dawn-iscozy · 8 days ago

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“ like a cat in a sunny spot ” ♡ v ♡

SERIES PLAYLIST: “ swim ” - chase atlantic ♡ “ honey (are u coming?) ” - maneskin ♡ “ the summoning ” - sleep token ♡ “ soft spot ” - keshi ♡ “ bubbly ” - colbie caillat ♡ “ kiss me ” - ed sheeran ♡ “ cotton candy ” - yungblud ♡

SERIES WARNINGS: poly, eventual ot8, named oc - “Rora”, derived from “Aurora” (soooooo original, I know), who is basically a self-insert (i’m still on the brink of denial about it). loooots of nicknames/pet names, and even more as the fic progresses (if you read the “a little warmth in winter” you’ll know most of the names already 🤭). things move pretty quickly in this, and it may stray vaguely into soulmate au territory but, like, I’m a sucker for these men and for the way I’ve written them and I just can’t stop.

apologies in advance if the timeline doesn’t make any sense, I’m going purely on vibes and my affection for these 8 men. idk if it deserves a warning, but scents are mentioned a lot in some parts and kinda littered through the rest of the fic, too (using scent profiles from a perfume/fragrance site that has a line of scents called “Smells Like a Hug From Ateez” and very limited knowledge of fragrances the members may have previously used/just the vibes they give off)

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

ADDITIONAL WARNINGS: period/menstrual cycle, mention of blood, gets a little steamy (what's new atp), but doesn’t get far, food, hurt/comfort-ish??

♡ 18+ - no smut, but still MDNI ♡

v: teddy bear

After such an amazing weekend, Rora should have expected something less than desirable to happen soon. Though, she didn’t think it would be immediately the next day. The second she woke to her alarm at 5:30, she knew it would be a rough day. Her eyes refused to stay open, her back and hips were hurting, and there was a big red stain in her favorite sleep pants. Luckily, a simple soak while she took her morning shower was enough to get most of the stain out, and she had enough laundry to justify starting a load.

Too frustrated with the way her morning had started and frankly, too tired, she didn’t even think to stop at a convenience store or coffee shop for a caffeine pick-me-up. But as soon as she got to work, she made a beeline for the break room and started a cup of coffee in hopes that the caffeine would wake her up and the warmth would ease her cramps. As the blessed brew was dripping, she couldn’t help but look around, eyes going almost immediately to a desk just a few down from her own.

Jongho was already there, leaned back in his chair but obviously absorbed in whatever was on his laptop, the sleeves of his button-up shirt and cardigan pushed up his forearms. He looked so cozy, even in the sterile surroundings of the office, and she wanted nothing more than to go back to just yesterday, leaning against him on his sofa, the sounds of laughter and rain ringing through the living room. She wondered if he would let her do that again, if he would let her bask in the solid warmth of his frame or if it had just been a fluke. If, somehow, it only happened because he was humoring the situation.

She sighed, gaze shifting to watch the steady drip of the coffee into her designated cup. Whatever it was, she couldn’t focus on it. Not if she wanted to make it through the day without crying. She rolled her eyes to herself, leaning against the counter as just the thought of crying was causing tears to prick behind her rapidly blinking eyelids. She forced her mind to go blank, to think only of the work she was about to do, and sighed with relief when the coffee machine beeped to signify the completion of her coffee.

Grasping the mug with both hands, she walked over to her desk. She took one deep inhale, letting the smell cloud her senses, and gave a determined huff. She would make it through all the work she needed to finish by lunch, and then maybe she would get a much needed 20-30 minute power nap during her break.

♡♡♡

She didn’t finish all the work she had wanted to finish. The coffee did nothing for her fatigue, only serving to make her jittery and unfocused, eyes fighting to close. That jitteriness led to distracted-ness, which led to her heavy eyes constantly shifting from her screen to peep at Jongho’s desk. He seemed to be working steadily, looking as professional and unbothered as ever each time she glanced over. Which was much more often than she would like to admit.

She sighed, and her eyes shifted from her screen at the thought. Vision unfocused, brain blank, she zoned out. It was almost time for lunch. Almost time for that nap or some more caffeine. But fuck if it felt like she wouldn’t be able to make it until then, just so damn ready to go back home and curl up in bed with sweet little Teddy.

Fingers pushing through her hair, brows furrowing, she blinked the world back into focus. Her heart stopped in her chest when her eyes locked with a certain brown pair, face warming as she registered the raised brow and quirked lips.

Her heart kicked in her chest, and she looked back to her screen. Forcing herself to focus on her work, if only for the last fifteen minutes before her lunch break. She let herself get lost in it, in reading and editing and commenting on the passages before her, pulse still thrumming away in her ears at being caught. She was so focused on making herself focus that when a hand fell on her shoulder, she startled, eyes wide and shoulders hitched nearly to her ears as she swiveled around in her chair.

A low chuckle sounded, and she looked up to see Jongho there. His lips were spread in a dazzling smile that brought an unconscious smile to her own face, even as her heart rate was still tripping over itself from the scare and the reminder of being caught staring at him earlier. She had to pause and just blink, just stare at him for a moment, take in just how adorable his gummy smile was.

“Finish up, and let’s go to lunch,” he said before she could come back to herself.

“What?” She blinked at the bluntness of his statement, brain still catching up to the situation she was now in. She cleared her throat, shook her head, and she was glad that he stayed quiet and let her process what was going on. “Oh. Where?”

“I believe I promised to take you to a certain cafe this afternoon.”

Her brows furrowed, and she wracked her brain for what he was talking about. It took an embarrassing amount of time, cheeks warming under his patient gaze. “Oh!” she exclaimed, sitting straighter in her seat, hands clasped in front of her like she might start clapping. “Yunho’s cafe?”

Jongho grinned. “That’s the one,” he said. “Let’s go before our break is over, hmm?”

“Oh!” Rora set into motion, scrambling to gather the things she would need to take with her into her bag and save her work. “Let’s go!” She was practically bouncing with excitement, watching Jongho with big eyes, waiting for him to lead the way.

Yunho really wasn’t kidding when he said it was close to where she and Jongho worked - they made it down the street and through the door in less than 10 minutes. A bell rang over her head as she pushed inside, stiffening with surprise at both the sound and a sudden warm touch at her lower back.

A low voice greeted them before the door could even swing shut behind them, and she looked up to see Yunho busy behind the counter, a man standing beside him, seemingly having paused in the middle of wiping the countertop down. The man was roughly the same height as Yunho, roughly the same size, too, from what she could tell. She could really only see his torso and up with the counter in the way, but she could tell that he was strong. The dark button-up shirt clinging to him gave more than a modest suggestion of what may lie beneath, the apron tied tightly around his waist, showcasing just how slim it was and emphasizing the broadness of his chest and shoulders.

A shiver ran down her spine as she imagined standing in between them, how they would absolutely engulf her with their size. She read his nametag as they got closer - Mingi. His full lips parted in a bright smile that nearly engulfed his eyes. Eyes that, even in the harsh fluorescents of the space, practically sparkled upon landing on them, the shocks of blond streaked through his brown hair seemingly making them sparkle even more.

“Jongho!” Mingi called out, his lovely, low voice once more filling the mostly empty space of the cafe. “Lovely of you to finally visit us.”

She didn’t look back to see Jongho’s reaction, but she could practically hear his eyes rolling. Her eyes shifted over to Yunho, who straightened up upon Mingi’s words. He looked right over to her, eyes wide, brows raised, lips parted in a smile. “Rora!”

“Rora?” she glanced over at Mingi, watching as the confusion on his face faded into an amused, knowing smile, those pretty eyes trailing over her. “Ah,” he mused. “So this is who you all were talking about last night.”

“All good things, I hope,” she said, unable to stop the heat flooding her cheeks as she shot her eyes to Yunho. He simply shrugged and gave her a shit-eating grin. Her head whipped back to glance at Jongho. “Right?”

His face was mostly blank save for the upturn at the corners of his mouth. “Your weekend was thoroughly bragged about in the group chat,” he said, brow arching. “The other three in our group are dying to meet you.”

Her face must have dropped alongside her heart, because Jongho settled a hand on her shoulder. “Nothing that didn’t happen in the shared spaces of the apartment was brought up. Not in detail, at least. You should really reward Woo for being able to keep that to himself. Guy really has trouble not saying things he shouldn’t.”

“Tell me about it,” she murmured, forcing the joke out. The resulting soft laughter helped her to relax, and looked back over to Yunho with a barely contained pout.

He grinned, leaning over the counter, bare forearms flexing as he leaned his weight on them. “Since it’s been brought up, though,” he started, voice low, eyes racking over her before landing back on her face. He was suddenly serious, head tilting, soft hair falling over his forehead. His lips were still smiling, though, and she took comfort in that when her heart started thumping harder in her chest. “How comfortable are you with the more…private details being shared?”

“I’m fine with any of it being shared, I just -” she paused, swallowed, sighed. Pushing her hair behind her ear, she continued,“I just want to know that it’s going to be talked about so that I’m not caught off guard by some kind of comment, especially if it’s someone I don’t already know.” She forced out a breath, licked her dry lips. “I appreciate you asking me, Yunho.”

“Of course, honey.” The smile he sent her bordered on salacious, eyes twinkling suggestively, mischievously, as they worked over her figure again. He leaned to the side, shoulder bumping against Mingi as his gaze locked with hers once again, and a shiver worked down her spine. “Wouldn’t dream of doing anything you didn’t like.”

“We came for food, not for you to flirt,” Jongho piped up before she could respond. He leveled her with a faux serious look. “No sneaking off behind the counter with this degenerate, you hear me?”

Mingi burst into laughter, Yunho made an offended expression, and she giggled, pushing her elbow into Jongho’s side. “You think he’s gonna take me away from you?”

“He can try,” he said, eyes so big and serious that her heart stuttered in her chest. He was completely straight-faced, and she didn’t know what he could mean with that statement. But she did begin to feel bad, wondering if she had not given him as much attention over the weekend or if he was joking in that deadpan, straight-faced way that he does sometimes.

“Drop the claws, baby bear,” Yunho said, chuckling. She couldn’t help but giggle at the nickname, looking over at Jongho. He really did resemble a bear - big and strong but soft. She would have to change his contact name later. “No one’s gonna take her away from you. Not during work hours, at least.”

Then Jongho’s face broke out into that big, gummy grin that filled her with so much warmth and in a surprising move, wrapped his arms around her in a back hug and rested his chin on her shoulder.

She breathed out in surprise, but let herself sink into his embrace. He felt solid and warm against her back, like he could easily support her if she needed him to. She looked back at him, watching as he seemingly studied the menu hanging behind the counter, as his lips parted to speak. “What do you want?” he asked, eyes still trained forward. She would think that he was being casual if she couldn’t feel his heart thundering against her back.

She grinned, letting her head tip to the side to touch his, eyes trailing back to Yunho and Mingi. They wore twin looks of adoration, eyes warm and sparkling as they took in the embrace between her and their youngest friend. She flushed when Yunho sent her a wink and cleared her throat. “Surprise me,” she said.

Jongho’s resulting hum vibrated against her back, and she had to work hard to contain a pout when he straightened up. She was suddenly cold without his warmth against her. Arms wrapping around her middle, she leaned against the counter, only to come face to face with Mingi. There was plenty of space between them, but she could swear she felt the warmth of his breath fanning her face, could smell the coffee lingering on his tongue, could feel his eyes trailing over her face.

Her breath caught in her throat, tongue poking out to wet her bottom lip.

He smiled, drawing her attention to the slight imperfection of his teeth, how they were slightly cooked, so that one looked slightly longer than the other. How he nibbled those teeth into his lower lip. She took in the thickness of his lips, the plush pink of them. Her eyes moved up his face, taking in the dimple carving into his cheek, the lovely cheekbones. Over his strong nose, right to his eyes - those big, sparkly eyes that were beginning to crescent with his smile. What is with this friend group and all of them having such pretty freaking eyes?

“So,” he started, head tilting to the side adorably. “You’re Rora.”

“And you’re Mingi?” she asked, reading the tag attached to the apron laid across his chest once more. She tried to keep her gaze from lingering too long on the way the straps of his apron dug into the broadness of his shoulders or the way his dark button-up stretched tightly across the muscles of his arms and chest. Her palms were practically itching to feel that obvious swell beneath them. She cleared her throat and brought her gaze back to his.

His eyes were twinkling, crinkled into full crescents now, eyebrows raised. She flushed - of course he caught her ogling him. She never was gifted in the art of subtlety.

“I am,” he said, voice practically rumbling in her ears. She shivered at the sound of it, wondering just how low it could go. What it would take to test that out. She blinked herself out of her thoughts before they could progress into further depravity. Clearly, Yunho wasn’t the degenerate here. She almost giggled as the thought passed through her head, blinking to bring Mingi back into focus. “Something funny?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I just had a silly thought,” she said.

“Oh?”

“It isn’t that funny, really,” she insisted.

Mingi hummed, the sound reverberating in his chest, and she desperately wanted to have her head on his chest, have that sound go right into her ear. She cleared her throat, feeling the heat in her cheeks moving down her neck, to her ears. “I won’t press you on it,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

She startled when warmth was once again at her back, a chin on her shoulder, and Mingi chuckled. She glanced back to see Jongho with a devastating pout, but his eyes were warm, happy. She looked forward again, ignoring the heat filling her cheeks.

“So, you work with Jongho?” Mingi asked, straightening up.

She nodded. “I’ve worked with him for about a year now?” She smiled when Jongho hummed in agreement, the sound vibrating in her ears and against her back pleasantly.

“And you know Woo, San, and Yunho?”

She nodded again. “I’ve only known them for a few days, though.”

“Yeah, and they aren’t likely to be letting you go any time soon,” Jongho murmured. He sounded sulky, but she could hear the laughter in his voice, could feel his shoulders shaking with it.

Mingi laughed, teeth flashing and eyes nearly closing. “Well, I hope that means that I’ll be seeing you again,” he said.

She grinned. “I’ll definitely have to come here again,” she said, glancing over as Yunho made himself known, settling a tray of food and drinks onto the counter in front of her. “And feel free to accompany Youngie, Sannie, or Yunho if they ever visit.”

His tongue came out to swipe over his full lower lip. “Just might have to take you up on that,” he said. His eyes flicked to the man hovering over your shoulder. “Assuming the bear will let me.”

The chest pressed against her rumbled with laughter, and she glanced back at him. Her heart fluttered at his smile, all pretty teeth and pink gums and sparkly eyes. “You can have her any other time,” he said. His head turned, eyes moving over her face briefly. “Given her consent, of course.”

“Of course,” Mingi readily agreed.

Rora wasn’t able to do anything but grin back at the tall man, giggling. Yunho came back, sliding a tray across the counter, and Jongho detached himself from her back. She watched as he came to her side, grabbed the tray, and walked away.

“He’s gonna start sulking if you take too long,” Yunho mused, leaning against the counter once more. Mingi mirrored him, and she flushed under their collective gaze. “You should go before he starts crying.”

Her brow quirked upward. She knew Yunho was joking, but still, she couldn’t imagine Jongho crying, especially not over her. Even so, she excused herself from the two tall men and followed him over to a table in the corner of the lobby. Windows lined the wall facing out into the street, and the two person table she found Jongho heading toward was awash in sunlight, plants hanging along the ceiling and windows, the light reaching all the way into the shop, all the way to the first bookcase full of various books.

Jongho casually pulled a chair out, rounding the table without even a glance at her. Amused, she sat down and shrugged off her cardigan to let the warm light bathe her skin, folding the soft fabric to lay across her lap as she took a glance around. The shop seemed to continue past the front counter, wrapping around the back, and she itched to see what was back there, wondering if it was full of cozy spaces for customers to enjoy their time at their own leisure.

“Here,” Jongho murmured, and she turned back to see Jongho sliding a drink and food her way. There was a large wrap, cut in half and containing just as much meat as veggies, wrapped tightly to keep it stuffed inside the tortilla, a bowl of cutely cut fruits, and a relatively large grapefruit ade that made her mouth water.

As she and Jongho ate, she watched as the other customers in the shop made their way out. The bell over the door of the shop rang out only one other time, just as she was finishing up the first half of her wrap.

Sipping her drink, she watched as Yunho and Mingi straightened behind the counter. “Hello,” they said simultaneously, Yunho trekking over to stand behind the register while Mingi disappeared through a door into what she assumed was the kitchen. Yunho smiled his big, puppy dog smile as the customer approached. “We can only do to-go orders right now, since we’re about to close for lunch. Is that okay?”

The customer simply nodded and ordered. It was less than five minutes before their order was completed and slid over the counter. “Have a wonderful day,” Mingi said to their retreating figure, trailing behind them to the door, locking it up and flipping a sign on the door.

She sighed, feeling much too full to finish the rest of her food. It was delicious, but if she ate any more of it, she would be sleepy and uncomfortable for the rest of her time at work. Or, well, more uncomfortable than she had already been feeling. Covering the other half of her wrap up with the cling film from the eaten half, Rora dusted her hands off and stood. She murmured that she was going to the restroom and turned.

She gasped, hands flying up, startled by the sudden appearance of Yunho right in front of her. He laughed, large hands gently grasping her own. “Sorry, honey,” he said, amused eyes trailing over her face until they landed on her pout. “Was just going to ask if you wanted to look around before you have to go back to work.”

Taking a breath to settle her still fast heartbeat, she glanced over at Jongho. He was taking a bite of his own food, watching the two of them with seeming disinterest. “We’ve got fifteen minutes before we have to leave,” he said. “I expect at least five more minutes of Rora time before we have to clock back in.”

Yunho was already tugging her away before she could say anything back. She sent him an apologetic look, feeling assured by the amusement painting his features as she stumbled to keep up with his tall friend’s much longer strides. They rounded the counter, and she tugged Yunho to a stop to get a better look. The space was definitely cozy, filled with all kinds of places to curl up and read. The back wall held lofted spaces just big enough for someone to lay down, and the floor had bean bags and a few sunken seating areas in the floor. Every inch of open wall space was lined with shelves and books.

“Like it?” Yunho asked.

Rora nodded, looking up at him. She knew she looked somewhere between adoring and starstruck, but that was how she felt about this space. “It’s really nice,” she said. “You both have worked so hard to make a nice place for your customers, and you can really tell.”

Yunho beamed at the praise, arm sliding around her shoulders as he moved her further into the cozy space. “So you’ll visit again?” he asked.

“Absolutely!” she said excitedly. “I can already see myself coming on a day off to sit up there -” she pointed toward the cozy lofted spaces “- and chilling out for a few hours.”

“Come around the time for our lunch break so we can spend a little time together,” he said, hands brushing over her shoulders and ghosting down her bare arms.

“Oh?” Rora’s voice came out shakier than she would have liked, a shiver working down her spine and goosebumps appearing on her exposed skin.

“Mhm,” Yunho hummed, crowding her smaller frame, pressing her until she was forced to take a step. She shuffled forward, breath hitching in her throat when he pressed her against a wall. His body pressed against her back, hands sliding along her arms to press her hands against the wall. His head dipped down, lips ghosting the line of her neck, breath tickling her skin. She shivered.

“You said you wouldn’t do anything at work,” she murmured. He chuckled, coaxing her to turn around, pressing her back against the wall, hands once again locked with her own, pressing them over her head. She looked up at him through her lashes, letting her fingers intertwine with his.

“I said I wouldn’t do anything during work hours. But I’m on break right now,” he murmured, nosing at her ear. “Been thinking about getting you alone back here since you walked in.”

“What if we get caught?” she asked breathlessly.

“We better shut your fucking mouth then, hmm?” he murmured, nibbling along her jaw. His hand removed itself from her own, coming up to clasp over her mouth, stifling her resulting surprised noise, the whine bubbling up in her throat. “Stay quiet for me, honey.”

His hand slid down her belly, fingers toying with the top of her pants. Her heart was racing, breath catching in her throat with each brush against her skin. She gasped when a sudden sharp pain shot through her lower stomach, the dull ache in her back coming back to the forefront. Her hand gripped Yunho’s wrist to stop him unbuttoning her jeans, shaking her head to dislodge his hand from her mouth. “Fuck,” she breathed out, whined, face pressing into his chest as she fought against the urge to curl into herself. “Can’t. Started my period this morning.”

Yunho took a deep breath, resting his cheek on the top of her head with a chuckle. His hands slid up her sides then back down to her hips, thumbs massaging in little circles that had her sighing. “Kisses, then?” he asked, trailing the lightest of kisses down the side of her face.

Rora giggled at the ticklish feeling, hand pushing through his hair. “I’m always down for kisses,” she said, pressing a kiss to his chest, tugging lightly at his hair so she could press another to his soft lips. He responded immediately, cupping the back of her head, kissing her over and over until her lips were swollen and she couldn’t catch her breath anymore.

Her hands fisted his shirt when he started to pull away, and he humored her with one, two, three quick pecks before standing to his full height.

“Sorry, honey,” he said, straightening her shirt and pushing loose strands of her hair behind her ears with a soft smile. Her eyes caught on his lips, satisfied to find them pinker than before, shiny in the light of the cafe. She wanted to whine, to bring his mouth back to hers. “The bear is gonna start getting restless. Wouldn’t want him coming to maul me, hmm?”

She shook her head, teeth nibbling her bottom lip to distract herself, to keep herself from pouting. “You’re much too pretty to let that happen,” she said, looping her arm around his waist as he guided her back toward the lobby.

“Oh? Am I?”

She glanced up at him as they walked, noticing that his ears were reddening and his eyes were firmly in front of him, like he couldn’t bring himself to look over at her. She laughed. “Very,” she said, watching as he swallowed and his shoulders came up, suddenly shy. Her heart fluttered at how adorable he suddenly was and couldn’t help it when she leaned closer to rub her cheek against his arm.

He squeezed her closer in a quick side hug as they walked, and she giggled when they stumbled. Over and over, they tripped and swayed, but Yunho refused to take his arm from around her. She didn’t mind it, really, loving being in the silly moment with him. Loving having a moment like this, to be able to actually unwind even for a few minutes on her lunch break.

She looked up as they neared the table she had occupied with Jongho, and her brain blanked at the view of him. He was lounging back in the chair, thighs splayed wide enough that the fabric of his pants were pulled tight to showcase the muscles there. She wanted to curl up there and lean into his strong chest. The chest that had been pressed against her back less than half an hour ago. He was holding his phone with one hand, and she noticed how nice his hand was, fingers slender, palm big enough to comfortably hold a phone that she would struggle to hold. Her gaze traveled up his arm, to find his face blank.

Rora blinked and suddenly, he was looking up at her, face soft and those eyes big and sparkling, the sun shining like a halo behind him. He looked beautiful. Breathtaking, even, and her breath nearly caught in her chest. “All done?” he asked, locking his phone and setting it down on the table.

“She’s all yours,” Yunho answered when she didn’t make a move to answer, chuckling at her starstruck gaze and giving her bottom a little pat as his arm slipped from her.

She blinked, looking up at him. “Watch those hands, mister,” she murmured, glaring playfully as she elbowed him in the side.

Yunho gently pushed her toward the seat she had occupied earlier, hands pressing into her shoulders lightly, fingers massaging the muscles there as he coaxed her to sit. She almost moaned aloud, head tipping back into the warmth of his body, eyes closing in the brief moment of bliss. When he stopped and stepped away from her, she whined.

He chuckled, bending down to kiss the top of her head. “Sorry, honey,” he murmured against her hair. “Gotta go make sure Mingi hasn’t burned down the kitchen.”

She refused to watch him walk away, letting her eyes track the drops of condensation beading up and sliding down the side of her drink. There was a puddle starting to accumulate beneath the cup. She pulled a few napkins from the holder on the table, letting the paper absorb the water fully before she looked up at Jongho. He was already looking at her, eyes roaming over her face, and she was almost more flustered at the fact that he seemed so not bothered by being caught doing so.

“They really have taken a liking to you,” Jongho mused, lips pulling up into a soft smile. She watched his face as he spoke, watching for any change in emotion. She couldn’t really identify any specific emotions, but she took comfort in the fact that nothing negative seemed to be there. Just warmth. Endearment. Whether toward her or his friends, she wasn’t sure, and she didn’t want to dwell on that. He pushed his phone into his pocket and stood. “Ready to head back?”

Rora simply nodded, slipping into her cardigan. She grabbed her things and her drink, following him to the door. He swung it open, holding it for her to walk through, and she couldn’t help but smile at the move. Before leaving, she paused, looking back to wave good-bye to Mingi and Yunho, who were back to mindlessly tidying up behind the counter. They called out their farewells - their smiles bright and their hands waving excitedly through the air - and she stepped outside.

The breeze hit her immediately, pushing through her hair. The sun warmed her face, and she couldn’t remember a time when she was happier. Or more conflicted. Her teeth nibbled her bottom lip, brows furrowing as she walked beside Jongho. Their arms brushed occasionally, their steps falling in sync. Tiny shocks went through her when their hands would come into contact, but she pulled her sleeves down over her hands, crossing her arms around her waist.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” she finally asked, grasping her cardigan to knead the soft material between her restless fingers.

“Hmm?” He glanced over at her, finishing the sip he was taking from his drink and clearing his throat. His brows furrowed deeply, those eyes on her face even as she looked forward. “What?” he asked.

She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, and she looked down at the sidewalk as they walked, covered hands coming to clasp together in front of her belly. She floundered for words, unsure how to continue asking when what she was asking about wasn’t even clear to herself. The silence stretched as he allowed her the time and space to get her thoughts together and finish her question.

She sighed. Deciding to just bite the bullet, Rora blurted out, “I fucked half your friend group over the weekend. Are you uncomfortable with what happened?” Her voice was strained despite how blunt her words were, and she found herself swallowing back tears, eyes and throat burning with a need to shed them. She sniffled around the tingling in her nose and she looked up, hoping that doing so would distract her enough to keep from crying. It didn’t do much, and when she spoke next, her voice trembled so badly she was surprised any words came out at all. Her shoulders slumped, the brief confidence leaving her almost entirely, and she refused to look at him. “You’re one of the only people I’ve been able to grow even remotely close to since I moved here, and I don’t want to ruin it or make you uncomfortable around me or your friends.”

Rora startled when his hand wrapped around her own and she was pulled to a stop then back, his body against hers once more, front to front. His arms came around her, one around her waist and the other around her shoulders in a tight hold that caused her tears to spill over. He held the back of her head gently, fingers brushing over her hair, and she couldn’t help but sob into his neck.

“You need to take a breath, okay?” he soothed, low voice rumbling comfortingly in her ear. “Calm down, precious.”

Her heart jumped in her chest at the endearment, at the gentle tone of voice he used, but she found herself doing as he said. She took a deep inhale. Held it. Let it out slowly. Almost choking on the next breath when his hands came up to wipe at her tears, thumbs ghosting beneath her eyes.

“There you go,” he murmured, pushing her hair back from her wet face.

She looked up at him through her wet lashes, lower lip trembling. He looked so tender, so warm. She wanted nothing more than to curl up into him for the rest of the day. Forget work, forget her responsibilities, forget even herself.

Rora wrapped herself around him again, face buried in his chest, and every inch of her purred as his soft laughter filled her ears. She crumbled against him, went lax as his firm fingers kneaded at the tense muscles of her neck, and she released a shaky exhale.

Luckily, after they made it back to work, the rest of the day passed by quickly. Though, that meant nothing about her levels of exhaustion. When she pushed into her apartment, she wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep. Instead, she went about her regular after work routine of showering and making a simple dinner.

She was resting, watching a drama on the television when there was a knock on her door. Then another. And another. Then, several knocks at once. Rora pulled herself off her couch with a pained groan, cursing gravity and mother nature as she moved through her kitchen. Balancing on her tiptoes, she looked through the peephole to see three men. Or, well, the chests and shoulders of three men. Brows furrowed, she pulled the heavy door open, wincing when even such a simple move sent pain flaring up in her hips and back.

She huffed, grumbled, swinging the door open just enough to see around the damn thing. Her grumbled curses were stopped short when she saw Jongho, San, and another man standing back against the wall of the hallway almost sheepishly, plastic bags dangling from their hands. “What -” her head tilted, eyes trailing over each of them.

She took in the new man first, eyes immediately drawn to an almost heart-shaped spot of red beside his eye, long strands of black hair falling just so to conceal what she assumed to be a birthmark. He looked the most uncertain of the three, standing in tiny, just the slightest bit behind San even as they were standing along the wall, his form almost hidden in a large fluffy jacket. He reminded her of a kid that was dragged to a strange new place by a parent, and she wanted to coo and squish his cheeks until that scared look left his face.

Rora’s gaze moved over to San, who was standing in the middle, dimples on full display and practically bouncing on his toes. Dressed in sweats and a zip-up hoodie that should have been oversized, but clung to his arms and chest even as the pieces of clothing fell loose around his waist and hips, opened just the slightest bit at his throat to showcase a white top underneath. She wanted to wrap her arms around him. Never let go.

Jongho stood there, looking calm as ever. Looking even cozier in a pair of black pants and a large sweater that she wanted to steal and drown herself in. Or him. She could wrap herself around him and never let go. That was a good option, too.

She felt their eyes on her, and she flushed, remembering that she was dressed in the comfiest (and coincidentally shortest) shorts she owned and the hoodie she stole from San (yet again). Her skin prickled as a breeze swept into her apartment, and she hurriedly ushered them inside. “What are you doing here?” she asked, eyeing San and Jongho as they busied themselves with placing the bags in their hands on the coffee table. The unnamed man hovered around them, his gorgeous face set in a smile that looked as awkward as it was pretty.

Jongho took mercy on her and the pretty guy, indicating his friend with a tilt of his head as he walked over to relieve the man of the bag in his hand. “This is Yeosang,” he said. “San wanted to visit you, but he refused to let Sang leave his side for even a moment. So, he was forced along.”

The pretty man - Yeosang - sent her a tiny wave and a close lipped smile that was all too precious.

“Hi, Yeosang,” she said back, sending him a smile. “It’s nice to meet you. You can make yourself comfortable anywhere. Sorry if any cat hair gets stuck in your jacket.” Just as Rora finished speaking, a tiny meow came from the direction of her bed, and she turned to see Teddy strutting his way over, rubbing against San’s legs.

San bent down, cooing and letting his hand smooth down the cat’s back.

“I think he came for the cat,” she joked, watching as he lifted Teddy to let the cat lean against his chest and nose at his jaw and chin. San’s resulting smile was so tender, his eyes so warm and kind, she almost wanted to cry. “You can’t just come to my apartment unannounced and make me cry, Sannie. That’s not how this works.” She pouted jokingly even as she rubbed the wetness from her eyes with the sleeve draped over her hand.

He sent her a grin that forced his eyes nearly shut, setting the kitty back down on the ground to pull her into a hug. “No tears, darling,” he cooed, hands cupping her cheeks to plop a kiss right on her nose. “Especially not while you’re looking so cute in my hoodie.”

Rora giggled, pushing him away from her, all too aware of the stranger still standing to himself in her apartment as his strong hands reeled her back in. “I think your friend may need your attention more than me,” she whispered to him, tiptoeing to press a kiss to his cheek. She glanced back at Yeosang, watching silently as he shifted his stance, eyes darting around her apartment before falling to the floor where Teddy was twining his body around his ankles. His fingers twitched, brows furrowed in uncertainty. “You can pet him, Yeosangie,” she said, leaning into San when he wrapped his arms around her waist, apparently unwilling to help his friend. “He won’t bite.”

“Oh - ah,” he startled, blinked up at her with a tiny embarrassed smile. She wanted to baby him. She wanted to baby the HECK out of him, and she was sure that everyone could tell. Even him, if his shy laugh and scrunched shoulders were anything to go by.

She stifled a giggle and exaggerated a pout at him. He was absolutely adorable, and she wanted to smother him with affection. She looked over at Jongho, who was watching his friend flounder in the new environment with a mixture of amusement and adoration. His eyes fell on her, and she tilted her head toward his friend, mouthing a “help him”.

His brows raised, lips ticking up at the corners, but he moved over to Yeosang. Yeosang’s eyes widened and he flinched away as his friend approached, but let himself be manhandled over to the sofa without a single complaint. Jongho pushed him to sit down in the middle of the sofa, settling himself on the end against the wall.

She squealed when San lifted her into his arms, following his friends, sitting down with her in his lap. Rora shifted around so that she could see everyone, her back against the arm rest, though San’s arm remained around her. She ignored the tingling in her tummy at the casual displays of strength happening, focusing instead on steadying her now fluttering heartbeat.

Teddy followed with an excited chitter, jumping into Yeosang’s lap and nuzzling right into his fuzzy jacket. Yeosang made a surprised noise, but let his hand stroke down the cat’s back, a tiny smile on his face that she wanted to coo at. She melted back into San’s warmth, arms wrapping around her tummy when it gave a sudden, sharp pull. She didn’t really eat the dinner she made when she got home, tummy too tumultuous and crampy to allow for her to feel hungry, leaving her to push the food around on her plate until she wrapped it up to save for the next day. But she would have to eat something soon so she could take some more ibuprofen.

“What’s in the bags?” she asked, curling further into San’s lap.

“Yunho let slip that you were on your period, and Wooyoung insisted we bring you some reinforcements.”

Rora’s ears perked at that, and she tilted her head. “Reinforcements?”

San snorted behind her, and pulled her closer against him. He set his chin on her shoulder, letting his nose and lips brush lightly against her cheek and jaw. She shivered, enjoying the feeling of his warm breath on her skin. “Woo left before Yunho even finished talking about your visit to the cafe, and came back with all of that, demanding we bring it to you.”

“Why didn’t he bring it himself?” she asked, pulling away from San. He whined, but kept his arms around her middle to support her as she reached for the bags on the table. When she couldn’t drag them over, she pulled the coffee table closer to the sofa to peek inside instead. She was met with a container of soup with a sticky note on the lid, various snacks, and yummy warm beverages. And chocolate. Lots of chocolate. She was so excited, so happy, to see it all that she couldn’t stop the oncoming tears even if she tried.

Rora sniffled, and something cold nudged at her shin. Teddy meowed, forcing his way into her lap. She giggled, sniffled again, accepted the snuggly cat into her arms. “I’m okay, baby,” she murmured, kissing his head.

A hand swept down her hair and a strong arm pulled her into a wide chest. “Why are you crying?” San asked, his chuckle sending the warmest tingles through her.

She sniffled again, wiping at her eyes. Her gaze landed on Yeosang and Jongho, and she blushed, wanting to hide just as much as she didn’t care about them seeing her with her emotions all over the place.

“I’m just really happy,” she murmured, smiling down at the kitty purring away in her lap. “Thank you for coming, and let Youngie know that I appreciate the soup and the snacks.”

“You should thank Jongho, too,” San said in a stage whisper. “He helped Woo pick the snacks.”

“Oh?” Rora asked, ignoring the way his breath tickled her skin to focus on Jongho. She hoped he could read the warmth she was feeling in that moment, hoped he could see it on her face how her heart nearly burst in her chest and her tummy fluttered. Her cheeks warmed, and she smiled softly, tilting her head to the side. “Thank you, bear.”

He shifted in his seat, sending her a smile, but his eyes refused to properly meet hers. Sliding instead to her television, where she had a show paused. “What were you watching?” he asked, clearing his throat.

She smiled, enjoying seeing him act shy for once, but decided to let him change the subject. “I was rewatching a show I watched last year,” she said, digging out one of the snacks before settling back into San again. “I remembered it being super cozy and wanted to see if it could bring me some comfort.”

“Did it?” San asked, hand rubbing lightly down her arm.

“Mhm.” She nodded, humming around a mouthful hazelnut chocolate spread and crunchy breadstick.

“Then let’s watch it, hmm?”

“I think I watched this one with Hwa,” Yeosang piped up.

She blinked in shock, his voice lower than she imagined it would be, the roughness of it softened by a lisp. A small smile, one of endearment that she couldn’t help in the slightest, came to her face as she watched his ears turn red and that shy smile come back.

“What did you think of it?” she asked.

“It was good.” he mumbled, ears darkening further, cheeks dusting with pink.

“Is this the one that made you and Hwa cry?” San asked, sneaking a bite of her snack right after.

Rora pouted at him, but it didn’t stay for long. Especially not when he reached to feed her a bite and immediately followed it up with a quick kiss that made her heart stutter as she chased for another kiss. He groaned, nipped her bottom lip, and she hummed.

Her face flushed, remembering that other people were sitting next to them. That one of those people was new to her. But she found that she didn’t care all that much anymore. In fact, she looked right at both of them, a giddy giggle bubbling up in her throat and her teeth catching her bottom lip to keep it at bay.

San must have given Yeosang a questioning look. He cleared his throat. “Oh, uh, yeah,” he mumbled, scratching at his arm lightly.

“You said this was cozy, darling,” Sannie said. She could hear the pout in his voice as he nuzzled at her cheek.

“It is cozy,” she huffed, crossing her arms across her chest. “But maybe I also needed a good cry.”

San hummed, pressed a kiss to her temple. She relaxed into him, and he tucked his chin over her shoulder. “Wanna keep watching it?”

She nodded enthusiastically then looked at the other two, almost squealing when they both nodded. Her hands clapped together, and she reached for the remote. San’s arms tightened around her middle, stopping her from being able to grab it. With an exaggerated sigh, she pouted at Jongho. “Can you press play?” Rora asked him.

“Of course.” Jongho reached for the remote, and her eyes tracked his every movement as he did so. Watching as the sweater tightens over his shoulders and back, watching the muscles shift to keep his balance. She wanted to hug him, wrap her arms around him and press herself against that strong back. As if he felt her gaze on him or could tell the direction of her thoughts, his eyes slid to her, head tilting, gaze roving over her face.

She swallowed and forced her eyes away from him and to the television as the show started up from where it was paused.

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dawn-iscozy · 9 days ago

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no teaser this week, but the next part IS!! chapter v coming tomorrow (3.29) !!

next chapter of " like a cat in a sunny spot " will not be up this week! this week has been a lot for me and I've decided that i just need a breather, which means not rushing to edit and upload the next chapter when I'm already overwhelmed with life.

thank you to everyone who's been reading my fic! it's still so strange to me that anyone would want to read anything i create, and seeing a little heart pop up in my notifications fills my heart with so much happiness 🥺✨💫💖

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dawn-iscozy · 17 days ago

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#just taking a small break #but i love each one of you #thank you soso much #🥺💖

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dawn-iscozy · 18 days ago

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99% of all murders committed by women in ancient greek plays are completely justified

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dawn-iscozy · 22 days ago

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another beautiful story that would work wonders in the drama industry, actually

and if it stops snowing? then count the stars in the sky

genre: poly doctors!ateez x doctor fem!reader, hospital romance, established relationship, slow burn, fluff, angst

length: 39.7k

c/w: slow burn in reverse, work/life burnout, heavy medical themes (death, cancer) and mentions of medical procedures (medication, needles, chemotherapy, surgery), grief and crying, brief mentions of self-harm (hitting, pinching), mental breakdowns, workplace misogyny and nepotism, profanity, kissing, non-sexual nudity, m x m interactions

synopsis: after transferring during the last year of your residency program, you work alongside your eight boyfriends at kq hospital. it becomes harder to keep your relationship the same as it used to be as you all navigate the respective challenges of being doctors and nurses. you come to experience love and loss in both warmth and coldness, but only one of them will keep your relationship alive.

a/n: please read the tags carefully as this is probably my heaviest fic in terms of the themes and struggles being explored. mandatory shoutout @sorryimananti-romantic for putting up with my snail-pace writing speed the last five months :)

nobody talks about how ironic it feels to work in the hospital during the holidays, particularly christmas.

in any other establishment that is open, be it a restaurant, cafe, retail store or convenience mart, employees are greeted kindly with festive cheer–warm wishes and sincere smiles from one stranger to another. but nobody walks into the hospital on christmas with laughter and gratitude for the assistance of the doctors and nurses, because nobody wants to be at the hospital.

nobody plans to spend the day there, either.

where white embodies the nature of christmas itself–joy, celebration, festivity, snow–it changes the moment you step through the sliding glass doors of the hospital’s entrance. white is the sterile and detached appearance of the tiled floors and coated walls. it is the bedsheets and linen of the ward beds which fall short of mimicking home. it is the authoritative coats of the doctors who are the arbiters between life and death; the very same coat that jongho currently wears over his scrubs.

you are reminded of this dystopian juxtaposition as you and five others gather around your phone from the brightness of the cosy living room in your shared apartment, talking to jongho over facetime while he hides in a storage room for five minutes of respite.

in the background of your video, the fairy lights blink rhythmically on the christmas tree and reflect off the glossy wrappers of the presents placed underneath its bottom branches. behind jongho, there are shelves of medication that you can recognise as the anaesthetics and anticoagulants solely from the colours of their labels, even in the hazy darkness of the storage room.

“you won’t fucking believe the number of grannies i’ve had to explain to today that no, they cannot go home for christmas because they literally just came out of open-heart surgery ten hours ago,” jongho rubs his temples.

yeosang laughs quietly from beside you, amusement poorly concealed behind his hands. you fondly admonish him with a light slap to his thigh but cannot deny the smile that tugs at your lips too.

rushing in for damage control, seonghwa asks, “how’s mingi?”

“tired as fuuuck,” jongho snickers whilst dragging out his words smugly, as if his own eye bags do not reach the middle of his cheeks. the way he lacks the self-control to police his language is also evidence of his utter exhaustion. “last i heard, he was dealing with a couple who had gotten a bauble ornament stuck up the dude’s ass because they wanted to try something ‘festive’ or some shit like that.”

the stories you hear from the emergency department never fail to amaze you with what the human mind can think of doing. it is natural selection at its finest–exhibit a, b, all the way to fucking z. wooyoung gets an absolute kick out of it every single time though, so there is that.

“plain stupidity,” hongjoong rolls his eyes in exasperation. “people need to stop adding to our caseload.”

you chuckle with agreement. “what about yunho? did you get to see him?”

“he’s in surgery,” jongho shakes his head. “not sure what for, but i haven’t heard from him all day so it must be a pretty complicated one.”

the conversation is cut short when his pager goes off. jongho curses, downing the last of his coffee in one large gulp and grimacing from the stale and grainy taste. he crumples the empty paper cup before he apologises, “i have to go. sorry we couldn’t spend christmas together.”

from over the phone, you and your boys refute him with comforting utterances of “don’t be”s, followed by warm exchanges of “merry christmas”s.

“i love you all,” jongho murmurs shyly, the end of a call the only time other than whispered confessions in the safety of a bed where he is comfortable enough to express himself so intimately.

you respond giddily, “love you too,” at the same time your other boyfriends also return the same spoken sentiments. then the youngest ends the call, rushing to attend to an abnormal ECG reading for a patient.

san lets out a sad little sigh as the screen of your phone turns off. his fingers continue to absentmindedly tousle the back of yours and yeosang’s heads whilst wondering, “when will we get to celebrate christmas together? i don’t think all nine of us have ever been free on the same day since we started dating.”

“most of you finish your residency in just over a year, and jongho in two,” seonghwa fondly pinches san’s cheeks, a bittersweet smile adorning his own face, “so maybe the year after that?”

piping up from your other side, wooyoung suggests to the oldest, “or, hear me out–you and hongjoong work while the rest of us stay at home.”

“and do what,” hongjoong narrows his eyes.

“look pretty,” you say in unison with wooyoung, twin grins of mischief flashing at the only registered doctor and clinical nurse specialist in your relationship.

seonghwa laughs endearingly as hongjoong pretends he is not. the rounds of your cheeks settle with warmth when seonghwa leans down to place a sweet kiss against the corner of your mouth in between a teasing, “i wouldn’t mind that.”

it draws out a girlish giggle from you, forever unable to curb the feeling of butterflies in your stomach whenever you are with your boys, even more so with the intoxication of christmas itself–the season of love. wooyoung tilts his cheek out expectantly for his own kiss at the same time hongjoong scruffs the oldest by the neck with a playful chide, “they’re going to actually drop out from the residency program at this rate, hwa.”

but hongjoong is smitten, as you all are for one another, and contrary to his words there is adoration dripping from his gaze…only for it to immediately disappear when wooyoung punches his forearm.

“kiss me, peasant!” wooyoung demands.

“that’s it,” hongjoong snaps and the younger screeches as his neck becomes wrapped in a headlock. in retaliation, wooyoung bites the skin that is within reach, setting off a high-pitched yelp.

yeosang stands up so you take it as your cue to do the same, both of you tucking your chairs under the dining table as san and seonghwa step back from the commotion. you grab your phone then walk away with the three of them to the continued sound of petty slaps and childish bickering.

just another normal day.

“should we sleep in the main bedroom tonight?”

at your suggestion, san wraps his arms around you from behind. his voice rumbles with enthusiasm that you can feel against your back and you sink into his embrace as he agrees, “good idea, love.”

the main bedroom is quite literally a bed room. it consists of numerous platform beds pushed together to make–for lack of better description–an XXXXXXXXL bed. there is nothing else in the room, any and all visible space taken up by the beds as it is the only way to create a surface size comfortable for all nine of you to sleep together.

there are only double or twin beds in the remaining normal bedrooms because frankly, you all need quality sleep for your jobs. between all of your on-call shifts, leaving the house and arriving home at random hours of the day, it is just easier to sleep separately on most nights. plus, despite the fact that you are all earning more than the average salary already, there is still a fuckload of student debt to pay off and mattresses are fucking expensive. hence, you make do with the one room where you splurged your money.

“i’ll let the others know,” yeosang states. he pulls out his phone to send a text to the group chat. mingi and jongho were unlucky enough to have drawn the short end of the stick with a 24-hour shift, and yunho had apparently been placed on surgery. so although it is not the ideal nine of you, you have long learnt to accept that there will almost always be at least two absent at any one time.

seonghwa has already made himself comfortable in the centre of the mattresses when you walk into the bedroom. he lifts the edge of the blanket, arms beckoning for you to cuddle him. you toe off your slippers and crawl into his arms, slotting yourself perfectly against his chest as he tucks you under his chin and covers you with the blanket that is warm from his body heat.

the bed dips again from the weight of somebody else slipping in behind you. he curls around you, a sturdy arm gently cradling your waist with a comforting weight. you can immediately tell that it is san simply from the way his body feels against yours–you would be able to tell any of them apart simply from the way they held you, even if you were to lose your sense of sight.

slowly tracing a finger along the prominent veins on san’s forearm, the bed suddenly rocks with a gleeful shout before the three of you are crushed under an energetic mass. “wooyoung!” you gasp between exasperated fondness and he giggles whilst squirming to make himself space within the cuddle pile.

san moves over so the younger can slot in beside you whilst extending an arm out to his side. it wraps around yeosang to tuck him into the group, and hongjoong settles in last behind seonghwa on the outside edge. there is a bit of further wriggling as you all adjust yourselves comfortably, but eventually your arms and legs twist together snugly. with seonghwa’s fingers languidly combing through your hair, fingertips grazing your scalp with each repetitive motion, you drift off to the boys’ low whispers and enter a dreamy haze of cackling fire and fluttering snow.

it is well into the early hours of the next morning when one of the trio comes home. the soft click of the front door wakes you up, your body used to sleeping lightly from years of on-call shifts. your ears slowly drag you back into the realms of consciousness as you listen.

there is a dull thud and a muffled “ow” that tells you it is yunho, the only one who has somehow made it a habit of his to bump his head on the cabinet every time he bends down to put his sneakers away. as his soft footsteps pad down the hallway, you track his path mentally in your head; to the open dining room to place his messenger bag down on one of the chairs, to the bathroom to wash his face and his hands, then finally to the main bedroom.

to see his lovers.

yunho nudges the door open with bated breath in hopes that he does not wake anybody up. a smile immediately spreads across his face, unable to contain his fondness at the sight that greets him as his eyes adjust to the darkness. within the hands of slumber, you and the boys have slowly spread yourselves out across the mattresses. still, you somehow manage to find each other through the tangle of blankets–seonghwa’s fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist; the tip of wooyoung’s nose nudging your forearm–unwilling to completely separate even in your unconsciousness.

your body dips with the mattress under yunho’s weight when he carefully inches towards you. his sturdy arms hold his frame over your smaller one and you pretend to be asleep just to feel the protective tenderness with which he dips his head slowly to press the softest of kisses against your temple. his warm lips worship your skin with the reverence a butterfly would land upon the prettiest of flowers.

in the magical remnants of an enchanted pre-dawn, yunho whispers bittersweetly, “sorry i’m late, y/n. merry christmas.” then he tucks the blanket more snugly around you, cocooning you in both warmth and love before he pushes himself back off the bed to leave.

as much as he wants to hold you and his boys, yunho has not yet showered. he is exhausted to his very core, unable to bring himself to the arduous task of showering when he can barely keep his eyes open. so he retires himself to one of the other bedrooms instead even though it is the last thing any of you want.

but all of you are used to it. none of you are strangers to coming home in the ghostly hours of night, fighting off debilitating weariness long enough only to check on the others briefly before falling against a mattress away from the clean warmth of somebody's arms.

it is the career and life that you have all chosen. it is just another normal day.

and it is this exact self-sacrificial nature within the medical field that is easily forgotten and overlooked. you and your boys sacrifice your holidays with loved ones to ensure other people get to go back to their loved ones for the holidays. it comes with the price of time, freedom and memories.

but what can also happen is that sometimes…you end up sacrificing the relationships themselves.

for every rapid shuffle you make throughout the house, gathering your things to haphazardly shove into your backpack, mingi trails behind you easily with languid strides of his own.

“i can drive,” you reason half-heartedly as you focus on the stubborn front zipper. “you can be my passenger princess.”

his scandalised look that you would even suggest a thing goes unnoticed even as he protests, “or you be my passenger princess.”

“okay, and how will i get home? your shift doesn’t even end at the same time as mine.” you throw the door of the fridge open to grab your packed lunch, cramming it into the large compartment of your bag.

“yun’s shift does, so he can give you a ride home unless he gets called in for surgery again.”

“and if he does?”

mingi looks at the whiteboard calendar that is mounted on the wall beside him, squinting at the mass of colour-coded letters that are scribbled into the box marking today’s date. “then wait for hwa. his shift ends at five.”

“no,” you roll your eyes good-naturedly, “you know how often he picks up extra hours because he can’t bear to leave his PICU babies. i’ll just take the bus home.”

“no,” mingi mimics you as he holds out your coat for you to shrug on, “the correct answer is to then wait for hongjoong or call one of us. between the eight of your boyfriends, there’ll always be someone who is just ending their shift or is free to pick you up.”

you look up from your shoes to level him with a blank stare, “you know that isn’t feasible every single day, right?” despite your words, you do nothing to stop him from stealing your car keys out of your pocket.

mingi’s doggedness–all of their doggedness–in ensuring one of them will always be accompanying you to and from work is endearing, but the truth is that it is not feasible. there is a reason why you had been commuting by yourself the last three years of your residency, and along with the fact that the nine of you have different shifts that change each week, the logistics of it all will drive you insane, if not them.

“that’s besides the point. it’s your first day of work today so i’m doing my baby a favour,” mingi coos teasingly, pinching your cheeks because he knows it gets a rise out of you.

you swat his hands away with a grunt, jabbing his side for good measure in retaliation to his smug grin. “you talk as if we aren’t both fourth-year residents. and it’s not a favour if you have to go there anyway since, you know, we work at the same hospital.”

“it’s your first day at this hospital, so technically you’re still fresh meat,” mingi argues as he pulls the front door open. while you lock it behind you–everybody else already at the hospital–he continues, “plus, my shift doesn’t start until tonight so i’m sacrificing my sleep for you.”

you give him a little curtsy with exaggerated gratitude then hurry after him when he swivels on his heel, head held high like a noble king with you as his court lady. except, the roles reverse the moment you reach the car and he opens the passenger door for you with a bow.

“m’lady,” he beckons inside.

you snort but settle yourself into the seat, patiently waiting for mingi to get in from the other side of the car. as he starts the fifteen-minute drive to the hospital, you suddenly look at him with suspicious clarity, head now clearing enough to wonder why the most rational of your boyfriends is being irrational.

“you’re trying to get on my good side for something, aren’t you? did you spill coffee on seonghwa’s scrubs again?” you narrow your eyes at him.

“what?” mingi’s head whips towards you before he looks back at the road, chuckling nervously. “no? of course not. why would you think that?”

at your lack of response, he crumbles with a confession. “it was hongjoong’s idea! he said i should drop you off so i can size up whoever might try and chat you up on your first day.”

“god, you’re all hopeless,” you burst out into laughter.

prior to today, you and the boys had discussed how public you were all going to be at the hospital about your relationship. it had been decided that you would not deny it if questions arose, but at the same time, you were not going to go out of your way to make your relationship with one another general knowledge.

not everybody is going to be accepting of your polyamorous dynamic and neither do you need people questioning whether you successfully transferred into the residency program at this hospital through…favours. because despite the fact that it is the twenty-first century, it remains the harsh reality that the doctoral field is still predominantly male-oriented, with females automatically assumed to be the nurses–lesser in hierarchy, knowledge and skill.

a rumour as such might not affect the boys but it would be enough to tarnish your career.

as mingi pulls into the underground parking lot for employees, you rest a hand on his forearm to stop him from turning off the ignition. “mingi, i’ll be fine,” you reassure. “go home and get some sleep.”

“but hongjoong–”

“–will just have to stop being a big baby. we’re in our mid-twenties,” you chuckle, “not fresh eighteen-year-olds discovering the opposite gender for the first time. everyone’s going to be too busy on their first day to care about flirting.”

you lean over the console of the car and mingi relaxes easily under your hand that caresses his jawline. he melts once you press a soft kiss against his cheek, conceding, “alright.”

“i’ll see you at home before your shift.”

he nods and watches as you get out of the car. from out of the open window, he gives you a cute little wave, waiting for you to walk through the sliding doors before he leaves. you walk to the elevator doors to press the up arrow, fidgeting with your scrubs and hair with nervous restlessness until the sounding of a soft ding followed by the low groan of parting doors. you take a deep breath, then you walk in.

into kq hospital.

boasting over one hundred different core and specialised departments and home to some of the few fields in advanced medicine, kq hospital is the largest and most renowned hospital in seoul. your years of clinical experience in other hospitals and past visits to your boys during their shifts provide you with a sense of familiarity with the place, but it is still easy to feel overwhelmed by its formidable size and bustling urgency.

seeing the fresh interns and second-year residents gathered in the auditorium as you join them for the morning orientation reminds you of your own four years ago. never did you think you would have to undergo orientation again during your residency, yet here you are, having transferred to kq hospital in your final year for the clinical exposure and opportunities in career advancement that it has to offer.

you sit towards the back of the auditorium, a few seats away from a girl who has the nerves of an intern. you give her a polite smile then face the front, not exactly ready to make small talk unless you have to. yunho always jokes that as an introvert you really picked the wrong job–you have no defence as you pull out your phone and pretend to be occupied.

somebody slides into the seat next to yours a few minutes later. however, your saving grace comes in the form of several people walking across the front of the stage, so you do not have to do much more than dip your head in courteous greeting before everybody settles into silence.

a woman in thin-rimmed glasses steps up to the podium. “welcome, interns and residents. my name is doctor heo and i’m the program director of the paediatric residency program here at kq hospital.”

the hours of the morning quickly blur together into a multitude of faces, names and information. you and a few of the other senior residents had only been required to attend half of the general welcome talk, your orientation much faster and tailored to your pre-existing experience. by the time you have gone through the policies, patient populations and workflows of the paediatric department, your head is reeling to digest it all.

only at twelve do you converge with the interns again, this time at the cafeteria. there is a generous spread of catering of finger food and drinks before the joint lunch you will have with the other faculty members from your department.

“this will be a good opportunity for all of you to meet the residents, doctors, nurses and department heads. get to know your colleagues because they will be the ones you are learning from,” dr. heo advises.

your ears perk up, wondering whether you will be able to see some of your boyfriends. san is already a fourth-year resident in the paediatric department, wooyoung one of the nurses, and even though seonghwa works mainly in the paediatric ICU, his position as a clinical nurse specialist likely makes him important enough to at least show his face.

everybody starts to make their way over to the tables to fill their plates as they mingle and chat amongst one another. you have always had a sensitive stomach that often disagrees with food–the very reason why wooyoung makes your lunch most days, which currently still sits inside your bag–but you do not want to appear ungrateful or picky. so you head to the drinks to at least keep your hands filled.

just as you grab a small glass of orange juice, a voice startles you. “it’s you! hi.”

you turn to find a man maybe a few years younger than you with a bright smile on his face. “hi?” you hesitantly answer, unsure why he is acting so familiar with you.

he frowns slightly, “you don’t remember me?”

you could honestly give less than a flying fuck who he is, but you suppose the whole point of this break is to give those fucks, so you apologise instead, “sorry, i’m not great with faces.”

“i sat next to you during orientation this morning,” he laughs like you have just cracked the funniest joke. he extends his hand out for a handshake, “i’m doctor baek, but you can call me cheolmin.”

“nice to meet you, doctor baek,” you return the handshake, setting your boundaries with your response. “doctor l/n.”

he quirks a brow amusedly. unprompted, he reveals, “my sister’s boyfriend’s aunt’s friend knows the director of this hospital,” as if he thinks you would be impressed. you are willing to bet the seventy-two dollars in your savings account that the director of the hospital does not have a clue who this dr. baek is.

as you struggle to come up with a professional response that is not a sarcastic ‘cool’, you suddenly make eye contact with somebody from over his shoulder. they are looking at you with nonchalant amusement, lips tugged up smugly and their hands in the pockets of their coat.

you hurry to wrap up the conversation and make a move to step around dr. baek. “that’s great, nice to meet you. i’m going to go and introduce myself to–”

“are you doing anything after work today?” he cuts you off, stepping slightly in front of you. “it would be nice for us to get to know each other better, considering we’ll be colleagues from now on.”

“uh…” you trail off, distracted when you make eye contact again with the person and they cock their eyebrow, asking for your permission to play knight. you give the subtlest of nods before dr. baek adjusts himself into your line of vision.

“doctor l/n, don’t play hard to g–”

“y/n,” the dependable voice of hongjoong interrupts dr. baek. your expression relaxes into a smile as your boyfriend sidles up to you, presence steadfast and unwavering. “i didn’t catch you this morning–how are you getting home?”

dr. baek’s eyes narrow even further at the implication of hongjoong’s question than when he realises you two are on first-name basis.

“mingi dropped me off so i can’t drive,” you shrug.

“i finish at five-thirty. i’ll take you home,” hongjoong says, absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair out of your eyes. “make sure to put on your jacket while you wait for me. it’s meant to snow later so it’ll be cold.”

you laugh softly at his attentiveness, “okay, hongjoong.”

unable to watch any longer, dr. baek pivots on his heel and stalks away. your boyfriend cannot resist pulling you closer by the sleeve of your scrubs as he haughtily huffs, “i knew people would hit on you.”

“is that why you told mingi to take me to work today?” you tease. hongjoong is also from the neurology department–definitely not meant to be here right now–but you will save that ammunition for another time.

“oh, look,” hongjoong pretends not to hear you as he ushers you away from the tables. “san and wooyoung are over there. let’s go and talk to people who actually matter.”

the laugh you let out this time is unrestrained, letting yourself be led through the interspersed groups of people towards your other boyfriends–the only people who actually matter. san and wooyoung’s faces break out into the most tender of smiles the moment they lay their eyes upon you and hongjoong, and the remaining nerves and tension in your body completely melt away when you feel their subtle embraces around you.

it may be winter and the road ahead to acclimatise with your new job may be demanding, but you know that you will be shielded from the cold of the world by the warmth that your boys will always bring to you.

“patient history and current status?”

selecting the seventh floor, you press the close button to the elevator doors once your team of four have settled inside. you turn back slightly to look at your interns in wait for a response to your question.

dr. son glances at dr. yang before answering, “the patient is kim seolhee, currently six years and three months old. she was initially diagnosed with T-cell acute lymphoblastic leukaemia at two years, eight months. she was admitted into hospital one month ago due to a relapse and is currently undergoing re-induction therapy. she received a chemotherapy dose this morning, so we are monitoring for any potential side effects from the treatment.”

“and how is she responding to the treatment?” you probe.

“slow response–the leukaemia cells are not clearing as expected so second-line chemotherapy is likely to be recommended.”

you nod at the information as the elevator doors open to the paediatric oncology ward. walking out, you ask, “why is the patient not responding to first-line treatment?”

the following silence permeates with flusteredness that shows neither intern has considered this question. “doctor lee?” you cue instead.

the junior resident takes over with ease. “seolhee’s initial treatment when she was first diagnosed required aggressive chemotherapy due to resistant leukaemia. treatment lasted for two and a half years and she achieved remission at five years, four months. however, she relapsed one month ago due to minimal residual disease in the bone marrow.

“from her history, we know that her leukaemia was resistant to initial treatment and there is the persistence of residual cancer cells at the time of relapse. plus, her diagnosis is T-cell, not B-cell, which tends to present with greater quantities of leukaemia cells and thus requires more intensive therapy. all of these risk factors combined makes it difficult for remission to be achieved through first-line re-induction therapy.”

“well done, doctor lee,” you acknowledge as he beams, “all of that and the fact that her relapse is early–merely nine months after remission–correlates to a higher likelihood of treatment resistance.” you address your interns, “it is easy to focus on the patient’s immediate presentation, but it is just as important–if not more–to look at it in the context of their prior admissions and treatment responses. that was a good attempt though, doctor yang.” reaching the door to the room you are about to enter, you quickly wrap up the conversation and head in.

seolhee looks at you curiously, a new face being one of the only interesting things that change up her repetitive days in the hospital. her sickly pallor and sunken cheeks are a morbid juxtaposition against her rounded eyes and braided pigtails. as you walk closer, you can see that her hair has been plaited loosely with care so as not to strain her already-thinning hair.

you lower yourself to the side of her bed with a bright smile as you compliment, “i love your hair! who did it for you?”

immediately, she beams, any prior apprehension clearing as she tells you, “my favourite nurse! he's been braiding my hair for years!”

“has he now?” you gaze at her fondly as she happily shows you the ribbons tied to the ends too.

“are you talking about me?”

seolhee’s eyes instantly light up in response to the voice that enters the room. she exclaims, “nurse hwa!”

“hello, my snowflake.”

you turn just in time to see seonghwa walking in with endearment enveloping his entire face. you let out a small chuckle, your own eyes melting with honey at the sight of him. of course he would be the favourite nurse.

when seolhee questions why he is making his rounds earlier than usual, he leans in conspiratorially, yet in a whisper loud enough for you to hear, “a little birdie told me that your new doctor is very pretty, so i had to come see for myself.”

he winks at you and you shake your head with an exasperated smile. so much for keeping lowkey and professional. clearing your throat, you play along, “ah, are you the favourite nurse who braided her hair, nurse hwa?” you find it absolutely hilarious that six-year-olds are using the same pet name that you use for your boyfriend.

seonghwa nods, “my girlfriend taught me.”

“she must be quite the amazing girlfriend, then,” you joke.

“she is,” he smiles, gazing softly at you.

for a six-year-old, seolhee is frighteningly perceptive as she looks back and forth between the two of you before blurting out, “is she the pretty girlfriend you always talk about?”

you fluster with a bright blush that you try to conceal behind a cough, only to make eye contact with dr. son and dr. lee giving you the most delightful shit-eating grins on their faces from beside you. seonghwa simply laughs, brightly and joyfully like the festive chime of bells. his affirmative nod in response is just as childishly proud as the one adorning seolhee’s face at having guessed correctly. she decides right there and then that you are her favourite doctor, because you are pretty.

“let me give you something,” she beckons with a small wave, little fingers calling for you to look closely.

seolhee pulls a little booklet out of the bedside table’s top drawer. the cover and edges are well-loved and from the way the top of the little booklet is nearly falling apart, you can tell that she has used it often. she flicks through the empty pages one by one until she finds what she is looking for. fiddling for a few more seconds, she holds out her hand to present you with–

“a sticker?” you ask.

“for doing a good job,” she giggles.

you take the circular sticker from her extended fingers. when you look down, you realise it is a little snowflake with a smiley face on it. the corners of your own mouth tug upwards involuntarily and your cheeks round out until they start to feel sore. never did you think a mere sticker would bring you such glee as an adult, but you are going to wear it proudly.

you tug the breast pocket of your scrubs outwards so that you can stick it onto your name badge, right next to the small twinkling star that is the signature additional design on all of the paediatric departments’ name badges. at your response, seolhee beams with pride.

“where’s mine?” seonghwa childishly quips.

“you haven’t done anything yet,” seolhee wags her little finger at him as he swallows the urge to retort that neither have you. “have you drawn my blood yet? inserted an eye-vee line or a…pick line?”

“no,” he chortles in defeat, “no IV or PICC lines today. maybe a blood test later.”

“so no sticker for you,” she reprimands him rightfully.

the conversation draws a laugh out of you, yet leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. a child like seolhee should be talking about the colour of her doll’s dress and the name of her plush teddy, not medical procedures that draw her line between life and death.

seonghwa eyes your sticker mischievously. “i might have to steal her sticker then.”

seolhee glares at him like a ferocious kitten, easily deciding that you are now her favourite out of all the doctors and nurses. “don’t you dare,” she pouts before turning to you with full solemnity and seriousness to pledge, “if he steals it, come back and i’ll give you another one.”

you send him a smug wink and seonghwa finally concedes, arms raised in mock surrender. “i’ll go back to my morning rounds then. see you later, snowflake,” he gives her a wave before bidding you goodbye with playful professionalism, “see you later, doctor l/n.”

on his way out, seonghwa exchanges brief but warm pleasantries with a middle-aged woman who is simultaneously entering the room. it is easy to presume that she is seolhee’s visitor, considering she is not wearing scrubs. just as you are about to introduce yourself, the woman's eyes skim right past yours to land on the taller of the interns behind you.

"hi, you must be seolhee's new doctor," she greets. "i'm her mother."

dr. yang shifts uncomfortably on his feet and glances at you, unsure how to correct the older woman that whilst he is a doctor, he is not the most senior one. with grace, you extend a warm hand out with an even warmer smile.

"lovely to meet you, mrs kim. i'm doctor l/n, and this is my intern, doctor yang," you introduce, before gesturing behind to your left. "this is my other intern, doctor son, and this is doctor lee, my second-year resident."

seolhee's mother rushes to shake your hand as she trails off, "sorry, i assumed he was the doctor because..."

"i know, i get that often. don't worry about it," you pat her hand placatingly.

she responds, "well, it's going to be nice having a female face around."

from the flush on her face and the overcompensatory laugh that leaves her lips, you know she does not mean it as much as she is trying to cover up her embarrassment. the woman before you is not the first person to have dismissed you as a nurse or an intern solely based on your gender, and she will definitely not be the last. so you pretend not to notice, redirecting with a laugh of your own and the question, “how has seolhee been feeling since her dose this morning?”

mrs kim easily jumps on the change in conversation and the attention shifts to the little girl in bed. you listen intently to any side effects of concern, long having learnt to ignore the layered feelings of fatigue, frustration and disappointment in your chest whenever somebody undermines your capabilities, even if it is never ill-intentioned.

because as with any job, there are sacrifices to be made, and putting other people’s comfort before your own is just one of the many.

you do not want to jinx it, but you think that you may not mind night shifts after all.

“what are you thinking about?”

yeosang fills your entire vision, his brown orbs blinking at you curiously with a mellow dusting of blossom pink speckled across his cheeks from your close proximity. you have often been pulled away into a hidden corner or spare room somewhere within the labyrinth of the hospital by one of your boyfriends for a few minutes of company, but this is the first time yeosang has initiated it. his shy nature is endearing though, and it is a much-needed break during your second consecutive night shift.

you tease, "it's a secret," before pressing an innocent kiss against the corner of his lips right where it quirks up bashfully whenever he is around you. yeosang carefully rests his hands on the dips of your hips and brings you in a little closer towards him as you ask, "what about you? what's on your mind?"

“wondering how long we can stay in this storage room for before one of us gets paged.”

his answer stuns you for a second but then you both break out into giggles at the absurdity of his answer. “jongho has rubbed off on you too much," you adoringly flick the bottom of his chin with the tip of your finger. not many people know, but yeosang is just as bad of an influence as all your other boyfriends when he wants to be.

"we could try," he suggests with a grin. "none of my team was rostered on for a night shift with me."

your laugh easily fills the small space, "neither was my team."

“so nobody would come looking for us, unless–”

a discrete tap sounds against the door from right next to where you and yeosang are pressed up against one another. you both fall silent and motionless, pupils wide and breaths held, hoping you have either misheard or whoever is outside will leave soon. but then you hear another tap and it does not stop. the tapping is incessant, obviously trying to gain the attention of you two. yeosang ducks down as you raise the blinds of the small window on the door and you peer out to find–

–fucking wooyoung squashed right up against the glass pane with a cheshire grin. you finish yeosang’s sentence for him, “unless one of our boyfriends do.”

wooyoung perks up immediately at the word 'boyfriends' as if that is his cue. "hi," he announces, "are you guys making out? i heard yeosang."

you sputter while yeosang pops up beside you with a horrified expression at the younger’s uncouth question. said person beams cheekily, “can i join?”

wooyoung’s breath fogs up the glass with every word he says but he is unfazed. your boyfriend simply rubs the glass with the sleeve of his coat, presses his face up against the window again and continues to look at you both with a dazzling, expectant smile. when neither of you respond, he winks for good measure.

wooyoung flinches and shrieks when you tap the glass right between his eyes. he jerks back enough for you to push the door open and step out through the gap with mirth bubbling in your chest. you playfully drag your fingers across his chest, then tease with faux coyness, “break time is over, sorry.”

the indignant whine you receive in response is more than enough for the amusement to spill out of your chest as you walk away. you will make it up to him with triple the amount of kisses once both of you are home. for now, you walk back to your department, pleased that yeosang’s oncology ward is not far from yours.

even during the late hours of a night shift, the hospital is never completely quiet. the rhythmic sounds of beeping machines interspersed by footsteps and closing doors follow you down the corridors of the paediatric ward. what truly sobers you out of the lighthearted moment you just had, though, are the occasional whimpers; of discomfort, of pain, of nightmares.

you enter seolhee’s room alone–your interns and junior resident scheduled only for the day shift–to find the little girl also by herself. her parents must have decided to go home, having already spent countless consecutive nights by her side since she commenced second-line chemotherapy last week.

seolhee received a dose of nelarabine just this morning so you need to keep a close eye on her. a quick flick through the chart on her rolling cart shows that the nurse on night shift had taken her vitals just two hours ago with no abnormalities.

“doctor snowflake?”

you startle at the quiet murmur. turning to look at the bed, seolhee is looking at you with slow, blinking eyes and a tiny smile. your own eyes soften as you lower yourself down towards her, “why are you still awake?”

“couldn’t sleep,” she mutters.

you scan her face with concern, “are you feeling pain anywhere? feeling sick?”

seolhee shakes her head in reassurance. then in a small voice, she answers, “just lonely.”

the tension in your shoulders releases only slightly. the little girl before you may be feeling all right physically…but at what cost? your chest tightens with humbling clarity–you may sacrifice a lot as a doctor, but your patients sacrifice so much more. neither is it a choice for them.

it is a relatively quiet night; you can spend time with her. and even if you did not have time, you can make time for her.

you pull a chair closer to sit down, gesturing for her consent to lift up her blankets to check her skin for signs of bruising or infection. she nods and you ask, “why doctor snowflake?” to keep her mind occupied.

seolhee glances at your name badge. “because you still have the snowflake sticker and snowflakes are pretty, just like you.”

the line insertion site on her chest is free of discharge and irritation and you fix the front of her hospital gown. “that must also be why nurse hwa calls you a snowflake,” you fondly tap the tip of her nose as she giggles.

“my name means snow,” she tells you proudly. “my parents named me seolhee because i was born on the first day of snow.”

“they named you well, seolhee. you really are a special gift, a precious snowflake.” in the muffled quiet of the hospital ward, you let go of your professionalism for a brief moment to make a hushed promise, “one day, you will be able to join all the other snowflakes outside–free to flutter and land wherever you want.”

not confined to the hospital nor your sickness.

seolhee returns a promise of her own, “and when i’m all better, i’ll come back to visit you.” she beckons for you to lean in before she whispers into your ear, “because you’re my favourite.”

you are technically not meant to play favourites, but it is hard when she is far ahead of the others in the unofficial competition. so you whisper back scandalously, like two teenage girl friends gossiping together, not a doctor with her patient in hospital, “you’re my favourite, too.”

the pager in your pocket goes off and seolhee’s face falls with disappointment. one of her hands involuntarily reaches out in your direction, seeking comfort and companionship in a place where people succumb to grief and isolation every day.

seolhee is only a child. she should be sleeping in her own bed at home, the faint glow from her phosphorescent star stickers across her bedroom ceiling guiding her into whimsical dreams. instead, it is the washed out moonlight filtering through the drawn curtains in her hospital room, shadows of snowfall outside drifting gently across her face, that surrounds seolhee’s fragile body in a romanticised nightmare.

“how about this,” you suggest, “if you go to sleep now, i’ll come again tomorrow night and i’ll tell you the story of how nurse hwa and i met.”

her eyes light up. “you promise?”

christmas has passed, but it does not mean that the season of miracles has to come to an end with it. you nod, “i promise.”

this time, when you make a move to stand up, seolhee does not reach out for you. she does not need you to stay; she has your gift of a promise to hold onto instead.

“goodnight, my little snowflake,” you tuck her blanket around her shoulders. affectionately, you brush her thinning hair off her forehead, “love you.”

you almost miss her sleepy response, a mumbled sentence just as you reach the threshold of the door to her room–words from a little girl whose heart is too big for the world to ever truly contain.

“i love you more than there are snowflakes falling outside.”

like the heavy snowfall that comes with the arrival of mid-winter, work quickly starts to pile upon itself into layers that do not melt away easily.

you are not the only one nearly thigh-deep in the snow. besides yourself, yunho, yeosang and san are also residents in your final year juggling demanding caseloads and increasing responsibilities as the seniors. hongjoong has been slaving away in preparation for the annual meeting of the korean neurological association, and seonghwa has recently been tasked with revising the departmental policies and procedures for sepsis protocols.

all of that on top of the nine of you studying for specialty board exams, pouring over journal articles to stay up to date and partaking in research projects, it almost becomes a game of never-ending tag in the house with the small increments of time that are lucky enough to overlap with somebody else.

unable to see one another as often, much less spend time together, you and the boys have to make do whenever you can, wherever you can, however you can. it comes in varying forms; a shared smile in brief passing through the wards, an extra chocolate in your packed lunch, a quick reminder to wrap your scarf snugly.

this morning, it comes in the form of an inconspicuous-looking disposable cup waiting for you in your assigned cubby. you almost miss it and knock it over with the bag you hastily push into the space, but the stark contrast of a black scribble against the whiteness of the cup’s surface catches your eye right before you give your bag a final shove.

it is a cup of takeaway coffee from the cafe downstairs–the one you never buy coffee from because the wait for your order can take up to ten minutes, and that is ten minutes of time every single day that you cannot afford to give up. but for you, there is someone willing to sacrifice those ten minutes of their day.

your eyes soften and eyebrows upturn as you immediately deduce who the coffee is from. if the coffee itself is not a dead giveaway, then the cute, artistic doodle of rudolph surrounded by little hearts around his antlers and the accompanying phrase, ‘you’re my rein-dear’, is.

jongho.

for a brief moment of respite from the unceasing rapidity of the hospital, you are warmed from your very core all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes by your boyfriend’s gesture. one hand starts to reach for your phone to send a text of appreciation when the call of your name jerks you out of the comfort you had been encased in. the cup is set down without finding its sweet home against a pair of lips.

“doctor nam is looking for you.”

you wince. dr. nam, the head of the paediatric department, has never really seemed to take a fancy to you for some reason. you are quite certain you have not done anything to provoke his unwarranted scrutiny, but apparently you can never be too sure.

as you hurry to dr. nam’s office, your legs work on autopilot through the corridors and doorways. your mind bombards itself with a barrage of thoughts, guessing what the meeting may be for, estimating how long it might take, and calculating how far behind you will fall with the onslaught of other tasks you are meant to complete before you are joined by your juniors for your morning rounds.

you do not have time for this, and you most certainly do not have time to–

“–take on an extra intern?”

your eyes blink themselves into a carefully schooled expression of neutrality despite the voiced incredulity in the question you have just asked. dr. nam has summoned you to his office to notify you of an additional intern commencing in the paediatric department and you are to be their assigned senior. what a fucking splendid way to start the day.

it is completely normal for a senior resident to have four juniors to teach, but interns have less experience and confidence, requiring significantly more time and effort–time and effort that you do not know if you have. the thought of another intern in addition to your existing two and second-year resident is enough to make you want to enter hibernation for the rest of your life.

what you also know though is that dr. yoon, another fourth-year resident, only has two juniors under him–both second-years at that. respectfully yet firmly, you bring up such and suggest, “it may be in the best interest of all parties for doctor yoon or somebody else, even doctor ha, to take on the new intern. this can ensure all of our junior doctors are receiving as much one-on-one support and guidance as possible.”

the department head raises an eyebrow, eyes dull and mouth pressed together thinly as he stares back at you dryly. “both doctor yoon and doctor ha are promising candidates to become chief residents. they do not have time to spare to teach interns.”

‘promising candidates’. you are not saying that that is bullshit…but that is bullshit. this is the first time anybody has praised them as such and the only thing that would make them both supposedly more qualified than all the other senior residents is their direct acquaintance with dr. nam himself.

fuck nepotism.

gritting your teeth and taking a deep but restrained breath in what you know is just a losing fight, you yield, “when does the intern start?”

the right corner of dr. nam’s lips raises smugly as he answers, “today. doctor lim will be waiting for you in the resident lounge near my office. orientate him to the department.”

and down the drain goes all thoughts of ending on time tonight. when you stalk over stiffly to the lounge, dr. lim is leaning against the edge of a desk, legs extended and crossed at the ankles in front of him not dissimilar to how his arms are over his chest. one foot taps disinterestedly as he waits. you have a bad feeling you already know what kind of intern he is going to be.

“doctor lim,” you call out.

“you’re doctor l/n?” the intern looks at you snobbishly, very obviously sizing you up and down.

“yes.”

dr. lim takes a lazy glance at the clock on the wall. “you’re kinda late.”

and you’re kinda a fucking asshole, you want to retort. but you have not survived this long without learning how to reel in the burst of flames that erupts inside your chest, so instead you look at him placatingly. “you were not originally part of my planned day. doctor nam asked for a very last minute favour.”

not so much a favour as an outright demand, but he does not need to know.

“i’ll show you around the hospital before our morning rounds,” you state. at his audible sigh whilst pushing himself heavily off the table, you cannot help but get at least one jab in, “an inconvenience for the both of us, but do bear with me.”

after a sarcastic smile, you turn around without waiting to see if he follows. the first place you take him to is where all the personal lockers and cubbies are just to retrieve your forgotten coffee and take a long sip. it spites him as desired, a nose wrinkled in your direction. nevermind the fact that it has long cooled to room temperature–your coffee has never tasted sweeter.

the rest of your day, unfortunately, runs in bitter discord. straight after dr. lim’s orientation, you run yourself dry with morning rounds, acute care and consultations with other paediatric departments, all the while trying to catch dr. lim up to the expected competency for interns. the end of the day does not appear to get any closer within reach and yet, you have no idea where all your time is going.

you end up throwing in the towel exactly seven hours and twenty-three minutes into your shift, when you are trying to teach the very basics of the hospital’s electronic medical record system for the umpteenth time. there are only so many ways you can explain the five steps required to start drafting a progress note for a patient–the very five steps that do not change. if you have to repeat yourself one more fucking time you are going to shoot somebody, doctor’s oath or not, and that somebody has a last name that starts with ‘l’ and rhymes with ‘dim’.

dr. son and dr. yang are sent as the scapegoats to teach the new intern how to navigate the system. with all three of your interns now occupied, you also send dr. lee off to adjust the medication for a few of the patients whose daily lab results had come back this morning with minor fluctuations in numbers.

your body almost crashes the moment your juniors disperse and only then do you tune in to your senses. contrary to the grumbling cavern in your stomach, there is a heavy pressure in your bladder and parchedness in your throat. jongho’s coffee was the last of anything you had consumed today–the lunch wooyoung had packed for you remains untouched in your bag–and you have been unable to step away even briefly to use the bathroom. trudging heavily through the paediatric oncology ward, the one thing that keeps you upright on your feet is that you are not scheduled for an on-call shift tonight.

“y/n.”

the sweet and low timbre of the voice that sounds from ahead of you immediately turns the one into two things. it takes the remainder of your willpower not to bury yourself straight into san’s arms as he gives you a cute dimpled smile.

your eyes reflect the sparkle of happiness in his once you are close enough, neither of you having planned to run into one another. san is currently in his paediatric haematology rotation and whilst your departments are closely related, it is not very often that your caseloads align for patient consultation directly between the two of you.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, unable to hide the pleasant surprise in your words.

san steps in a little, naturally inclined to be physically close to you and answers, “going to check up on seolhee. have you gotten around to seeing her today?”

seolhee was one of the patients you were planning on fitting into your day. one of the nurses had documented nausea and reduced appetite at lunch time, so you were going to review her current antiemetic regimen and decide if it needed adjusting. but then she had ultimately been pushed back as a medium priority on your list with everything else you had to complete first.

when you shake your head, san proposes, “want to join me then?”

your lips quirk upwards at his suggestion. it is sort of piteous that your time walking together through the ward to see a shared patient is the closest to a date you have had with san in the last few weeks. but as he gives you a playful nudge to your side and you back to him like you are strolling along the snowy streets instead of sterile corridors, you are grateful for at least these short moments of interaction.

seolhee’s voice is spirited when she greets you despite the increasingly dark shadows silhouetting her face. you smile, “hi, snowflake. i brought a friend with me this time.”

when san’s gaze is not focused on you, he looks at the little girl with the same softness and deep affection; you like his moon, his patients like his stars. you are unable to imagine san ever working in a career that does not involve children.

“i’m doctor choi,” he introduces himself gently. “i heard you’ve been feeling a bit tired and didn’t really eat lunch today, so i’m here to see what i can do to help you feel better.”

as you bend down slightly to adjust the corner of seolhee’s blanket, san steps behind you to reach for her chart. he unconsciously places his left hand on the nape of your neck and tenderly squeezes out of loving habit. immediately, san feels the tight knots under his fingertips that only surface whenever you are stressed or overworked.

his eyebrows furrow and he dips his head down slightly to softly murmur, “hey, rough day today?”

“just a little,” you admit, looking upwards whilst placing your own hand atop his in reassurance. “don’t worry.”

there is a giggle to the side. seolhee’s eyes flicker back and forth between the two of you before she cryptically asks, “doctor choi, do you know who nurse hwa is?”

“i do…” san answers, puzzled by the random question.

seolhee looks at you and giggles again with a very directed comment, “i see.”

you have said this before and you will say this again: seolhee is frighteningly perceptive. if she were two decades older, you just know she would be that friend of yours who you are unable to hide any secrets from. leaning in, you whisper, “there are six more of us.”

her eyes widen with curiosity. “do i know any of them?”

of the remaining boys, wooyoung is the only other one who is specialising in paediatrics and likely to have come across seolhee before. “nurse wooyoung,” you divulge.

she sinks back into her pillow at the revelation and nods approvingly as if she is your mother. “good choices,” she supports, san letting out a bright laugh from beside you now having caught on to what the conversation is about.

the rest of the bedside evaluation continues as such. seolhee badgers you both with questions about the rest of your boyfriends–which department they are in, what their names are and most importantly, what they look like so she can keep an eye out for them.

you indulge her with answers, far longer than you should, but it is an easy decision when it comes to anything involving your favourite patient and your boyfriends. you have long learnt that any amount of time that you give to somebody else even at your own expense will always be worth lifetimes more to them than the luxury of a punctual meal or longer shower that you would gain from the time instead.

so when your shift for the day ends and you still have not completed all of your work, you end up staying overtime and it is only then, during the evening, that you are finally able to sit. your stomach no longer growls, body running solely on cortisol, the caffeine from jongho’s coffee having long depleted. you turn on your hospital-issued tablet and pull out a stack of jotted notes. with mid-rotation feedback for your juniors in two days, you have their paperwork to complete before you can even start to scrape away at your actual paperwork.

you do not realise how stiff your neck and shoulders have become from hunching over for a prolonged period until there is a knock at the door of the resident lounge and a timid, “um, doctor l/n?”

“yes?” a soft wince escapes your lips when the movement from looking up sends a brief stab of pain down your back.

the intern standing at the doorway comes scurrying in. “i’m here to give you the report on the pathology results.”

“pathology results?” you repeat, mind blank of patients who had needed a biopsy or tumour excision.

“from doctor jeong? from general surgery?” the intern’s voice trails off, face blanching at the creeping possibility that he has found the wrong resident.

“doctor j–oh,” you suppress the sudden tug at the corners of your lips to reassure, “yes, my apologies, i forgot. thank you.”

you have certainly not forgotten about an entire pathology report you have requested–this is simply yunho being your boyfriend. waiting until the intern has scurried off, you flick the clipboard open to find exactly what you had been expecting: anything but a report.

there is a sole sticky note, neon green, that grins right up at you with another of yunho's scrawled jokes. 'are you a snowman? cause i wanna stick my carrot into your mou–'

the clipboard slams shut with a resounding clap in the emptiness of the lounge. back ramrod straight, your eyes dart around scandalously even though you are the only person in the room to witness the contents of the flirtatious message.

"oh my fucking god," you guffaw. "jeong yunho!"

(from somewhere within the general surgery department three floors down, somebody lets out a delighted giggle of glee at the thought of a certain message having been received.)

your laugh eventually fades out with a poignant sigh as you peel the sticky note off the clipboard and stare at it in your hands. the start of this year has already been the toughest year in your residency thus far and it is no easy feat for nine people in the same or similar situation to balance a romantic relationship simultaneously.

you must give, and give, and give, but like you have experienced today, you also receive. it is never anything huge; a coffee, some food, a note, a conversation. yet for now, that is enough to keep moving forward even if your feet are buried deep under the snow.

however, you will soon come to realise that the issue does not lie in whether you are receiving enough or not, but in the fact that you can unknowingly give away too much of yourself without even realising.

you give the little boy and his family who are in front of you a smile that conveys both appreciation and apologeticness. if you were in their position, surrounded by inexperienced interns learning to properly insert a central line, you would be on edge too.

dr. yang and dr. son stand off to the side, hands clasped together in front of themselves with concealed nervousness for dr. lim. said man is anything but nervous, when really, he is the only intern who should be nervous out of the three of them. ever since he started, dr. lim has consistently performed with a shocking lack of care and willingness to learn. but you had learnt the hard way the first time you tried to bring up this issue that dr. lim is not somebody you can touch because of his connections, so you have no choice but to tolerate his incompetence.

you beckon for dr. lim to come closer so that you can show him the proper angle of needle entry. he does, at least smart enough to know he needs to maintain some level of professionalism in front of actual patients lest the hospital be sued.

“for an internal jugular vein catheterisation while the head is in the neutral position, what is the angle of needle entry?” you question.

dr. lim guesses, “twenty?”

“thirty to forty-five, and the angle adjusts based on the ultrasound image,” you correct, not having expected him to remember despite the numerous times you have already taught him on physical phantoms. your gloved fingers trace over the patient’s clavicle towards the sternum as you continue explaining, “locate both the sternal and clavicular heads of the sternocleidomastoid muscle. this forms the triangle where your IVJ lies beneath. the needle should aim towards the ipsilateral nipple.”

positioning the tip of the needle at the apex of the triangle for a few seconds, you then pass it to dr. lim with the instruction, “show me the positioning and angle of the needle only.”

the intern takes the needle from your hand, his other hand roughly probing the sternocleidomastoid muscle before angling the needle perpendicular to the young boy’s neck like he is a fucking hostage. your voice is curt as you rush to correct dr. lim, adjusting his hands with verbal prompts, before you slip the needle out of his hands to fully take over the procedure now.

“you’re not ready yet,” you assert when he glares at you, further reiterating, “when you can independently position and angle the needle, and you can demonstrate to me that you can use the correct pressure when inserting the needle in a mannequin, then you are ready.” you do not care if he has connections with dr. nam. you make it clear to your intern that he cannot fuck around with his theoretical knowledge and phantom training and still expect you to let him practice on real people.

outside the room, wooyoung winces in sympathy for you as he passes by and catches the end of your firm reprimand. you have come home far too many times with pent-up frustration for him–and all your boyfriends–not to know about your notorious intern. wooyoung hands over the central line kit he is returning to the ward’s nursing station then dawdles by the desk.

he waits in hopes of catching your eye and giving you a smile to equip you with the patience he knows must be needed to deal with dr. lim. your boyfriend’s face softens unconsciously as he watches your expression, now concentrated with furrowed brows as you steadily insert the needle whilst monitoring the ultrasound, because wooyoung thinks you look the most charismatic when you are working. when a nurse calls out for wooyoung, he takes one last glance at you before walking away.

you straighten up and step away for dr. lee to take over the rest of the procedure, just in time to see the back of your boyfriend’s figure darting away with purpose. his long unruly hair flies around with mirrored chaos that you could recognise anywhere. and as you explain to the patient’s parents the remainder of the catheterisation procedure, the smile on your face is much more genuine than it would have been mere seconds ago.

it continues to linger subconsciously long after the brief glimpse you get of your boyfriend. for wooyoung, too, it is the same. working together at the hospital means that you can still be a source of light for one another even if only from a far distance and that is always what gets you through to the end of your shift.

when five o’clock finally rolls around, you head to your locker whilst checking your phone. there are no notifications from hongjoong, so you type a quick message to let him know you are clocking off and going to his department first. it is one of those rare days where you two have managed to organise a date–just a quick and simple dinner before heading home since your shifts end at the same time, but a date nonetheless.

“good thing i caught you before you left. doctor nam wants to talk to you.”

you look up to see dr. lee already changed into a puffer jacket and his backpack on, a cheeky grin on his face as he delivers the message and adds, “bet you’re in trouble.”

scoffing playfully, you quip back, “probably for something you did wrong.”

he shrugs exaggeratedly and sing-songs, “who knows,” before darting away with a goodbye.

you sigh and delete your drafted text to hongjoong, alerting him that you will be going to the department head’s office and for him to meet you outside if he finishes. then with heavy steps, you go to find dr. nam. with your stroke of luck, dr. lee is probably right about you being in trouble for something.

and he is right.

“did you tell one of your interns that he wasn’t ready for a clinical task in front of your patients?”

dr. nam’s direct question the moment you step into his office is enough to stun your mind into blankness at how a situation could be wrongfully warped like so. blinking distractedly you start to explain, “doctor lim was tasked with simulating the correct needle placement against the skin–nothing more and nothing less. i had to reiterate those expectations when he–”

“so he was not allowed to insert the central line, correct?” dr. nam interrupts.

you frown involuntarily and parrot, “allowed? it was not a subjective decision to–”

“doctor l/n, you only need to answer the question that i ask. was doctor lim allowed to insert the central line or not?” he interjects yet again.

you barely manage to swallow the rising heat in your chest to answer, “no.”

“you said he was not ready in front of the patient, yes or no?”

“yes.”

dr. nam leans back in his chair. “have your other interns inserted the needle before?”

despite his position as your department head, you keep your mouth shut in defiance because dr. nam is simply fishing for the answer he wants to hear regardless of context. he does not need to hear that dr. lim is a shit intern–all he wants to hear is that you are treating your juniors differently.

as expected, without waiting for your response, dr. nam states, “there have been some…concerns raised that you are not giving your interns equal opportunities.”

“is that what doctor lim told you?” you raise an eyebrow.

“you do not need to know,” he dismisses thoughtlessly, “the point is, there seems to be a bias in the amount of support and guidance you are providing doctor lim. perhaps it is your lack of teaching and provision of learning opportunities that is hindering his full potential.”

struggling to keep your voice polite as frustration quickens your breaths, you defend, “i have taught him the theory numerous times, allowed him to observe, provided him with supervised mannequin practice and step-by-step grading on actual patients, and my experience as a senior resident and his direct supervisor tells me that he does not yet have the competency to insert a central line.”

dr. nam hums as if he is considering your words but the way he distractedly brushes the dust off the surface of his table tells you otherwise. “i see there are differing opinions. this all comes down to miscommunication and lack of clear expectations set from the both of you. i suggest you take some time to sit down and talk to doctor lim about what opportunities he will have moving forward.”

from behind your back, your hands clench together, muscles quivering from how hard your fingers dig into your palms. yet you do not say anything–you cannot say anything, not when dr. nam simply dismisses you with, “i expect there to be no further issues in the future.”

and just like that, the one-sided discussion is over.

your feet drag against the floor as you trudge listlessly back to your locker, body heavy as if you are caught in the very midst of a snowstorm. your shoulders cave even further in on themselves when you check your phone to see no reply from hongjoong.

you want nothing more than to bury yourself in your boyfriend’s arms, nose pressed against the soothing rumble of his chest as he listens to you complain about your day. it will not change anything about the situation with dr. lim and dr. nam but at least you will be able to release the hot steam that has built up from the bubbling pit of lava in your chest.

if hongjoong is still working, perhaps you can sit in his office and wait on his couch. his presence will be enough to keep you grounded.

some of the nurses in the neurology ward greet you cordially as you exit the elevator and you return their smiles before sitting on a bench further down the corridor to avoid being in anybody’s way. you test your chances and call hongjoong’s number, only to hear the line ring until it sends you to his voicemail. when another attempt ten minutes later yields the same result, you send a text telling him to call you when he is finished.

you resign yourself to the bench with a passive sigh and wait, all the while a tempest swirling inside of you. eventually, one of the junior residents tilts her head at the sight of you still sitting on the bench, having passed by you almost twenty minutes ago in the same position. she calls out, “doctor l/n?”

you jerk up from where you are fiddling with your phone. recognising her as hongjoong’s colleague, you ask, “i’m just waiting for doctor kim. do you happen to know where he is?”

“doctor kim?” she furrows her brows, “he left already. he actually left early today.”

“oh.”

the heat in your chest suddenly dissipates, immediately replaced by a frigid hollowness that makes your mind go blank instead. horrified, you feel your eyes involuntarily start to prickle with tears no matter how hard you will for them to disappear.

“do you want me to pass a message on for you?” the resident looks at you with a twinge of concern, but mostly curiosity.

you shake your head and mumble, “no, that’s okay, thanks,” then rush away to avoid embarrassing yourself any further. deciding against asking one of your other boyfriends to drive you home, you forgo catching the bus too in favour of walking through the streets.

it’s not even a big deal. we’ve all forgotten about dates before and hongjoong would never deliberately blow you off.

you know that. you know this is not something you need to be upset over and you know that your boyfriend must have a reason. yet knowing does nothing to stop the trembling of your lips as you swipe furiously at your dripping tears with the back of your hand. on top of everything that has piled up today, hongjoong forgetting about your date is enough to topple it over completely.

the light snowfall from earlier has already stopped but the temperature remains just as low. as you tread through the chalky streets home, thoughts creeping through your mind like the fractal branches of a snowflake–fragile and delicate–you welcome the numbing chill around you instead and let it paralyse your emotions like an anaesthetic.

by the time you reach the front door, you have collected yourself enough. the rims of your eyes and the tip of your nose still have a slight redness to them but your appearance can easily be dismissed by the biting cold outside. you unlock the door and walk in.

you are met with immediate warmth; from the residual heat of shared dinner, from the streaming glow of lights, from the peals of low laughter. walking through the corridor almost feels like walking through a warped tunnel of dissociation–so familiar yet so foreign at the same time.

san sits on the couch, languidly scrolling on his phone with an arm wrapped around yeosang’s shoulders, who is flicking through a thin booklet of paper. sitting cross-legged at the coffee table in front of them in a stark contrast of mess is hongjoong–hongjoong who is hunched over his own booklet with a newly-made carpet and tablecloth of thesis and journal articles, textbooks and tablets.

you are so caught up by the hurricane of a scene that you do not realise you are about to step on the corner of a textbook until hongjoong’s head snaps up to look at you.

“be careful!” his warning cry is sharp with alarm.

your body jolts and you step backwards. “sorry.”

despite san and yeosang’s chirpy greetings, you remain frozen to the spot. the two of them clamber up to pull you into an excited hug, only to pause when they realise there is no way to navigate the landmine of paper scattered around the room, so they settle back into the cushions instead.

“don’t mind the mess,” yeosang giggles, unaware of the sudden onset of unease that courses through your body. “even seonghwa has given the okay for him to do this.”

your words come out thick and sticky as you ask, “what is hongjoong doing?”

san’s voice is sympathetic, “there was a last-minute change to his presentation that he’s doing at that annual neurological association meeting. his department head wants him to do a different topic.”

“he could’ve told me, i don’t know, five fucking months ago,” hongjoong curses fiercely at his tablet, “but he just had to wait until my presentation was basically done to let me know.”

you have had a bad day…but so has hongjoong.

the door opens behind you. fumbling for a moment, you try to make yourself smaller against the wall to make room for whoever of your boyfriends has returned. it is mingi back from his shift which tells you just how long you had waited for hongjoong, considering mingi’s shift ended almost two hours after yours did.

“y/n?” mingi’s eyes widen slightly as he smiles, the sight of you a pleasant surprise. he asks, “did you and hongjoong come back from your date already?”

you wince at the bomb he has unwittingly dropped; the very one you yourself were still unsure how to navigate.

“shit,” hongjoong’s head snaps towards you again but for an entirely different reason this time. “holy fuck. oh my fucking god.” his hands flutter as he upturns the scattered notes around him in search of his phone, face draining of all colour as it dawns on him he had silenced his notifications. “the date–i forgot. fuck, i am so fucking sorry, y/n.”

your boyfriends on the couch watch with darting eyes and mingi glances at you cautiously. in some twisted reality, you almost feel immobilised by guilt as hongjoong stumbles to his feet, grasping the phone he has finally found from where it had been tossed under the table.

nothing changes the fact that he forgot nor the fact that you have had a rough day. but just as you had realised, hongjoong has also had a rough day, if not worse than yours. and as with any relationship, one will always have to yield under pressure lest both people break.

swallowing thickly, you manage to force out, “that’s okay. i forgot too.”

a white lie, but a white lie has never hurt anybody.

mingi catches the slight twist of your fingers in the side of your jacket. he murmurs, “let’s go inside,” then tugs you by the elbow. he steps you carefully through the landmines further into the living room, gingerly toeing papers inches aside to reveal the floorboards underneath for the both of you to step on. hongjoong is still looking at you remorsefully as you near, his hands itching to reach out but afraid they will not be met with forgiving ones.

“it’s okay, joong, really,” you extend your fingers in his direction and gently squeeze his hand. “sorry to hear about your presentation. i know how hard you’ve worked on it the past few months.”

sadness still lingers in your boyfriend’s eyes at having made such a careless mistake despite the grateful smile he gives you. “i’ll make it up to you after the presentation is finished,” he vows. “i’ll take you out for a nice dinner and i promise i won’t forget this time.”

you chuckle softly with a reassuring nod, “okay.”

“what about you? how was your day?” hongjoong asks.

an hour ago you wanted nothing more than the comfort he could offer while you vented about your day and you are almost certain fatigue and frustration are smeared across your face right now. yet you simply answer, “it was a long day but it was good.”

another white lie.

before your boyfriends can probe any further, you state, “i’m going to take a shower first. might head to sleep early today.” you lean forward to give hongjoong a chaste kiss, who easily relaxes into it with relief. you turn to rise onto your tiptoes to give mingi one too before meeting yeosang and san halfway from where they kneel on the couch to also kiss you goodnight.

then you turn and retreat to your room. it is not all too bad, you reconcile with yourself. alone time would be good after today’s events.

a third white lie.

but again, that is fine, because a white lie never hurt anybody…nobody except for yourself.

winter passes and spring arrives, but contrary to the pulsating liveliness that awakens with the season, things start to dull with repetition and roboticism.

your rotation in the paediatric oncology ward comes to an end and you commence your next rotation in paediatric haematology. whilst your acquaintanceship with your new junior team is nowhere near as close as you had gotten to dr. lee, son and yang, there is also no more dr. lim to deal with. still, unlike the snow that has now long melted away, your workload does not cease nor diminish.

you wake up and you go to work; you manage your patients, teach your juniors and have on-call shifts; you go home, you eat, you shower; you squeeze time to see your boyfriends, you sleep for a few hours; you wake up and you go to work. the cycle repeats itself, neither you nor your boyfriends able to escape from its grip.

seolhee, too, suffers from the torment of her own cycle. second-line therapy had eventually been deemed ineffective against her leukemic cells, requiring her to undergo salvage chemotherapy and putting her at increased risk of myelosuppression. because of this, she is one of the few patients who have remained on your caseload despite the rotation change.

the most unsettling change that the toll of fatigue can have on a person is not the change in their demeanour but in their eyes. and as you complete a routine check-up on seolhee, her eyes watching you with a slight dullness to them that is not due to the late hours of midnight, you do not realise that your own pupils look the same.

you give seolhee a soft smile as you tell her, “i’ll get nurse hwa to check on you in the morning. how does that sound, snowflake?”

“he’s busy?” she asks quietly.

you shake your head. “he’s at home. both him and nurse woo are working day shifts this week.”

“what about doctor choi?”

“he finished his haematology rotation,” you sigh regretfully. “he’s in the NICU now.”

seolhee mulls over the information with her eyes downcast, then murmurs, “are you busy? can you teach me how to braid your hair?” she absent-mindedly touches the nape of her neck where her fingertips meet the smooth skin of her bare scalp. “that way i can braid my own hair when it grows back.”

you still have notes from today to write and tomorrow’s chemotherapy doses to confirm with the pharmacy and platelet orders to put through before you can chance an hour or two of sleep. but what difference does the amount of sleep make when you wake up from both with the same bone-deep exhaustion anyway?

seolhee’s eyes brighten the slightest when you pull a chair up beside her bed and it solidifies your decision to answer, “of course,” because as a doctor, time is not for yourself but for other people. you have to make time out of nothing.

you tug on the elastic around your ponytail and shake your hair out, sectioning off the right side to work with. from your experience teaching all of your boyfriends, it had quickly become clear that braiding was easiest learnt with less hair to work with. splitting the sectioned hair into three locks, you lace them through your fingers to keep them separate as you talk seolhee through the steps.

“take the right strand and bring it over into the middle like this,” you teach, moving your fingers deftly but slowly. “then take the left strand and bring it over into the middle. then we repeat it again–right into the middle, left into the middle.”

your fingers continue weaving the locks of hair over and under, the motions familiar and the memory of teaching somebody else even more so. when you have braided almost to the ends of your hair, you release the braid then tuck your chair closer to the bed so that seolhee can reach easily.

“here, you try.”

at your encouragement, the little girl does as she remembers and starts to section off three locks of hair. her fingers accidentally tug too hard when she encounters a knot and you both rush to apologise.

“sorry, my hair is kind of tangled,” you chuckle lowly as heat rushes to the tip of your ears. “i haven’t used conditioner in a long time.”

“that’s okay. me neither,” seolhee jokes, giggling at her own words before asking you, “why not?”

you distractedly run your fingers through the hair that is not in seolhee’s hands as you slowly answer, “it saves me five minutes each time. it doesn’t sound like a lot, but…”

“...in the hospital it’s a lot,” seolhee finishes solemnly.

you nod. “five minutes can be a long hug before someone leaves forever. it can be somebody’s last confession or last promise. five minutes can be the difference between life and death.”

hush settles over her room while she eases the knot apart, six-year-old fingers gentle with the understanding of an adult several times her age. after a few minutes, she changes the topic. “who was the fastest learner out of your boyfriends? was it nurse hwa?”

“it was actually doctor jeong,” you reveal.

“from general surgery?”

you laugh at seolhee’s memory, “yes, doctor jeong from general surgery. he has the steadiest and most skillful hands.”

“are his braids also the prettiest, then?”

“they are very pretty, but i think doctor choi–the younger choi–does the prettiest braids.”

seolhee’s fingers pause so she can admire the beginnings of her handiwork. “do they still braid your hair?” she asks.

“not anymore,” you give a miniscule shrug. “there isn’t as much time to do things like this and certain things just lose their novelty over time.”

she looks at you curiously. “what does novelty mean?”

“something new and unfamiliar…in a sense, special.”

“why do things lose their novelty then?” seolhee frowns.

you hum, unsure how to answer such a simple yet riveting question when you yourself have never thought about it. you deliberate over your words, “i guess when we see, do and say things that were originally different over and over again, they can simply become habits and part of our routines. we do things just for the sake of doing them and eventually they lose their meaning. when that happens, sometimes you just end up not doing them anymore.”

wistful nostalgia fills you as seolhee continues braiding your hair, the ticklish intimacy sending your mind adrift to a time when your boys would do the same–back to a time when your hair was smooth and knot-free because you still used conditioner. but change is inevitable and you have no time to dwell on what used to be. so after seolhee finishes her braid, you return to your cycle of work, home and sleep.

by the time you get home in the afternoon, most of your boyfriends have long left for their shifts save for san, who was also on-call, and yunho, who is still not back from an emergency trauma surgery. you are barely able to keep your eyes open when you stumble into the bathroom for a quick shower. this time, you completely forgo both conditioner and shampoo, simply wetting your hair as you roughly scrub your face and the rest of your body. you do not bother to dry your hair either, keeping it wrapped in a towel before you sink into bed.

you have no recollection of falling asleep when the soft click of the front door opening and closing wakes you up. eyes still closed, you drowsily listen to yunho’s soft thuds and murmurs as he treads his usual path through the house upon returning. your boyfriend pads softly to the dining room, to the bathroom…then he goes straight to his own bedroom.

no longer do you stay within the clutches of rest. yunho has always, no matter how exhausted, taken time to give you and the others a kiss before he heads to sleep. it is his habit, his routine. you lay awake for a long time, coming up with excuses as to why he has broken his cycle today, waiting to see if yunho will get up again and come into your room.

he does not and you eventually fall asleep again in restless fitfulness.

this will soon become the new norm; yunho will not take an extra five minutes to go into your bedrooms and give you tender kisses. in due time, your heart will no longer clench in disappointment nor will you lay awake in false hope whenever he returns from his shift.

you will simply drift back into the realms of unconsciousness seconds after hearing the click of the front door open, succumbing into peaceful sleep again before the door has even closed shut. after all, things lose their novelty over time.

you do not normally watch dramas or tv shows, or anything that requires a recurring time commitment, really. for one, that is hours upon hours of time that could be used elsewhere, and two, the scattered time you can find here and there is so sparse you often forget the events of the last episode by the time you watch the next.

but your fingers currently hover over the first episode of an airing drama, one too many clips of this particular show having appeared on your feed for you not to crack, so you decide to give it a go. you can watch maybe half an episode before you should head to sleep since your shift starts early tomorrow, but maybe, just maybe, tonight you will spoil yourself with the entire episode.

keeping the volume low on your phone since you are in the living room with a few of your boyfriends, you tuck your feet closer towards yourself on the couch and play the first episode. jongho’s ears perk up at the starting sounds of the introduction from where he is in the kitchen reheating some leftovers and he comments, “it’s been a while since you last watched something.”

you nod just as jongho’s words catch the attention of wooyoung walking past. “you’re starting a drama?” he asks, peering at your phone with a slight snicker. “damn, you’re going to spend even less time with us now.”

it is an off-handed joke with no ill intentions, yet it digs itself uncomfortably inside your chest, even more so when a few of the others also chuckle. your finger twitches to stop your episode. the couch sinks beside you under the weight of mingi, who has moved from his position on the floor to your right with quiet comfort and veiled protectiveness.

“we’ve all been spending less time with one another,” he vaguely points out.

hongjoong looks up from the systematic review he is reading on gene replacement therapy, still rushing to complete his presentation. “you’re right. that’s funny,” he remarks, “i can’t remember the last time we went out on dates, even when just any two of us.”

wooyoung shrugs, “we’ve all been tired.”

your mouth opens before you can stop yourself from snapping, “so why was i the only one who was the butt of the joke?”

“woah, sorry,” hongjoong winces slightly, “we didn’t know it would make you feel upset or anything.”

it is not sadness so much as guilt that pricks at your conscience, because there is slight truth to the situation–you haven’t been making as much effort, but neither has anyone. you are not the one drifting away from the others. you are all drifting apart in your own directions.

jongho steps in to smoothen the situation with a blanket statement, “we’ve all been tired and busy. nobody’s pointing fingers at anybody. drop it.” the microwave sounds and he turns to take his food out.

something is pressed into your hand and you glance down to see mingi wordlessly handing you a set of earphones. he gives you a small smile, nudging your hand with the earphones and a beckon of his brows. you return his smile and place one in your ear before offering him the other. mingi puts it in whilst reaching over to hold your phone in your stead, then taps his own shoulder with his free hand for you to rest your head against.

your boyfriend adjusts the volume higher as he murmurs, “it’s a bit hard to hear,” but you know better. mingi does not care for dramas and the volume is already plenty loud. sometimes, additional noise is just needed to drown out other noise.

the drama continues to play but you heed no attention to it. wooyoung has walked back into his room to finish the lecture he is watching, jongho now sits at the dining table to eat, and hongjoong is working on his presentation again.

the conversation with your boyfriends has ended with the conclusion that there have been no dates recently. yet, there is no extension of the conversation to make a date happen. it would be a lie to say that you have not noticed their absence, but after the first couple of times they had to be postponed or called off entirely, they just started slipping from your mind completely.

you wonder when you had all stopped making the intentional effort to go on dates, but most of all, you wonder when you had all stopped caring.

you only watch half an episode that night. you do not pick it back up again either.

she is alive.

there is a webbing of tubes and wires encasing her entire body–blood transfusions, vasopressors, monitoring lines of all sorts–but she is alive. kim seolhee is still alive.

only at the physical sight of her chest moving up and down does the reassurance unlock the tautness in your joints, the strained muscles in your body almost failing to hold your weight upright as you lean subtly against the threshold of the door.

you had headed straight for seolhee’s room before everything else the moment you had arrived for your shift. the usual fifteen-minute drive to the hospital had been shortened to half its time when mingi had arrived home from his shift just as you were getting ready to leave for yours with the news that seolhee had been readmitted into the ED with sepsis and was now in the paediatric intensive care unit. you had driven on autopilot the entire way swallowing the thick surge of panic that kept rising up your throat despite mingi’s repeated reassurances that she was stable; she just needed further monitoring.

“i thought i was going to die.”

those are the first words that faintly leave her lips when she sees you, her face mercifully free of a ventilator and oxygen mask, which is always a good sign. you weakly breathe out, tone as light as you can make it, “well, thank god you’re alive.”

“missed you too much, doctor snowflake,” seolhee’s hand twitches in your direction with attempted cheekiness as you walk closer. “i came back to follow you to your next rotation.”

despite the situation, you break out into a small bout of giggles at her morbid humour. you had sated seolhee’s curiosity by telling her your entire year of scheduled rotations and by some twist of fate, your PICU rotation had commenced two weeks ago. with a fond tap of her nose that conceals the clenching sadness inside your heart, you joke, “you just like riding in the ambulance, don’t you?”

“maybe,” she grins innocently. “the sirens are pretty cool.”

despite the snort of amusement that leaves you, her answer is what truly makes your throat constrict and voice waver. your words are hardly audible–afraid to break down fully in front of your patient, in front of sweet seolhee–when you respond, “i knew it.”

but she is ever perceptive as she comforts, “don’t cry.”

“i’m not,” you shamelessly counter, even as heat starts to pool around your eyes, and the both of you laugh at your absurdity. but in certain situations if you do not laugh, the only other option will be to cry and you cannot have that because that would be unprofessional–neither would you be able to stop–so you will wait until you are only in the presence of your boyfriends to let yourself go.

sleep starts to take over seolhee again and she drowsily blinks at you, energy depleted from her infection, cancer and the numerous drugs pumping throughout her battered body. she sinks herself a little deeper into her crinkly mattress and fights off her closing eyelids just long enough to tell you once more, “i love you more than there are snowflakes falling outside.”

it is already nearing the end of summer now despite the unchanging pristine whiteness of winter within the hospital walls. yet, you cannot bear to point that out, not when you were so close to losing her phrase of affection forever.

her eyes close and you watch the steady rhythm of her chest rising and falling. thank god she is alive.

your prayer comes from y/n, but the bitter resentment at the irony of those five words comes from doctor l/n. your entire life is dedicated to saving the lives of others, yet time and time again you are forced to wonder just how much power you truly have as a doctor in the face of fate and the gods above; where it makes you wonder whether your efforts and sacrifices will always be in vain if your patient is somebody whose time on earth has just simply run out.

and it appears that you are not the only person weighed down by the harsh insecurities of your career today. yeosang’s knees are drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them as he sits on the floor against the wall of the storage room you two are hiding in, mere hours later after your turbulent morning with seolhee.

“he was our age,” yeosang finally murmurs after a few minutes of silence. “he was admitted for a suspected brain tumour only because a sudden headache caused him to lose consciousness.”

whereas seolhee had been a case of could have–she could have died–there are cases like yeosang’s patient. the would have lived; the what if and the if only.

yeosang’s chest shudders as he exhales, “he had had consistent migraines for months but he never did anything about them. he would’ve lived, otherwise. turns out it was a brain tumour all along and it ended up rupturing because it was left untreated…he didn’t survive the surgery.”

your boyfriend rarely cries and today is no exception either. yet the way he leans into your side for both physical and emotional support shows just how much his heart is hurting for this death. death is something you all learn to become accustomed to in the medical field, but desensitisation does not equate to immunity. there will always be ones that hit harder than others.

it is a harrowing death when the patient is close in age because it makes you think of yourself–of your friends, of your lovers–and it hurts that much more to think that it could have been any of those people. this morning has already left your emotions strung tight and heart vulnerable, and very quickly you can feel the same swell of tears threatening to demolish the walls you had hastily built to keep yourself collected.

you want to cry but then that would be taking away from yeosang’s hurt, so you will wait until you are home instead. for now, you tug yeosang into your arms, holding him steady against your chest as if that will support your own walls and keep them from crumbling.

by the time you get home after your shift, you are no more than a mere husk of yourself. you have drained every single reservoir of yours that holds your love, care and courage for your patients. all that is left are the fragile remnants waiting to break at the slightest touch. you trudge down the corridor to your room, muddled mind trying to recall whether san is home tonight to hold you in your sleep, when you walk past the partially-closed door to seonghwa’s bedroom.

instinctively, you glance inside. he lays listlessly on his bed, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, and you immediately know.

where there are the could haves and the would haves, there are also the should haves; the unjust, the young deaths. those that should not even be an existing phenomenon in the world no matter how cruel the devil may be–those who should have lived.

seonghwa, who wears his entire heart on his sleeve, has lost a PICU baby at work today.

for a split second, there is a shameful thought that suddenly infiltrates your mind–to continue walking past as if you had not seen him until you reach the confines of your own room. but you could never do that to any of your boyfriends, much less seonghwa. seonghwa, who treats each and every baby like his own, who hides in the bathroom to cry after he sees the parents hurting, whose love and empathy is a never-ending fountain of supply.

you knock softly on the door so as not to startle him then gently call out his name. it takes the door opening a little wider for him to realise you are stepping into his room and he immediately sits up, a small smile gracing his face at the sight of you despite the blotchiness of his skin.

“sorry, love. i didn’t notice you standing there,” he apologises.

you shake your head, heart clenching at the sight of him pretending to be okay. you walk closer to him until you can smooth down the back of his hair with kind hands. “do you want to talk?” you tenderly ask.

the tension releases in seonghwa’s shoulders and back as he sags, no longer keeping up his facade at the knowledge that you can see right through him. he looks up at you tiredly with his swollen eyes, “do you have time to talk?”

time you can always make. perhaps the question that should be asked is whether you have the capacity to talk…the emotional capacity. frankly, you do not. you yourself need to cry, whether for seolhee or out of mental exhaustion itself it does not matter anymore. but saying no would be putting your needs before his, and putting your needs after everybody else’s is all that you have known as a doctor, so you will wait until you are alone in the darkness under your bed covers to finally let yourself go.

for now, you rest seonghwa’s head in your lap and brush away his tears, soaking up the pain of his words into your own heart instead. only when his breathing evens out and he no longer stirs under your fingers do you finally ease yourself to lie down next to him, barely hanging on to the edges of your own consciousness. you fall asleep before your tears can even begin to gather underneath your closed eyelids.

that night, you dream of drowning–stifling lungs and gasping mouthfuls–until you eventually suffocate in silence and become swallowed by the black depths of the water. the pillow underneath your cheek is damp when you jolt awake, but whether it is from cold sweat or tears you do not know.

you are convinced dr nam’s job description includes making your life hell. no matter where your rotation takes place, the department head always manages to find fault in something you do…or do not do.

“do you know what our hospital prides itself in?” dr. nam asks rhetorically. “we are not simply a hospital–we are a family. we help each other out in times of need.”

there is a rising snort in your throat that threatens to reveal your cynicism, knowing that when the phrase ‘family’ comes from somebody of higher authority, it is just a cover-up of mock care for the employees. dr. nam continues to smile, not unkindly, but with obvious artificiality that makes it look dangerous as he asks, “so how come you are not helping out in the NICU? i know that the attending has asked you for help.”

overnight on-call shifts already have fewer staff rostered on than usual, but with one of the junior residents having called in sick, the NICU is currently understaffed. the attending physician had paged you earlier asking if you could help out with some of the routine admissions and write up the patient histories and physicals, but you had apologised and declined. for one, you are assigned to the PICU, two, you are the most senior resident on that shift and three, you have endless tasks with far higher priority to complete instead.

you struggle to keep the exasperation out of your voice, sick of being flagged for ridiculous reasons and much less when you are seventeen hours into your shift, “most of the NICU admissions were stable and did not require urgent attention. their H&Ps can be completed later when the juniors are back.”

“ah,” dr. nam nods his head condescendingly, “doctor l/n, you stick by the rules too much. where is your sense of comradeship for this family that we have at kq–if not the entire hospital, then at least within our own department? if i remember correctly, there was a similar incident with one of your past interns.”

it is absolutely ridiculous that even months later you are still being faulted for the central line incident with dr. lim. you stay silent, expression dark and jaw grinding no matter how hard you try not to let your frustration show.

“go help out in the NICU for an hour or two. i’m sure your own unit is relatively quiet right now,” he instructs. “remember, we’re a family that helps one another.” dr. nam’s grin grows wider, words dripping with saccharine honey that makes it impossible to refute.

“yes, doctor nam,” you respond through gritted teeth. double-checking you have your pager on you so that your actual ward can still reach you for emergencies, you take the elevator down to the NICU.

the next few hours are spent stretching yourself thin over both units as you run back and forth managing patients, answering questions, and most irritatingly, completing tasks that should really be allocated to juniors. it is not until you dazedly mistype the same word four times into the EMR that it registers in your groggy mind that it is already early in the morning, past the quiet time that is your usual window for a brief hour of sleep.

you inhale slowly until your chest is full then let out the longest sigh, your head tilted upwards, eyes closed and shoulders slouching as the world’s worth of resignation weighs down on you. it is 5:30AM, only five more hours–or three if you are lucky–left until the end of your shift. keeping your eyes shut for another few seconds, you recollect yourself to make it through the morning.

a resident appears in front of you, seemingly chipper as he stretches his arms above his head and jokes to a passing nurse that he had an amazing nap in the call room. the brief composure you had gathered immediately dissipates when you hear him. not only have you sacrificed your own sleep to help a unit that is not your own, but there are NICU residents who have taken the liberty to nap instead.

that’s it. you have done multitudes more than your duty requires you to do so. greeting the well-rested resident with a passive-aggressive smile, even if you are aware he is not at fault, you bid your farewell with the instruction, “tell your attending that doctor l/n has gone back to her own unit now.”

you punch the elevator’s number to your floor a little harder than intended, grateful that there is nobody else inside to hear your loud exhale of weariness and defeat. the floor display slowly flickers with higher numbers. maybe being back in the PICU will give you peace of mind.

the elevator doors open to directly reveal a ruckus beside the nursing station. “fucking hell,” you mutter to yourself, finally letting a curse slip through. “what now?”

“what do you mean you’re not a doctor?” a shrill voice cuts through the noise of the small huddle of people as you walk closer.

“i am a nurse, mrs ryeo, not a doctor,” somebody answers.

you could recognise his voice anywhere–it is wooyoung. your exasperation quickly turns into concern and you ease yourself through a few nurses so that you can reach your boyfriend.

mrs ryeo states, “but you’re a man.”

“that is an excellent observation, but unfortunately, that does not change my job qualifications.” despite wooyoung’s innate cheek, it does not usually appear when he is dealing with parents or the occasional adult patient, which tells you that this woman is either a repeating offender or has been kicking up a fuss for some time now.

“hello, mrs ryeo,” you intercept, stepping over to wooyoung’s side. “how can i help you?”

the middle-aged lady scans you up and down with disdain before scoffing, “i don’t want a nurse; i want a doctor.”

your patience has long been running on thin ice and if you did not care about your career, you would turn around, walk two steps away, then twirl around with a curtsey whilst introducing yourself as doctor l/n just to fuck with her. at least wooyoung would laugh.

unfortunately, you do care about your career so you can only explain with a placating smile on your face that you are a doctor–a fourth-year resident at that. mrs ryeo ignores you in favour of rudely pointing and beckoning behind you. “hey, you,” she demands, “see my child.”

a glance over your shoulder reveals that she has pointed to one of your male interns. he does not make a move to step forward, warily gesturing back towards you as he explains, “she’s the senior resident on call right now.”

“i don’t want a fucking resident. i want a real doctor,” she opposes.

“mrs ryeo,” you grit your teeth, “he is my intern. i am a doctor–the most senior doctor currently on shift–”

“bullshit you’re the most senior doctor. i refuse to let you treat my child. i want a male doctor.”

your fingers flutter out to grasp the side of wooyoung’s scrubs, partially to ground yourself, but also because you know that he will not stand there and let you be disrespected. however, there is absolutely no way any of you will be able to talk some sense into her, so it is better to just save your breaths. “dr. ahn will not be in until this afternoon,” you simply state.

“then i’ll wait,” she snaps stubbornly.

you nod, “as you wish. i’ll let him know.” you walk away and the nurses take that as their cue to disperse and continue with their duties now that the situation has been somewhat diffused.

wooyoung follows you aside to where there are less people. “you okay?” he asks, searching your eyes.

with a dismissive shrug you answer, “you get used to it,” then change the topic to gently remind, “document it on the EMR that she refused to be seen and then fill out an incident report.”

wooyoung nods but continues to look at you unconvinced. “do you finish at seven today? i’ll wait for you,” he offers.

“no,” you grimace, “i probably have to wait until the morning rounds are over. you go home first.” a soft laugh escapes from you when your boyfriend’s eyebrows knit together and you reassure, “i’m fine, really. i should get back to work. i’ll see you at home, woo.”

you turn around before his expression or any further questions can weaken your resolve. from somewhere near the nursing station, you know that mrs ryeo is still staring at you scathingly. breaking down now in any shape or form would only serve to fuel her misogynistic prejudices. so you hold your head up high, pretend that this is just any other day, then continue with the remainder of your shift telling yourself that nothing can make you break.

it is nearing eleven in the morning by the time you get home. your feet mechanically take you to your doorstep and your hands slide the cover of the keypad lock upwards to tap in the number code, mind dissociated from your heart and the rest of your body. like water and hot oil, you keep them separated, otherwise dwelling on how they feel together will inevitably lead to a sudden outburst of emotion.

you feel yourself being dragged back to your senses, automatically tuning in to the rowdiness that increases in volume when you open the door. it is one of those rare sundays where more than half of you are home together. there are shouts of teasing banter, cabinets closing shut and the clink of glassware being washed. vaguely, you can also hear a passionate squabble between two of your boyfriends over something trivial.

whereas before, coming home to your boys would have cooled down your bubbling oil, today they feel like the water you are trying to keep away.

“i swear it wasn’t me,” you hear.

san’s voice is slightly muffled as he teases back, “yeah, whatever you say, yunho.”

you slowly walk into the open living room from where you can also see the kitchen. the countertop surface is covered with plastic bags, groceries for nine spilling out from them as jongho systematically pulls the cold items out to hand them over to san. said boyfriend has his body halfway inside the fridge whilst yunho holds the door open by leaning on it with his weight.

“it’s true! i didn’t drink any this week,” yunho defends himself. “y/n didn’t buy them!”

you falter at the mention of your name. without the context of the conversation, you are suddenly left wondering whether you had messed something up.

“speak of the devil,” yeosang announces, spotting you as he returns from the bathroom. he comes up and gives you quick squeeze in greeting.

yunho perks up at the sight of you. “perfect! let me prove it to you,” he tells san. determined to attest his supposed innocence over something that you still do not know what, your tallest boyfriend turns to face you and asks, “did you restock our protein shakes last week?”

you frown with an unintelligent stutter as you try to recall the sudden information. last week, you had gone out to get some fresh groceries but had suddenly been called in for a shift, so you had had to give up on everything you did not deem as essential. san and yunho’s shakes, unfortunately, did not make the cut.

“no, i–”

“see!” yunho exclaims, whipping around to face san again before you can finish the rest of your sentence. his tone is triumphant as he reiterates, “i told you it was y/n who was the culprit, not me!”

san chuckles with fondness at the other, “okay, you’re forgiven.”

a bitter taste immediately spreads throughout your mouth along with the flaming heat that now covers your cheeks. you cannot tell whether it is anger or embarrassment–perhaps both–but it feels as though the water you have been holding off has suddenly been poured over you.

“why didn’t you go buy them yourself, then, if you knew i didn’t,” you question yunho curtly.

he looks at you with a grin, “because you were meant to buy them and then i didn’t have time to go.” his words are stated as a matter-of-factly with absolutely no intentions to insinuate anything apart from his reasons as to why he did not buy the protein shakes himself.

but you do not hear yunho and his playfulness that you normally indulge in–you hear dr. nam instead belittling your time and you also hear mrs ryeo with her condescending contempt, and now that you are no longer at work, you fail to reign yourself in. you snap before you even realise how heated your words are, “yeah, and i have all the time in the world.” you throw out sarcastically, “next time, why don’t i also mix your shakes, wait on my knees and hold the straw up to your lips while you drink them during your workouts.”

your boyfriends stare at you with wide eyes, silence deafening after the near-shout your voice had risen to by the end of your sentence. you let out a shaky exhale, suddenly sober. you no longer bubble and boil inside, emotions down to a simmer now, but still they remain unsteady and suddenly leave you with overwhelming exhaustion.

“sorry,” you mutter under your breath, “forget i said anything.”

pivoting on the balls of your feet, you escape to your own bedroom, ignoring the concern on wooyoung’s face from where he has woken up and stuck his head out of his own room at the commotion. you shut your door and then sit heavily on the edge of your bed, elbows resting on your knees and head buried in your hands.

“fuck,” you hiss, digging the palms of your hands into your eyes to stop yourself from crying. you are so frustrated–at everything that has happened today, at how you reacted, at the fact that you cannot seem to understand what you are feeling or what you want anymore.

you are going to have to talk to your boyfriends and apologise later, but for now, you just need to be alone.

only a few minutes pass before there is a soft knock on your bedroom door. you make no move to acknowledge the sound. neither do you make a noise of rejection though, so the boyfriend outside your door takes it as his cue to walk in.

“y/n?” he calls out hesitantly.

at the sound of his voice, you immediately look up. it is yunho looking like a kicked puppy, unable to bear any sort of conflict between any of you no matter how big or small the matter. you stand up but stay close to your bed. your heart wants to tug you closer towards your boyfriend yet your feet stay glued to their spot.

“y/n…” he starts again, “i–sorry, i didn’t mean for you to feel as though i was blaming you.”

you shake your head, “it’s fine, i know you didn’t.”

“that still doesn’t change the fact that i hurt you,” yunho expresses, taking a step closer towards you.

“no, i should be the one apologising–sorry. what i said to you was completely uncalled for,” you admit.

“hey, no. i didn’t come for an apology,” he looks at you with rounded eyes, now close enough to grasp you gently by your arms. yunho’s voice is soft as he says, “i’m worried about you. you don’t normally lash out like that…what’s wrong?”

everything.

“nothing,” you answer, avoiding his gaze.

he continues to probe, “are you sure? is it something to do with work?” when you remain quiet, he starts to guess, “...or is it us–”

“it’s work,” you cut him off before he can turn his words into a real question. “work has been tiring. i just–give me a bit of time.” you pat yunho’s hand placatingly, subtly easing your arms out of his grasp at the same time. you do not deserve his affection right now.

he fumbles awkwardly, unease stringing his body tight as his eyes scan yours. “we’ll talk later then?” he eventually concludes, verbally reaching out one more time to see if you want to take it.

“later,” you confirm softly, a small smile gracing your lips that does not reach the rest of your face. “i’m going to catch up on some sleep now.”

“ah, right. you were on call. sleep well then,” yunho concedes. he walks out of your room, gingerly closing the door behind him.

you have barely grabbed a fresh set of pajamas and underwear to quickly rinse yourself in the shower when there is another knock on your door. it takes a lot of energy not to sigh but to open the door instead where you discover san and jongho standing in the corridor with twin expressions of concern.

“did yunho talk things out with you?” san asks as jongho simultaneously says, “how are you feeling?”

you know that they have good intentions checking up on you, but you really just want to be left alone. your own thoughts and emotions are already equivalent to a crowd themselves. “yeah, yunho and i are fine. i’m fine, just tired. thanks for asking and sorry for shouting earlier,” you apologise, because you owe them that much at the very least. then you try and dismiss them before they can ask anything else, “a shower and some sleep will do me good.”

they glance down when you lift up your hand and they see the clothes you hold. jongho knows better than to push, so he places his own hand on san’s back in silent meaning whilst answering on their behalf, “you’re right. we’ll let you sleep. do you want us to wake you up for dinner?”

you smile a little more genuinely but still shake your head. “i’ll eat something before i leave for work tomorrow.”

although san has a lot to say to that, he holds his tongue and lets himself be guided back to the kitchen with jongho’s hand still on him. “let her have some time alone first. she’ll eat if she’s hungry,” the younger reassures him and san can only nod and hope that rest is all that you need. he cannot shake off the feeling that there is much more to it than you are letting on.

you hop into the shower, rinse and dry off and brush your teeth within ten minutes. sleep is your only reprieve now–the only time you do not need to think or feel–and you rush through your routine before you can start coming to conclusions about the whats and whys to the problems in your life. finishing up in the bathroom you go back to your own room, startling when you open the door and are greeted by the sight of wooyoung waiting on your bed.

“you okay?” he asks as soon as he sees you.

annoyance starts to grind your gears no matter how hard you try to remind yourself that your boyfriends are purely looking out for you. but concern has its limits before it starts to become overbearing and when they keep asking one after the other, you are unable to appreciate their efforts.

“i’m fine,” you respond tersely, words no longer genuine after how many times you have repeated them to questions you have heard on loop.

“are you sure? i know you had a rough day at work with mrs ryeo and–”

“wooyoung,” you finally interrupt, “just drop it. please.”

his expression falls and you immediately regret your words. but what’s done is done and the list of people you are hurting today only seems capable of growing–what is one more person on the list? wooyoung stands up and leaves your room with a quiet, sorry, and you do nothing to stop him.

hearing the door shut behind you, you walk over to where the curtains are pulled aside to let the afternoon sunlight of autumn filter in. all the curtains in the bedrooms are blackout curtains, the first additions to the apartment from day one of your careers. you draw them closed, shutting out the sunlight and plunging your room into darkness.

at last, you slide into bed. the screen of your phone lights up as you plug it into your charger and you find a text from yeosang and one from seonghwa just a few minutes ago, but you do not open them. you clear your notifications before you can even read the previews and put your phone on ‘do not disturb’. making sure your alarm is set for tomorrow’s shift, you switch the screen off and shove it under your pillow.

you close your eyes. you have a long list of people to work things out with before you can truly say that you are fine. but there is one thing you fail to realise as you finally fall asleep. the name at the very top of the list is not one of your boyfriends’–

it is your own.

the incident ends up being swept under the rug. you wake up that next morning an hour before your first alarm goes off, lying in the muted hours of dawn before the world starts to stir with the shadows on the ceiling of your bedroom twisting and warping like creatures.

your entire body is filled with an inexplicable sense of dread at the thought of the day ahead. it is not solely due to what happened yesterday between you and your boyfriends. there are a multitude of contributing factors but frankly, you fear dwelling on them and finding out just what percentage of your anxiety stems from the boys. unable to fall asleep and not entirely ready to face anybody yet, you decide to leave for your shift early.

the drive to the hospital feels particularly dystopian today. no matter what season the streets transition into over the year–regardless of the brilliant vibrance of autumn that has blanketed the ground for the last two months–it unfailingly turns back into the perpetual state of sterile winter once you are inside the hospital. it has never been something that you have dwelled on, but now it seems to be the truest reflection of your current self–a mere utopian facade hiding what is inside your walls.

you return nurse aeri’s enthusiastic greeting upon walking into the PICU with chirpiness that your weekend was great. you gasp with animated reactions at the story little siwoo tells you when you reach his room during your morning rounds. you comfort mr and mrs chae with graceful compassion and warm smiles when you tell them their daughter can finally be discharged. not a single person would look at you and think that something is wrong, and yet, you feel like you are simply a ghost of your emotions, detached and distant from your own words and actions. not even the news of seolhee stabilising enough to be transferred out of the PICU back to the paediatric oncology ward gives you the same genuine spike in emotions you would have felt a week ago.

the brief encounters with seonghwa around the unit and the brief glimpses of san and wooyoung around the department do nothing to alleviate your blanket of anxiety because they are a visual and physical reminder of the cavernous pit in your stomach. you end up going home after your shift with a tightness in your chest that has gradually become suffocating at the thought of being confined in the same space as your boyfriends, wondering if they are expecting you to talk to them; the conversation you had brushed off yesterday.

you are not ready yet and you do not want to talk, so instead you do what you do best–walk through the threshold of your front door with a plastered expression of neutrality as though nothing has happened the day before. but to your surprise–whether pleasant or bitter, however contradictory that may be, you cannot tell–they too appear to skirt around the issue.

there is a restless buzz in the air as yunho portions dinner out into separate bowls for those who are at home. hongjoong is hunched over his laptop with concentration at the dining table as usual, zeroed in on his presentation even amongst the bustle of yeosang and jongho setting the cutlery around him, but the jitters in his legs tell you differently. when he spots you walking closer, he shuts his laptop and places it to the side to greet you.

“seonghwa made ramen bulgogi for us before he left,” he tells you while you wash your hands at the sink and peer into the pot yunho is holding.

you gingerly slide into the seat across from hongjoong, watching yeosang dawdling in the kitchen as if he is trying to find something to keep himself busy with. “i thought he wasn’t rostered on for night shift today,” you absentmindedly comment.

jongho places your bowl of ramen in front of you and sits to your right as he answers, “he had to cover for one of the other nurses.”

you nod, waiting for the two in the kitchen. yunho comes to sit on your other side at the head of the table and yeosang beside hongjoong, their bowls placed down with a clunk that leads to silence in conversation.

“how’s your presentation going?” yunho vaguely asks hongjoong after a few minutes.

the older picks at his meat in his bowl, “it’s going alright. i only have the limitations and future directions for neurological gene therapies left to research.”

there is another lull in conversation before jongho asks, “did your surgeries go smoothly today?”

yunho nods, “i led a couple of trauma surgeries today. only one of them ended up going overtime.”

“you’re going to surpass the other doctors soon, doctor jeong from general surgery,” you tease slightly.

the boys share a few chuckles before the table falls silent once more and you can only hear the occasional slurp of noodles or clatter of chopsticks against the bowl. you glance at hongjoong, who is scratching the back of his neck, then at yeosang, whose gaze you can see darting around his bowl like he is avoiding eye contact. shifting your weight slightly in your chair, you suddenly start to realise why they are all acting so awkwardly.

it is not that your boyfriends are trying to skirt around yesterday’s fallout–if you can call it that–like you are. instead, they are waiting for you to be the one initiating the conversation so that they know for sure you are ready to have the conversation. the sentiment is appreciated but it does nothing to stop your muscles from clamming up even further.

the thought of talking and even just thinking about why you are feeling the way you are is enough to overwhelm you entirely again. it is much easier to simply pretend you are okay than to face the problems head on, because then you have to actually acknowledge that something is wrong. but you know that it is not just one issue but several things exacerbating one another, and just that awareness in itself already makes your insides lurch and clench dangerously.

there is one sole advantage to your boyfriends’ approach to handling this situation. the timeline of when to talk is left up to you, so you choose the one option they had failed to preempt–not to talk at all. you finish your ramen in silence pretending you do not see the shared glances between the boys, get up to place your dishes into the sink ignoring the gazes that linger on your back, then retreat to your bedroom whilst shoving your emotions into the deepest corners in the back of your mind.

they gave you a choice. you simply made one.

the weeks pass by. you change through another rotation and the beginning of winter arrives once more. the only thing that stays the same is the elephant in the room that remains unaddressed and your lonely fight to keep it that way.

restlessness seeps into every interaction that the boys share with you. it follows you to work, jongho and yunho making excuses to go to your ward just to see what you are doing even though their own wards are on the other side of the hospital. it is in the way san tries to swap himself onto night shifts the days he knows you are working one as well, and in how seonghwa liaises with your colleagues under the guise of his role as the CNS, simply to probe whether you are overexerting yourself or not.

it follows you home too, a constant breathing down your neck in the form of mingi carefully scanning your expression the moment you walk through the door after your shift, and in yeosang hovering within five feet regardless of where you are. wooyoung checks the fridge first thing after coming home, counting the boxes of meal prep to make sure you had taken one to work that day, and hongjoong asks how your day was with the intention of probing further to ask how you are coping. he is not the only one who tries to check and your answer never changes–work was good, you are fine.

gradually, you find yourself trying to avoid their line of sight, ducking behind colleagues on the wards or back into your own bedroom at home. it is easier to pretend that you are okay than to admit that you are not, and when that does not work, to just stay away from your boyfriends completely. you are well aware that avoiding them is not healthy, but smokers too know very clearly the health risks of tobacco yet continue to smoke. just how many things are there in the world that we know are unhealthy for ourselves–physically, mentally, socially–and we still choose to make that decision?

but as with any unhealthy choices, they eventually lead to detrimental consequences. unbeknownst to you, each denial of help causes the string inside of you to wind up tighter and tighter until it becomes taut enough to snap at any moment.

and that is what ends up happening on a wednesday night.

seonghwa and wooyoung are both still at the hospital. by the time they get home after their shifts, it will already nearly be time for dinner, so with everybody’s first preferences for cooks still working, you are the next in line. hongjoong had originally offered to order takeout instead since you had been on call last night, but you had been unable to fall asleep despite how exhausted you felt and you hated being stuck in the limbo state of idleness between rest and non-rest.

“are you sure you don’t want us to just order takeout today?”

“it’s fine, hongjoong,” you respond shortly, “i’ve already started cooking.”

yeosang sits at the countertop separating the kitchen from the open living room and dining area, watching as you make a simple soup and stir-fried dish. you try to ignore his intent staring but it is difficult when his gaze quite literally follows you from cupboard to sink to stove. it is only when he hesitantly asks, “are you okay?” that you realise you have left your expression unschooled, dark frown covering your face.

you force your features to relax and nod, trying not to throw a question back at him asking what he is doing just staring at you. his question catches the attention of san sitting on the couch, who calls out to check up on you, “is something wrong?”

“nothing’s wrong,” you sigh, turning around as if that will help to block them out, aware that your patience for them–for anybody–has started running thin. you idly hum at san’s reminder to ask them for help if you need it despite knowing fully well that having an extra person in the kitchen space would only serve to have the opposite effect to its intended purpose.

jongho passes by behind you to fill up a cup of water at the sink. as he waits, he glances at you stirring the pot before double taking at your expression. he tentatively questions, “you alright? do you want me to help?”

“why do you keep asking me that?” you reply, only half-jokingly. you drive him out with an irritated wave of your hand, “just sit and wait.”

your boyfriends are at least tactful enough to understand they are not to step foot into the kitchen until dinner is cooked, but it does nothing to alleviate the sensation of holes being drilled into the back of your head. you are so focused on ignoring them that you do not realise when seonghwa and wooyoung come home from their shifts.

“hey, love,” seonghwa sidles up to you in the kitchen as you slice some extra spring onions. “how’s your day been?”

as he asks you, he comes up from behind and slides a hand around your hip to rest on it. his touch is habitual–something he always does to you and the boys–but you are tense and on edge. you jerk in surprise, accidentally slicing your finger with the knife. it is only a small cut and absolutely unintentional on your boyfriend’s part, but your fuse finally runs out and you drop the knife with a clatter, whirling around angrily to face him.

“can you fucking stop doing that?” you snap, tone clipped and unkind.

seonghwa flusters, trying to apologise and look at your injury whilst simultaneously jerking backwards in confusion at your hostility. he stutters, “i–y/n, are you okay? i didn’t mean to surprise you–”

“no, that’s not it,” you interrupt, blind to the stinging in your finger. “i mean your fucking questions, and not just from you. all of you.” you lash out at the other boys too who have now stood up and are varying distances from the kitchen. “every single fucking day you ask me if i’m okay. can you please stop that?”

san slowly walks closer until he reaches the countertop that separates the both of you. “y/n,” he calls out to you sadly, your sudden anger uncharacteristic, “we’re just worried about you. we want to make sure that you’re okay.”

“i know you do,” you cry out with exasperation, heat starting to gather behind your eyes, “and i’m trying to be okay, alright? i’m trying for everybody’s sake. but you make it so fucking hard when each and every single one of you keep asking me how i’m feeling as if you want me to fucking break down.”

“that’s not what we’re trying to do,” hongjoong tries to reason with you, but you are unable to rationalise anything in the spur of the moment.

you desperately blink back tears. “i’ve tried to pretend that everything is okay–pushed everything to the back of my mind so that i don’t think about it and hope that it resolves itself…but it’s not working.” you take a shaky breath, lips quivering and voice quieting with every word, “i’m just one person at home and i’m just one person at work. i am so fucking tired all the time.”

“but you aren’t just one person. you can tell us and we can help you.”

you do not even register who says that, because your eyes blur with wetness and your voice increases with frustration, “no, i can’t. when you’re tired, when you’re exhausted, you don’t have the time or the energy to ask for help, much less to fight for yourself. you think i haven’t thought about complaining to you guys and letting myself cry in your arms? or escalating whatever happens at work to the higher-ups? i know what i should do, but it’s all useless.

“when you are about to be caught in an avalanche and buried alive, do you remember to ignore your instincts and run horizontally instead of attempting to outrun it? do you remember to keep your mouth shut to stop yourself from choking on snow? or to use your arms and legs to create air pockets for yourself, or to spit and use its trajectory to work out which way is up and down after you’re disorientated? no, you fucking don’t, because in the moment you can only focus on surviving. there is no time to do anything but that.”

your boyfriends are stunned into silence, not only by the bitter resentment that coats your loud voice and mars your face with furrowed eyebrows, but by the raw confession that tumbles out of your lips. they had known you were tired recently, just not the extent of it.

the tone of your words soften with exhaustion and heartache as you look them in the eyes one by one, “just think about ourselves…things aren’t the same between us anymore, don’t try to deny it. we don’t love each other like we used to. things have changed between us this year–it’s just that nobody has brought it up.” the tears that have pooled around your eyes finally slip down your cheeks. “and you know why? it’s because we’re all just trying to survive now. we don’t have the time or the luxury to do anything but survive.”

there is no thought that can be formulated in response to your words. seonghwa opens his mouth but then shuts it again because he knows you are right. it is ugly, but it is the truth.

having been in a relationship together for over four years now, not even including the turbulent years prior to becoming official when you were all navigating the hardships of medical school, your bonds are built upon the foundation of comfort and understanding. but what happens when that comfort turns into complacency, and understanding turns into indifference? what happens when time runs its course and wears down a relationship?

you avert your eyes downwards, the lines of the kitchen tiles blurry underneath your feet as your vision mists over, afraid to look at the sad gazes of your boyfriends any longer. there is a sudden thump of body colliding against the wall and a muffled curse that draws everybody’s attention, including yours, towards the corridor. mingi’s head snaps upwards with guilty eyes from where he had been trying to slink his way in from the front door unnoticed before accidentally stubbing his toe.

your body makes a split-second decision with the diversion. you push past seonghwa in the kitchen, past san and yeosang at the countertop and mingi by the wall, and past the rest of your boyfriends just standing there, back into the safety of your bedroom. it is from years of muscle memory navigating the apartment that you do not walk head-first into anything despite your vulnerable state, although your boyfriends also step out of your way in stunned stupor.

fumbling for the edge of the door behind you with your hand the moment you walk past the threshold to your bedroom, you step backwards until you are able to push it closed. it shuts with a loud click and then finally, you are alone.

you slowly sink forward to the ground, legs useless as your hands reach out towards the floor to hold yourself up. the world around you continues to blur with wetness, a stinging heat behind your eyes and nose, yet the tears do not fall and you do not cry. your gaze remains unfocused on the spot right beside the leg of your bed, frozen in your own stupor of tangled thoughts and emotions.

time, fucking time. you despise that word with your entire soul. in this world, the ones who are truly rich are not those with endless wealth to spare–the ones who are truly rich are those with endless time to spare.

when was the last time you drank freshly-brewed coffee at a cafe instead of guzzling down the grainy staleness of a rushed instant coffee that has not even been mixed properly? when was the last time you sat down for a knife-and-fork meal with warm food instead of popping a mint into your mouth to stave off your hunger pains for a little longer? when was the last time you went shopping for a pretty dress and a cute pair of matching heels instead of sniffing your scrubs at the end of a shift wondering whether you can postpone the laundry for one more day? when was the last time you used shampoo and conditioner when washing your hair instead of simply rinsing it under the water before your eyes closed on themselves?

they are such simple tasks of everyday life, yet they have now become unattainable luxuries in the face of insufficient time. you deliberately sacrifice the quality of your life to save a few extra minutes here, a few extra minutes there. but no matter how much time you are able to scrape out of thin air, it slips through the cracks of your fingers like fine sand and disappears amongst the people around you. even one spare minute, if you have any leftover after prioritising your patients, must be somehow split between the eight of your boyfriends.

you can save however much time you can, but it will never be enough. you are not enough.

the knotted twist of anxiety that has been distorting your insides for the past few weeks suddenly unravels with shattering clarity as your fears suddenly weigh you down with crushing exhaustion. you cannot even take care of yourself anymore–how can you take care of your boyfriends, much less eight of them? you want everything to just stop, but what exactly ‘everything’ entails, you have no idea.

there is a soft hand on your shoulder squeezing tenderly. it is warm, you idly think to yourself. they murmur, “y/n,” and only when they squeeze you again do you dazedly look up, blinking to clear your vision. mingi’s round eyes gaze at you and you find him kneeling beside your crumpled form on the floor of your bedroom. you have no energy to acknowledge him further than another blink and prolonged eye contact.

he stares at you for a few seconds, eyes full of words that he holds back, before simply asking, “have you showered yet?”

you do not answer, but he had not questioned you with the intention of receiving an answer. he responds for you, “probably, but i doubt you washed your hair. come,” his hand slowly travels down from your shoulder to your smaller hand, “take a shower with me.”

mingi’s gaze does not waver despite the slight narrowing of your eyes that tells him you are tired and unamused. “i stink and i want your company,” he states. then he makes the decision for you and tugs you upwards with him. despite his strength, mingi’s hands are gentle as he holds you, leading you out of your bedroom and into the bathroom instead.

you stand there and let him guide your arms through your jumper so that he can take it off your head. he does the same with your shirt, your pants and with your undergarments, his touch intimate and loving not with sexual desires but with devoted care as if he is afraid you will crack under the slightest of pressures. his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps where they brush against your skin and your eyes close with the softest of sighs, letting yourself relax under your boyfriend’s careful movements.

the bathroom begins to steam up from the spray of hot water and mingi steps you into the shower with him. quietly, he wets your hair and lathers his shampoo into it, sturdy hands massaging the tension out of your scalp and the nape of your neck. you watch the concentration in his creased brows and the water that drips down from his chin falls between your chests. not once does he look at you–only focuses on properly shampooing your hair.

it is only when mingi is rinsing your hair and you are no longer facing him do you pluck up the courage to speak delicately, “why aren’t you asking me if i’m okay?”

he is silent for a few seconds and you feel the slight pause in his hands against your scalp before he continues to run his fingers through your hair. “do you want me to ask?”

once again, you do not answer, but that is an answer in itself.

“plus,” mingi softly murmurs, hands leaving your hair, the click of a bottle cap opening resounding in the echo of the bathroom louder than his voice, “you’ll just say that you’re okay…even though you’re not.”

then the touch of his fingers returns as he teases something cold into your hair from its roots to its ends. almost immediately, you choke up and your expression crumples, lips trembling downwards as your eyebrows furrow, because mingi is putting conditioner in your hair. it is embarrassing that this of all things is what finally marks your breakdown, but mingi does not comment when your shoulders shudder with shaky exhales nor when you fail to hold in a stuttering sob. he lets you cry out your sorrows, pain and fatigue and he simply continues to massage the conditioner into your hair.

mingi simply continues to love you in the way that you did not love yourself.

when your hair is rinsed, only then does he turn you around to face him. under the showerhead with only the comforting tranquility of water pattering against the tiles around the both of you, he softly tilts your chin upwards to capture your lips in a kiss. it is a slow but simple kiss, lips pressed against yours with a thousand utterances of comfort and reassurances dancing across them.

he gives you one kiss, then another, and another, each one sweeter than the previous despite the salty tracks that run down your cheeks. your hands find their way onto his chest and the steady beat of his heart thrums underneath your palm. mingi rests your foreheads together, your tears falling in solitude with the water and with the tears that fall from inside his heart.

finally, he asks, “is it work?”

you shake your head slightly. “i don’t know.”

“is it us?”

the tears that had slowed down reappear with a strangled sob as you answer truthfully, your fears emerging at least, “i don’t know.”

“that’s okay, you don’t have to know,” he whispers, “and you don’t have to be okay.” he pulls away a little so that he can cradle your jaw with his hands and look into your eyes. “take the day off tomorrow, y/n.”

you do nothing to stop the tears that continue spilling over the bottom of your eyes as you shakily answer, “i don’t have time. my patients need me.”

“you do have time,” mingi counters, thumbing your tears away. “you just haven’t been spending that time on yourself. even doctors get sick, you know.”

“i’m not sick,” you deny.

your boyfriend pulls you into his chest and encases you in a protective embrace. “physically, maybe not. but your mental health is just as important, and sometimes the things that you can’t see inflict more suffering than the things that you can see.”

it is something that you all know and understand, but when you are trapped in a workplace where the mentality revolves entirely around a medical model of physical health, the disparity in value you place between your physical and mental health becomes so deeply ingrained it is almost impossible to change.

“mingi, what if…” you trail off. your boyfriend nuzzles the top of your head with his chin before brushing his lips over the crown of your forehead in encouragement. you swallow thickly to continue, “what if i need time alone?”

mingi pulls away from you once more, slowly so as not to further upset your already-scattered emotions. he looks at you earnestly, considering your words and their meaning–whether he is understanding your undertone correctly and whether this is a genuine request for respite or a spur-of-the-moment cry for reassurance. he watches your eyes flicker back and forth between his own.

“if that’s what you need,” he finally whispers, wrapping you closer in his arms again, “then i’ll support you no matter what.”

he feels your small puff of surprise against his chest and it pierces through his heart like a sword. how he wishes that you would realise that he and any of your other boys would pluck all the stars in the universe’s galaxies if you were to ask for them. but instead, you are asking him in a small and timid voice, “you’re not upset? the others won’t be upset?”

mingi chooses his next words carefully, aware that they could easily be misunderstood but also unwilling to treat you like a child where the world is only full of happy endings. not that you believe that anymore, anyway. “we will be upset,” he gently breaks to you, “but only at the situation that we're in because things have ended up like this before we could even really do anything for you. y/n, we will never be upset at you in this situation, much less upset at the decisions you choose to make. if time is what you need, then take however much time you need.”

you do not have the courage to lift up your head to meet his eyes, shame starting to creep through your veins because what if this decision is simply a decision to run away yet again? but then mingi senses your doubts and draws you in for another kiss. he captures your lips between his, pressing against you a little harder when you both start to run out of breath. he draws it out for longer until the kiss becomes dizzyingly and intoxicatingly blissful and fills your mind with thoughts of him and him only.

when you can finally inhale, the air swirls with a mix of his scent and the shampoo he had used. here, under the warm spray of water within the safe confines of the shower and mingi's arms, it may only be momentary but you are okay.

“can you tell the boys for me?” you ask, voice barely louder than a whisper. “i don't think i can tell them myself.”

mingi nods and the corners of his lips rise bittersweetly. “of course.”

so for the first time in four years since moving in with your boys, on a night that snows lightly but unceasingly, you pack a small bag of clothes and essential belongings…

and move out.

“good evening, doctor jeong from general surgery.”

the running joke between himself and the little girl in front never fails to draw a laugh of amusement out of yunho, who pretends to bow in formal greeting as he returns the acknowledgement, “good evening, kim seolhee from the paediatric ward.” when she giggles, he comments, “you look like you’re having a good day.”

seolhee grins and nods with excitement. not only does her expression look livelier, there is a slight healthy glow to her skin as well. “i was just telling doctor snowflake that they’re letting me go home for christmas next week before my next round of treatments start.”

at her words, there is no way to avoid eye contact with your boyfriend as his gaze automatically flicks over to where you are sitting beside her bed. ever since you moved out a few days ago into a friend’s rented apartment with a spare couch, your encounters with your boyfriends around the hospital have been…different.

a shift in dynamics was always going to be inevitable because it was–is–an action of request for space to think and just breathe, even though neither parties are truly mad or upset at one another. just as mingi had reassured you in the shower, it is simply the circumstances that have piled up and led to a consequence like so, and if you need time away from a contributing factor to sort your emotions out, there are absolutely no hard feelings. despite all this, your boyfriends cannot help but yearn to reach out and bring you back into their arms–to bring you back home.

yunho’s eyes soften the moment they lay upon you and he savours the sight of you today, unsure of when he will next see you around the hospital. “that’s so good to hear,” he says earnestly, “and i’m sure that news has made doctor snowflake’s entire week.”

he smiles at you warmly and this time you find yourself mirroring his expression, awkwardness taking a backseat because you know he is genuinely happy for both seolhee and you. the level of fondness and love you have for seolhee has long blurred past the usual level of care you would show to a patient on your caseload. she has spent more christmas’ in hospital than out, so to be able to spend these holidays at home is the greatest gift seolhee could receive and the greatest gift you could witness.

your boyfriend lingers around for a little longer, pushing his visit as long as he can without it being obvious that he does not actually have a reason to stay. eventually he says, “i better get back to work. enjoy your christmas at home, seolhee.”

she nods happily and then he looks at you. “i’ll see you–” yunho cuts himself off, holding back from finishing the sentence with ‘at home’. he corrects, “i’ll see you around.”

“see you,” you respond amiably, fingers fiddling with the hem of your scrubs as he walks out.

yunho only makes it a couple of steps away before he bumps into wooyoung making his evening rounds. they exchange brief conversation and you quickly avert your gaze when you see the taller of the two gesturing back into seolhee’s room. seolhee’s eyes dart between yours and the view outside her room before she points out, “it’s nurse woo!”

“really?” you lie, pretending you had not noticed. yunho has already walked off by the time you look back, so only wooyoung is looking at you. he makes no move to come into seolhee’s room. instead, he gives you a little wave with a hopeful smile. a small exhale of fondness leaves you as you return his gesture through the room’s window with a similar amount of restraint. however, it is enough to make your boyfriend break out into a beam, and then he goes running off.

seolhee is already staring at you when you turn to face her again. she raises an eyebrow. “are you and your boyfriends fighting?” she immediately asks.

her question makes you flinch with a sheepish smile, knowing that she would catch a whiff of it sooner or later–just not this fast. are you and your boys fighting? it is technically not a proper argument nor a proper break from the relationship, but there is the need to take a step back and rethink what certain things mean to you–to the boys–and what you want your life to look like.

you are not about to unload all of this onto the now seven-year-old girl with an ‘it’s complicated’ as your answer, so you opt for a simple, “yeah, kind of.”

seolhee shrugs and comments casually, “my parents used to fight all the time.”

you are reminded of her mother, mrs kim, who you have seen several times during visiting hours after that first meeting with her. you are also reminded of mr kim, her father who drops by whenever he can when he is not at work. they have been nothing but strong and supportive parents during seolhee’s battle with her cancer and you cannot reconcile that image of them with the image of constant arguing.

“what changed?” you probe curiously.

despite the smile on her face, the glimmer in seolhee’s eyes fade slightly. “i got diagnosed and then they realised that in the grand scheme of the universe, life is just too short not to spend every moment loving each other.” she turns to look outside the window on the other side of her bed. “we learnt a lot–love isn’t just about expensive outings and fancy gestures and impressive words because there are a lot of things that i can’t do that other normal kids and families can…we learnt that love is all about the small things too and those small moments in life are the things we truly end up cherishing, especially during the tough times.

“mum helps me pick out the colour of my bandanna when i want to wear one, and dad helps me hold the bucket up when i’m feeling sick. i pretend to hide my parents behind the curtains to see if the nurses will let us have an extra five minutes past visiting hours, and they will always smile and give us ten. we don’t always love each other the same way as other families do, but those are the things that we’ll remember the most.”

you look out the window with seolhee as you listen to her words. the snow has fallen lightly the entire day and now under the streetlights, the growing layer of snow glows brightly amongst the dimness of the winter night. you think back to your boys–the lack of dates and diminishing displays of love; how that had been one of the first indicators that something had changed in the relationship dynamics. then you also think back to those small gestures they had done for you; the silly notes, the coffees, the brief conversations, the meals, the break room hugs.

“it’s kind of like snow,” you murmur to neither yourself nor seolhee in particular. “you don’t notice it at first, and only when it starts to form a layer on the ground over time do you start to realise how much it has actually snowed.”

the moment those words leave your lips, you are suddenly reminded of how even those small gestures had gradually disappeared–how that too played a part in the shift in your romantic relationships. your tone is wistful, “then the snow melts and it's gone, just like that.”

seolhee looks back at you, considering your words thoughtfully. she hums for a moment before putting forward, “it melts, but does that change the fact that it snowed in the first place?”

the snowflakes continue to drift softly outside like butterfly wings. as beautiful as they are, there will come a time when they melt away, but the reality before your eyes right now is that they exist–they are there. it is snowing.

“no,” you reply, “it doesn’t.”

“then maybe it's up to us to remember that it snowed until it does snow again,” she smiles triumphantly, the innocence of her radiating beam so strikingly different to the clarifying wisdom she has suddenly dropped even if she does not know the true extent of the meaning her words hold to you. seolhee points at your name badge to drive her point home, “it's just like your badge. my sticker is gone now but that doesn't change the fact that it used to be there.”

your head flicks down immediately and you tilt your badge upwards so that you can get a good look it at. disappointment washes over you when you find that her words are true and her sticker is gone, so worn and loved that it has fallen off somewhere within the hospital. you have no idea when that occurred but it must have been today, because it was still there this morning when you touched it for comfort on your drive here. now, only the faint outline of its shape remains.

it should not hold as much sentimental value as it does, but the realisation that seolhee’s sticker is no longer with you makes you ask, like you the child and seolhee the adult, “can i have another one?”

her voice takes a rare tone of complaint as she grumbles, “i lost the sticker book when i moved back to this ward.”

“that’s a shame” you remark, as genuinely upset as the little girl beside you.

she lets out an endearing little sigh, then pats the back of her hand with her own. “that’s okay, you can look outside whenever you miss me. remember,” seolhee blinks at you earnestly, “i love you more than there are snowflakes falling outside.”

you place your other hand over hers with a hint of a challenging smile. “and if it stops snowing?” you ask, testing the seemingly boundless wisdom that is hidden inside of her.

seolhee beams, answer so clear and obvious. “then count the stars in the sky.”

for the first time in his life, jongho is late.

his, san’s and yeosang’s mornings had all started off a little rough after the latter had rushed past the open door to the bedroom the other two were sleeping in together, dressed in his scrubs and puffer jacket ready to leave, only to double take at the sight of them still in bed. they had been woken up by yeosang’s frantic question, “jongho? don’t you have work today?”

san had groggily lifted his upper body off the bed as jongho jolted into a sitting position, trying to pull himself together. “what?” jongho’s brain had remained foggy no matter how alert he appeared in panic. “what time is it? what day is it today?”

“it’s six thirty,” yeosang had responded, san’s grunts of confirmation affirming the same. alarm had suddenly run through yeosang as doubt creeped into his own mind. “and it’s monday…isn’t it?”

“yeah,” san had confirmed again, voice thick with sleep.

jongho had been certain he did not have work. “i checked the whiteboard last night. my name’s not down for a shift,” he had stated, only to break out into cold sweat immediately afterwards with realisation. you are the only one who goes to all the effort to note down everybody’s shifts for the fortnight on the whiteboard–the very same one that has not been changed since you moved out.

“oh, shit,” jongho had cursed. “i do have work.”

and so for the first time in his life, jongho is late. he knows he only has himself to blame for relying on somebody else for something as important as when he has to show up for work, but for years that is how it has been. not once have you ever made a mistake with the erasable calendar, always taking meticulous care to check that all the shifts for each day are correct because it is the easiest way to help you all keep track of where everybody is for the day.

nobody asks you to update the whiteboard. you just do.

hongjoong realises the same thing in the wake of jongho’s rush to leave the house. he stands in front of the bathroom sink, his eyes half-closed as he brings his toothbrush up to his mouth, only to get a gross mouthful of plain bristles. it is still too early in the morning to swear so he sighs in resignation instead, “not again.”

he pulls the head of the toothbrush back out of his mouth to squeeze a glob of toothpaste on top. it is the third morning in a row that he has done this, still unaccustomed to your absence in the house. on the mornings you leave for work earlier than him–which is most days–you have always pre-squeezed his toothpaste for him, simply because you know it takes a little longer for the cogs in his head to start turning in comparison to your other boys.

hongjoong does not ask you to squeeze his toothpaste for him. you just do.

it is second nature to you, just as it is to hang wooyoung’s keys on the jacket hook by the front door so that he does not upturn the entire house looking for them like he has been for the past fifteen minutes. seonghwa follows hot on the younger’s heels flipping cushions back onto their spots on the couch, shifting trinkets on the kitchen counter back where they belong and closing all the cabinet doors that are swung open haphazardly.

“i never understand why you don’t just put your keys back onto the same hook whenever you get home,” seonghwa exhales.

wooyoung pointedly chooses not to respond to that, instead firmly stating, “i’m telling you, they were on the couch just last night."

“and why would you put them on the couch in the first place?”

“that’s besides the point,” the younger waves his words away carelessly, going back to the couch once more and sliding his hands along the cracks in case they slipped inside.

“how does y/n always manage to find your keys,” seonghwa runs his fingers through his hair.

“i don’t know,” wooyoung suddenly dampens, hands coming to a stop in the middle of the couch as he thinks of you knowing exactly where his keys are in the chaos of the house. “she just…does.”

and there are a lot of other things that you just do. when mingi saunters into the kitchen after dinner, feeling peckish but not for something unhealthy considering it is already close to bedtime, he pokes his nose into the fridge as san washes the dishes. the latter glances over his shoulder.

“you want me to cut you an apple later?” san offers.

mingi nods happily and requests, “without the skin?”

the older laughs, repeating his words, “without the skin.”

when mingi is handed a plate of neat apple slices ten minutes later, he finds himself subconsciously comparing them to the ones you will silently place into his hands after dinner before he even asks for them. san’s slices are the same in appearance–skinned and uniform–except he cuts them into thicker wedges than you do.

mingi takes a bite into one. the apple tastes sweet and tart across his tongue and yet he cannot help but think that the apples taste better when you cut them. whereas san cuts them into six slices, you cut them into nine; just something that you do.

later that night, yunho is again the last one to arrive home after his surgeries run overtime, save for seonghwa and yeosang on night shift. it is pitch black when he enters, bumping not only into the shoe cabinet but also an untucked dining chair as he fumbles his way in with his hands outstretched.

the night light that is usually plugged into the wall of the living room is not on to greet him in the dark hours past midnight today. the light was something you had insisted he buy, absolutely not because the design of the glowing mushroom cap was cute, but because you did not want anybody–read yunho–tripping flat onto their face coming home from a late shift. you are always the one to turn it on if you know one of them will be late, but this time there is no light…because there is no you.

yunho does not ask you to turn the light on for him. you just do. nobody asks you to do any of those small things for them, yet you just do, because that is your way of showing you see, your way of showing you care, and your way of showing you love.

a wave of longing washes over yunho, the sands of his heart already long damp from the moment you moved out. how he wishes he could just walk into your room right now and shelter your peacefully-sleeping form from the shadows of the night with a tender kiss, just like he used to.

but he cannot, not anymore, and he regrets more than anything not doing it while he could.

nurse yejin, the head of the paediatric emergency department, is just about to greet you as you walk up to the nursing station when she takes all but one look at you and points out, “you’re looking like shit this morning.”

from anybody else, that statement would have been insulting despite it being the truth. but nurse yejin has always been frank and blunt, not one to beat around the bush with the intent of getting to the root of problems as efficiently and effectively as possible. ‘head nurse things’, she had told you early on in your rotation.

you let out a laugh in response, although it probably looks like a grimace more than anything. “woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” you joke.

it is only true to a certain extent since you have not been sleeping on a bed but on a couch for the past six days, now counting seven. but ever since you moved out, you have woken up every morning feeling out of routine, standing in the middle of the unfamiliar living room disorientated and wondering whether you usually brush your teeth before changing into your scrubs or after, and whether you usually grab your socks before you pack your bag or right before you leave for work. you do not realise how mentally ingrained into your system your morning routine is, down to the number of steps your feet can take on autopilot and the exact placement of the items your hands can grab without looking, until your environment changes entirely.

the drive to the hospital is also different. it is only ten minutes longer than your usual commute and the streets all look similar under the covering of snow, yet it still throws you off, setting the tone as such for the remainder of the day.

this morning had been no exception–arguably worse–when you realised with frustration that you had no more clean scrubs to change into. you had forgotten to run a load of laundry the day before, leaving you with no choice but to borrow your friend’s clothes that were presentable enough for you to wear to work until you could change into a set of the hospital’s spare scrubs.

forgetting to do your laundry is no rare occurrence but it has never been an issue. how many times had you opened your wardrobe, uncertain whether you would find a set of wearable scrubs, only to be surprised by an ironed and neatly-hung set waiting for you? it has never been an issue until now, as realisation dawns upon you that one of your boyfriends has always looked out for you by ensuring you always had clean scrubs for work.

“you better snap out of it quick then, doctor l/n,” nurse yejin advises, words pulling you back to the present. “we have a thirteen-year-old male arriving in a few minutes with a first-time generalised tonic-clonic seizure. episode lasted for six minutes, now postictal but stable.”

your mind immediately shifts, focus zeroing in on the length of the seizure as the head nurse continues to provide you a handover of the paramedic’s call. you instruct, “notify the fellow or resident currently on call in paediatric neurology. tell them to be ready for immediate assessment.”

nurse yejin nods and reaches for the phone as you walk off briskly to prepare for the patient’s arrival. from behind, she watches you with a slight smirk of pride because there you are; fire lit up in your eyes once again. only, it is nowhere near as intense as it used to be.

for fire, too, has a life of its own. it is able to burn and burn and burn, engulfing whatever it can within its vicinity in order to keep itself alive and bright. but even the strongest of fires will eventually burn out into nothing but a wither of smoke if it does receive enough fuel to keep it sustained, whether sourced by itself or provided by those around it.

“you’re not eating?” your intern asks you, hours later.

you turn your head slightly towards her to show she has your attention, but you keep your eyes glued to the screen as you rapidly type up the notes for the seizure patient from this morning. “you go have lunch first,” you respond distractedly, not having realised it was already past one thirty. “i’ll eat in a bit.”

only, when it comes to three o’clock, a wrench having been thrown into the works by a sudden code blue, you realise you do not have a lunch to eat. “fuck,” you curse at yourself, hands digging into your bag once more in hopes of finding a stray protein bar. you knew you should have thrown in a couple of them last night while it was on your mind.

just like your scrubs, your lunch has never been an issue for you until now. once more, realisation is forced upon you as you wonder why not; san has always had an uncanny sixth sense that somehow alerts him each time you forget to stuff your lunchbox into your bag so that he can do it in your stead. on the days you forget and he leaves earlier than you, hongjoong is there to take it to work, personally finding you on the wards to deliver it to you.

sometimes, your lunch will be packed in a different container. when wooyoung makes a heavily-spiced or greasier dish, he portions some to cook with less chilli or seasoning specifically for you to take to work the next day because he knows your stomach is sensitive, especially when you are stressed or fatigued. today though, you have no choice but to grab something from the cafeteria.

even the instant coffee you quickly brew for yourself tastes particularly unpalatable and sand-like, a tricky feat considering how rock-bottom the standard already is. jongho has always somehow managed to make it taste bearable if he does not have time to order freshly-brewed coffee from the cafe. you think that maybe it is because he takes the extra minute that you do not to properly pre-dissolve the powder in some boiling water before diluting the coffee with the rest of the water. and jongho does do that, except the reality is that it tastes better simply because he is making it for you.

you find your mind incessantly churning as your day continues in a similar manner–sudden awareness of all the different ways your boyfriends have been looking out for you. it shadows you from the hospital back to your friend’s apartment, which is pitch black when you get back after your shift. your friend had texted you earlier that she would be out drinking with friends and unlikely to return before the morning, so when you unlock the door, you are greeted by nothing but deafening silence and apocalyptic stillness.

using the display of your lockscreen to illuminate a path, you toe off your shoes and sluggishly trudge into the living room. you have never come home to complete blackness before–one of your boyfriends, usually yunho, has always made sure to keep a night light on for you. but this time, the lonely gloom of your friend’s apartment beckons to you in a way that is hauntingly comforting. so instead of turning its lights on, you sit down heavily on the couch in the darkness.

the night seems colder than usual.

you lean back onto the cushions of the couch and stare blankly at the ceiling above. the display on your phone dims before turning off from idleness. as if your body takes it as a cue to do the same, you close your eyes and slowly exhale, muscles deflating into the couch as the silence spreads over your body like the gradual creep of water freezing.

just what exactly are you doing? what is it that you need?

did you simply need an opportunity to just be yourself, away from those who you felt the need to always be a perfectly happy and positive y/n around? or did you need space to reconsider the state of your relationship with the boys? maybe it was never even about the relationships in the first place, but that you had no way of isolating yourself from work so you chose the next best option to cut yourself off from.

perhaps, you really just wanted to continue running away and hiding from a greater problem that you do not want to acknowledge.

a wetness builds up behind your eyelids, confused and overwhelmed by the fact itself that you still cannot make sense of your emotions. maybe it is because there is no one answer but that all of them are answers, because no matter what you try to do or where you try to run, you cannot seem to rid the bone-deep exhaustion that continues to crush and constrict your soul.

however, there is one thing you are certain of after today. having spent so many days away from the boys and your normal routine, only now do you realise just how many subtle routines there are that intertwine you all together. some you only notice because of the change it has brought upon this week; others long known because they ceased to occur.

but seolhee’s words resonate within you. yes, some of those routines had disappeared, but like the snow, it does not change the fact that they existed in the first place. the commonality that all of the routines share–whether it be those you had previously been so hung up about dwindling or those you are only just becoming conscious of–is that they are all routines of love.

and like the golden warmth of the sun during the frigid bitterness of winter, you do not learn to truly appreciate something until it becomes absent from your life.

sometimes, you wonder what the end of the world will be like.

you wonder how it happens; whether it would be instantaneous, one second everybody going about their everyday life then the next second everything gone, people’s last moments still in blissful ignorance as to what has become of them and the world; or whether it would be gradual, an agonisingly slow and painful wait as inevitable doom creeps closer, no better than mercifully taking your own life.

you wonder what you would feel; fear for what will be or resignation for what is to be? regret for what had been or grief for what will not be? you wonder how you would realise, where you would be the moment it happens, who would come to mind first, why the world would be ending.

you have wondered so much and yet, you would have never expected to experience a part of your world ending through a phone call, your ringtone jarring and eerie in the late hours past midnight, jolting you awake on an unfamiliar couch to the sight of an equally unfamiliar ceiling. it takes you a few seconds to process the sound, disoriented from having accidentally fallen asleep still in your scrubs with no recollection of the last few hours.

by the time your fingers fumble across your phone, it has already stopped ringing. squinting, you turn the screen on. there are fresh notifications at the top of your screen showing two missed calls, but before you can process who they are from, the silent living room is disturbed by the piercing sound of your ringtone once again.

it is only seonghwa who is calling but an unsettling shift in the air abruptly makes the hair along your skin rise. something is wrong. you pick up.

“...hwa?”

“hey, love,” your boyfriend responds carefully. “where–are you at your friend’s place right now?”

you sit up on the couch and adjust the phone closer towards your ear with both hands. “yeah…i am.”

you can hear seonghwa take a shaky exhale before answering, “i think you might want to come to the hospital.”

blood rushes to your ears and your breath hitches. “why?” you whisper out, voice barely audible as your clutch on your phone tightens.

he does not answer you immediately. it is not until you choke out your question once more, voice urgent and desperate, that he breaks. seonghwa's tone is solemn, hesitance to speak louder than a waterfall, and never would you have thought that it would only take something as simple as his next two words for you to experience what feels like the end of the world.

“it’s seolhee.”

the room spins around from under your feet. you suddenly find yourself blindly groping the surface of the kitchen countertop, having stumbled your way across the dark living room. the phone call has ended–you cannot recall whether you hung up on seonghwa or whether he hung up on you, or whether it is actually still ongoing, his concerned shouts of your name simply falling upon deaf ears.

your breathing becomes increasingly shallow but you do not start crying. your expression remains stonily frozen as you frantically feel and search the countertop with your hands, uncaring of the ruckus and mess you are making. you are looking for something. what are you looking for? you need something. you need to bring something, but what? keys. you need to bring your keys. you need keys. you need your car keys. car keys, so you can drive to the hospital. you need to drive to the hospital because seolhee is there. you need to get to the hospital and you need to drive and you need your keys, where are your keys? you need your keys.

something cold brushes against the side of your pinky and immediately you snatch it up. you rush to the front door, toeing on the first thing that feels like a pair of shoes, then yank the door open before they are properly on your feet. you have no time. your leg jitters and your finger repeatedly jabs the elevator button as you watch the display numbers of the floor slowly move upwards towards yours. please, you beg to whichever higher entity is willing to listen to you, please, i have no time.

the moment the doors start to crack open, you force your way into the elevator. the doors cannot close fast enough and you pace in restless circles in the enclosed space while it takes you down to the underground carpark. your feet have already exited the threshold of the elevator before the doors even fully open again and your frantic steps reverberate loudly in the echo of the parking lot as you sprint for your car.

“y/n!”

you almost miss the yell of your name in your distraught, but your steps falter at the last moment, slowing down only slightly to turn in the direction of the sound. there is no time to question what you see. mingi is there, rapidly closing the distance between the two of you.

he stands in front of you within seconds and his chest heaves with effort and adrenaline. you feel your face crumpling as you instinctively and automatically reach out for him. mingi catches your hands, letting you squeeze his own in panic even if your nails dig into his skin.

“mingi, seonghwa–seolhee, she–the hospital–”

“i know,” mingi nods quickly, gently shushing your unintelligible blabber, “i know. let’s get you to the hospital.”

he envelops your hand in his and tugs you along behind him towards his car. you want to urge him to run, but he maintains a steady pace until he can pull the car door open and guide you into the seat. mingi can feel your anxiety rolling off in waves as he rounds the front of the car to the driver’s seat and he knows how desperate you are for him to hurry up and floor the pedal, but he also knows that feeding into your panic with his own will only make things worse.

mingi drives as fast as he can without speeding too dangerously, although he cuts it close with a few red lights. the two of you sit in loud silence the entire ride. your boyfriend glances over at you every now and then, brows furrowed with concern, but you remain motionless with your eyes fixed to the road in front despite the erratic rhythm of your heartbeat.

“y/n–” your boyfriend cuts himself off upon arriving at the hospital, where you tumble out of the car the moment it jerks to a stop. he is not quick enough to grab you as he puts the car into park and he fumbles to undo his own seatbelt whilst you are already weaving your way towards the sliding doors to the elevator.

you run. never before in your life have you ever run with such sheer desperation. one after the other, the soles of your shoes strike against the ceramic tiles of the lobby before they become thuds against the vinyl flooring of the wards.

the past month, you have walked this exact path almost every single day; you have seen stretchers being rushed in, and parents and family members forcibly pulled away from the side of their loved ones to make way for immediate medical assistance from doctors like you. but today, you are on the other side–you are the one rushing into the paediatric ED dishevelled and crazed, uncaring of how you look to the rest of the world.

“seolhee,” you mutter to yourself, pace slowing to an unsteady stumble as you twist and turn to find her familiar smile. “seolhee, where are you?”

nurse yejin spots you and rushes up to grasp you by the elbow. “doctor l/n,” she urges with wide eyes, “she came in as a code blue. she's in the resus bay but she–”

your blood runs cold and the rest of nurse yejin's words become a muffled fuzz in your ear along with the surrounding clamour of the ED, replaced instead by a high-pitched ringing that reverberates throughout your entire skull. gaze unfocused, you sway as your feet slowly pivot in the direction of the resus bay. nurse yejin’s outstretched hand falls to her side and she watches you helplessly, your shoes shuffling with contradictory urgency and hesitancy towards the sliding glass doors.

around you, the commotion of the ward blurs away, your vision narrowing into a pinprick tunnel the closer you get. seonghwa tries to reach for you when you pass by him and some of your colleagues near the doors, but you continue shambling forward as if you are possessed, mind and body completely blind to his presence and touch. you do not stop until you reach the doors. slowly, you bring your hands up to rest on the cool surface as you press yourself closer and look inside.

it’s a code blue, you think to yourself in a state of trance and stupored confusion at the scene that unfolds before your eyes, but why is nobody resuscitating seolhee? why is nobody helping her? why isn’t anybody doing anything?

“seolhee,” you whisper vaguely, right hand weakly hitting the glass. then again, you call out her name, this time with more urgency. “seolhee.”

you hit the glass once more, then a third time but harder yet. “seolhee!” you shout, both hands now fisted and pounding against the glass in distress. “seolhee! somebody save her!”

hands start to pull you back but you do not register any of them nor are they strong enough to draw you away from the doors. the anguished cries of your name are left unheard, but despite the wildness of your crazed desperation, your mind vaguely registers the few words that somehow manage to break through. the sounds are warped and distorted as if you are continuously being thrust underwater then hauled upwards over and over again, but it is enough for you to piece them together.

“cardiac arrest…multi-organ failure–” “–terminal lucidity–” “–time of death–”

your body nearly topples over as you freeze under the resistance of those around you, jostling around limply in the crowd of limbs. all of a sudden, you are wrenched out of the water and your chest convulses trying to gasp for air. the noise of the ED and the shouts around you flood back into your ears like a tsunami, except it comes from every direction imaginable with force that has multiplied infinitely and pulverises your entire soul.

you cannot stay here any longer. you run.

you run wherever your feet take you and you do not stop, even when your lungs and your legs begin to sear at the same intensity as the inferno that currently incinerates your heart. lurching up stairs after stairs after stairs, you run and run and run until you burst through the doors to the rooftop of the hospital where your chest takes in a heaving inhale. the piercing temperature of the air leaves your system shocked and breathless and you stumble over to the ground.

there is nothing to break your fall in every sense, so there, on your hands and knees at your absolute lowest in the stinging cold of the hospital rooftop, you finally shatter into smithereens. it starts off as a tremble of your lips and a quiver of your chin, a choked stutter of breath as your eyebrows crumple and your eyes blink back the growing heat behind them. but then a small cry of pain leaves you and you lean back heavily onto your feet before your hands fist the material of your scrubs. your skin turns white as you clench and rock yourself back and forth, breathing erratic and sobs increasing in volume until they are long, soulful wails.

your entire body convulses uncontrollably with each gut-wrenching cry that leaves you. the world around you blurs away from the tears that fall down your face and your head pounds with lightheadedness. you hit your chest with an agonised fist, again and again, harder and harder, because you would rather feel any physical pain than the shattering crevice in your heart.

you are suddenly jostled by a strong pair of arms wrapping around your upper body. they tuck you firmly into their chest, a hand wrapping around your wrist to stop you from hurting yourself any further and the other pressing your head against the warmth of their neck.

they shush you repetitively with soothing rocks back and forth. as they comfort you, their own voice cracks from their constricted throat, “i’ve got you, y/n. just cry.” only then do you hazily register it as seonghwa’s voice. seonghwa, who was just as close to seolhee as you, understands the pain that is breaking you apart and is here to hold you through it.

you cannot rid the image of seolhee’s last smile out of your head–her excitement to go home for christmas, her cheery confession of how much she loves you. you fist the front of seonghwa’s scrubs and weep, “it hurts, seonghwa. why does it hurt so much?”

he rests his cheek against the top of your head, his own tears falling freely and dripping down to join yours on the snowy floor in bittersweet harmony. as doctors and nurses, grieving for patients is a luxury that cannot be afforded for every single life that is lost. grief is a weakness in the medical field because you cannot look back–you can only look forward and do your best to make sure there are no more lives that are lost.

but you forget that grief is not a weakness as a person, and you are human first and foremost before you are doctors and nurses. sometimes, it becomes a necessity to grieve before you can keep moving forward.

“i know, love,” seonghwa brushes his hand over your hair as he tries to keep his voice from breaking. “grief is the price you pay for loving somebody.”

because unfortunately, life comes with transactions and between two people, there will always be one person who must pay the price of love.

you close your eyes, gritting your teeth when your face crumples again and a fresh bout of sobs escapes through your lips. seonghwa presses his lips to the crown of your forehead, resting them there while you shake in his arms. eventually, he murmurs into your hair, “you want to know what seolhee’s mother told me once?”

your answer is in the form of more anguished cries but you hang onto every word that comes out of your boyfriend’s mouth like they are your lifeline. the corners of seonghwa’s lips tug upwards with mournful nostalgia as he tells you, “she’s always wanted to thank you for loving her daughter as if she is your own…so it’s okay–it’s normal for you to hurt so badly, because you love seolhee and the more you love somebody, the greater the price you pay.”

seonghwa’s unconscious choice of phrasing–that you love her, not that you loved her–simultaneously cradles and crushes your heart. it is an exact reflection of the last conversation you had with seolhee. snow may melt, but it does not change the fact that snowflakes flutter down from the sky. seolhee may be gone, but it does not change the fact that you love and remember her.

“seolhee’s last wish was fulfilled,” seonghwa softly murmurs, pulling out his phone from his pocket to turn the screen on. the light hurts your sensitive eyes when you try to make out the display through your fuzzy vision and you can just barely make out what looks to be the time on his lockscreen. he explains, “it’s four thirty am…that makes it christmas already. not only was she able to spend some time at home with her family again, but now she gets to spend the rest of her christmas back where she came from–”

your boyfriend pulls away slightly and tilts your head up tenderly with his fingers. you see him properly for the first time tonight. his eyes are just as red and swollen as yours are, cheeks wet and glistening despite the small smile he gives you when you finally look at him. he finishes, “–the sky, with all the other beautiful angels just like her.”

you slowly follow his gaze upwards. once more, a wounded cry breaks free at the sight that greets you. it no longer snows, the thin blanket of snowflakes covering the ground and the rooftop the only traces left and already steadily melting away. but that is not what makes you sob even harder.

the skies above you are filled with an endless expanse of stars, shining and gleaming no matter where your eyes look. there are thousands upon millions of stars, too many to begin counting even if you were to stand on the rooftop for numerous lifetimes.

the heavens cried in the form of the first snow when seolhee was born, for they lost her to the world. but tonight they rejoice, for their precious angel has returned soaring through the starry skies. and even amidst her joy of freedom–from the shackles of pain and suffering–seolhee remembers to tell you that she loves you more than you can fathom.

more than you can count the stars in the sky.

you jolt awake confused and disorientated for the second day in a row. only, this time it is not a jerk-induced reaction to your ringtone but a sudden thrust into consciousness by the feeling that you have overslept.

shit, what time is it? i have work.

the rising flood of panic in your chest is immediately quelled when you spot a scrap of paper on your bedside table, handwriting printed neatly in the centre.

hongjoong took sick leave for you today. don’t worry about work and go back to sleep after you take the painkillers.

that is when you register the fucking terrible headache you are sporting and you let out an involuntary groan as you press a hand to your temple. your other hand grabs the two tablets and you down them with the glass of water beside the paper.

groggily, you pat the mattress around you in search of your phone to look at the time. apart from the dim glow of your bedside lamp, the curtains to your left are drawn shut in your room, making it impossible to discern whether it is the morning, afternoon or night. the numbers blink back at you when you turn the screen on and you find that you have slept past lunchtime. confusion swirls inside of you with an unusual mix of something else. taking the day off work is not the only thing that is off.

wait.

your head jerks to the left, then to the right, then down at your bedding–the blue-grey colour familiar and soft to the touch. you are in your room–your room room, back at your place with the boys. you turn your phone on again and check the date. it is christmas.

and then it hits you.

it is still christmas. it is still the same day as what now feels like a vivid fever dream. you can only recall bits and pieces, so hazy and yet so evocative at the same time. it is like trying to make sense of an optical illusion; it disappears when you think about it too directly, but the moment you take your mind off it even slightly, it is right there in your peripheral vision, begging for your attention.

you remember being woken up by seonghwa’s phone call and your desperation to get to the hospital. you remember mingi driving you there and then sprinting towards the ED. you remember breaking down on the hospital’s rooftop after finding out that seolhee had…

your fingers pinch the inside of your left wrist to stop yourself from finishing the memory. with an unsteady exhale, all tension is lost from your body and you fall back to slump against the headboard. grief starts to take over you once more, vice tightening its grasp around your heart but simultaneously leaving a cavernous hollowness and numbness in your chest.

that is how wooyoung finds you an hour later, still staring blankly at the bedroom wall across from you and swimming in muddy water. he had only tentatively knocked twice on your door before entering, half-expecting you to still be asleep and making a soft noise of surprise when he finds that you are not. in the back of your mind, you vaguely feel a twinge of guilt at not having the energy to do something as simple as greet him as he sits carefully on the edge of your bed.

but wooyoung is a persistent soul and an even more persistent lover. he has learnt from experience that sometimes, asking anything but what he truly wants to ask is what you actually need. wooyoung catches himself from gazing sadly at you, putting on a small smile instead as he lays a hand over your thigh. his touch is warm through the blanket.

“should i bring in some food for you? there’s dumpling soup,” he tells you. “or do you want to go to the living room? we can put on a movie.”

it is hard to find the words to answer him–hard to even hum or nod or shake your head in response. your fingers twitch slightly in the direction of wooyoung’s hand still on your thigh and he immediately moves it to place over yours. the rhythmic touch of his thumb brushing back and forth over your skin is soothing.

“we don’t have to talk. we can just sit for a bit,” he offers.

the room settles into silence for a while as he gives you time to decide. finally, you ask, voice quiet, “who’s home?”

wooyoung wriggles a little closer with restrained excitement at your response. “all of us are.” when you blink at him in reaction, he understands your question immediately because none of you can remember the last time the nine of you had a day off together, much less on a christmas. he explains, “we all took whatever personal leave we could.”

“the hospital let?” you frown slightly, the tone of disbelief the most amount of emotion you have shown so far.

wooyoung mirrors the minute increase in animation with cheek in his vague shrug, “they can’t afford to fire any of us. plus…i think we’ve all realised that some things are more important than work.”

you are more important than work; ‘us’ is more important than work.

something tugs at your heartstrings and you sit up a little straighter. looking at wooyoung, a slight spark of resolve lighting up in your eyes, you slowly suggest, “can we…have a talk?”

he is taken aback with pleasant surprise as he answers, “of course we can. we don’t have to do it today though.”

“no,” you shake your head, “let’s talk now.”

while we still can. before it becomes too late. plus, who knows when the next time all of you are together like this will be.

so you follow wooyoung out of your bed and then out of your room, his fingers intertwined between yours as he walks the both of you into the living room. it is a lie to say that it is not awkward seeing everybody’s heads turn towards you in simultaneity and your knee-jerk response is to dismiss their poorly-concealed concern with a wave of your hand and an, ‘i’m fine’. but you think you have had enough of that–enough of pretending and enough of pushing them away.

yunho opens his arms from his seat on the couch, eyes hopeful. you push away any second thoughts and bury yourself against him. your boyfriend pulls you right into his chest whilst tucking your legs off the ground over his thighs and he murmurs against your temple, “you sleep okay?”

you nod into his neck as jongho asks, “did you take the painkillers?” and seonghwa questions, “do you want dumplings?”

a small puff of amusement comes out of your chest because just mere weeks ago, perhaps even one, questions like these would have fanned an inexplicable inferno inside of you. now, it all seems so long ago, but it does not change the fact that you are apologetic about it–apologetic about a lot of things.

“i took them, thanks jongho. and maybe later, hwa,” you respond softly. “come sit?”

the boys heed to your words immediately and the oldest of your boyfriends crosses the living room in three large strides to take your other side on the couch, the rest of them settling on the adjacent couch or on the floor. the shared warmth from being sandwiched between seonghwa and yunho immediately envelops you in comfort and safety and your body relaxes into the shape of theirs.

you do not know where to start, much less what you even want to say to the boys now that you are here with them. there are masses of things to unpack and each one seems like such a colossal mountain to climb. some you do not know the route up, others you know the route up but not the way back down, and the rest you cannot even see the mountaintop. so you choose to start easy: at the very bottom of the trail where it is safe.

“i miss having clean scrubs,” you blurt out, “and i miss the lunches that wooyoung cooks and the coffees that jongho makes.”

from beside you, yunho’s body rumbles with low laughter at your unexpected conversation starter and he glances down at you fondly. his voice is soothing in your ear as he says, “we miss seeing your night light greet us whenever we come home.”

“and the changes you make on our whiteboard calendar,” yeosang adds.

“we struggled to remember our shifts without you keeping track of them,” jongho divulges sheepishly.

yeosang tattles with a giggle, “he was late for work for the first time.”

“yeah,” you smile, “i heard.”

jongho huffs out before quipping, “at least i still knew how to squeeze my own toothpaste and find my own car keys.”

both hongjoong and wooyoung curse indignantly at the uncalled-for betrayal of the youngest as he pointedly ignores them and continues, “some of us have realised we have non-existent survival skills without you.”

“oh, speak for yourself,” san nudges him endearingly.

but you are more than grateful for the lightening of the mood because you do not think you would have the courage to otherwise abruptly apologise, “i’m sorry that i took so many things for granted.”

“what? no,” san counters, the first of many others to parrot the same thing. “we’re sorry about that too. when you moved out, we also realised just how many things you do for us without our appreciation. you raised a valid concern because our relationship with one another is something we have all become too complacent about.”

yunho squeezes you a little tighter with the arm he has around your shoulders. he muses, “it’s easy for a long-term relationship to become less ‘exciting’, but we forget that part of the reason is because we simply become so attuned to one another’s likes and dislikes, preferences and habits that it becomes our own second nature to do those things naturally. it isn’t that we love each other less, it’s just that we become so used to the way we love and are loved that we stop noticing it.”

your mind drifts slightly to a sweet, little girl with a bright smile, telling you that relationships are not always about the grand gestures, but rather the small things. she always did know better than you.

“in saying that though,” hongjoong brings up, “as important as it is for us to start appreciating all of those things again, i think it’s just as important for us to put in the conscious effort to go out of our way to have quality time and conversations with one another, like going on dates.”

wooyoung cackles, “that’s a bit rich coming from you, mister sorry-i-forgot-about-our-date,” and a snort comes out of you despite yourself.

the older flips him off. on both hands.

now occupied with his handsy insults, seonghwa takes over the conversation instead, “no relationship is perfect. they all need mutual effort to maintain and it definitely won’t be easy, especially since so many of you are nearing the end of your residency. it’ll be a busy few months preparing for the board exam and there’ll be plenty of hurdles to jump over in the future too, but things will work out because we’ve got each other’s backs now.”

the boys all smile affectionately at one another and at you. seonghwa presses a loving kiss against your temple and you bathe in the brief feeling of everything being okay before you remind yourself that it still is not. “on that note,” you start cautiously, “i owe you all another apology.”

you catch the gaze of mingi’s soft expression from opposite you, who gives you a small nod and a minute smile of encouragement. with an exhale, you admit, “the way i handled everything–not just moving out but everything leading up to that–i know you were all trying to look out for me and i shouldn’t have pushed you all away the way that i did. i just–everything was so overwhelming and confusing and tiring, and i wanted to work things out by myself because all of you had enough things to deal with, and i…”

once more, you are unsure of what you want to communicate. you are sick of not knowing and not understanding and your eyes start to water with frustration.

at your sentence trailing off, mingi finally speaks up, “life isn’t meant to be smooth sailing, y/n. yes, they’re your feelings, but that doesn’t mean that they have to make sense to you.”

and it is as if that is the validation you have needed all along, because the vice around your chest finally loosens its grip. you can breathe again and the rush of oxygen into your lungs without a heavy weight crushing you inwards is liberating.

“as healthcare workers, we become accustomed to seeing other people in the most painful moments of their lives.” mingi gently shrugs his shoulders, “we become accustomed to invalidating our own feelings. it doesn’t matter if we’re having a bad day; there will always be somebody else having the worst day of their lives. but we forget that pain is not relative–just because somebody else is hurting ‘more’, it doesn’t make our own hurt hurt less.

“and yeah, work is always going to be shitty and we’re always going to run ourselves ragged chasing after time, and then coming home from work to eight of us is going to be tiring too,” he chuckles softly. “but y/n…i think part of the reason why it’s been so hard for you is because you never let yourself have time for yourself. you never let yourself be tired or be hurt.”

you swallow your objections–the voice inside of you that says you shouldn’t and the voice that says you can’t–because you know mingi is right. you just needed to hear that you should and that you can.

he continues, “we all need quiet time away from other people and that’s okay. we spend all day showing our patients, their families and our colleagues the best side of ourselves, which means that a lot of the times we only have the…” mingi scratches the side of his head as he finds a way to express his thoughts without saying ‘the ugly side’, because that is far from what it is. “we only have the side of ourselves that we do not like as much because it isn’t what we view as ‘perfect’. but it simply holds our realest emotions–fatigue, stress, worry, frustration, impatience. it is not just you who has that side–we all do and we understand better than anybody how guilty it can feel when that is the only side that is left by the time we get home.”

there is a brief pause in the conversation as he lets the words sink in. around you, heads and gazes lower alike to the floor because that guilt is something that resounds with everybody in the room. you continue to look at mingi, though, unable to avert your eyes as his solace finally stirs the cathartic release of tears flowing freely from your heart to your eyes.

“like i said, it’s okay to take time away from us; in your room or out with your friends or somewhere else. but at the same time, i want you to know that it doesn’t make us love you any less if you don’t come home happy. you don’t love us any less when we’re unable to leave our baggage at work, because you have the same struggles. in fact, you are often the first to offer to share the load.

“as doctors and nurses, we have signed up for a lifetime of baggage and sacrifice. and that is exactly why it is that much more important for you to know that home is your safe space.” mingi gazes at you with all the earnesty in his heart. “we are your safe space where you can share your baggage. we might not be able to take it off you, but we sure as hell can curse or laugh or cry together over it, and sometimes, just that is already enough to help you keep carrying its weight over whatever mountain you are facing.”

from beside mingi, san watches you with a clenching heart. in an ideal world, san would rather you have no baggage at all and he be your only mountain–the one who shields you from the harsh elements of the world and is your unwavering presence from sunrise till sunset and yet again till the following sunrise. he sees the way you finally lower your head and let months of repressed tears fall in front of them, soft sobs in yunho and seonghwa’s comforting arms and the rest of your boyfriends within reach.

but san knows your tears are no longer ones of pain or fatigue, so for now, that is enough. he scooches closer across the floor until he is at your feet, peering up at you from between the strands of hair that have fallen in front of your face. tenderly, he asks, “y/n, will you move back in with us?”

a warm hand brushes over your cheeks. it could be san, it could be seonghwa, it could be yunho or it could be any of them. but it does not really matter. what matters is this: in order to love others, you must first love yourself–

“yeah,” you slowly nod, “i will.”

–and part of loving yourself is letting others love you. there is no place like home, much less a place like where your boys are. snow melts, but it will always fall again. without fail.

as your boyfriends all shuffle closer and envelop you in the middle of an embrace that is long overdue, loving warmth dizzying to the touch, outside the windows the first snowflake of many others flutters its graceful path down from the sky. soon, snow will cover the streets as far as the eye can see.

nobody talks about how ironic it feels to work in the hospital during the holidays, particularly christmas.

nobody plans to spend the day there, either.

but that is exactly why it is ironic. the hospital is a symbol of misery, the white colour of its interior the embodiment of sterility and detachment all year round–all except for a few days. on christmas eve, christmas itself and perhaps even the rest of the week leading up to the new year, the corridors are adorned with never-ending lengths of glittering tinsel, the wards are filled with the low hum of christmas carols on a looping playlist, and the staff all wear silly scrubs with rudolph faces and dancing santas on them.

there is an underlying hum of excitement and festive cheer that overrides the usual despondency of the hospital as everybody pretends it does not exist, even if just for a few days. the electric buzz thrums not just in the air at work but outside of work too, filling households with a hustle and bustle of liveliness–yours included.

“hongjoong!” you yell as you knock on the bathroom door, “we’re leaving in a few minutes!”

you press yourself flat against the door as yunho races past you with several pairs of socks in both hands despite the ones he already has on his own feet. he skids to a wobbly stop and shuffles backwards two steps to plant a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

“gross,” you laugh, pretending to wipe it off your face, but yunho is already skedaddling off again back towards his destination of the living room, on a mission to deliver the socks to your other boyfriends.

ever since you, yunho, yeosang and san all passed the board exam and became fully licensed doctors like hongjoong, your shifts have been significantly more consistent. it is much easier for you and your boyfriends to drive to work together in fewer cars, making the mornings before work significantly more chaotic. your wake-up times and subsequent bathroom usage is no longer as staggered as it was with different start times and several more night shifts, but it is a good chaotic–a bright and lively chaotic.

hongjoong yells back at you, “my hair gel isn’t hair gel-ing!” and you nearly topple onto him when he suddenly pulls the bathroom door open.

his hair is swept up neatly away from his forehead and there is not a single strand that is out of place. you chuckle and tell him as such, “your hair looks perfect, joong,” but you know his nerves are due to something completely different. you cup his jaw and gently pull him towards you for a kiss before you encourage, “you’ll do great today. you already presented at the korean neurological association earlier this year–what’s a seminar to the hospital staff in comparison?”

your boyfriend groans, “i know these people though. they’re all my colleagues.”

“and all of these colleagues will be wearing their ugly christmas sweaters or have stupid antler headbands with glowing lights on top of their heads. trust me, you’ll do amazing,” you reassure, pressing another chaste kiss against his lips to quieten his worries.

“y/n! hongjoong!” yeosang hollers.

“coming!”

you pull hongjoong out of the bathroom with you hand in hand, only letting go when you both fumble to catch the socks that yunho chucks through the air in your directions. within the next few minutes, there are playful elbows, harmless shoves and childish curses as you all cram yourselves in the corridor to put on your shoes and walk out the door to the car.

as you squish into the backseat with hongjoong and yeosang, yunho in the driver’s seat and san beside him, the latter wonders what you should all do after work. by some christmas miracle, neither you nor any of your boys have been scheduled for a night shift today, which means that if there are no hiccups at work, the nine of you will be able to spend christmas together once more.

you like to think that your guardian angel is still looking out for you, even an entire year later.

“should we try to make a reservation for a nice restaurant?” san suggests. “or should we stay up and watch a movie together?”

hongjoong proposes, “i have a friend who works at a pretty decent french restaurant if we want to go there.”

voicing your opinion without prefacing it with an apology is still something you are working on, but you have gotten much better at communicating over the year. you pipe up, “i’d prefer to stay at home tonight, but the movie sounds like a good idea. maybe we can go to your friend’s restaurant for new year’s?”

“yeah, i don’t really fancy going out tonight either,” yeosang agrees. “but new year’s, definitely.”

san nods enthusiastically. “i’ll let the rest of the boys know,” he says, then sends a question for movie recommendations for tonight into the group chat.

it is not long after that yunho pulls into the hospital’s car park where you all pile out and wait obediently by a nearby pillar as he backs the car into a particularly tight space. when he has turned the ignition off and carefully squeezed himself out without slamming the door into the car beside him, it is his turn to wait obediently as you all thank him with a quick hug or peck on the cheek.

you grasp the collar of his coat and pull him down to give him a teasing kiss on the forehead but he tiptoes instead to make it harder for you. in retaliation, you quickly jab his side and he immediately keels over enough for you to plant a triumphant kiss on his face. the boys chuckle around you, yunho pretending to nurse his wounds as he stumbles after all of you into the elevator.

the doors close and he straightens to offhandedly comment, “you guys thank me for driving every single time.”

yeosang shoots back with the same nonchalance, “because we’re thankful every single time.”

yunho claps his hand over his mouth and looks at the younger out of the corner of his eyes, but it is clear that he is hiding a bashful grin behind his fingers. the expression is not lost to any of you, your displays of gratefulness always done with the intention of making one another feel appreciated for even the smallest of things, because you have all learnt that a simple thank you goes a long way.

“see you all after work,” hongjoong says, stepping out into the lobby with the rest of you following him to let those waiting for the elevator get in.

just as you all turn to walk off your separate ways to your respective departments, he calls out as an afterthought, uncaring of the people around, “merry christmas, babes!”

you reciprocate his words with a laugh, a tinkling, cheery sound that makes san reach out for your hand and intertwine your fingers together to pull you in for a quick kiss of endearment. “choi san!” you giggle, slapping him lightly and looking around to see if anybody noticed.

if there is one thing that has changed the most over the year, it is how daring your boyfriends have become with public displays of affection. but, just as wooyoung has made it a point to remind you all of his newfound motto, what is the hospital going to do? fire all nine of you?

highly unlikely.

“alright, babes,” san tugs you along teasingly, “let’s get to work.” pinkies intertwined and swinging gently between your bodies, the two of you walk towards the same department, letting go only at the last moment to lead your morning rounds.

there is a running joke that it does not matter if you end up having enough children to make an entire soccer team because almost half of you are now fully licensed to work with children; you and san as doctors, seonghwa and wooyoung as nurses. there is no need to worry about ageing either, not when the other five are each in charge of their own specialties too.

you and your boys do not work at a hospital–you and your boys are the hospital. and it certainly feels that way when there is almost always at least one of them watching over you, regardless of wherever you are in the paediatric department.

it is later that day as you are attending to a three-week-old baby in the NICU when a second-year resident walks up to you, addressing you carelessly. immediately, you feel wooyoung’s ears perk up and watchful eyes zero in on the offending resident as the both of you recognise the younger.

“good to see you’ve stuck with paediatrics, doctor lim,” you greet neutrally. it is anything but good to see him still in the medical program at all, but you digress.

your past intern ignores your comment, confidence through the roof not only because he has somebody backing him up but because he is now a second-year resident. he shortly says, “doctor nam wants you taking over the shift for the NICU attending tonight.”

the department head has more or so left you alone for the last few months, but you guess he suddenly felt a christmas urge to scratch an itch that never existed in the first place. your expression remains impartial as you ask, “for what reason?”

dr. lim is unable to hide the brief flash of surprise across his face, not having expected you to put up a fight. he quickly scowls, “do as you’re told.”

you will not, in fact, ‘do as you’re told’, not when dr. nam is blatantly abusing his power to assign you a shift without a proper justification or notice–and through dr. lim at that too. you sure hope wooyoung can hear you as you respond sarcastically, “tell doctor nam to notify me of this change in schedule through an email from the chief resident. i’m sure he’s familiar with the proper procedure that i’m referring to.”

“i’ll make sure to tell him,” dr. lim scorns and you snort as he retreats.

“merry fuckin’ christmas to you,” you mutter at his back. you hope he slips on ice on his way home tonight.

you jump in surprise when you turn around and find wooyoung right there, an absolutely shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. he cackles as he quotes, “‘merry fuckin’ christmas to you.’ the boys are going to love it when i tell them what just happened.”

the shove you give him only serves to make him laugh even harder but you cannot deny that a sense of pride rushes through your body. force doctor nam to leave written evidence that can be used against him, jongho had advised you to do one day, and you feel a surge in confidence that this might actually work.

wooyoung certainly thinks that it will, gathering himself enough to give you an attractive smirk as he leans closer to whisper into your ear, “that’s our girl.” pleasant shivers run down your spine at his deep voice and it leaves you on cloud nine long after he stalks off absolutely preening at the response he has elicited from you.

you do not hear from dr. lim or dr. nam again nor do you receive an email regarding the extra shift tonight, so you begin to safely assume that the request is no more–that is, until the end of your shift when you are in the team workroom finishing off a referral letter.

“doctor y/n,” dr. bang grabs your attention from the table opposite you with a cryptic tone of amusement. “i think you’re wanted.”

you blink at the slight smugness on her face with confusion until she beckons her head behind you in the direction of the office door. you glance back, suddenly expecting dr. nam to be standing there fuming and ready to give you a harsh reprimand for your snarky response. except it is not him.

of all people, you did not expect it to be mingi, pressed up against the little window that looks through the door into the room. but then you realise he is not the only one peeping in–there is another pair of mischievous eyes in the corner of the window that you recognise as yunho’s, and another face pressed up against the large window along the wall, and oh–

they are all gathered around the workroom peering in with varying expressions of cheekiness as they enthusiastically wave at you. it is hard to tell whether you are the monkey in the zoo or if they are the monkeys staring out through their enclosure. you guffaw, half in embarrassment and half in exasperated fondness, then scramble to save your work and log off for the night before your boyfriends garner even more attention than they already have.

with unrestrained eagerness, your boys drag you off after exchanging rushed but warm wishes of “merry christmas”s with your and san’s colleagues. seonghwa pivots around from where he has been walking at the front of the group, “should we walk home today?”

“in the snow?”

he nods excitedly, so obviously the youngest in his family despite being the oldest in your relationship. “we can finally experience a hallmark christmas.”

“what about our cars?” yunho asks, although he is not at all opposed to the idea.

seonghwa suggests, “how about you and i drive the cars home and then we’ll start walking back here. we can meet up along the way and walk the rest home together.”

the two of them share a look for a few seconds before they immediately take off in unison in the direction of the lifts to the car park, yunho hollering over his shoulder, “walk slowly!” within seconds, they disappear from sight around a corner and the rest of you blink at the fast exchange that has just occurred.

“fuck it, we ball,” wooyoung grins, earning himself a scandalised look from hongjoong as a reminder he is still in the hospital. “come on, gramps,” he snickers, then loops an arm around the older’s shoulders and starts to drag him towards the main entrance, the rest of you falling into step beside them as he devises, “let’s think about how we can attack the two with snowballs once they get back.”

only, he really should have known who he was going to be up against.

you and your boyfriends are about halfway home, cutting through a small field of what is now covered in a decent layer of fresh snow, when a snowball suddenly whizzes past your face and explodes against the side of wooyoung’s head in a detonation of white crumbs. he whirls around with a shriek absolutely ready to risk it all in the name of your dared treachery, only to see yeosang getting pummelled in a similar fashion and then jongho following victim immediately after.

“snowball fight!” comes seonghwa and yunho’s combined battlecries from thin air before a hail of pre-made snowballs is unleashed upon your group.

hongjoong’s screams fill the air until he is abruptly cut off by a mouthful of snow and wooyoung runs around like a headless chicken as three snowballs hit their mark in quick succession. you laugh loudly, running to hide behind jongho who has escaped several feet away from the danger zone. san, too, starts to retreat a distance, but only to shovel snowballs together without the risk of anybody stepping on them.

a shower of residual snow sprinkles over you as yunho switches targets and pitches his snowballs in your direction. however, you rapidly realise his eyes are only fixated on jongho. your shield now a danger hazard, you make a split decision and run as fast as you can through the snow towards your tallest boyfriend. call yourself fickle or whatever, you are simply a survivor.

“traitor!” mingi yells out and points a finger at you. “y/n has switched sides!”

the boys echo with a roar, “traitor!” and you squeal with adrenalised glee as you leap the final stride towards yunho, who stretches out a hand to pull you behind him. seonghwa immediately rushes to defend you both, throwing snowball after snowball with scary precision and strength. you can only hear the solid thump of snow hitting against thick clothing and the splutters of indignation as a result of the eldest’s lobs because your eyes are closed from how hard you are now laughing.

with equally-as-scary unity, hongjoong and your five youngest boyfriends charge in simultaneity towards you and yunho. neither of you have time to brace yourselves before you are tackled into the snow, limbs tangling together as seonghwa also jumps on top.

you cannot tell who is who, but you can tell exactly whose laugh is whose–each one so distinct and playing out as different melodies in your ears. your own laughter is radiant and effervescent and the sound makes every one of your boys break out into a joyous smile. yunho starts to push the others’ weights off of himself and you, and they begin to roll off the pile into the snow around you.

one by one they join you on their backs, your bodies leaving the memory of your merriness deep in the white softness of the ground. you are all a little breathless; from the physical exertion and adrenaline of the childlike fight, from the windedness of being tackled into a dog-pile, from the chill slowly seeping in through your clothes from the snow, from the soul-stirring view of the night sky above.

you all lay there in silence, hush broken only by the scattered puffs of visible air as you catch your breaths under the whispering snowfall.

it is amazing how much can change in one year. you still fatigue from juggling your time, down to the last second. you still burn out from the sacrifices you make as a doctor, no matter your years of experience. you still grieve over the loss of seolhee, particularly on this day. but you are finally at peace with yourself, with your life and with the love you deserve, and you realise that you are also breathless from the overwhelming feeling of how lucky, content and happy you are.

in a burst of gratification and fulfillment, you are unable to stay silent. you confess, heartfelt words that you keep close to your soul every day, “i love you more than there are snowflakes falling right now.”

your boys turn to look at you, gazes softening impossibly at the tranquil smile that adorns your face. seonghwa feels a heat gathering behind his eyes, knowing better than any of them the weight behind your confession.

he prompts, softly, tenderly, “and if it stops snowing?”

you smile wider, because you have been taught the answer by a forever-seven-year-old-girl who received all the bad things in the world yet chose to only see the good; who taught you not to focus on what has melted away, but rather what you remember; who taught you that the purest reflection of love is something that is hard to see but will always be looking over you.

and so if it stops snowing?

“then count the stars in the sky.”

#if you need a good cry try this one on for size

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dawn-iscozy · 22 days ago

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“ like a cat in a sunny spot ” ♡ iv ♡

SERIES PLAYLIST: “ swim ” - chase atlantic ♡ “ honey (are u coming?) ” - maneskin ♡ “ the summoning ” - sleep token ♡ “ soft spot ” - keshi ♡ “ fallin’ for you ” - colbie caillat ♡ “ kiss me ” - ed sheeran ♡

apologies in advance if the timeline doesn’t make any sense, I’m going purely on vibes and my affection for these 8 men. idk if it deserves a warning, but scents are mentioned a lot in this part and kinda littered through the rest of the fic, too (using scent profiles from a perfume/fragrance site that has a line of scents called “Smells Like a Hug From Ateez” and very limited knowledge of fragrances the members may have previously used/just the vibes they give off)

WORD COUNT: 6.5k

OTHER WARNINGS: pretty wooyoung centered tbh, walking through the city vibes + cats + coffee and rain, kissing in the rain, just really sweet, fluffyfluffyfluffy, kitty introduction!! there was much debate on whether this should actually be san or not, but changed it to wooyoung cause i feel it matches with him better

♡ 18+ - no smut, but still MDNI ♡

iv: even in the falling rain

She stretched her arms above her head, twisting to the side as the stretch slowly traveled the rest of the way down her body, from the tips of her fingers and all the way down to her toes. A groan came right from her chest as the soreness of her muscles cut through her sleepiness. She curled herself into a ball with a whine, pulling the blanket over her head in hopes of going back to sleep, in hopes of escaping the tightness and strain in her body and the sun creeping in through the crack in the curtains.

“It’s time to get up, Rora,” a voice mused near her ear.

Rora’s heart kicked in her chest at the suddenness of it, forgetting, in the haze of waking, that she wasn’t home. Though, the warmth of the bed, the softness of the sheets against her mostly-bare body should have been the first reminder to her brain that she was not, in fact, in her own bed. She turned onto her back, blinking sleepily up at the amused face hovering above her. Wooyoung. She took in his still sleep-mussed hair, though he was dressed in a pair of sweats and a warm sweater and wondered if he had just woken up, as well, or if sleep just took a while to leave his features.

Her hand reached out to the other side of the mattress and immediately startled away when it came into contact with warm, bare skin. Her head turned to see Yunho, eyes closed and pretty lips parted in slumber, arms stretched over his head. Face flushed a pretty pink. He looked peaceful, even with the blanket having been pushed down and his shirt bunched up, like he had tossed around in his sleep. Just enough skin was bare to send heat flooding her cheeks and her eyes darting away from the taut expanse of tummy on display.

Wooyoung chuckled when she turned back to look up at him with wide, surprised eyes, and he grabbed her arms gently, pulling her up into a sitting position. She whined his name, but let him pull at her, continuing her forward momentum until her cheek came into contact with his chest, rubbing her face against the soft fabric there. This move got her a laugh and a pat on the head.

“What? Are you a little kitty or something?” he asked, amusement clearly evident in his voice, fingers soft as they brushed through the tangles in her hair.

“Meow,” she murmured, and he laughed. Rora warmed at the slow rumble of his laughter, letting herself relax against him, eyes fluttering closed as he worked at her hair just a little longer.

“No, no, no,” Wooyoung murmured, hands abandoning her head to push her away from him by her shoulders. “No going back to sleep. It’s time to get up, sweetheart.”

“Why?” she asked, pouting at him but rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

He hummed, smoothing a hand over her messy hair again. “I was going to go get some coffee for everyone, but I don’t know what you like. And I kind of wanted to have you all to myself before everyone else woke up.”

She watched as he reached behind himself, producing a pile of folded clothing.

“I wasn’t sure if you would want to wear your dress again or not, but I brought some comfy clothes just in case. And one of the boys’ sisters left a pair of shoes behind the last time she visited. You’re welcome to borrow those if you don’t have to wear your heels again.”

“How far away do you live?” he continued. “Do you wanna stop by to grab some clothes instead? Or I can drop you off? I don’t know if you even want to stay here any longer. Not that I’m trying to make you leave or anything. Quite the opposite, actually. I mean - ”

Her giggles cut off his rambling, his face draining of the tension that had furrowed his brows while he was speaking. His eyes moved over her face - warm, glimmering in the morning light trying to filter in through the mostly-closed curtains - and she was certain that he was more than able to see it in her eyes just how she was melting inside. “Thank you, Youngie,” she murmured, unable to stop the flushing of her cheeks or the shy amusement in her voice. “If it wouldn’t be too much, I would like to stop by my apartment. I don’t live too far from the bar we met at. Maybe a fifteen minute walk from there.”

His whole face lit up, eyes scrunching with his smile. “Of course!” he said.

She grinned right back as she reached for the clothes in his grasp. “I’m keeping Sannie’s hoodie, though,” she teased, tugging the sleeves down to cover her hands. “He’ll have to track me down to get it back.”

There was no way for her to read his expression, nor did she give herself the time to do so. She pushed herself out of the bed, shivering when the air of the room came into contact with her blanket-warmed legs. She didn’t care that she would have been naked if not for the oversized hoodie, but she didn’t like how goosebumps were lining her bare skin, sending chills through her. So, she stepped into her panties from the night before (she grimaced, but sent a bit of thanks to the universe that he hadn’t brought another pair of ill-fitting boxers) and the sweats he had gotten for her.

“Holding it hostage, are you?” Wooyoung said, and she could hear the playfulness in his voice, knowing he wasn’t judging her in the slightest, simply humoring her. She wanted to giggle at the fuzzy feeling the thought produced in her chest. She looked up when Wooyoung gave an over-exaggerated sigh of irritation to see him looking at Yunho. He snickered, pushing a hand through his hair. “Look at him, sleeping easy in Sannie’s bed. He’s gonna make him change the sheets, for sure.”

“We took over San’s room last night?” Rora asked, hands falling from where they were adjusting the strings of the borrowed sweats. She frowned when he nodded.

“What’s that frown for, sweetheart?” he asked, directing her out of the room. He slowly shut the door, brows furrowing as he looked over her face. “You didn’t do anything. He’s the one that made the choice for everything to happen in his room, and it was the best option of all the other rooms. Didn’t wanna disturb Jongho too much, hmm?”

She flushed hot at the reminder of the night before, and shook her head to rid the dirty images threatening to run through her mind. But she froze at the reminder of Jongho. Her coworker who is also a roommate - a friend - of these men. The men that she had just slept with. In their shared apartment. Her heart stuttered in her chest, and her fingers closed into fists around the sleeves of the hoodie she was wearing.

He must have been able to see something in her face as they made it to the front door, because his hand came up to rub circles between her shoulder blades. “What is it, hmm?” he asked, bringing his head down until their eyes were level. “You can ask me anything.”

Her mind was racing with how to phrase the question lingering on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t quite find the words. Instead, all Rora said was, “Jongho…?” She could hear the uncertainty, the little quiver in her voice, and she felt embarrassed, ashamed, for even wanting to ask him, Wooyoung, the man she literally just slept with less than 8 hours ago, about another man. Her brows furrowed and she shifted on her feet, watching as Wooyoung simply went about finding the shoes for her to wear.

He coaxed first one foot up to slip a shoe on, then the other. They were sandals, black and white slides, and her toes would be cold as soon as they stepped out into the open air, but it beats wearing regular shoes with no socks or a pair of way-too-big socks. Or her heels. Her toes wiggled, curled into the material of the slides, as she let out a slow exhale.

He looked up at her with a kind smile. “What exactly are you worried about, darling?” he asked. He stayed there, hands coming to settle on his knees.

All she could do was shake her head because even she wasn’t entirely sure. All she knew was that there was this bubble in her stomach that refused to shrink, steadily rising up to clog her throat.

A groan came from somewhere in the apartment, and Wooyoung startled, pushing himself to his feet and pulling her with him. “That’s Sannie. We gotta go, gotta go, gotta go,” he rushed out, voice low in her ear, guiding her out the front door. “Can’t let anyone else see you until I’ve had some time with you first.”

The tension in her chest lessened and she giggled, letting him steer her through the building and outside. His arm came to rest over her shoulders, pulling her into his side as they walked. The morning was chilly, but Wooyoung was warm enough for the both of them, it seemed. She let herself relax against him as much as she could while walking, an arm coming to wind around his waist, fingers playing with the fabric of the sweater he was wearing.

Rora sighed and let the words jumbled in her brain finally take form on her lips. “I just don’t want him to view me in a bad light,” she murmured. “I don’t have many friends here, but he’s been so kind to me and helped me settle easier into work. So, I value Jongho and his friendship - and I don’t even know if I can call it a friendship, really - a lot, and the thought that that or his opinion of me or his comfort might be jeopardized in some way is scary.”

Wooyoung hummed, tightening his grip on her briefly. “He feels the same way, I’m pretty sure,” he said. “Jongho might seem cold on the outside sometimes, but he takes relationships seriously. Sure, he might have felt awkward with what was going on last night, and he might continue to for a little bit of time. But he isn’t likely to let that affect your relationship in a bad way.”

He paused. She let the silence stretch, watching as he swallowed, eyes darting around as he was clearly thinking about something. His lips twitched up at the corners, and then he was leaning down, nosing at her cheek, breath fanning her ear. “Though, I’d wager that he quite enjoyed himself last night. I mean, who wouldn’t with your pretty moans sounding all through the apartment?” Wooyoung murmured, pulling away from her with a teasing peck on her suddenly flushed cheek.

He giggled - fucking giggled - then straightened back up. She cleared her throat, pushing her hair behind her ear, and murmured for him to shut up. He ruffled her hair, but luckily took mercy on her. “Where’s your apartment, sweetheart?” he asked.

Rora quietly gave the directions to her apartment, soaking in the comfort of the moment and the relative quiet of the morning. It was mid-morning, the sun higher in the sky than she was used to seeing it. But it was nice to bask in the warmth of it, to walk through the streets after most people have already gone to work or had decided to stay in for their day off. She always loved how quiet some weekends could be, even in a city.

It didn’t take very long for them to reach their destination, and her pulse was thrumming with nervousness as she led him up the few flights of stairs and down the hallway to her apartment door. His hand settled on her shoulder as she put in the code to unlock her door. She looked back at him as she twisted the lock, hand on the handle, ready to push the door open.

“Do you want me to wait out here?” he asked. “I don’t want to invade your private space or anything, and you seem nervous.”

Her heart melted, turned over, and she couldn’t help but just look up at him and the sincerity so very evident in his eyes. “It’s fine,” she said. “I just can’t remember the last time I actually tidied up.”

Pretty eyes crinkled at the corners, and he nodded, following her inside as she pushed into the apartment. They both toed off their shoes before stepping further inside. Her eyes scanned the familiar space, and she sighed with relief. While the place didn’t look the tidiest it had ever looked, it wasn’t dirty. The blankets on her bed were askew, the pillows on the sofa were toppled, and there was a dirty cup in the sink. But overall, it was fine. She breathed a sigh of relief and pushed further inside.

“It’s cozy,” he remarked.

She grinned, stepping immediately over to the window by her bed, pulling the blinds to allow her plants to have some sunlight and swinging it open to air the place out a little. “Do you want something to drink?” she asked, stepping back over to the kitchen area, where Wooyoung was lingering, still glancing around her small apartment. He shook his head, and she nodded. “You can sit on the sofa or look around. I’m going to shower really quick.”

He simply nodded, walking over to examine the things she had hung up on the wall beside her bed. Leaving him to it, she stumbled into the bathroom and swung the door shut before commencing what had to be the quickest shower she had ever taken in her life. She barely waited for the water to warm up, and went through only the essentials of her usual shower routine. Toweling herself off a mere ten to fifteen minutes later and searching for some clothes. She settled on her comfiest pair of ripped black jeans and threw a new hoodie back on, mourning the loss of San’s, but it unfortunately needed a wash after her romp with Woo and Yunho and a long night of sleep.

Rora held her towel around her shoulders, hopping from foot to foot to slide socks on as she came out of the bathroom. The sight of Wooyoung still examining the things on her wall, now perched on her bed, brought her to a pause in her frantic movements. He looked good in her space, especially with his hair still messy and his obviously well-worn sweatshirt drooping down in the front to reveal a tempting bit of the tan skin stretched over his collarbones. He blended right into the warm creams and earthy sages and splashes of black of her apartment, looking just as fluffy as her numerous blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals. Just about as lively as the plants lining her window sills.

She wondered how the others would look in her home, and she figured they would all fit the space well in their own ways. Her cheeks warmed, and she shook her head. She literally just met three of these four men - it’s a bit too early in knowing them to be feeling any kind of attachment. Right?

Rora blinked, head tilting as she shifted from one foot to the other, paused in any coming thoughts when she saw her cat at Wooyoung’s feet, his tail swaying from side to side in the way it does before he jumps up onto something. A giggle bubbled up when he did just that, Wooyoung startling with a brief shout. She watched as he grinned down at the now purring kitty kneading at his lap. “Oh, hello,” he murmured, petting the patch of white between his brown ears. His eyes glanced up, and he smiled at her. “Who’s this?” he asked.

“That,” she said, walking over to settle on the bed beside Wooyoung, “is Teddy.”

“Hello, Teddy,” Wooyoung said, leaning down so that the cat, now pawing at his chest, could nuzzle at his chin. “He’s an affectionate little guy, hmm?”

“He’s usually a bit more reserved around new people, but I guess he likes you.” she mused. “Do you have a cat of your own?”

He shook his head but started fishing his phone from his pocket, one hand still stroking down Teddy’s back. “San has one. Byeol,” he said with a proud little look on his face, turning his screen toward her to show a picture of the cat looking up at the camera. “She stays with his family, though.”

“She’s pretty,” she said, absentmindedly reaching out to stroke down Teddy’s face, happiness trilling through her when he nuzzled his cold little nose against her hand, sharp little teeth nibbling at her skin. “Of course not prettier than you, baby,” she cooed, leaving a kiss on his soft head.

She laughed when he meowed at her. “Are you hungry, Teddy baby?” she asked, already standing to move to the cabinet where she stored his food. His meowing raised in pitch and frequency when she stooped to grab his food and water bowls, and she pouted. “Hang on, you poor thing. How dare I be late feeding you, hmm?”

She filled the water bowl first, then the food bowl, settling them both down on the little mat she bought in case of spills. “There ya go,” she murmured, stroking down the length of his back. “Is that better?” She scratched behind his ear, then stood, checking briefly into the litter box, more than glad that she had forked out the extra cash for one that cleaned itself.

Rora pointedly ignored Wooyoung as she straightened up, cheeks warming under the weight of his gaze. He chuckled, and her bed squeaked lightly as he shifted. Suddenly, warm arms were around her, and she startled. “What are you doing?”

“Shh,” he murmured, squeezing her closer to him, practically shoving her face into his neck. “Consider it a part of the aftercare.”

“Oh?” she asked, letting herself relax into his embrace. “Is that for me or for you?”

He hummed, cheek rubbing against the side of her head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Whatever you say, Youngie,” she mused, hands sliding up and down his back when he sagged against her. Rora huffed when more and more of his weight pushed against her, groaned when it made her stagger back. “Get oooooff,” she whined, but she couldn’t keep the laughter from her voice.

“Fine.” He pulled away, face the epitome of sulky. “But only because I’m holding you hostage at the apartment until you’re sick of us.”

“Just might already be getting there,” she joked, reaching up to give his cheek a soft pat.

He looked affronted, positively gobsmacked that she would even think to say something like that. “You liar,” he said, arms crossing over his chest.

She simply grinned at him, tugging him by the elbow to get him walking toward the door. “Come on,” she said. “You promised me coffee, remember?”

He perked up at the reminder of coffee. “Yes! Let’s go!” And suddenly he was the one dragging her to the door.

Teddy meowed at their backs, his little paws pattering after them. She tugged Wooyoung to a stop and stooped down to pat the kitty’s back. “I’ll be back later, baby,” she cooed. “I won’t let this strange man keep me from you for too long, hmm? Promise.”

Woo let out a disgruntled noise, and she stood, walking over to the man impatiently waiting for her. She simply slid on her favorite pair of worn-in Vans and let him pull her from the apartment. He barely even let her pause to lock the door in his hurry to leave.

“Calm down, Youngie,” she said, falling against him as he tugged her behind him, finally stepping back out into the open air. Heavy gray clouds had begun to roll in and the sharp twang of rain tickled her nose. Excitement filled her at the thought of drinking some good coffee while it rained, but she hoped that they made it back before the skies opened up. “It isn’t like the place is going to close in the next five minutes.”

“Yeah, but my favorite pastry might sell out and then my whole day will be ruined,” he said, though he slowed just a little so that she could more easily match his stride.

“I highly doubt that,” she said, head tilting to rest against his arm.

“You’re right,” he conceded. “You’ll be with me. How could my day possibly be ruined with you around?”

She giggled, lightly swatting at his chest.

The rest of the walk happened with little talk between the two, them just enjoying each other’s presence. And she let her mind wander, surrounded by the playful comfort he exuded and the smell of the storm charged air hanging over the city she came to call home.

She hadn’t had many one night stands before last night, if any at all, really. She couldn’t think of any off the top of her head that she could classify as such. She more often than not was dating someone for a decent amount of time before she slept with them. Even the one time she attempted (very botched) friends with benefits with one of her long-time friends at the time would count, in her opinion. She supposed this situation wouldn’t count as a one night stand, either. Not when she was out with one of the men on what might be considered a date and he was obviously not ready for her to actually be gone from his space.

Obviously not when he was tugging her as close as possible as they walked, fingers intertwining with her own smooth enough that her heart fluttered. She looked up at him, taking in his profile, how relaxed he seemed walking next to someone who was virtually a stranger to him, how entirely unrepentant he was when he met her gaze and gave her hand a squeeze. He shined bright, golden, even with the graying sky behind him, and she couldn’t help but smile at him when his eyes crinkled and his cheeks pushed up. He stepped away from her only to open the door to the cafe, letting her enter ahead of him, his hand on her back as they walked to the counter to order.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Iced americano and whatever you recommend.” She was looking over the menu as she spoke, and she gripped onto Wooyoung’s arm as her eyes landed on a specific pastry, hiding in the corner of the menu. It was her favorite, but couldn’t find it often in the cafe’s she typically frequented from day to day. “Oh! Wanna get an almond croissant!”

Wooyoung’s eyes were sparkling when they met her wide, excited ones. “Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he said, pushing some loose strands of her hair back, fingers lingering softly on her cheek, stroking down her jaw.

Rora felt so warm under his touch. Though, whether it was from the utter sincerity in his gaze or the blush filling her cheeks, she’ll never really know. Her hand had a mind of its own, finding his and twining their fingers together. He beamed down at her, looking so fucking beautiful that her heart fluttered in her chest and she found herself unable to look away, even as he turned his focus to the cashier calling them forward.

None of the words he said penetrated her ears, but the sound of his voice had her entranced. The low quality of it. The lilting way he talked, like he was more than happy to be there, ordering from the menu for himself and her and all his friends. And she imagined he likely was. She didn’t know much about him, but he seemed very go-with-the-flow and bubbly, a human embodiment of sunshine. Like a cat, she was more than attracted to the warmth he emitted, wanting nothing more than to bask in it - in him - for as long as possible.

Her eyes stayed on him, even when he pulled her over to wait for their order, even as he turned to look at her, even as his grin turned all the more teasing. “What?” he asked. “Wanna take a picture? You can stare at me all you want to, then.”

“Why would I do that when you’re right here?”

He seemed taken aback, like he hadn’t expected her to say something like that. He blinked for a moment, then grinned. “I see that courage from last night is back, hmm?”

“Did it ever really leave if I’m still with you?”

He didn’t say anything back, simply patting her head. His lips parted like he was going to speak, only to be interrupted by their order being called. He seemed surprised, eyes and lips rounding, brows raising, and he hurried to the counter, thanking the workers in a breathy, excited tone that sent Rora’s heart fluttering away in her chest.

Wooyoung was back in moments, a grin on his face, hands full with the two different drink carriers, pastry bag dangling from his arm. She reached for one of the carriers, slipping it from his hand. “Don’t you dare carry all of this by yourself,” she said.

He chuckled. “Fine, fine,” he murmured. He reached for one of the four iced drinks in his carrier and handed it to her as they walked out of the cafe. “Here.”

She took it with her free hand, immediately taking a sip, smiling as her feet met the sidewalk. “It’s good,” she said happily.

Wooyoung bumped his arm against her own lightly. “Mhm,” he said. “Best coffee I’ve had in this city so far. We should really thank Sannie for finding this place when we get back.”

“He found this place?”

He nodded. “Yup, he’s usually the one that finds new places for us to try out.”

She simply hummed in response and let the conversation fizzle out into a comfortable silence. Just enjoying the time with Wooyoung as he walked beside her. Enjoying his little hums and sounds to fill the silence. Enjoying the buzz building in the atmosphere as the wind began to pick up, rustling the leaves in the trees. The sharp smell of rain flooding her senses mixed with the lingering mellow bitterness of the coffee on her tongue had her feeling absolutely cozy, even as the skies started opening up for droplets to splatter down on occasion and her arm started feeling heavy from carrying the coffees.

A gasp fell from her when an arm hooked around her waist and hauled her forward. Her body pressed flush against Wooyoung’s, her softness against his hard. The plastic bag in his hold rustled behind her, her hair wetting with the rain, but all she could do was look at him. At his face as his lips turned up at the corners and his warm brown eyes took in the way her expression melted from startled to giddy.

A moment. Two, his breath fanning her face, Then, he was swooping down, those plush lips locking against hers just perfecting, stealing her every breath, warming her up from the inside out even as the icy drops started falling faster. He pulled back just to look at her again, his lashes spiked together with rain, making his eyes gleam brighter. Absolutely radiant against the backdrop of clouds and city streets.

Before she could fully register the moment, he was pulling away, grinning, tugging her to run behind him.

♡♡♡

She was giggling at the flood of happy, fuzzy feelings in her chest as they stepped into the apartment, Wooyoung giggling right alongside her, dropping the things in his grasp to brush raindrops from her face and her damp hair. He surprised her by leaning forward to press a kiss to her nose, and she surprised herself when she reciprocated the move. He all but squealed, taking a step away from her as his cheeks filled with red.

Her heart leapt into her throat when someone cleared their throat, wide eyes taking in the sight of Yunho standing there in all his tall glory, oversized shirt and sweats hanging off his frame. His hand pushed through his messy hair, eyebrow cocked. “Good morning,” he said, voice still thick with sleep, the added deepness of it sending a quick shiver down her spine.

“Good morning,” she breathed, warming pleasantly when he sent her a still-sleepy smile.

“Sleep well, Yunnie?” Wooyoung asked, voice dripping with mischief, making the implied meaning behind his words hard to ignore as he walked past her, coffee and pastries back in hand.

Yunho simply hummed, watching as Wooyoung made his way to the living room to set the order down. “One of those for me?”

“Of course,” Wooyoung said. “Are San and Jongho awake yet?”

Yunho’s answer was interrupted when someone walked into the room with a “yes” being uttered in a tired drawl that she more than recognized from early mornings at work. Jongho stepped into her line of vision, dressed in sweats and a zip-up hoodie. She remembered that he had been wearing shorts the night before, and she was back to feeling like she was intruding on his privacy and comfort. But then his hoodie, though zipped all the way up, slipped down to expose the ridge of his collarbone and he did nothing to fix it.

Her cheeks flamed when his eyes locked with hers. There was a twinkle to them that she rarely got to see, but recognized nonetheless from when he would make a passing remark or teasing joke at work. His teeth flashed briefly as he smiled at her. “Good morning,” he said. “Are you staying for the day?”

Wooyoung piped in before she could find her words. “I’m keeping her,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. She could hear the exaggerated pout even without seeing it. “She isn’t allowed to leave.”

“Pretty sure that counts as kidnapping,” she murmured.

Jongho laughed. “I can report him to the police for you, if you want.”

Wooyoung made an appalled sound. “You would have your best friend arrested??”

“Yes.” Jongho’s voice was absolutely deadpan as he said that single word, but his eyes were sparkling in the late morning light. She couldn’t help but burst into laughter, stopping only when Jongho stepped closer and took the carrier of coffees from her hand. Before she could even protest, he was turning his back to her.

Rora just knew that he was smirking. He did similar things at work often enough - grabbing papers, a cup of coffee, or even one time her lunch right out of her hands, just to set it down a few feet away. It was, as she soon learned, his way of asking to spend a little time together. But that was while at work. Having it happen in a brand new setting, likely with a brand new meaning behind the gesture, was just as flustering for her as it was the first time it had happened.

She didn’t have time to think about it, distracted by San finally walking into the living room. His hair was damp, cheeks flushed, dressed in a sleeveless shirt and loose gray pants. He came right over to her, swooping her up into his arms.

“My coffee,” she squealed, gripping onto him with her legs, trying her hardest to not spill her coffee, balancing the sweating plastic cup as San carried her. She giggled when he settled heavily into the sofa beside Jongho, and she raised her cup high in the air to keep it safe from any more sudden jostling. His face was buried in her neck, soft breaths puffing out against her shoulder. She leaned against him, settling her cheek against his damp hair and turning to watch the other men settle themselves around the coffee table. Drinks and pastries passed out, she let herself relax, taking a sip of her americano. She jerked, choked on her drink, jolted upright when a sharp nip was delivered to her shoulder.

“Ouch,” she murmured, pushing his amused face away from her. “If you’re hungry, eat some of the food. I’m not on the menu.”

He laughed, strong arms pulling her flush against him, even with her hand pushing his cheek to the side. His laughter vibrated through her own chest, and she found she couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed with him. Not when a dimple flashed between her fingers and his shining eyes found hers.

“How unfortunate,” he murmured. “Cause I’ve got a sweet tooth, and you’re sweeter than honey, darling.”

She chose not to reply, ignoring the heat in her cheeks as she slipped from his lap to settle in the space between him and Jongho. It was a tight fit, leaving her pressed against both men. But she didn’t mind it all that much. Not when the skies finally fully opened up outside, rain splattering against the span of windows to their right and warmth from their bodies left her feeling boneless and cozy. Rora let herself lean against San’s arm, cheek snuggled against the firm muscle there, sipping her coffee and watching the rain sliding down the glass, blurring the view of the city outside.

“Can we open a window?” she asked, tearing her gaze away to look up at San then over to the others. Her pleading eyes locked with Yunho’s, and he stood before anyone else even verbalized an answer, unfolding his tall self from his seated position on the floor. In two strides, he was pushing the window out and open.

The sounds of the rain hitting the asphalt and windows. The whooshing of the cars through the quickly accumulating puddles. Her knees came up to tuck against her body, arms curling around them. Chin on her knees, coffee gripped between her hands, she enjoyed the breeze as it wafted through the space.

A hand patted her back lightly, and she startled back to reality to see Jongho smiling at her. “Nice?” he asked.

Rora grinned, nodded, took a sip of her coffee. “Mhm,” she hummed, letting herself rest back into the sofa. “S’nice.”

“Don’t get too lost in it,” Jongho mused. “Your pastry is gonna get cold if you leave it any longer.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, letting her legs uncurl to reach toward the almond croissant that had been set on a napkin on the table in front of her. The pastry was indeed getting cold, but it would be yummy regardless of the temperature it was.

She focused on nibbling on her croissant as the men talked amongst themselves. She wasn’t paying attention to what they were saying, simply enjoying the atmosphere of them laughing and chattering together, the taste of the coffee dancing on her tongue, the smell of the rain outside invading her nose. This had to be what heaven was, she thought, relaxing back into the sofa again, coffee and pastry balancing on her pulled-up knees.

Tearing little bites from the pastry, she let herself wholly zone out, leaning into the warmth surrounding her as she ate, eyes tracking the trails the raindrops made on the windows. She didn’t know what she was doing, letting herself continue to be in this situation. But she didn’t want it to end. She loved how comfortable she felt with these men, how open and honest they were with her and how that led her to being the same with them. She couldn’t remember a time that she had been this relaxed around new people. And maybe that had something to do with the fact that one of the people with her wasn’t really a stranger - but perhaps that’s more of a lie than she would like to admit. She found herself feeling the most awkward with Jongho, and it was precisely because she knew him outside of the situation.

She blinked back to reality when someone cleared their throat next to her, and she almost choked when she turned to see Jongho’s face much closer than she expected. Apparently she wasn’t as uncomfortable with him as she was previously thinking, seeing as how she was fully leaning against him.

“Comfy?” he asked, eyes crinkling with a teasing smile.

She blushed and turned away from him, but remained as she was. Her eyes found San’s own, squinted adorably as he leaned toward her. “Wanna try mine?” he asked, holding what looked like a breakfast sandwich temptingly in front of her.

A grin came to her face, and she leaned forward, heart fluttering when San brought the food up to her lips, hand under her chin to catch any crumbs as she took a bite. She hummed, head nodding. “It’s good,” she murmured. She held up her own pastry, head tilted in question. “Wanna try?”

He nodded enthusiastically, leaned forward, took a bite. He made a dramatic sound, face scrunched up like he might be angry, and fell to the side to lean against the arm of the couch.

Wooyoung whined, leaning over the coffee table as far as he could. “I wanna try, too,” he said, dramatic pout in place.

“Then you should have bought one for yourself,” she quipped back, laughing as he stared at her, face falling into what might have been the most devastating pout she had ever seen. “Here, you baby,” she mused affectionately, leaning closer, holding the pastry out. His eyes lit up as he took a bite, sitting back on his heels before settling back down on the floor.

She looked to Yunho next, brow raised, and he shook his head. “You finish it,” he said. “Don’t want you going hungry just cause these idiots are being greedy.”

Wooyoung made an offended noise and pushed Yunho by the shoulder. The taller of the two laughed, swaying with the hit.

“How long am I being kidnapped for, anyway?” she finally asked.

“Forever. Duh.” Wooyoung sighed when all she did was look at him. “Until you have to go back to work?”

“Already forgetting about my little kitty, Woo?” She asked, pouting dramatically at him. “I have to feed him sometime, you know.”

“Kitty?” San chimed in excitedly, eyes shining as he looked at her. “You have a kitty? Can I meet him?”

“Of course you can, Sannie.” Her words were wrapped in the warmth once more filling her chest, a smile on her face and her heart thrumming away in her chest.

He smiled so big at her answer that his eyes turned into lovely crescents and his dimples dug deep craters in his cheeks. “I’m taking her home later!” San shouted, his arm going around her shoulders to pull her into his side. And all she could do was giggle.

#ateez #atz #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #fic series #fluff #ateez fluff #wooyoung #ateez wooyoung #san #ateez san #jongho #ateez jongho #yunho #ateez yunho #eventual ot8 #8 makes 1 team #dawniscozy #like a cat in a sunny spot

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dawn-iscozy · 25 days ago

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“ like a cat in a sunny spot ” ♡ iv: teaser ♡

SERIES PLAYLIST: “ swim ” - chase atlantic ♡ “ honey (are u coming?) ” - maneskin ♡ “ the summoning ” - sleep token ♡ “ soft spot ” - keshi ♡ “ fallin’ for you ” - colbie caillat ♡ " kiss me " - ed sheeran ♡

SUMMARY: rora wasn't sure how she ended up in this situation - a spicy, sweet relationship with 8 wonderful men, one of them being a coworker, all of them being friends with each other. one night, it was just her and her cat. one night it was her being coerced by her co-workers to go out with them after work. one night, it was them abandoning her at the door and two very attractive men walking up to her at the bar. one night, it was her going home with them, having the best sex of her life. and next thing she knew, one night turned into two, into a whole weekend, into her meeting and consequently falling for the rest of their friend group.

all she did know, though, was that she was loving it. loving them, how she feels with them. and she wouldn't change a single thing about it.

SERIES WARNINGS: poly, eventual ot8, named oc - “Rora”, derived from “Aurora” (soooooo original, I know), who is basically a self-insert (i'm still on the brink of denial about it). implied queer oc. loooots of nicknames/pet names, and even more as the fic progresses. things move pretty quickly in this, and it may stray vaguely into soulmate au territory but like, I'm a sucker for these men and for the way I've written them and I just can't stop.

apologies in advance if the timeline doesn't make any sense, I'm going purely on vibes and my affection for these 8 men. idk if it deserves a warning, but scents are mentioned a lot in this part and kinda littered through the rest of the fic, too (using scent profiles from a perfume/fragrance site that has a line of scents called “Smells Like a Hug From Ateez” and very limited knowledge of fragrances the members may have previously used/just the vibes they give off).

TEASER WORD COUNT: 670/6.5k

CHAPTER WARNINGS: wooyoung + walking through the city vibes + cats + brief cafe + coffee and rain; this is really random and obvious filler and just meant to explore the characters and their one on one dynamics for a change; there was much debate on whether this should actually be san or not, but changed it to wooyoung cause i feel it matches with him better

♡ 18+ - no smut, but still MDNI ♡

iv: even in the falling rain

“It’s cozy,” he remarked.

“That,” she said, walking over to settle on the bed beside Wooyoung, “is Teddy.”

“Hello, Teddy,” Wooyoung said, leaning down so that the cat, now pawing at his chest, could nuzzle at his chin. “He’s an affectionate little guy, hmm?”

“He’s usually a bit more reserved around new people, but I guess he likes you.” she mused. “Do you have a cat of your own?”

She laughed when he meowed at her. “Are you hungry, Teddy baby?”

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dawn-iscozy · 27 days ago

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Found this reddit post. This kinda makes me feel better. And it’s something I think about sometimes because I always feel like regardless of how hard I work on something I don’t get anywhere.

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dawn-iscozy · 28 days ago

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sometimes you need dialogue tags and don't want to use the same four

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dawn-iscozy · 29 days ago

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♡ butterfly ♡

♡ Pairing: personal trainer!boyfriend!mingyu x chubby!fem!reader

♡ Genre: fluff/smut/comfort

♡ Summary: When your boyfriend leaves his phone behind after a cozy morning at home you decide to do something sweet and bring his phone to him at work but an unexpected interaction leaves you questioning yourself and if you truly deserve your place in your relationship.

♡ Word Count: 6.3k

♡ Warnings: some body image insecurities/comments about the reader's body from someone else but plenty of comfort from Mingyu for them, unprotected sex, shower sex, a lil nibbling, lots of kissing, a lil manhandling, no pulling out, a lil nipple play, pet names (baby, sweetie, good girl).

♡ A/N: This is the first fic that I've written in a long, long, long time so I'm sorry if I'm a little rusty at this. I just wanted to write something comforting and sweet for all of my chubby babes out there. I also have to thank @anyamaris for supporting me in writing this and checking in on me so much. I love youuu.

Peace. That’s all Mingyu knows when he’s around you. Even in this moment.

Lost deep in some dream he probably won’t remember, his arms wrapped around you as you snuggle against his bare chest lost in dreams of your own. He’s never felt safer. He’s never felt more at home. Wild horses couldn’t drag him away from this bed that you share together. Nor could his morning alarms that have gone ignored one after the other until his phone seemingly decided he was a lost cause and went back to sleep itself.

How can you blame him when he was set up for failure to begin with? The sound of rain beating against the window of your 3rd story apartment, drowning out the rest of the world so that it feels as if he’s on a planet of his own. The warmth of the fluffy cotton blankets he’s been swimming in all night, protecting you both from the crisp chill of the early morning. The softness of your body pressed to his, every breath of yours so gentle and sweet. So perfectly timed with his that you’re almost dueting a lullaby, dragging him deeper and deeper into his slumber. He could stay like this all day—snoozing the hours away, blissfully unaware of the fact that he has actual responsibilities—but someone else has other plans.

The bedroom door creaks open but only barely. Just enough for a chubby orange cat affectionately known as Jellybean to skip her way into the bedroom and fling herself onto the bed. It’s 30 minutes past breakfast time and in her mind she’s withering away. If you two sleep any longer there’ll be nothing left of her to feed. Navigating the mess of blankets, she stops right on Mingyu’s chest, close enough for her fur to tickle your cheek. The cold, pink tip of her nose nudges at Mingyu’s chin. It’s time to wake up.

“Mingyu, stop, that tickles” you mumble, cuddling closer to him.

Mingyu shifts in bed, reaching down to stroke your hair, “Babe, are you licking me?”

His hand comes down onto Jellybean’s back and it occurs to him that the hair he’s feeling isn’t yours. It’s also purring. Tilting his head up, he cracks one eye open to see the hungry little face staring back at him.

“Bean, what are you doing up here?” he giggles, petting the crown of her head so that her ears perk up.

You let out a groan, knowing that if the kitty’s on patrol then sleepy time is over. “Come on, you can’t eat your dad.”

Scooping her into your arms, you force yourself up in bed only for Mingyu to drag you back down. Even half asleep he’s twice as strong as you. Not that you’re complaining.

“Where are you going?” he pouts, kissing you on the cheek, “I’m not finished with you yet.” Jellybean chirps, pressing a paw to his lips as he comes in for another kiss and Mingyu frowns like a disappointed child. Curved by a cat.

“Cut it out” you say half heartedly, a barely awake smile on your face, “Bean is hungry. Plus you have work today don’t you?”

Mingyu’s eyes widen in shock. His heart sinks to the floor. It hits him all at once. The realization that he has no clue what time it is when he probably should. He nearly knocks the two of you off the bed as he bolts from the bed, grabbing his phone and staring in complete terror at the sight of the four missed alarms on his lockscreen. The usual glowing, honeyed tone of his skin turns pale as the panic sets in. It’s 7:45am. Work starts in 15 minutes. Fuck.

“So I guess you’re not eating breakfast” you tease as he tears out of the room, darting to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

A few seconds later he scrambles back in, a toothbrush wedged between his pearly whites. He mumbles something, probably a comment about how you have a smart mouth and you’ll pay for it later, but you can’t take his threats seriously when he’s completely naked running around the bedroom like a chicken with its head cut off.

You try to be respectful to his current struggle, averting your eyes elsewhere, and yet they keep drifting back to the sight of his body. Those well defined arms, those abs you could spend all night running your fingertips across, an ass you could bounce a quarter off of—

Mingyu slips his underwear on, popping the toothbrush out of his mouth, “Am I a piece of meat to you?”

You nuzzle Jellybean closer to your chest, offended at the audacity of your boyfriend to say such a thing. “Mingyu…”

Crawling back onto the bed, he brings his lips inches away from yours, a flirty grin playing on his them. “I can be a piece of meat to you if you want. I can make time. Just get the brat out of the way and…”

It’s oh so tempting but someone has to be the responsible one and, as much as you hate it, it has to be you. Stroking his cheek, you stare into the prettiest brown eyes you’ve ever seen and say words that pain you. “Not a chance. You’re already late for work.”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, shocked by the amount of restraint you’re showing. “If I’m already late. Why not make it later?”

His hand smooths over the blanket, massaging your plush thigh through the fabric. Now your body’s awakening in more ways than one. You dish out a light slap to his cheek, fighting off the tingle coming over you. “We’ll have time for that later but for now…work.”

Mingyu only stares back at you, devouring you with his gaze, patiently waiting for you to break but you never do. How he finds your stubbornness so annoying and so hot all at the same time is a mystery he’ll never solve.

“Fine” he groans, giving you a toothpaste laced smooch on the lips before disappearing back into the bathroom.

As he leaves, you let out a sigh of relief. “Close one, huh, Bean?”

Turning the poor, starving kitty loose, you drag yourself out of bed and slip into the t-shirt thrown over the back of a nearby chair. You figure if Mingyu has to be productive then so should you. The walk to the kitchen feels eternal. You’re still yawning and rubbing your eyes when you fill Jellybean’s bowl with food, nearly losing your balance as you bend over to set it on the floor.

You consider for a brief second heading to the bathroom to get started on your morning routine but by the sound of it Mingyu’s bouncing off of the walls in there. Figuring it’s best to stay out of the way, you pop open the fridge and set out in search of a breakfast of your own. Having recently gone grocery shopping, the shelves are filled with every delicious food your heart could desire and every single dish requires you to cook.

“Why does everything need to be cooked?” you whine, head thrown back in agony. “I don’t wanna.”

Mingyu flies past you, grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter, “Then don’t. Order out.”

“I thought we weren’t ordering out. Saving money and all that.”

“You can use my card. Just order the food, okay?”

You stand there in silence staring into the void, hearing him but too lost in thought to acknowledge it. The ingredients in the fridge stare back at you. A useless array of items if nothing’s done with them. Mingyu slaps you on the butt. The quickest way he knows to snap you out of it.

“Hey!” you squeal, spinning around to slap his hand away.

Flinging the refrigerator door closed, he pushes you up against it, sweeping you into a kiss much deeper than the last. Not as tinged in toothpaste but more minty than you’re used to still. “Order the food” he mumbles, trailing kisses down your neck, “Promise.” His hands slip beneath your shirt, delighting in the plushness of your lovehandles. He’s getting himself started again. He probably shouldn’t but he can't help it. He never can with you.

His palms are cold, sending a chill up your spine that makes you arch into him. “I promise” you relent, knowing you’re in no position not to give in.

Giving your body one last squeeze, he swirls his tongue around yours, snatching himself away just as you’re really getting into it. “You said ‘later’, remember?” he teases, heading for the door.

Picking up a nearby spatula, you wind your arm back in his direction. “I could throw this at you!” Your aim is immaculate. You have full faith in your abilities. Too bad Mingyu’s shoes are on and he’s already halfway out the door by the time you make up your mind to do it or not.

“Love you!” he shouts over his shoulder, disappearing into the hallway, leaving you defeated and too horny for 7AM in the morning.

“Love you too” you huff, tossing the spatula back onto the counter. You’ll get him when he gets home or he’ll get you. That second one doesn’t sound so bad actually.

Sparing another glance at what’s in the fridge, you abandon any thought of financial responsibility and make your way back to the bedroom in search of your phone. Jellybean pays you no mind as you pass. Her food has been secured. You’re on your own. Turning back into your bedroom, you spot a phone at the foot of the bed. You scoop it up, flopping back down onto the bed. You nearly melt into the comfort of it, contemplating just going back to sleep and forgoing breakfast altogether but you know you can’t. You promised Mingyu afterall.

There’s just one problem. You can’t unlock your phone. Tapping in the code, you frown as the phone rejects it. It’s fine. Maybe you put it in wrong. You did just wake up. Putting the numbers in again, slower this time, you’re met with the same result. Incorrect. Then you notice it. This phone’s wider than yours and thicker too. That isn’t even your lockscreen.

“Shit! Mingyu!”

Phone in hand, you race out of the bedroom and into the living room as fast as your legs will carry you. You push the window nearest to you open with every intent of screaming his name out at the top of your lungs—he always parks his car across the street in perfect shouting distance—but it’s no use. His car’s already gone.

Without thinking, you scurry back into the bedroom and hop into a pair of sweatpants. You pay no mind to the messy state of your hair or the mismatched rain boots that you throw on. Breathless, you race out of the door, car keys in hand, to catch up to your boyfriend. Two minutes ago you were threatening to throw a spatula at his head. Now you’re dropping everything to make sure your baby has his phone.

Ah, romance.

It’s not that you don’t know where your boyfriend works.

It’s more so that you only have a vague idea of where your boyfriend works. You know that it’s some super nice gym tucked away on a quiet street downtown, somewhere in the general vicinity of a bookstore. Or was it a thrift store? A thrift store that sells books? He’s driven you past it a few times when the two of you were headed out for dinner with friends but you’ve never actually been there. Had you considered that before you left the house you might’ve just waited for him to double back for his phone but knowing your boyfriend he wouldn’t have noticed until it was too late.

Thankfully you didn’t get yourself completely lost. You recognized a few things here and there. Not enough to keep you from wasting a half hour driving in circles but enough to find it eventually. An unintended perk of having wasted so much time is the current absence of rain. The clouds are clearing up, tiny slivers of sunshine breaking through as you push your way into the sleek air conditioned gym.

With all its shiny silver decor and glowing white accent lights everything here feels so sterile. The aesthetic is definitely clean. Almost medical in a way. On the walls are posters with barely dressed, muscular figures posing proudly on them. Motivational words paint the bottom of them.

No excuses.

Work harder.

Smile. Sweat. Repeat.

You hear the faint sound of a 2000’s pop mix streaming from speakers strung high in each corner. In the distance there’s the thud of sneakers hitting a treadmill at full speed. Clearly this playlist has someone going hard. Good for them. You can’t say that you’ve ever been a gym girl. It’s never been your thing.

Honestly, when you first met Mingyu it was one of your biggest insecurities. A personal trainer who spends all of his time at a gym and a chubby girl who doesn’t even have a membership. What could you possibly have in common? As it turns out, everything. Well, almost everything. Mingyu never made you feel weird about it but, catching your reflection in a nearby mirror, you remember why you did.

Most of the time you feel secure. Mingyu makes sure that you do. But there are other times, like now, that you question what exactly he’s doing with you. Fresh out of bed in your house clothes, wedged between “Sweat Is Just Fat Crying” and “No Days Off”, you feel utterly unfit to be here.

“Um, excuse me, can I help you with something?” the receptionist calls out to you.

“I—uh—” you stutter, blinking yourself back down to earth. Straightening yourself up a bit, you shyly approach the front desk and the drop dead gorgeous girl who runs it.

In her expensive workout gear and her high slicked back ponytail, she’s the tiniest bubbliest thing you’ve ever seen. Her name tag reads “Lexi” and truly, what else would her name be?

“Can I help you?” she repeats, twirling a gym branded pen around her fingers. She looks at you curiously. She’s smiling from ear to ear but you can feel her judgement...or is it all in your head?

“Yes” you manage to get out, shrinking into yourself more and more by the second, “I’m looking for Kim Mingyu.”

“Oh!” She seems thrilled at the sound of his name, “One second.”

Swiveling around in her chair, she picks up the phone and clicks the button for the intercom. “Mingyu to the front desk please. Mingyu to the front desk.” Hanging the phone up, she turns her attention back to you. “He’ll be up in a second. So, have you been here before?”

“Aah, no. I haven’t—”

“First timer? Slay queen. It’s never too late to make a change.”

“Well, I’m not here for—”

“You’re gonna love, Mingyu. He’s great really. He’ll have all that extra weight off of you just like that.”

She snaps her fingers. Poof. Magic. Chubby girl be gone.

“I’m actually—”

“And don’t tell him I said this…” she leans forward to whisper, a secret between two girls, “He’s, like, super hot. If getting in shape means getting a guy like that what other motivation do you need, am I right?”

You woke up this morning feeling so nice. Loved. Desirable. How can all of that change so quickly?

“Baby, what are you doing here?” Mingyu asks, freeing you from the smothering confines of this conversation. He appears around one of the corners, pulling you into a bear hug, “Everything okay?”

“Baby?” You catch the receptionist mouthing to herself. For her it’s the shock of the year. Of the century even.

“Mmhmm” you nod, using what minimal free space you have to hold his phone up, “You forgot this.”

“Oh my god, thank you. You drove all the way here for me?” Mingyu’s face lights up enough to blind you to the confused expression on your new friend Lexi’s face. Almost.

“You’re the sweetest thing ever, you know that?” he gushes, smushing your cheeks together and kissing you all over your face.

“Gyu, cut it out, there’s people around” you giggle, wiggling in his grasp.

After a few more kisses he turns you loose, taking his phone and shoving it down into his pocket. “Now that you’re here, you wanna come meet my coworkers?”

That wasn’t a question. It was more of a command. You wanna come meet my coworkers? You’re gonna come meet my coworkers. Taking your hand, he’s got his heart set on dragging you to the back, but you resist, putting your full weight into staying right where you are.

“I forgot. I have some errands to run.” You’re proud of yourself for thinking quickly on your feet.

Mingyu turns to you, confused. “Errands? What errands? I thought today was ‘bedrot’ day. You even sang the celebratory ‘bedrot’ song last night.”

You just laugh him off, gently running your hand along his bicep. “Well, ya know, a girl can’t bedrot forever.” Looking around the gym you see another poster. Another slogan. “No days off, right?”

Unimpressed with your regurgitation of some cliche quote you saw on the gym wall, Mingyu narrows his eyes at you, more suspicious than ever.

“Baby, I’m serious” you say, doubling down on your lie, “I’d love to meet them but I really do have to go. Another time?”

The thought of meeting his coworkers makes you nauseous. The idea of what they’d think of you—of you two together—is enough to make you want to evaporate. What’s even worse, despite your insecurities, is the idea of Mingyu being upset with you. You give him the puppy dog eyes, the hardest thing for him to resist, and he melts that instant.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Do what you need to do” he smiles and relief washes over you, “They actually invited me out for drinks tonight so you can come too, right?” Mingyu looks so hopeful, so sickeningly adorable. How dare he.

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to look happy about the trap you’ve fallen into. “Right. Sure. Drinks. Tonight.”

A delighted Mingyu gives you another hug and a quick kiss. “Good and thank you again. I owe you” he winks and you wave goodbye, watching as he heads back to work and leaves you with the unrelenting stare you’ve been trying to avoid this whole time.

“Have a nice day” you mumble, scurrying back towards the front door.

Something is said behind you. The stiff, uncomfortable farewell of a person who realized that they’ve just said all of the wrong things. Even if she were to apologize now it wouldn’t matter. By the time you hop back into your car you’re already spiraling. Any thoughts about grabbing breakfast are pushed to the farthest reaches of your mind. You don’t wanna eat. You certainly don’t wanna go out for drinks later. All you want is to pick up the pieces of your shattered self-confidence but they’re scattered all over the floor of that gym and there’s just no way you’re going back for them.

Bedrot?

No, couch rot, actually. You aren’t sure if that’s a thing. If not, you’re pioneering it. The queen of couch rotting. With the exception of feeding Jellybean her dinner and a few quick trips to the bathroom, you haven’t left your spot on the couch all day. It’s almost 6PM. Not that you’d know the exact time. You haven’t so much as glanced at your phone since you got in. Your only hint of the hours having passed by is the arrival of dusk quietly creeping in beyond your curtains.

Draped across the couch, you stare at the TV as scenes of a show you’re hardly watching flash on the screen. You’ve cried, you’ve slept, you’ve cried again. When you’re feeling down a couple of naps typically do the trick. They make you forget all about the problem, if only for a little bit, but how can you forget the problem when you can’t stop wondering if you’re it. Is it really such a hard thing to imagine? That Mingyu could be your boyfriend and not your trainer? Is it really such a stretch of the imagination?

“If getting in shape means getting a guy like that what other motivation do you need, am I right?”

Does everyone think that? That to earn someone like your boyfriend you need to get in shape? Get thinner? The possibility weighs you down like an anchor, assuring that you’ll never stop drowning. Never stop wondering.

You’ll have to come up with an excuse for tonight. Something believable. Maybe you’ll say that you aren’t feeling well. You have been lying around the house all day. Method acting is what they call it. You never did order that food. He can check his card and see that you haven’t. Even more support for the fact that you just aren’t feeling well. As much as you want to meet his coworkers, you think, mentally rehearsing your story, the alcohol would only make things worse but he should go and have fun.

“Next time” you’ll say, “Pinky swear.”

A new episode of your show kicks on, a wistful theme song playing as the leading actor’s faces and names fade in and out. A rose tinted sequence of beautiful faces. You close your eyes, pulling the blanket over your head. Time for another nap—maybe this will be the one that fixes it all—but there’s no time. The sound of a set of keys jingling on the other side of the door sends your lids shooting back open. The door knob turns. The curtain’s rising. You hear those familiar footsteps. It’s time for your performance, kid. Begin scene.

“Sweetie! Are you here?” Mingyu calls out, kicking his shoes off. He scans the apartment, noticing that the only source of light is from outside and what little is provided by the TV.

You cough weakly, sitting up on the couch, “I’m here.”

Why did you cough? Terrible acting already. No Oscar for you..

Mingyu leans over the back of the couch, arms thrown over your shoulders. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?”

“No, I was just resting. I haven’t really been feeling so good today” you say, trying your hardest to look and sound the worst that you can.

Circling around the couch, Mingyu kneels in front of you, taking your hands into his. With your eyes all red and puffy it’s an easier sell than you expected. His face twists with worry and you can’t fight the guilt brewing inside of you at the sight of him.

“What’s going on? Are you sick? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No, no. It’s not that bad” you assure him, subtly gaining strength in hopes that it’ll ease his concerns. “It’s just a stomach bug or something.”

“Lay back down, okay?” he insists, thumbs petting the back of your hands, “I’ll go make you some soup.”

“Mingyu, you really don’t have to” you start but he’s already guiding you back down onto the couch, hurrying into the kitchen to get some soup started for you.

The clanking of pots and pans fills the space where any further protest from you might fit. “You just rest!” he shouts, “Let me take care of everything and don’t worry about tonight. We can always wait until you’re feeling better.”

You sink further into the couch at his words. “Until you’re feeling better” means he’ll bring it up again. It means you’ll have to fake sick every single time he mentions it but how long could you play that card before he started to get suspicious? Mingyu can only be distracted by his concern for you for so long before he suspects the truth, that you’re just trying to avoid it, and you’ll have to tell him why.

“Mingyu, can you come here?”

Too busy raiding the fridge for ingredients, Mingyu barely hears you. “Hmm? You say something?”

“Come here for a second, please!”

You push yourself up on the couch, tossing the blanket aside. Mingyu’s there in a flash, ready to do whatever it is that you need. His eagerness to help you only makes you feel worse for having lied to him. You pat the cushion beside you and he takes a seat, bracing himself for whatever news you’re about to break to him.

“Are you pregnant?” he blurts out and you clutch your chest in shock.

“Pregnant? What? No. I’m not pregnant. Why would you think I was pregnant?”

“Messy hair, baggy clothes, you’ve definitely been crying all day, and the ‘stomach bug’” he says, making air quotations at your fake ailment. “I know what that means, I’m not stupid.”

Even at your lowest moment you can’t stop the laugh that escapes you at how absolutely adorable he is. “Oh, my love, I’m not pregnant.”

“Then what is? Tell me” he begs too sincerely to deny, “You know whatever it is, I’ve got your back. We’re a team, remember?”

Leaning your head on his shoulder, you lace your fingers between his and settle into the comfort of his presence. Why are you lying to someone you don’t have to lie to? Mingyu’s your person. What is there to hide?

“You know the receptionist at the gym?”

“Yeah, Lexi, what about her?”

“She…well…she thought I was your client.”

“Why would she think that?”

You pause, giving him time to process it. You can feel it when he does. His body tenses, the energy in the room shifting at the realization.

“Did she say something to you?” he asks, standing up as if he’s ready to run back to that gym to confront her.

You’re positive that he would. Mingyu’s probably the most gentle man you’ve ever met, you’ve rarely seen him get angry or raise his voice, but when it comes to you it’s never a problem to get a bit out of character.

Your chest aches recalling the interaction. The casual tone of her voice. The shock on her face when he called you baby. “She was just surprised. I guess I can’t blame her. A girl like me walks into a gym asking for you and what else is she supposed to think? You’re literally built like a god and I’m built like—”

Mingyu interrupts you on purpose, refusing to let you even attempt to put yourself down. “A goddess. You’re built like a goddess. Stand up.”

“Mingyu, no” you protest but he insists, grabbing your arms and forcing you up from the couch. Gathering the loose fabric of your t-shirt in his fists, he brings it flush against your body, defining every curve. “This body is the body of a goddess. It’s the body of the woman I love. I think it looks perfect next to mine.” Mingyu’s eyes are brimming with admiration and all he wants in this world is for you to feel it but you just hang your head, unable to meet his gaze.

“But that’s not what other people think.”

“I don't give a shit what other people think. Look at me.” He scoops your cheeks into his hands, giving you no option other than to look at him—to accept the way he looks at you. “When we’re together I think that I can’t imagine being with any other girl. I think I’d lose my mind if I ever woke up next to anybody else. Don’t you feel that way too?”

Of course you do. That’s the silliest question he’s ever asked. You wouldn’t trade being with him for anything. It’s never even crossed your mind to question it. “I always feel like I’m right where I should be when I’m next to you, Mingyu.”

“Because you are,” he smiles, kissing the bridge of your nose, “You belong with me and nothing anyone else says could ever change that.”

If you had any tears left to cry, even a single one to spare, you’d shed it for him and it wouldn’t be one of heartache or pain. It’d be pure love. Pure appreciation for the existence of a man who can so effortlessly fight off the fears you can’t face on your own, making them feel smaller and smaller until the only thing you can feel is his love for you.

“I’m gonna go shower. Come with me” he says, his palm skating down your arm to take your hand in his.

This time you don’t resist. Not when he leads you down the hall to the bathroom, humming as he flicks the light on. Not when he strips you of your clothes, slowly peeling them away until they’re nothing more than a pile of fabric at your feet. And certainly not when he wraps his arms around your naked figure, his tongue exploring your mouth as he pulls you under the warm water sprinkling from the shower head.

And just like that you’re right back to where you were this morning. Before you walked into that gym, before the insecurities. You’re on your own planet again. Just the two of you. His soapy hands gliding along the contours of your hips. Your fingers combing through his slick, dark hair as he kisses his way down to your chin, burying his face in your neck to nip gently at your sensitive skin. You let out a whimper, your body shivering in his grasp, and Mingyu laughs, never sick of how cute you are when you make that sound.

Your back arches, jutting your pillowy breasts forward, tempting Mingyu to take one into his hand. He can’t fight the urge to touch you. To feel the weight of it in his hand. So soft and bouncy. Your perky nipple slips eagerly between his fingers, just begging to be pinched the slightest bit.

“Mingyu” you moan, nibbling at your bottom lip, a flash of heat hitting you so intensely you’d swear someone changed the water temperature. But no, it’s only Mingyu. It always is.

“Do you remember what you were wearing the first day we met?” he whispers, his voice lost somewhere between lust and fluffy nostalgia. “It was really hot out that. I was walking through the park when I saw you in that crop top and those shorts…fuck…I know I shouldn’t have looked at you like that but your body was so beautiful, baby. Your belly. Your hips. Your thighs.”

Mingyu’s hands patiently glide down your figure, taking their time to indulge in the shape of you. It radiates from him—the admiration, the longing—and it has you melting. You part your lips to release another floaty moan and Mingyu’s right there, his mouth pressed to yours, hungry for the taste of it on his tongue.

“I can’t forget your face” he hums, breaking from the kiss, stars dancing in those brown eyes, “It’s my favorite thing about you. Just look at you.” One hand dances up to stroke your cheek while another dips between your legs, his fingertips ghosting your clit just enough to make you tremble. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Especially when you make faces like that.”

You don’t want to make faces. You want to look cool, calm, and collected—completely unaffected by his teasing—but it’s nothing you can help. Your body reacts to him just the way he wants it to every single time and there’s nothing you can do about it. Nothing he wants you to do about it.

“Don’t start” you warn, playfully swatting him on the back of the head. Instinctively you wrap a leg around his waist, your actions immediately betraying your words.

“Start?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed, “I don’t know what you mean. Start what?”

Mingyu plays innocent but in the blink of an eye he sweeps you off of your feet, your back pressed to the wall and his arms tucked behind your knees. You lock your arms around his shoulders, terrified that you’re about to come crashing to the ground.

“You can’t just pick me up like that!”

Mingyu laughs, shifting your weight to make sure you’re secure, “I can actually. Don’t worry. All this muscle isn’t for nothing. I’ve got you.” He locks eyes with you, as serious as he’s ever been.

“I said, I’ve got you” he repeats, rocking his hips so that the head of his cock brushes your slit. You’re dripping, already clenching, and the slick warmth of you coating his tip has him licking his lips. “Just relax, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Relax? And put your full weight onto this man? You can’t. He’s out of his mind. He’s insane. He’s lifting into you and every thick, wonderfully veined inch of his cock makes you care less about how heavy you might be. The only thing on your mind is the motion of his hips, every stroke of his cock making your body sing the sweetest of songs.

If he were honest he’d say that holding you up was harder than he thought but not because of your weight. Your walls are so velvety, hugging his length like you never want to let go. The pleasure’s almost too much. It takes everything in him to keep himself from falling apart.

“Love you” he whispers, nibbling at your bottom lip, “Love you so much.”

“Love…mmph….you…aah…too” you squeak, the smile on your face making his heart skip a beat.

Mingyu thrusts into you harder one good time just to watch your eyes roll back. Your nails dig into the tense muscles of his back but he’s too high from the feeling of you for the sting to feel anything other than good.

“Say it again. Tell me you love me too” he demands, fingertips digging into the flesh of your thighs.

“I love you too” you utter between sloppy kisses.

“And you belong with me.”

He’s throbbing so deep inside of you that you’d swear you can feel it in your stomach. Your vision’s hazy. Your pulse is racing. It feels as if your very cells are vibrating. “I belong with you”.

“That’s it. My good girl. My perfect girl” he coos, feeling you tighten around his cock. “Aww, you gonna cum, baby?”

“Mmhmm” you whine, mindlessly riding his lap, desperate for more.

This image of you will be burned into his mind for weeks. Legs around his waist. Pinned to the wall. Beads of water glimmering on your naked form. Clenching. Needy. Juices leaking down his cock as you cum around him, your walls spasming wildly as you take every inch. Every thrust. Every drop of him when he finally breaks, filling you until the warm white liquid’s dripping from your pretty slit.

Are you levitating? You must be because he can’t feel himself holding you and you can’t feel yourself being held. You’re just here together floating in ecstasy. Peacefully. Effortlessly. As it should be. You can’t discern how much time has passed when Mingyu’s carefully lowering your legs, refusing to let you go until he’s sure you can stand on your own.

“I’ve gotta get away from you” you tease, hopping out of the shower as quickly as your wobbly legs will let you, “You’re trouble.”

Mingyu shuts the shower off, jumping out right after you to drag you back into his arms. “But you like trouble” he says, assaulting your left cheek with kisses.

You roll your eyes and pout but you know he’s right. Any trouble you get from Mingyu is trouble you want. You couldn’t go without it. “Maybe.” Grabbing your towel, you tuck it around your body before tossing Mingyu his. “Now hurry up and get ready.”

“Get ready for…”

“I thought we were meeting your coworkers for drinks.”

Mingyu freezes, his system’s malfunctioning. He’s sure you didn’t just say what you said. “I thought you didn’t wanna go.”

“People change their minds, baby. Especially when they have boyfriends like you who make them feel like the prettiest girl in the world” you say, pinching his cheek, “I wanna be wherever you are. Unless you don’t want—”.

“Shut up, we’re going” he interrupts, “But first I gotta talk to you about something.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“We can’t talk about it here. It’s better if we talk in the bedroom.”

You stare at him skeptically, arms folded across your chest, “What can you talk to me about in the bedroom that we can’t talk about here?”

Mingyu lulls you into another tender kiss, sliding your towel up to massage your ass. “Get in there and I’ll show you.”

You place your full trust in him, letting him blindly back you out of the bathroom and down the hall where your bedroom awaits, kissing you and caressing you, throwing off your entire sense of direction. It occurs to you as you cross the threshold of what you assume to be your bedroom and your towel hits the ground that you probably aren’t going out for drinks tonight.

Chances are you’ll spend the night in instead, ending your day the way it began. Tangled in the sheets. Lost in him. Lost in each other. And that suits you just fine. You’ll see his coworkers when you see them. There’s no nervousness about it anymore. No fear. You’ve never known peace the way that you have with Mingyu. As long as you’re together everything’s as it should be and nothing can make you question that ever again.

1K notes · View notes

dawn-iscozy · 29 days ago

Text

“ like a cat in a sunny spot ” ♡ iii ♡

apologies in advance if the timeline doesn’t make any sense, I’m going purely on vibes and my affection for these 8 men. idk if it deserves a warning, but scents are mentioned a lot in this part and kinda littered through the rest of the fic, too (using scent profiles from a perfume/fragrance site that has a line of scents called “Smells Like a Hug From Ateez” and very limited knowledge of fragrances the members may have previously used/just the vibes they give off)

WORD COUNT: 10k

♡ 18+ - smut warnings below the cut MDNI ♡

OTHER WARNINGS: kink negotiation??, threesome but at one point there are four people in a sexual situation, just a buuuunch of filth, fingers, mouths, fingers IN mouths, mentions of spit, begging, strength/manhandling, slapping, choking, apparently i have an oral fixation??? and so does wooyoung - bro has a MOUTH on him…and on Rora, “youngie”, yunho is a biiiiig boy, Wooyoung likes to emphasize this ALOT, lube lots of lube, this is very self-indulgent LEAVE ME ALONE, brief allusion to not-so-nice past partners, unprotected sex (probably shouldn’t do this), aftercare (definitely should do this)

iii: hard & soft

Rora followed behind the two men, her hand grasped in San’s as they walked down the hallway. Her heart was speeding up in her chest, pounding harder with each step closer to the room they had been in before. Her stomach was tight with anticipation, skin warm and tingling, breath coming quicker than usual.

The two of them guided her to sit on the edge of the bed, standing beside each other in front of her. Just watching her. She squirmed under the weight of their dark gazes, growing hot under the hoodie she was wearing. The strong smell of Wooyoung's soap on her skin, San’s cologne on the clothes covering her, and the still lingering scent of sex in the room combined to make her head fuzzy. Her legs clenched, thighs rubbing together, and her teeth tugged at her bottom lip.

“Who do you want, darling? What do you want?” San asked, unraveling himself from the apron still hiding his front from her. She watched as the fabric fell to the floor, his torso once again exposed. She was nearly salivating at the sight of all those muscles. Remembering how they felt against her, how they felt holding her up and tossing her around while she was impaled on his cock. She would gladly let him fuck her again, but not right now. Not when she could feel the heat in Wooyoung’s gaze, could taste the anticipation practically dripping off him. Not when he looked like lust incarnate just waiting for his turn with her body.

“Youngie,” she said, tongue slipping out to wet her lower lip. She wanted to kiss him, to taste him. Devour him. His throat bobbed as he stepped closer, sinking to his knees beside her, and her eyes shifted to take in the golden beauty of his skin, to watch the desire carve its way onto his face. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes locked with his. Desire looked so good on him. “Want Youngie to fuck me. Please?”

“Begging so pretty already,” Wooyoung praised, thumb sliding across her cheek as he invaded her space. Pretty? He looked pretty, sitting on the floor. His strong thighs spread, shorts hiked up to expose the tan expanse of them for her to ogle, to crave. His eyes looked bigger when he looked up at her, too. He smirked at her, tongue peeking out briefly, leaving his lower lip shiny with spit. Fuck, she needed to kiss him.

“Just Youngie?” San’s tone was casual, playful even, but the question was enough to snap her from her Wooyoung-induced haze. Her eyes flew to San’s face to gauge his expression. He sent her a soft smile, hands coming up, palms out, at her almost panicked expression. “I’m just asking, darling. This is going to be whatever you want and only ever what you want. No judgment and no hard feelings, and we will always tell you when we feel uncomfortable or like we need to discuss something. Like we did on the way back from the club, and like we are right now, okay?”

She nodded, hands fisting the material of her hoodie - San’s hoodie - as she thought about his first question. She pushed through the guilt, the thought of him being upset thinking that she didn’t want him. Forced herself to take his words for what they were. When she did, a certain pair of big eyes and beautiful hands refused to leave her mind, and she wondered. Wondered what those eyes would look like filled with desire. How his tall frame would look above her, how he could completely cover her body with his own. Rora’s skin seared with the memory of what it felt like when he grabbed her earlier, and her breathing nearly stopped. Shifting on the edge of the bed, toes curling against the floor and cheeks flaring with heat when she looked first at San, who was closer than before, then at Wooyoung.

“There is someone you have in mind, isn’t there, sweetheart? I can see it in your face.” Wooyoung chuckled, leaning up to nuzzle his nose against her cheek. His warm breath tickled down her neck and his warm hands ran up the length of her thighs, squeezing, blunt nails digging into the flesh of them lightly before going back to soft, barely-there touches that raised goosebumps to her skin. “Be our good, brave girl and tell us who it is, hmm?”

Rora couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe as his nose trailed up her jaw, teeth finding her ear in a sharp little nip that made her gasp. He hummed, murmuring hot words of encouragement to her. She sighed, head tipping back as she whispered out the name at the forefront of her mind. “Yunho,” she breathed, savoring the way it rolled off her tongue.

“Good girl,” San murmured, hand smoothing over her hair before he took a step back. She whined at his retreat, reaching out for him without even thinking about it. He chuckled. “Don’t you want me to go get Yunho for you, darling?”

“Kiss me?” She pouted up at him. “Please?”

The two men shared a look, before Wooyoung was standing. “I’ll go talk to him,” he said, amusement clear in his voice. She almost whined as he took a step closer to the door, but his stare stopped her. His eyes scanned her up and down, lip trapped between his teeth, leaving tempting little indentations that she wished had been left by her. “I’m the more convincing one of us, anyway. You can have a little more time with Sannie before I devour you, huh, sweetheart?”

Heat flared in her body, and she nodded, breathless as he left.

Her eyes drifted to San, heart fluttering in her chest as he moved to sit on the bed beside her. His strong hands patted his thighs, chin tipping in her direction, smirk forcing those gorgeous dimples into her sight. “Come here,” he said.

She shivered at the grit in his voice, shifting around until she could throw a leg over and straddle his lap. Almost immediately, a hand was tangled in her hair and Rora was tugged down. He didn’t kiss her right away, however, seeming content with simply teasing his lips over her own, giving her only the ghost of kisses, over first her top then her bottom lip.

She whimpered, hands coming up to hold onto his shoulders. His skin was hot under her touch, those beautiful muscles tensing and releasing beneath her palms. “Sannie,” she said his name on a sigh, eyes wide, pleading, and she watched, breathless, as his face simultaneously hardened and melted.

He hummed, strong fingers massaging her scalp in small circles that moved down over the back of her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed. She forced them open again, watching as his eyes lowered, watching as he watched her lips part around his name again, her voice practically a purr as the pressure of his hands in her hair increased. She could see his pupils expanding, black engulfing brown until neither color was distinguishable from the other. She couldn’t help the whine in her voice when she spoke next. “Please kiss me?”

He chuckled, a low rasp that set her nerves on fire, but did as she asked. Hand spanning the back of her neck to angle her head how he wanted and lock her in place, his soft lips finally pressed against hers properly. She inhaled sharply through her nose, hands coming up to frame his face. His thumb slid down the side of her neck, teeth nipping her bottom lip, and she shivered, shifting in his lap to press closer against him.

His cock was hardening beneath her, rubbing against her deliciously, and she almost wanted to say fuck it and let him fuck her again. Maybe quickly before Wooyoung came back, hopefully with Yunho in tow. The sound of the television got louder, the volume raising until she could hear it even through the rushing of blood in her ears. The haze in her head lifted slightly, and she was sure that he had found Yunho. Told him she was asking for him. She wondered what his reaction was, how wide his eyes must have gone when Wooyoung told him. Did his ears turn red? Did his eyes darken with desire?

She wondered what Jongho’s reaction was, too. Was he flustered? He had to have been. There’s no way he wouldn’t be, being stuck on the sidelines of what had practically devolved into an almost-orgy between her, his coworker, and his closest friends.

Her lips parted at a sudden thought, quick images of the four men in this apartment and her in various situations and positions flashing through her mind.

Her hands slid up to tangle in his hair, her lips pressing more firmly against his own to ground herself back into the moment with San. She kissed him with all that she had, the movement of her lips fierce but slow, his own drugging in response. Her teeth dug into the fullness of his bottom lip, biting hard enough that he groaned into her mouth, and she giggled, softening her kisses.

Her hands slid back down to his face, her lips parted against his, her tongue sliding over his lower lip. Then she was pulling back. He let her, the hand in her hair sliding down her back to cup her ass, the other moving to brush over her jaw.

“You don’t feel bad, do you?” she asked, still catching her breath. When he tilted his head at her question, brows raising, she puffed out a breath and continued. “About me wanting Yunho and Youngie.”

His dimples made an appearance as he shook his head. “Not at all, darling,” he said. His thumb slid over her chin, pressing into her lower lip, moving to smooth down her back. His strong hands gripped her hips, fingers biting into the curve of her ass as he held her in place. He pressed up against her. Even through the layers of their clothes, he could feel the heat of her pussy, the pressure heavenly against his hardening cock. “A little jealous that I won’t be the one to fuck you-” he paused to take in her reaction to both his words and the next shift of his hips, the reddening of her cheeks and the catching of her breath, his expression entirely self-satisfied “-but not bad. I already got that honor, didn’t I? Like I said before, no judgment and no hard feelings. If we need to talk, we can. But we just met, darling, and we’re having fun, right? Are you okay? Still good to do this?”

Rora’s mouth was dry, throat tight with unreleased breaths and moans. She nodded and pressed her mouth fervently back against his. “Yeah,” she breathed out against his mouth. “Yes, please.”

San groaned, gripping her tighter and coaxing her into a grinding motion that sent them both reeling into insanity. Her teeth nipped at him, sinking lightly into the plumpness of his lip once again. He paid her in kind, lips shifting, sliding against her own until he could suck her bottom lip into his hot mouth, teeth coming down hard enough that she yelped but couldn’t help but kiss him harder.

The sound of the bedroom door squeaking open and a breathy “fuck” had her pulling away. She felt hot. Sexy even, perched in San’s lap, his hands still guiding her hips against his own in a slow, steady grind, knowing that she had an audience at that moment. She saw first Wooyoung, standing there and watching as San trailed kisses down her neck, as her back arched to press herself tighter against San’s chest.

“You look delicious with Sannie, sweetheart,” Woo purred, stepping further into the room. “I could watch him ravage you for hours.” She preened at his words, languishing under his gaze, rubbing herself up against San’s chest and letting her grip on him tighten. San’s chest vibrated with a groan as her nails dug into his skin, and she mindlessly leaned closer to smooth kisses over the little cescents in apology.

Then, her eyes shifted to look at Yunho. She wanted to cry with relief just as badly as she wanted to moan, her brain short circuiting when she took in the quick rise and fall of his chest, his parted lips. Just as she imagined earlier, his ears and cheeks were pink, eyes blown wide with desire, the evidence of his arousal beginning to show in his sweats. Her eyes locked there, tongue coming out briefly. He shifted, and her eyes trailed up the length of him. He looked so yummy standing there, looking extra big next to Wooyoung.

She whined when San’s movements stopped, teeth grazing the firmness of his shoulder, but the sound was cut short when he gripped her chin to turn her face back to his. His nose brushed against her own, hot breath fanning her face. “Eyes on me for a minute, darling,” he murmured, lips brushing over hers with each word. He sat back a bit, and she took a moment to take him in. He was all pink cheeks and heavy, dark eyes, lips shiny from her kisses. “We need to talk a little bit first, okay?”

She nodded, wide eyes locked with his own.

“Good girl.” She couldn’t help the subtle rocking of her hips against his, and he chuckled through a groan, hands gripping her thighs to hold her down, tight enough that she hoped there would be marks the next day. “Patience, darling. We need to talk first, then Youngie and Yunho can have you, hmm?”

She moaned at his words, but nodded, anchoring herself by gripping his arms. Her fingers kneaded the hard muscles. Bad idea. Her eyes flickered down, taking in the expanse of bare skin beneath her touch.

The mattress shifted, groaning in protest as someone sat next to them. A hand patted her cheek lightly, and her eyes flew up to see Wooyoung there. Her pulse fluttered, skin tingling under the soft touch, and she leaned into him. “Please,” she murmured, eyes wide. She hadn’t meant to say anything, but she didn’t regret the slipup in the slightest.

“Please?” Wooyoung’s head tilted, brows ticking up in surprised amusement.

Her throat went dry, but she swallowed and forced the words out. “Again. Harder. Please.”

A sly grin slid onto his face, and he examined her face slowly, drawing the moment out until she visibly flushed darker, lower lip pouting out. “You want me to slap you, sweetheart?” he finally asked, voice low and breathy, like he was equal parts astonished and excited at the idea of it. He liked that, it seemed, his eyes going heavy as his thumb ghosted over her cheekbone.

Her heart stuttered in her chest, breath catching at the look on his face.

“Yes, please. Please slap me.” Rora didn’t recognize her voice, didn’t recognize the whiny tone, not with how floaty her head was getting. But fuck if she wasn’t enjoying it.

His eyes were dark as they remained on hers. So, so dark. She felt like she could just drown in them, that she would and never come back up for air again. That she would never want to.

She moaned when a hand grasped her jaw, eyes fluttering closed at the pressure of the fingers digging into her cheeks, squeezing until her lips were forced apart. Two fingers slipped into her mouth, pressing lightly on her tongue, and she moaned again at the weight of them, the taste of them. “Dirty girl.”

The hand released her face, and a moment later, a stinging sensation spread across her cheek. She gasped, moaned, releasing the fingers in her mouth as her jaw dropped down. Those fingers hooked behind her teeth, yanking her jaw open further before leaving her entirely. Her hips attempted to rock against San’s hold on her, and his hips lifted, sending his cock pressing deeper against her. Her back arched, hands scrambling against the arms in her hands, nails scratching.

Purely masculine groans filled the room, three of them, and she shuddered at the sound. Goosebumps broke out along her exposed skin, brain blanking, ears still ringing with her own noises of pain pleasure.

“Fuck,” San groaned. “That was hot, darling. You like that? Want Youngie to do it again?”

“Yes, yes. Youngie, please,” she gasped out, chest tight with desperation. Her eyes burned, like she might start crying, like she might have already been. Her skin tingled in anticipation for more of that stinging sensation, at the knowledge that these men’s eyes were on her as she rubbed herself up against San even as she looked at Wooyoung.

“Answer Sannie’s questions, then, sweetheart.”

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she wanted to whine, shake her cotton-filled head and say no, no, no. But she nodded. “Sorry, sorry,” she murmured, swallowing as she tried to blink through the fog in her brain. “I will, I will - I…” her words faded off, and she shook her head. She released San’s arms, letting her hands fall down to knead her own thighs

The air shifted behind her, and she turned her head to see Yunho kneeling beside her and San. “Hi,” he said, sweet smile in place. He reached a hand up, pushing her hair back from her face, tucking the strands behind her ear, and she giggled at the ticklish feeling.

“Hi,” she said, marveling once more at just how handsome he was.

“You alright?” he asked, his warm hand massaging her shoulder and down her arm until they reached her wrist. Yunho smiled when she nodded, gently pushing her hands up to massage her palm, wrist, and even her fingers. “That’s good,” he murmured, voice low, his thumb sliding over the pulse point in her wrist. He smirked when he felt the jump in her heart rate at his touch, at his words, at the close proximity. “Now, eyes back on San, honey.”

A thrill worked up her spine at the nickname, at his voice dropping lower, at the note of command in his words. She did as he said, letting herself relax into his touches as her eyes returned to San’s face.

“There you are, darling,” San cooed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Ready?”

Rora nodded, heart fluttering in her chest.

“I’ll make this easy for you. Just yes or no questions, but we need you to stay with us, okay?”

“Yeah,” she said on a sigh.

“Is there anything that would help with that?” San asked. His hands swept up her back before coming back down, thumbs rubbing circles into her hips.

Her eyes trailed down to the fingers massaging her wrist.

“You want Yunho’s fingers, sweetheart?”

Wooyoung’s question had her eyes darting back to Yunho’s face. His head was tilted, his eyes intense as they darted over her face, landing finally on her mouth. “Where, honey?” he asked, voice low as his hand trailed back up her arm. Her heart raced as his touch moved over her shoulder, up her throat, over her chin, to brush her lips lightly. “Here?”

Her lips parted at his light touch, teeth scraping over the pads of his fingers before she opened up fully. He groaned and slipped his fingers into her mouth, immediately pressing down on her tongue. One second, two, three, and he smiled at her, allowing his fingers to relax. “Look so pretty with fingers in your mouth, honey.”

She shivered, letting her tongue lap at the digits, moaning at the salty flavor of them. The hands on her hips squeezed tightly, and she turned to look at San. The fingers in her mouth pulled at the corner of her mouth, and she whined when they slipped from her mouth. Yunho shushed her, standing up to settle on the bed beside San. Mere moments later, and her mouth was once again occupied.

“Can you nod, darling?” San asked, and she nodded. “Ready to answer some questions?” She hummed in the affirmative.

“Alright. Let’s just go over a list of things. Some of these things might have already happened earlier, but we just want to make sure since we didn’t really get to talk about anything and Yunho wasn’t there.” He paused, and she nodded. “Just nod if you like something or are open to trying it, or shake your head if you don’t, okay?”

She nodded, locking eyes with him.

“More than one partner?”

She was stuck between giggling and rolling her eyes at the first question. Obviously, she was okay with that. More than, if the dampness of the boxers she was wearing was anything to go off of. Her lashes fluttered closed to hide her immediate reaction, hoping they didn’t catch it and think she was going to start bratting it up. She did wonder, for a moment, what would happen if she did, though, and she almost moaned at the scenarios that flew through her mind. Her lips ticked up at the corners, no matter how hard she tried to fight it off, as she gave a nod.

“Being watched?” She shivered, remembering a few hours ago, San and Wooyoung taking turns with her, their gazes hot and heavy on her skin. Even in that moment, with the two of them and the new addition staring, expectation and anticipation heavy in the air, she felt hot all over.

She nodded. God, yes. She wanted them to watch her - to watch as she lost herself in the pleasure of their cocks. She had never considered herself one for voyeurism or exhibitionism, but she never wanted them to look away from her.

“People who are not active participants hearing you?” She froze at that, ears once more picking up the sound of the television from the living room. She had almost forgotten that Jongho was there, that he lived there and would have to deal with this happening just a few rooms away. She wasn’t against it. Not in the slightest, especially if those hearing her were getting off on it. “Just covering some bases with this one, ‘cause you’re not exactly quiet and these two?” He gestured to the men on either side of him, and she could practically feel the smirk coming to Wooyoung’s face. “They’ll do anything to make you as loud as possible, especially Woo. And if I hear you, darling, I need to know that you’re alright with me hearing it.”

She nodded, moaning around the fingers in her mouth.

“Like that, sweetheart?” Wooyoung said, voice breathy and husky and sending shivers down her spine. She turned to look at him, seeing that he was leaning back on his hands, legs spread casually, head tipping back just the slightest to expose the sharpness of his jaw and the gorgeous length of his throat. He looked so fucking good, and she was right back to needing to kiss him. Consume and savor him. His lips parted, deliberately slowly, like he knew she was watching them, and his tongue peeked out for a moment. “Like the thought of Sannie stroking his hard cock to your pretty moans? Want Jongho to hear you, too? Want him to come look in, see how we’re ruining you on our cocks? Such a dirty fucking girl.”

Rora moaned. The dirtiness of it all was hot on her skin, and she tingled all over. She needed him to stop talking. Needed him to say more. Needed someone to touch her. She shifted in San’s lap, pleading eyes moving back to his face. If Youngie kept talking like that, there’s no doubt that she would fucking combust. Hell, she was already halfway there.

The fingers in her mouth flexed, pressing her tongue down briefly, and she turned to see Yunho giving her an expectant look. Right. She was asked a question. She exhaled slowly through her nose and nodded. The men in the room groaned.

“Choking?” Nod.

“Hair pulling?” Nod.

“Spanking?” Nod.

“Slapping?” She nodded. “Face?” Nod. “Tits?” Nod. “Pussy?” Nod.

Sounds were escaping her throat with every word that San said, so worked up that it felt like she couldn’t breathe. She reached up to pull Yunho’s fingers from her mouth. She kept a grip on his hand, pressing it tight against her chest, wanting nothing more than for him to wrap those long fingers around her throat or slap her or tangle them in her hair and fucking pull.

She was whining, keening even, unable to properly catch her breath. “Sannie,” she finally whimpered, trying to move in his lap. She needed to move, needed something, anything. He kept her still, grip tight and eyes narrowing at her, and she wanted to sob.

“Anal?”

She shook her head. Swallowed. Nodded. “Yes, but not…not today.” she said.

“Oral?”

“Please,” she breathed out.

“Giving or receiving?”

“Both. Both but - fuck, Youngie?” Rora’s gaze slid to his, the image of him on his knees again flashing through her head. This time with him between her thighs, his hands holding her open for him and his pretty, pretty eyes staring up at her. “Youngie, please.” She reached for him.

His hand came up to her face, fingers caressing her cheek lightly. “What is it, sweetheart?” he asked, head tilting. His hair fell into his face at the move, the soft strands framing his features in a way that left her breathless. “Need Youngie to make you feel good? Fuck you nice and open with my tongue, get you ready for Yunho’s big cock?”

Her pussy clenched, whole body vibrating at his words. Her grip on Yunho’s hand tightened, and she slid it up so that his fingers spanned her throat. “Please,” she begged, looking over at the tallest man. “Please, Yunho.” He traced the lines of her throat and along her jaw, but he didn’t do anything else.

“Manhandling?” Yunho asked, before San could pick up his line of questioning again.

Her breath exploded from her at the intensity in his eyes, and she could feel herself starting to tremble at the thought of Yunho and Wooyoung tossing her around, moving her however they liked. “Oh, she loves that,” Woo’s voice sounded again, echoing the words she wasn’t able to say herself. “She got so loud when Sannie started throwing her around a little. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

She parted her lips to answer, but no sound came out. A moan clogged her throat as long fingers finally wrapped around it. No pressure was applied, his hand just sitting there, driving her insane. His fingertips tapped lightly against the side of her neck, and Yunho leaned close. “Gonna answer Woo, honey?” he whispered in her ear. Her eyes fluttered closed, a shiver working down her spine.

“Yes,” she gasped out. “Yes, yes. Love it. Please.”

She felt his grin against the shell of her ear. “Good girl,” he rumbled. “What about restraint? Can I pin your wrists, honey? Hold you down, and make you take my cock?”

“Oh, please!”

Warm breath fanned over the other side of her face, and Wooyoung’s voice filled her ears again. “What about orgasm control, hmm? What if I deny you? Keep you on the edge until you’re begging for me to let you cum? Or make you cum over and over again until you're crying?”

“Fuck,” she mumbled, head swimming. She swallowed down a whine.”Yes, please.”

“Names? Degradation? Humiliation?” Wooyoung murmured the words out quickly, each one a little louder and higher in pitch than the last. Like he was getting too excited and needed to hear the answer as quickly as possible.

She whimpered, but nodded her head. “Sometimes,” she tilted her head back, taking a breath as she tried to not remember the times it had been too much, when previous partners had taken it too far and hadn’t given appropriate follow up or aftercare. She took another breath, soaking in the moment again, letting the still rising excitement and tension in the room envelope her, reveling in the warmth and pressure still on her throat. Really, in that moment, as long as it came from their mouths, from Wooyoung’s mouth, she was sure she would enjoy it. “Youngie? Yunho? Please.”

“Okay, okay,” Sannie soothed, letting go of her hips to smooth a hand over her hair. “Go to Youngie, darling. He’ll take care of you real good, hmm?”

Yunho’s hand fell from her throat, and he helped her stand from San’s lap. Wooyoung’s arm came around her, pulling her to stand in front of him, their knees brushing. He was back to looking up at her, a hand on the back of her head to pull her down, noses touching, breaths mingling. He looked gorgeous. Beautiful. So fucking kissable.

He spoke up, eyes never leaving hers, though he wasn’t addressing her. “Leave the door cracked a little, so her pretty moans fill the whole apartment, hmm?”

San chuckled, but she didn’t look back to see whether he followed the suggestion or not, too lost in Woo’s eyes, in the need to have his lips against hers. “Youngie,” she breathed out.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Need you to kiss me.”

“Oh?” He teased his lips over hers, and she trembled. “Is that all you need from me? A kiss?”

“No, no,” she whined. “Need more. Soso much more. But -” Her breath caught, words cutting off when his tongue swiped over her bottom lip. His hands pressed behind her knees until she was forced to bend them. She scrambled to hold something, her hands clawing at his shirt. A squeak burst from her as she was hauled forward, breath exploding from her lungs as she was then flipped onto her back on the bed.

Suddenly, he was over her, and he looked just as breathtaking as when he was on his knees earlier. His eyes were hooded, hair falling over his face. Rora wanted to push it back, but she was too struck by his gaze. His eyes were dark, and they got darker when his hand gripped her chin, fingers digging into her cheeks once more.

She stopped breathing when his leg forced its way between her own, knee pressing into the bed as he leaned himself closer. His eyes scanned her face, breath puffing out, brushing over her lips. She yearned, craved, for him to finally close the distance, her lips trembling with the pure need pumping through her. But she waited, watched, wanting to be good for him. For both of them.

And she was rewarded, his thigh pressing firmly against her as his lips enveloped hers. He was teasing - of course he was. His lips brushed, his teeth nibbled, and she whined into his mouth, fisting his shirt tight enough that it pulled up his back, exposing smooth tanned skin for her to finally, finally explore.

“Youngie,” she breathed, leg coming up to brush against his now bare side and hands releasing the fabric in favor of slipping underneath, palms molding to the shape of the muscles of his back. His body tensed, and her nails dragged up the length of his back, stopping only when the fabric of his shirt, now bunched up under his shoulder blades, stopped her. He shivered, grinding his thigh down between her legs and his hardness against her hip.

He didn’t answer her, instead nipping her bottom lip, hard enough that she yelped into his mouth and her hips lifted from the bed. Her nails dug into his skin at the feeling of her cunt pressing firmly against his thigh, at the blessed pressure between her legs, at the weight of him on top of her. His groan flowed down her throat, and his tongue dipped between her lips to slide against hers briefly. Then, the warmth of his mouth was retreating from hers. She whined, head lifting to chase after his lips, teeth catching his lower lip to pull him back in.

A hand came to her throat, and a sting came to her cheek. She gasped, eyes flying wide open. Kisses trailed over her red cheek, teeth nipping the flesh teasingly. “Be patient, sweetheart,” he said against her jaw. “Let Youngie take care of you, hmm?”

A hand pushed through her hair, smoothed the strands back from her face. The bed dipped beside her head, the smell of soap and fabric softener washed over her. She watched as Yunho settled beside her, enjoying the comfort of his smile and his touch on her before she looked back to Wooyoung. She nodded, blinking away the wetness lining her lashes and forcing herself to still under his gaze.

“Good girl,” Wooyoung murmured, trailing kisses down her neck and across her collarbones. Her eyes closed as his teeth nibbled, lips leaving marks she hoped would bloom purple in the morning. Her hoodie was pushed up harshly, the thick fabric pooling beneath her chin as her breasts were revealed. Goosebumps lined her skin, nipples pebbling in the cooler air of the room, and Wooyoung groaned. “So fucking pretty,” he whispered against her chest.

He wasted no time, diving right in to nuzzle his face into her tits. His lips ghosted over her skin, tongue darting out to tease over a nipple, breath puffing out to cool the spit on her skin. She whined, arms coming up to lace around Yunho’s leg, her face turning to press into his thigh, the material of his sweatpants soft against her still sensitive cheek.

Wooyoung did the same teasing routine on the other side, hands coming up to cup the undersides of both breasts as he buried his face in between them. His hips rutted against her, thumbs swiping over both nipples, and she arched up. “So fucking sexy,” he huffed out. “Gonna cum in my fucking pants just sucking on your tits, sweetheart.”

Yunho chuckled at his words and your resulting whine. “Thought you had more restraint than that, Woo,” Yunho teased.

Wooyoung didn’t say anything back, taking his retaliation out on her by sinking his teeth into the underside of one breast, sucking the flesh into his mouth hard. She cried out, back arching more, hand flying up to cover her face.

A large hand gripped her own, pulling it from her face. “No hiding, honey,” Yunho murmured. He shifted, moving to sit behind her and helping her rest her body between his legs. She left her hands above her head, wrapping them around his waist as she settled back against him. “Let us see your pretty face, hmm? Let Youngie see that he’s making you feel good.”

A hum vibrated against her sternum, and kisses were trailed down her belly. Her head was propped up just enough now that she could look down and watch Wooyoung’s descent down her torso. Every muscle in her body tensed, twitched, as she fought not to squirm or close her legs around him. His hands squeezed her waist and kneaded down to the curve of her hips.

His teeth nibbled above the waistband of the boxers she was wearing, and he started tugging them down. His impatience seemed to outweigh his need to tease, and he ripped the fabric down her legs, throwing the boxers behind him with a huff. His shoulders forced her knees apart, hands pressing into the backs of her thighs to hold her firmly open for him.

He looked up at her. Their eyes locked, and he sent her a cocky wink before diving down to press a kiss right over her clit.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, body tensing up as he chuckled against her.

“You’re so wet, sweetheart,” he rumbled. His thumb swept boldly up the length of her pussy, dragging back down, pressing right over her entrance, threatening to push inside. He traced circles there, and her whole body flushed as slick sounds filled the room. “Practically dripping. Is that for me?”

His eyes locked with hers as he leaned forward again, lips brushing lightly against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. His breath fanned over her wetness enough that she shivered, and his eyes danced with an intoxicating mix of lust and mischief. He looked absolutely gorgeous, his handsome face framed by the plush of her thighs, those strong, vein-lined hands holding her firmly open and in place for him.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly.

He seemed to glow at her answer, eyes twinkling up at her as he leaned forward to kiss right over her clit, tongue poking out briefly. He groaned, the vibrations spreading through her, and her back arched. “Pussy tastes so good. Like candy. Could stay here for hours. Fuck, sweetheart. Should have done this earlier.”

Rora gasped as he licked a bold stripe up her cunt, the flat of his tongue pressing firmly against her clit. Her fingers curled into the fabric of Yunho’s sweater, head falling back into the warm torso behind her.

Yunho chuckled, fingers brushing her hair out of her face. “Get ready, honey,” he murmured. “Youngie’s favorite place to be is face first in a delicious cunt.”

Wooyoung grunted, pressing her thighs further open. “Fuck yeah, it is,” he murmured, thumbs spreading the lips of her pussy open for his perusal. She wanted to squirm, hide her face, but the clear hunger on his face had her fixated, had her clenching around nothing.

And then he was diving in, tongue lapping her up, poking and prodding, slipping inside her. He left open-mouthed kisses, his moans vibrating through her as he practically made out with her cunt. His head shook, pressing closer into her, nose brushing her clit as he fucked her open with his tongue. Her hips flexed, thighs shook, when his lips moved to wrap around her clit and sucked.

She cried out, grasping at Yunho tighter as Wooyoung ate her like he was starving. Large hands cupped her breasts as they arched up into the air. “I guess his mouth is good for something other than running, huh?” Yunho mused, pinching her nipples hard enough she squealed.

Wooyoung grunted against her, hands gripping her hips tightly. “Shut the fuck up,” he said, not leaving the slick heat of her cunt for a single moment. His words didn’t hold much bite to them, though. Not when they came out slurred, bordering on a whine. His teeth brushed lightly over her folds, and she shivered, arching further up into Yunho’s hands.

Teeth nipped at her lower belly, inner thighs, the swell of her ass cheeks as they pressed into the bed. She squeaked, couldn’t help but giggle as his teeth and breath tickled over her skin. But her laughter was interrupted with a moan when suddenly she was suddenly being filled up. “Youngie!” she gasped out, hands slipping under Yunho’s shirt to scratch at his warm skin. “Oh, Youngie, please.”

“Hmm?” he hummed right against her pussy, and she could feel the smirk against her skin when she all but sobbed his name again. His fingers pressed up, curled, over and over again as his tongue laved over her clit. “You close, sweetheart? God, you’re squeezing my fingers. You gonna cum for me?”

Rora was swimming, drowning, in the sensations, in the splashing sounds of his fingers plunging in and out of her weeping cunt. She was so close she wanted to cry, soso close but unable to tip over that edge into ecstasy. “Please,” Rora pleaded. Tears were in her eyes, wetting her lashes until they stuck together. Her lids lifted until Yunho’s beautiful face came into focus, and she knew she had to look absolutely pathetic.

Yunho cooed, the tone of it just that slightest bit mocking that it made her skin tingle. “Come on, honey,” he murmured, thumb tracing along her jaw, down the line of her neck. “Don’t you want to cum?”

“Yesyesyes, please.” She was writhing, keening. So, so, so fucking close. “So close. Wanna cum. Wanna cum for Youngie. Please.”

Yunho grunted, curved over her so that his face was hovering over hers. His slender fingers grasped her face, pressed into her cheeks. “Then fucking cum.” The words were said in a whisper - so soft it felt like a caress to her skin. But they were followed by twin harsh slaps to each of her breasts. The sting of it combined with Wooyoung’s renewed vigor sucking at her clit, curling his fingers up just right, moaning against the slick flesh of her cunt, sent her toppling. Flying. Feeling weightless and heavy all at the same time as her body twitched, spasmed, with each lashing of Wooyoung’s tongue, his fingers still sliding inside her until she was actually crying, tears brimming in her eyes and moans and wails ripping right from her chest loud enough she knew she could be heard over the television blasting down the hall.

Fingers stroked her cheek, swiped under her eyes to rid the moisture gathering at her lash line. “There you go, sweet girl.”

Rora blinked her eyes open to see Wooyoung hovering over her, a wide grin scrunching his eyes up. “So good it brought you to tears, hmm?” He chuckled when she whined, leaning down to leave a kiss on her nose. “Didn’t tire you out too much, did I, sweetheart? Want to watch you bounce on my cock. Think you can do that for Youngie?”

“Yes,” she blurted out, propping herself up fast enough that it sent both men into laughter. “Yes. Wanna ride Youngie.”

She sat up fully, wiggling impatiently as she waited for him to lay down. She reached for his shorts, littering his tummy, hips, gorgeous thighs with kisses as she pulled them down and threw them blindly behind her. A moan clogged her throat as his cock bobbed up, mouth watering at the sight of it, at the knowledge that he had been commando the entire time.

Those strong, veiny hands grasped her arms, helping her straddle his hips, and she wasted no time holding him in her hand and sinking down. The stretch was exquisite, her hips working in small pulses to take each inch he had to offer, knees pressing hard into the mattress, thighs tensing with each move, hands flat on his flexing belly for support.

She moaned when she took all of him in, head falling back on her shoulders.

“You sit on cock like it’s your throne, sweetheart.” Wooyoung said, groaned, hands gripping her thighs tightly, dimpling the flesh, nails digging little red crescents.

Rora didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. She simply fucked herself on his cock, lifting all the way untill he was barely inside then sinking all the way back down until her ass rested flush against him. She took him in slow glides. He gasped with each rise, moaned with each plunge, hands never still, roaming and gripping and slapping at her soft skin until she was losing her mind.

Each swivel of her hips left her reeling, unable to breathe, and she whined when Wooyoung’s hands finally came to rest on her hips, holding her still save for little grinds that sent sparks of pleasure right to her clit.

“Put your pretty little hand around my throat, sweetheart,” Wooyoung murmured, words low and breathy. “Can you do that? Be a good girl for Youngie.”

She stopped breathing for a moment, stilling over him. Her eyes examined his face, locked with those pretty, pretty eyes of his. She had never done that before, always the one on the receiving end, even in all of her sexual fantasies. But fuck if the thought of it wasn’t hot. She could feel her walls fluttering around his cock as she pictured it, her smaller hand spanning his tan throat, fingers pressing into the sides.

A body pressed against her back and a hand slid down her arm. Rora looked down to see Yunho’s much larger hand over hers, encasing it against Wooyoung’s chest. “Come on, honey.” His voice rumbled against her, his breath warming her ear as his teeth nipped at the lobe. Her lashes fluttered, eyes threatening to close. But she forced them to stay open, to watch as he guided her hand up the smooth expanse of skin beneath her palm. Over the swell of Woo’s pecs and up the column of his throat. Her heart raced with every inch of skin, with each bump and ripple that passed under her touch.

Yunho’s hand guided hers to just the right spot, pressing her fingers into the sides of Wooyoung’s neck. When Yunho’s hand left hers, Wooyoung’s replaced it, pressing her hand tighter against him. Her lips parted when his eyes rolled back, a groan vibrating beneath her hand. The actual experience of it was far beyond better than she thought it would be.

She felt herself clenching around his cock, her hips jolting unexpectedly, swirling to relieve the pressure that kept building and building inside of her.

“That’s right, honey,” Yunho murmured. His chest vibrated against her back, and she leaned into him as much as she could. His hands came to her hips, gripping tightly to help her lift and then lower herself on Wooyoung’s cock. “Ride his cock like a good girl.”

She moaned at the slick slide of the cock filling her over and over, head tipping back against the man behind her.

“There you go,” he said, hands smoothing up her sides when she took up the pace herself. Her breasts filled his hands, palming over the mass before squeezing the flesh with those long fingers. They spilled between the gaps of his fingers, but his grip was tight enough to keep them from jolting with her movements. Wooyoung was practically whining beneath her, and it just might have been the hottest thing she had ever heard. She moaned, letting herself fall fully back against Yunho, back arching to keep her hips in place and free to move, to keep her hand on Wooyoung’s throat.

Gasps tumbled from Rora’s parted lips as the slight shift had Wooyoung’s cock pressing just that little bit more against the walls of her pussy. “Fuck,” she cried out, keeping the arch of her back and her hips just right to allow his cock to keep abusing that glorious, glorious spot.

“Youngie’s cock that good, honey?” Yunho asked, hands moving, one smoothing down her tummy and the other coming up to fist her hair, yanking her head back sharply.

“Yes!” she yelped out, hips stuttering. “So good, feels so good. Gonna cum. Please, please, wanna cum.”

She cried out when a slap was delivered right to her clit. She was unable to revel in the stinging pleasure of it, though, because in the next second, she was being forced down. Her face pressed against Wooyoung’s rumbling chest, held down firmly by Yunho’s grip on her hair. “Not quite yet, honey,” Yunho murmured. “You’re gonna let Youngie use this tight little cunt first, hmm? Be a good girl and take it.”

His hand came down in a sharp slap against her ass, and she almost sobbed when Wooyoung shifted beneath her, hips now fucking up into her frantically. He was babbling incoherently, whimpering as his cock throbbed inside her. Her head was spinning as the sounds filling the room echoed in her ears, her body pulsing with pleasure, her orgasm close enough to taste but remaining elusive, leaving her just on that edge.

Her hands moved to brace herself better, tangling in the silky mass of Wooyoung’s hair, tugging on the strands. “Youngie,” she gasped out, whined. “Please. Please cum, Youngie. Want you to cum, please.”

He whimpered out a litany of ‘yes, yes, yes’s, hips stuttering with each tug on his hair. She laid against him, pussy clenching with each thrust upward. Another slap came down on her ass, and she gave an extra hard tug to the hair in her hands. Wooyoung cursed, the single “fuck” so strained, high-pitched and fucking whiny, she pushed herself up just enough to see his face.

Yunho let her, fisting her hair, tugging to help her hold her head up. Wooyung in the throws of ecstasy was glorious. “Fuck, Youngie,” she whimpered. “Look so fucking pretty.” His spit-slicked, red-bitten lips parted as he looked up at her with hazy eyes. Sweat stuck his hair to his face, making him glow in the dim lighting of the room. She gripped his jaw, holding his head firmly enough in place that she could lean up, brush her lips over his.

He whined when her hand slid down, back over his throat, squeezed. “Oh god, oh god, oh god, ‘na cum. Fuck.” The groan he released was guttural, vibrating through her when he gave one final, strong thrust up. She pulled back just enough to watch his brows furrow, jaw dropping, eyes rolling all the way back. His fingers dug harshly into her hips as he pushed her down. Stilled. Spilled his hot cum inside of her.

She was shaking, shivering with each pulse of his cock against her sensitive walls. He was shaking too, releasing broken moans, his hands smoothing over her sides and down her arms lightly, littering kisses along her cheeks, chin, jaw. “Good girl,” he mumbled, nibbling at her shoulder, hands smoothing up her ribcage.

Large hands squeezed her ass cheeks together, rubbed up over the curve of them, massaged over her lower back until the muscles there relaxed. She was guided down to lay flush against Wooyoung, unable to stop the shaking of her legs. She let her fingers brush over Wooyung’s cheeks, brushing his hair back in much the same way he was doing with her own and let her head tuck against his damp neck.

“Good girl,” Yunho murmured, continuing to rub up her back.

She whined when Wooyoung’s softening cock slipped from her, hips wiggling at being empty, at the sensation of cum spilling from her, coating her thighs in a sticky mess. Both men cooed at her, working together to shift her onto her back.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Wooyoung chuckled, pressing little kisses along her shoulder before moving to sit up. She watched as he scooted back until he leaned against the headboard. She didn’t answer, instead rubbing her head against his thigh, letting herself litter the tanned expanse with kisses. His fingers danced over her cheek lightly, and her lashes fluttered closed. She let herself relax into the mattress, enjoying the soft touches moving up her sides, then down her open thighs.

A moan slipped from her when fingers swiped through her folds, scooping up the combined mess of her arousal and Wooyung’s cum. She imagined she looked like a mess, and it was more than evident when those fingers slipped inside with ease. Her whole body spasmed, legs squeezing closed around Yunho’s arm. “Were you feeling empty, honey?” Yunho asked, fingers pressing up inside her until she cried out, hips lifting up from the bed. He chuckled, coaxing her legs back open, smoothing one hand up to settle at her hip. “There you go. Much better, hmm?”

Another finger pressed in, the stretch of it exquisite, the slick slide of his fingers euphoric. Moans tumbled from her lips, and she scrambled to grasp at something, anything to stay grounded when pressure was applied to her clit. He rubbed her in maddeningly slow circles, just enough that she was floating in pleasure, stopping when she tightened around his fingers.

Wooyoung shifted beside her, and she heard him open a drawer to look through it. Then the popping of a cap filled the room. He came into her sight, hovering above her with a bottle in hand. “You don’t mind it getting a little messy, do you, sweetheart?” he asked, leaning further over her and tipping the bottle upside down before she could even work up an answer. The cold substance dribbled over her skin in a messy trail from the top of her pussy to where Yunho’s fingers continued pushing into her.

The nasty squelching that filled the room got louder, the slide of Yunho’s fingers easier as they twisted and worked her open. A slap was delivered to her clit, the sound extra sharp with the added wetness of the lube, and Wooyoung chuckled when she cried out, thighs quivering with the need to slam shut again. “Should we let her cum one more time?” Wooyoung asked, pressing down on the thigh closest to him until her knee was pressed into her chest. “Or make her wait to cum on your cock?”

She shook as more cool liquid fell over her again, whining when the fingers inside her stilled. “What do you think, sweetheart?” Wooyoung’s face hovered over hers. “Wanna cum on Yunho’s fingers or on his big cock, hmm?”

Her breath shuddered out of her at Wooyoung making yet another reference to the size of Yunho’s cock. She certainly didn’t doubt that it would be big - the man is a giant, after all. She clenched around Yunho’s fingers, and he chuckled, slipping his fingers out of her and slapping her thigh with his wet hand. She cried out, twitched, blinked through her daze to focus on him. “Woo asked you a question, honey,” he murmured, bending down so that his face was hovering over hers. His nose brushed hers, his lips, his breath, teasing right over her own. His eyes were wide, his brows raised expectantly. “If you want to cum at all, you should probably answer, hmm?”

“Cock,” she gasped out. She looked between the two, brows furrowed and bottom lip pouted out as she debated who exactly to direct her answer toward.

Wooyoung seemed to have mercy on her, nudging his nose against her ear. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Tell Yunho you want his cock. Tell him you want him to fill you up, hmm? Stretch your little cunt out with his big fucking cock.”

Rora was nodding, blinking up at him as she whined, pleaded, hands reaching out for him. “Please? Wanna feel you. Want your cock, please, Yunho.”

He groaned. “Of course, honey.”

She watched as he undressed himself, taking in every inch of skin being exposed for her hungry gaze to devour. Her eyes widened, cheeks flushing hotter than they already were when she saw the raised red marks along his sides. His head tilted, following her line of sight, then he grinned at her. “Don’t worry about those, honey,” he said, moving until he was between her spread thighs. “They don’t hurt, and I’m expecting more of them in just a few moments.”

“Oh,” she said breathlessly, watching as he wrapped his hand around his cock. He pressed the length of it flush against her, thumb adding pressure to keep it in place as he slid it through her wetness. She watched as he looked briefly at Wooyoung, and Woo leaned over her, that bottle of lube in hand once again. She watched as he tipped it, as it dribbled right over the top of Yunho’s cock. Watched as the large man shivered, smoothed his thumb up the length of himself. She shuddered, head tipping back as her pussy pulsed with the blessed pressure, at the slick slide of Yunho’s cock over her clit.

Wooyoung shuffled closer on his knees, bottle of lubricant closed and rolling right into her shoulder. His hands reached for her, fingers brushing over her skin with soft touches that had her lashes falling closed. Her breathing stopped when the wide head of Yunho’s cock finally pressed against her fluttering hole. Her eyes blinked back open, locking with his

“Okay, honey, take a breath for me,” Yunho murmured, hand smoothing up her side then back down to rub soothing circles into her hips. He shifted above her, pushing further up onto his knees. Wooyoung’s thumb smoothed over her wrist, and Yunho gripped one of her thighs, the other remaining wrapped around his cock. “Good girl, now let it out and big streeetch.”

He pushed in slow and steady, and the stretch of it was unlike anything she had felt before. She was glad that Wooyoung had fucked her open first and they had taken so much time getting her to relax. And lube. Thank fuck Wooyoung went crazy with the lube. It was absolutely exquisite, even if a bit painful. Each inch felt like an eternity, like floating in a sexual limbo, a heady mix of reality and fantasy. The bruising grip he had on her and the heat rolling off Wooyoung from beside her, his lips whispering breathy words right into her ear were all that kept her anchored, kept her grounded.

Her hands reached for the hoodie still on her body, bunching the mass of material in her hands and bringing it up to her nose. Warm leather and spices, Sannie, filled her senses. She was swimming in sensation. Drowning. She was drowning in it all, and she never wanted it to stop.

“Good job, honey. Taking me so well.”

She glanced down at where Yunho was working his cock into her, at the steady in and out pulse of his hips and the resulting wet sounds that continued to fill the relative quiet that had pervaded the room. The sight of him splitting her open had her walls fluttering. It was an exquisite sight, his thick cock pressing into her, shining more and more with each retreat from her body. She felt soso full already, but she wanted more, more, more.

“So big,” she whimpered.

“I know, honey,” Yunho murmured, smoothing his thumb over her clit.

She gasped, clenched, forced herself to relax as he slipped deeper and deeper until finally, finally his hips were flush against her thighs. Her head fell back, and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth, stifling a whimper before it ever had the chance to escape.

Her chin was gripped roughly, pulled down until her lip was released and fingers hooked into her mouth. Her jaw was forced down. “Let us hear you, sweetheart,” Yunho rasped.

Wooyoung bent down to lap at her breasts, murmuring against her skin. “Let Sannie and Jongho hear how pretty you sound for us. Let them hear how much of a perfect little slut you are, hmm?”

She moaned at his words, gasped as Yunho’s fingers pulled back, cried out when his hips snapped forward, plowing his cock right into her clenching cunt. “Fuck,” she whined, hands flying to grip at Wooyoung’s hair, fisting the soft strands between her fingers and pulling until he groaned and bit into her skin.

“So fucking tight,” Yunho moaned, large hand spanning her tummy as he gave her some measured, slow thrusts. The slick slide of it was maddening, had her reeling, moaning out into the room loud enough that she swore she heard it bouncing off the walls. “Squeezing me so tight. You gonna cum already, honey?”

Before she could answer, he was hitching her hips up, right off the bed, thumb circling over her clit. And Wooyung was lifting himself away from her, hand tightening on her leg to hold her further open, until she was practically folded in half. She felt herself tightening around him with each swirl, felt his cock pushing in and out, sliding right over that one spot inside of her, and she was falling right over the edge before she knew it.

“Fuck. There you go, honey,” Yunho grunted out, continuing to thrust, stretching her orgasm out until she was screaming, thighs trying to snap shut against both men’s holds on her, whole body shaking. She was floating, hazy, by the time her orgasm faded away, muscles twitching.

Yunho kept fucking her through it, his thrusts steady, strong, each one punctuated by the slap of his hips against her ass. He leaned over her, crowding Wooyoung away from her, one hand holding her leg where he wanted it, the other tapping her cheek lightly until she looked at him. His hair was sticking to his face, sweat shining on his skin. He was practically glowing. Soso gorgeous.

He held her jaw in a tight grip. “Look at me, honey,” he said. “Look at me as I fill your fucking cunt with my cum.”

The pace of his hips sped up, snapping forward sharply, filling her to the very brim each time. He was steady, and Rora wouldn’t have even known he was close if it weren’t for the way his eyes threatened to roll back or the way whimpers mixed in with his moans. Then he was shooting forward, hips stuttering once then stilling, head hanging down and shoulders shaking, guttural groan filling the room.

Then Yunho was guiding her back down to the mattress, smoothing his palms over her sensitive skin, whispering words of comfort and praise that her brain didn’t quite comprehend. The bed was shifting, the door creaking open. She was drifting, almost asleep when something wet was pressed against her forehead. She jerked awake with a whine, eyes refusing to open properly.

Wooyoung hushed her. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Just gonna clean you up, okay?”

Rora stilled, let him pass the cloth over her skin, too sated, too boneless to feel even an ounce of embarrassment when he carefully cleaned between her legs. The bed shifted again, then she was being moved, arms around her waist. Fresh laundry and wood and something vaguely sweet filled her senses. Yunho. She was tucked beneath a warm blanket, fingers brushing through her hair, a body shifting behind her, pulling her back into a warm torso. Another body settled in the bed, pressing against her from shoulder to hip, and she sighed in comfort, reveling in the warmth surrounding her.

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