haoboutyou

[haoboutyou]

and the award for the smile of all time goes to...

[haoboutyou]

OFF THE GRID PT.1

pairing: f1driver!scoups x ex!femreader

genre: angst, romance, exes to lovers au, childhood bestfriends / neighbours au

description: Part of the Beyond The Grid series. Four-time world champion Choi Seungcheol has spent years at the top with Ferrari, but as the 2025 season drags on, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s not quite where he used to be. The competition is catching up, his team isn't what it used to be, and for the first time, he’s starting to wonder if he’s past his prime. By the time the season winds down, he finds himself back in his hometown, which isn't quite the same either. But the hardest race was never on track, and sooner or later, he’ll have to figure out what comes next.

warnings: strong language, stressful situations, descriptions of car crashes and physical exhaustion, slowburn, honestly quite f1 heavy

w/c: Part 1 - 14k Part 2 - 13k (out on 15th april) Part 3 - 19.5k (out on 20th april)

glossary taglist

a/n: a big big thank you to ashi (@junplusone) and rae (@nerdycheol) for beta-ing this and to tiya ( @gyubakeries) who sat through not just me yapping and losing my mind over this fic but also over real f1 happenings too 🥹 quite literally got me through the last 10k of this fic, no joke. this was incredibly fun to write and is the longest piece I've ever written fjdhfjd I hope you guys love it too!! also i swear to god i did not mean to jinx ferrari w this like don't come for me i am a ferrari fan too guys pls. do comment/reblog/send an ask w your thoughts!!

MONACO, CIRCUIT DE MONACO

Saturday, Post qualifying May 24th

The room is cold. The kind of cold that seeps into your skin, into your bones – the kind that makes everything feel a little too sharp, a little too clear. Seungcheol wonders if it would be the right time to ask someone to turn the AC down. He stares at the screen at the front of the room, but the numbers blur together—lap times, tire degradation, sector splits—none of it matters. He already knows what they’re going to say.

His arms are crossed over his chest, jaw locked as his race engineer drones on about qualifying performance. Tyre warm-up wasn’t ideal. You lost a tenth in sector two. The front row was possible. Possible. Not achieved.

He should’ve been faster. He should��ve been better.

Seungcheol shifts in his seat, pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t take notes. He doesn’t ask questions. No one is looking at him to lead this discussion anymore.

He’s had the feeling for a while now. Maybe it was when he won the championship last November. Maybe it was the pre-season meetings before testing in February. Maybe it was the first race, the one where he lost. Maybe it was the second when he—again—didn’t live up to everyone’s exceptions. Maybe it’s been the entire journey along the way. The thought has sat in the back of his mind for a long time and now it resurfaces, pressing hard against his temple. Seungcheol tries to push it back, tries to look at his race engineer and see the belief, the trust. He hasn’t seen that in a while too.

This isn’t your team anymore.

It doesn’t matter that he won the championship last year. It doesn’t matter that he was Ferrari’s chosen one, that he fought for them, bled for them, brought them back to the top. The shift was slow, subtle, happening in the way conversations changed, in the way people spoke to him, in the way expectations started to feel lighter. Not because he was carrying less, but because they were starting to place the weight elsewhere.

They don’t say it outright. They don’t have to.

He isn’t the future anymore.

Maybe, just maybe, they don’t believe he’s the present either.

And then there’s Jaehyun.

Seungcheol doesn’t turn his head, but he doesn’t have to. He can feel him sitting just a few chairs away, posture relaxed, flipping through his notes like he isn’t feeling the weight of this season pressing against his ribs. Like he’s not the one who’s supposed to be chasing, not the one who’s supposed to be trying to keep up.

But that’s not how it is anymore, is it?

Jaehyun is confident. Comfortable. Maybe even a little smug, though Seungcheol knows he wouldn’t show it. Not here, not yet. But Seungcheol feels it in the way the room leans toward him now. In the way the engineers talk, the way the strategists hesitate when they discuss race plans, the way every discussion that used to be centered around him now has another name in the mix.

It wasn’t always like this.

And it shouldn’t be like this now.

Jaehyun is good. He’s always been good. But Seungcheol knows better than anyone that being good isn’t the same as being great. And yet, the way things are going, the way Ferrari is talking, the way everything feels like it’s slipping out of his grasp before he can hold on to it—

No.

His grip tightens around the pen in his hand. He forces himself to exhale.

No. The team is just shifting priority to be safe, he tries to convince himself. Seungcheol hasn’t been performing the same this season, and Ferrari cannot just sit there and wait for him to get his game back on. It’s only natural that they shift their focus to Jaehyun. 

Who has been outdoing you in almost all the races till now, he thinks bitterly, but now is not the time. His focus must be on getting back to that top step tomorrow. He’s not on the front row, but he’s on P3. And he’s done this before. Multiple times. You’re a four time world champion for a reason, he reminds himself.

The meeting ends without ceremony. Someone thanks them for their time. The engineers start shutting their laptops, the strategists murmuring amongst themselves, but Seungcheol stays seated, pen still in his grip, gaze still fixed on the screen even as the numbers disappear.

He should leave. Get up, grab his water bottle, head back to his room, reset. He’s done this a million times before. Shake it off, focus on the race.

But for some reason, he doesn’t move.

Around him, the room is shifting. The dull hum of post-meeting chatter fills the air, team personnel filtering out in quiet clusters. It feels casual. Like this was just another debrief, another normal day at Ferrari.

But it isn’t. Not to Seungcheol.

He knows he hasn’t been performing at his best. He doesn’t need the numbers on the screen to remind him. But the part that unsettles him isn’t just his own frustration. It’s that no one else seems particularly concerned.

A season ago, a bad qualifying would have meant hours of discussions, strategists picking apart every sector, his race engineer sitting with him long after the meeting ended. But now, the debrief ends too quickly. The team moves on too easily, like they aren’t waiting for him to fix it anymore.

Seungcheol finally stands, rolling his shoulders back, exhaling sharply. He tells himself it doesn’t matter. That he just needs to focus on the race.

It’s Monaco. The crown jewel of the F1 calendar. He must do this.

—

Sunday, Race Day May 25th

“We need to push now, Seungcheol.”

He grits his teeth, jaw locked so tight it feels like it might snap. Push? Like he hasn’t been wringing every last bit of performance out of this car, like he hasn’t been on the limit for the last forty laps?

Like this race hasn’t already been slipping through his fingers since the second he left the grid.

The tires are gone. The strategy didn’t work. The plan was to overcut, stay out, build a gap—but the numbers lied. The degradation is worse than they thought, and now he’s stranded, barely keeping the car pointed in the right direction as he tries to squeeze out just one more lap before pitting.

It’s Monaco. Track position is king. And yet, here he is, fighting against cars that should be behind him.

“Box, box.”

The words come through, sharp and final, and Seungcheol exhales hard through his nose. He throws the car into the pit entry, hits the brakes slowly and pulls into his box.

It’s slow.

Too fucking slow.

The rear-left refuses to come off, the mechanic scrambling, precious seconds bleeding away. Three seconds. Four. Five. By the time they send him back out, he knows. It’s done.

His hands grip the wheel so tight his knuckles burn.

“Car ahead is Jaehyun and ahead of him is Haechan. The others ahead are yet to pit so you are back in P3 for now.”

Jaehyun and Haechan.

Of course.

His engineer is saying something else, some meaningless reassurance about the stint ahead, but Seungcheol isn’t listening.

He can’t listen.

Because he realizes, for the first time, that this isn’t just a bad day, or a bad weekend or a bad first half of the season.

This is the championship slipping away from him. This is driver number 1 slipping away from him.

The gap isn’t closing.

Seungcheol has been pushing—hard, too hard—but it’s not making a difference. The pace isn’t there, the tires are overheating, and every lap that passes feels like another door slamming shut in front of him.

The harbor glints under the afternoon sun, the yachts filled with celebrities and billionaires sipping champagne, watching from their floating palaces as the cars thread through the streets below. The air is thick with engine heat and the sea breeze, the grandstands packed.

Monaco isn’t just another weekend. It’s where legends win, where the greats cement their names.

And right now, he isn’t driving like one.

He flies through the tunnel, foot flat on the throttle. He knows every inch of this track, knows exactly where he should be gaining, but it doesn’t matter when the car isn’t responding the way he needs it to.

Seungcheol is stuck.

"Gap to Jaehyun?"

"Two seconds."

Two seconds might as well be twenty.

He shifts down aggressively into the chicane, braking later than he should, hoping for something—anything—to change.

The noise of the crowd swells as he rounds the Swimming Pool section.

His grip tightens on the wheel. It’s not supposed to be like this. He’s supposed to be attacking, not looking in his mirrors, not having to think about defending, not feeling the weight of the entire race pressing down on his chest.

"Seungcheol, we need to manage the tires."

The words snap through his earpiece, grating against his nerves. He forces himself to breathe, to settle the frustration threatening to spill over.

They want him to manage.

They want him to hold the position.

They want him to accept that this is all he’s getting today.

He sets his jaw and throws the car into the next turn, taking a little too much of the curb on the exit.

By lap 75, the gap between Seungcheol and Jaehyun is huge again.

It’s worse than before.

The second stop was clean, no delays, no mistakes. And yet, somehow, he’s still lost time.

Fucking Monaco.

It doesn’t matter how well he drives. It doesn’t matter that he’s hitting his marks, that he’s extracting everything left in these tires. The mandatory two-stop has killed any chance of clawing his way back.

"Gap to Jaehyun?"

"Four seconds."

Four seconds. Before the stop, it was two.

He presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek. At this rate, he won’t even see Jaehyun’s rear wing by the time the checkered flag falls.

And now, he has another problem.

The Red Bull in his mirrors.

Jeno.

The younger driver had been quiet all race, sitting behind, waiting. But now with just four laps to go, he’s close. Too close.

Seungcheol shifts his grip on the wheel, fingers flexing, gloves damp with sweat inside the cockpit. The wheel feels smaller, the car tighter around him.

P3 is all he has left.

And he’ll be damned if he’s about to lose that too.

—

The champagne is cold when it hits his suit.

Seungcheol flinches, but only slightly, just enough to feel it soak through the fabric, just enough to remind him that he’s standing here, that this is happening.

Haechan and Jaehyun get down from their P1 and P2 steps, champagne bottles tilted high, foam spilling over their hands as they spray each other first before turning toward him. He lifts his own bottle, angles it in their direction, but it’s only for the sake of formality.

Haechan stands in the center.

There’s something about him. The way he carries himself, the way he looks at the trophy, the way his hands stay steady even in the chaos. Seungcheol watches the way he smiles, watches the way he doesn’t fumble under the weight of it all. He’s young, still early in his career, but he handles himself like someone who’s been here before. Like someone who expects to be here again.

It reminds Seungcheol of himself. Or at least, of the driver he used to be.

And that’s when it sinks in.

That he’s not getting it back. That there’s no way for him to fight for this championship, not this year. That whatever edge he used to have—the thing that made him great, the thing that made him unstoppable���it’s not there anymore.

He tightens his grip on the bottle, jaw locking as he exhales slowly.

A podium at Monaco is supposed to mean everything.

But right now, it just feels like confirmation of what he already knew.

Seungcheol barely registers the walk back down to the garage. His ears still ring, whether from the crowd or the exhaustion settling deep in his bones, he doesn’t know.

His PR manager is beside him, speaking, but he only catches fragments. Media pen. Keep it neutral. Good points for the team. The same routine, the same lines, but it feels heavier today. Because he’s never had to talk about losing here before.

Seungcheol mentally scoffs at the way he thinks it’s become a routine. Since when was he this alright with settling for mediocrity?

The media pen is packed, cameras already rolling, reporters waiting. Seungcheol takes his spot, forces his expression into something composed, something neutral.

The first few questions are easy. Tyres, strategy, the mandatory two-stop. He answers on autopilot.

Then, the question he’s dreaded is asked.

“Seungcheol, this track has always been one of your strongest, but today you missed out on the win for the first time in five years. How are you processing that? And with Haechan taking the victory, do you think he’s proving himself as a serious contender?"

He expects it, but the words still land heavy.

For a second, he says nothing, fingers flexing against the edge of his race suit. Five years. He hasn’t lost here in five years. Until now.

"Yeah, of course, it’s disappointing. Monaco is always an important race, and I would’ve liked to fight for the win," he says, voice measured, controlled. "But we did what we could today. A podium is still a good result for the team."

It’s the right answer. The expected one.

"And Haechan?"

Seungcheol nods one, shoulders tight and strung up.

"He did well. Controlled the race, didn’t make mistakes. Winning here takes a lot, and he handled it."

It’s short and simple and exactly what he needed to say but as he moves on to the next reporter, the weight of it lingers. Because to him, more than what he said, it’s what he doesn’t say that matters. 

He doesn’t say he could’ve won if he tried harder, if the situation were a bit different. He doesn’t say he hopes to win next time.

And for the first time in his career, he’s not sure if he will.

HOME

In your defence, you never really expected Seungcheol to attend the wedding, especially with it being held smack bang in the middle of the season. 

In his defence, you suppose this is the reception and not the wedding itself. It isn’t to say that you are unsurprised when you walk over to your table with Seungkwan to see Seungcheol’s name on the seating list. The name sits there in Madina Script, all elegant swirls and carefully placed flourishes, as if good typography could soften the impact of his presence, slotted between yours and Jihoon’s, as if it belongs. You blink at it, half-expecting your eyes to be playing tricks on you, but Seungkwan sees it too, a soft sound of surprise escaping his mouth.

You can tell he’s excited as he sits down on your right, a small smile on his face that he tries to hide for your sake. You can’t help but shake your head and scoff at him in adoration. The boys haven’t seen Seungcheol in a while. He didn’t come back home last winter and you have a suspicion that it was partially because of you.

The reception hall hums with the easy lull of conversation, the clinking of glasses and silverware filling the space between soft music and warm laughter. The candlelight flickers against the delicate floral arrangements at the center of each table, casting shadows that sway with the breeze from the open terrace doors. Outside, the night stretches over the coastline, waves rolling lazily against the cliffs below. It’s the kind of evening that feels untouched by time, the kind where memories slip into the present so seamlessly that it’s easy to forget just how much has changed.

And it applies to you as well, as you turn toward the entrance, hoping to catch Jihoon before he finds his seat. You're ready to convince him to sit next to you when you spot the figure just behind him. For a moment, your stomach flutters, instinct overriding reason. You feel the simple pleasure of seeing someone familiar before you remember. Before it really registers who you’re looking at.

Seungcheol stops in his tracks too. Just for a split second, which you notice only because you were already looking at him. You turn back to Seungkwan, wondering why Seungcheol looks surprised that you’re here. You live in this town. It’s your neighbour’s wedding. Of course, you’d be here.

Seungcheol exhales slowly through his nose, steadying himself as he weaves through the tables. It’s fine. He’s fine. This night is just another social obligation—one he’ll get through with practiced ease.

Or so he thinks.

Because when he finally reaches his assigned table, when his gaze flickers over the place cards arranged neatly around the table, he sees it.

His name.

Right next to yours.

For a moment, all he can do is stare.

Then, with the kind of composure he barely feels, he pulls out his chair and sits down. Like the sight of your name beside his doesn’t feel like a cruel fucking joke.

The chair legs scrape softly against the floor, but you don’t look at him. Not yet. You’re still angled toward Seungkwan, fingers tracing lazy circles against the stem of your glass, as if you haven’t noticed him at all.

But he knows better.

Seungcheol reaches for the placard with his name on it, turning it between his fingers like the cursive script might offer an explanation. As if some part of him still doesn’t quite believe it.

And then you shift—just slightly, just enough for your gaze to flicker toward him, catching him in the act.

He sets the card down and straightens his spine, forces an easy expression onto his face, even as his pulse betrays him.

“Hey,” he says, hoping he sounds simple, nonchalant. He wonders if it is of any use though. Twenty nine years of knowing him doesn’t usually get erased by almost a year of no contact.

“You look well.”

Your voice is  smooth, free of hesitation, and for some reason, that unsettles Seungcheol more than silence would have. He glances at you, finding your expression unreadable, your posture relaxed like this is just any other conversation. Like there’s nothing strange about exchanging pleasantries after everything.

He wets his lips, nodding slightly. “So do you.”

There’s a pause, not quite awkward, but not entirely comfortable either. You nod in acknowledgement, taking a slow sip of your drink, and he watches as the condensation on your glass leaves faint moisture on your fingertips when you set it down.

“How long have you been here?” he asks. You can tell he’s uncomfortable by the way he glances around the hall, not meeting your gaze.

“A while,” you say, your lips tilting slightly like you know he’s asking just to fill the air between you. “Long enough to know the best way to sneak out if it gets unbearable.”

Something in him eases, just slightly. “And here I was thinking you stayed for the speeches.”

“I do. But that doesn’t mean I like them.”

Seungcheol is about to say something when Seungkwan leans forward, elbows on the table, “Alright, before the drunk bridesmaids start their speeches, how’s the season going?”

Seungcheol exhales, tilting his head slightly before reaching for his drink. “It’s going.”

Jihoon doesn’t let that slide. “That’s a non-answer.”

Seungcheol huffs out something close to a laugh, but there’s an edge to it. “It’s been competitive,” he says.

Seungkwan hums. “Red Bull’s that fast, huh?”

Seungcheol sips before nodding. “Yeah. They came into the season strong. The car’s quick, and they’ve barely put a foot wrong.”

Jihoon leans back, considering that. “And Ferrari?”

Seungcheol shrugs, tapping his fingers lightly against his glass. “We’re not slow. Just not as consistent as we need to be.” He pauses, then adds, “It’s not last year.”

That part lingers. Last year was different. Ferrari had been the team to beat, and Seungcheol had been the one everyone was chasing. He doesn’t say it outright, but you hear it anyway.

Seungkwan senses that the conversation might be heading downhill and rushes to say, “Well, at least your team is second fastest. I remember reading that McLaren were dropping down into the midfield again.”

Jihoon lets out a dramatic sigh. “Man, remember when they were actually fighting for wins?”

Seungcheol chuckles, shaking his head. “Feels like forever ago.”

You stare at him, watching as he sips his drink again. There’s a lot you want to say but you settle for asking something else. “Next is Canada, right?”

Seungcheol pauses, fingers tightening just slightly around his glass before he looks at you. He blinks, like he hadn’t expected you to ask.

“Yeah,” he says after a beat. “Canada’s next.”

“Oh, Montreal’s always fun. Wet races, safety cars, chaos. Right up your alley, huh?” Seungkwan shakes his head as he leans back into his chair.

Seungcheol huffs a small laugh, shifting his attention to him. “Something like that. Hopefully.”

Seungkwan hums in response, but before he can say anything else, a commotion from the other side of the hall catches his attention. His gaze flickers toward the dance floor, where a group of slightly tipsy guests have started an impromptu dance-off. Jihoon follows his line of sight, shaking his head with a quiet laugh.

“Unbelievable,” Jihoon mutters, but there’s amusement in his tone.

Seungkwan leans in slightly, watching with clear interest. “I’ll give them five minutes before someone trips over their own feet and spills a drink on someone else.”

“Three,” Jihoon counters, reaching for his drink.

Their conversation drifts as they start making bets on which unfortunate guest will go down first, their focus shifting entirely to the spectacle unfolding before them.

And just like that, it’s just you and Seungcheol again.

You glance at him, catching the way his shoulders have stiffened slightly now that the buffer of conversation has faded. He’s staring at his drink, thumb tracing absently over the condensation on the glass.

“So,” he says, voice low, hesitant. “You still watch the races?”

You blink, turning fully toward him. “Of course, I do.” There’s a hint of offense in your voice, even if you don’t mean for it to be there. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Seungcheol exhales softly through his nose, like he’s considering something. Then, he offers a small, almost apologetic shrug. “I don’t know. Just figured—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

You don’t press him on it. Instead you sigh, staring into your empty glass, “I never got to congratulate you, by the way.”

His brows furrow slightly. “For what?”

“Your championship.” You give him a look like it should’ve been obvious. “2024. You did it again.”

Seungcheol laughs dryly, going back to his drink for a sip before he replies. “Wow,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “Bit late for that, don’t you think? Not doing that great anymore, am I?”

It’s tossed out casually, but the bitterness is unmistakable. His voice is light, almost like he’s making a joke, but you know him too well. It’s in the way his fingers tighten around his glass, the way his gaze flickers away from yours just a second too long.

Your stomach twists. You hadn’t thought much of it at first. He’s always been hard on himself, always pushed himself further than anyone else ever could. But this might be different, you realize.

“I don’t believe that.” You challenge, frowning slightly.

Seungcheol scoffs quietly but doesn’t argue. He just leans back into his chair, letting out a long exhale while pretending to look around the venue. 

“I’m going to get another drink. Do you want anything?” He asks finally. 

You shake your head slowly, still watching him. “No, I’m good.”

Seungcheol nods, pushing himself up from his chair, but the weight of his words linger.

He’s deflecting, ignoring what you said before and that means something is definitely wrong. You think back on how this season’s been going, searching for any sign. He hasn’t been winning like he usually does. But it isn’t like he’s dropped off either. He’s been on the podium for almost every race till now. So really, what could be bothering him?

Just as he returns, a warm voice cuts through the chatter. “Well, well, if it isn’t the four of you together again.”

You turn to see the bride standing beside your table, her lips curved into a knowing smile. She glances at you first, then at Seungcheol, Jihoon, and Seungkwan before shaking her head fondly. “I was just telling my husband that it’s been ages since I’ve seen you four in the same place.”

Her husband raises an eyebrow. “They were that close?”

The bride lets out a soft laugh. “Oh, more than close. They were inseparable. If you saw one of them, you knew the others were nearby, usually getting into some kind of trouble. I remember trying to study in my room while these four ran up and down the street, screaming about some game they’d made up.” She shakes her head, eyes twinkling. “It was basically a ‘buy one, get three free’ situation.”

Seungkwan laughs, nudging you. “Hear that? We were iconic.”

Jihoon scoffs. “More like infamous.”

Her husband chuckles, looking between the four of you. “Alright, so who was the ringleader?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” the bride answers before anyone else can. She tilts her head toward Seungcheol. “It was always him.”

Seungkwan snorts. “Yeah, because people actually listened to him. Meanwhile, the rest of us? Chaos.”

Jihoon hums in agreement. “He had that whole intimidating older brother thing going on. Worked wonders when we needed to get out of trouble.”

Seungcheol finally looks up, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Or when you needed someone to take the blame,” he mutters, shaking his head.

You sigh. “And yet, you still went along with everything.”

Seungcheol exhales a short laugh, shaking his head. “Someone had to make sure you three didn’t burn the neighborhood down.”

“Excuse me,” Seungkwan says, hand on his chest. “I was a delight.”

Jihoon snorts. “You literally almost set the park on fire that one time.”

Seungkwan waves him off. “Details.”

The bride grins as her husband shakes his head, clearly entertained. He looks at Seungcheol before offering a handshake. “I just wanted to say—I’m a big fan. Wishing you luck for the rest of the season.”

Seungcheol blinks, slightly caught off guard, but he takes the handshake with a small smile. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

The second they’re out of earshot, Seungkwan leans in with a grin. “Wow, a big fan, huh?”

Jihoon hums. “Did you see that? He even looked a little starstruck.”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose, shaking his head as he picks up his drink. “You guys are unbearable.”

Seungkwan gasps dramatically. “The four-time world champion has no love for his supporters. Could be the next big scandal on the grid.”

Seungcheol groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as Jihoon and Seungkwan dissolve into laughter.

You watch them, unable to stop the smile stretching across your lips. It’s been so long since you’ve seen them like this, teasing and bickering as if nothing has changed. As if life hasn’t pulled you all in different directions, as if time hasn’t worn away at the bond the four of you thought was unbreakable. For some of you, it still is unbreakable, you suppose. You’ve got to give Seungkwan that, since you see his insufferable face every day.

But it still aches, just a little. Because you know things aren’t the same anymore. Because you’re not sure if they ever will be.

ITALY, AUTODROMO NAZIONALE MONZA

Thursday, Media Day September 4th

The garage is comparatively quiet today, Seungcheol notes as he follows his race engineer inside. Must be because most of the mechanics have gone for lunch.

The usual hum of conversation and metallic clang of tools is subdued, leaving only the low whir of cooling fans and the occasional murmur of engineers discussing setup changes. There are a few mechanics working on Jaehyun’s car on his side of the garage, but his side is mostly empty. The silence should be a relief, a rare moment of calm before the chaos of the race weekend begins. But instead, it feels suffocating, pressing against his ribs like a weight he can’t shake off.

There’s a weight in the air here that doesn’t exist anywhere else. Monza. Ferrari’s home race. The Tifosi already gathering outside the paddock, red flags draped over the fences, the pressure thick enough to choke on. He’s raced here for years, he knows what this weekend means—to the team, to the fans, to himself.

Which is why the growing pit in his stomach feels so out of place.

His car sits on the floor stands, untouched. No mechanics checking the rear suspension, no engineers reviewing his setup. But just across the garage, Jaehyun’s car is surrounded by people, a quiet buzz of activity following his teammate’s every movement.

Seungcheol glances at one of his engineers, who is flipping through setup notes on his tablet, barely paying him any attention.

“So, ahead of FP1 tomorrow, we’re keeping things mostly the same-”

“We need to fix the rear,” Seungcheol interrupts, voice firm. “I told you last week. It’s too light on the corner entry. If we don’t stiffen it, I’ll be fighting the car all weekend.”

The engineer exhales, rubbing his temple like this is an inconvenience. “We’ll keep an eye on it after FP1.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightens.

Not a yes. Not even a no. Just a ‘later’.

The frustration simmers low in his chest, but he forces himself to breathe slowly, keeping his voice measured. “I’ve been saying this since Silverstone. We don’t need to wait for practice to confirm what we already know.”

“We’re still analyzing the data.”

A humorless chuckle threatens to rise in his throat, but he swallows it down. “I gave you the data last race.”

His engineer doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t bother coming up with a real answer, just nods vaguely, already shifting his attention back to the screen. Like this conversation is over. Like his concerns aren’t worth addressing now.

The irritation claws its way up his spine, but before he can say anything else, a voice from across the garage catches his ear.

“…he said he wasn’t comfortable with the rear,” one of the engineers mutters, crouching near Jaehyun’s car.

Another voice, sharper. “Yeah, we’re softening it a little, adjusting the setup so it’s more stable through the corners.”

Seungcheol stills.

His grip tightens around the water bottle in his hand, plastic crinkling under the pressure.

The same issue. The same complaint. Except this time, there’s no hesitation, no we’ll see after FP1, no vague nods and brushed-off concerns. They’re already fixing it. Already adjusting, already making sure his car is exactly how he needs it before he’s even turned a lap. And his car? Still untouched. 

“Good,” one of the engineers says. “Can’t have him struggling this weekend.”

Seungcheol exhales slowly, running his tongue over his teeth.

The shift isn’t always obvious at first. It starts in small ways. Whose concerns get addressed first, whose feedback carries more weight in meetings, whose name gets spoken with more urgency. It’s subtle, so subtle that if he wasn’t paying attention, he might’ve convinced himself he was imagining it.

But he isn’t.

Not when he’s standing in the garage in Monza, in his team’s home, and watching everyone move just a little faster for someone else.

And it’s not that Ferrari doesn’t want him anymore. It’s not that they’re pushing him out. But they’re not prioritizing him either. They still expect him to perform, still need him, but they aren’t listening to him the way they used to.

And suddenly, it all makes sense.

This is why the paddock has been whispering. This is why people have started wondering about his future. He hadn’t wanted to believe it before, had pushed it aside as nothing more than speculation. But maybe they saw what he was just now realizing.

That Ferrari isn’t betting on him anymore.

They’re keeping him. But they’re investing in Jaehyun.

It’s been happening all season.

From the very start, Seungcheol remembers the discrepancies—strategy calls that made no sense, pit stops that were just a second too slow, orders that left him boxed in at the worst possible times.

And all this time, he’s chalked it up to bad luck. A miscalculation here, a mistake there. But how many miscalculations does it take before you realize they’re not just mistakes?

And the worst part? What have I done to deserve it? Nothing.

His results haven’t been bad because of him. He’s still the same driver who won them four championships. Every time he’s lost a win, lost a position, it’s been because of something they did. Something they got wrong.

He watches as Jaehyun steps inside, relaxed as he greets the engineers. They respond instantly, turning their full attention toward him, nodding as he speaks, making sure everything is exactly as he wants it.

Jaehyun doesn’t have to ask twice.

Jaehyun doesn’t have to fight to be heard anymore.

And Seungcheol is tired of feeling like he does.

The thought hits him harder than he expects. His fingers loosen around the water bottle he's holding, the tension in his shoulders shifting into something else. Something bitter.

Because suddenly, he remembers a different season. A different teammate.

Mingyu.

Seungcheol hasn’t thought about him in a while—not like this, not with the clarity he has now. But looking at Jaehyun’s car, watching the way the team moves around him, listens to him, works for him—he realizes it must have been the same back then, too.

Mingyu probably saw this.

Felt this, back when Seungcheol was the one Ferrari was pouring everything into, when every strategy revolved around him, when every upgrade, every minor tweak, was designed to suit his driving style first.

Mingyu had been a damn good driver. More than good enough to fight, to challenge, to win. But how many times had he been left with the we’ll see after FP1? How many times had he looked at Seungcheol’s car and known that he wasn’t getting the same level of attention?

Seungcheol had never thought much of it before. He’d always told himself that it was just how things worked, that the team backs the driver who can win. He hadn’t considered how it must have felt to be on the other side of it. To watch your team slowly stop listening. To realize that the people you trusted to have your back were already shifting their focus elsewhere.

And now, here he is.

The same team. The same treatment.

Only this time, he’s the one left waiting.

A mechanic brushes past him, calling out instructions, but Seungcheol doesn’t move. He keeps his eyes on Jaehyun’s car, watches as the team works quickly—effortlessly—to make sure his teammate is comfortable, that his car is exactly how he wants it.

Seungcheol unclenches his fingers and rolls his shoulders back, forcing his expression into something more relaxed, more neutral.

Then he turns on his heel and walks out, not saying another word.

Seungcheol’s spent six years at Ferrari. He’s won them four driver’s championships and five constructors. He was the one who dragged them back to the top, who delivered their first driver’s championship in fifteen years, who gave them the momentum they needed to take the constructors’ title the year after. He was the one who gave his blood, sweat and tears to this. 

Heck, you even sacrificed your relationship fighting for this team, He mentally scoffs.

Seungcheol’s never been the second driver. And he sure as hell isn’t about to start becoming one now.

—

Saturday, Qualifying

September 6th

The roar of the Tifosi is deafening, even from inside the garage.

Seungcheol sits in his cockpit, helmet still on, hands resting lightly on the wheel as the mechanics swarm around his car, making final adjustments. The session clock is still running, but for now, he’s stationary—P3 on the leaderboard, a tenth ahead of Jaehyun.

Outside, Monza is alive.

The Tifosi are everywhere, packed into every inch of the grandstands, a sea of red that stretches as far as the eye can see. Flags whip through the air, massive banners draped across the stands, their messages bold and impossible to miss. Monza is one of the circuits where the grandstands are sold out even during qualifying. There’s something different about Monza. Something that doesn’t exist at any other circuit, something even the best drivers struggle to explain. It’s not just the speed, the history, the track itself. It’s this. The weight of expectation. The way Ferrari doesn’t just belong to the team—it belongs to the people. To the thousands in the stands who live for this weekend. To all the other Italians watching on their TVs. 

Usually, Monza is Seungcheol’s favourite track. He’s set impressive records here before and the energy of the crowd is always motivating.

Even through the layers of his helmet, his balaclava, and the deafening sounds of the other cars on the track, he hears them chant his name.

At least they haven’t given up on me.

His fingers tighten slightly around the wheel.

He sits in P3 for now. Ahead of Jaehyun, but still behind a Red Bull. A Red Bull on pole.

At Ferrari’s home race.

It’s an insult to their team, a disgrace on their part.

His gaze flickers across the garage, past the blur of engineers watching the monitors, past the mechanics murmuring updates to one another. No one looks at him. Not directly. Not long enough for it to mean anything.

But they’re waiting.

They won’t say it, won’t dare to speak it aloud but he knows what they need from him.

They need him to take back Monza.

They need him to put Ferrari back where it belongs.

Like always. Funny that they need me, now that their new star driver can’t manage to fucking qualify above P5 when it actually matters.

His race engineer's voice cuts through his earpiece, slightly more alert now.

“Track is clear. Sending you out now.”

Seungcheol scoffs, a humorless laugh against the inside of his helmet.

Right. Of course they are.

He presses the clutch paddle, lets the engine roar back to life, and rolls out onto the pit lane.

The television flickers, the glow of the screen casting soft light across the dimly lit living room. You keep the volume as low as possible. Your parents are sleeping, and you wouldn’t want to wake them up because of the commentary at this ungodly hour. 

You hadn’t planned on watching qualifying. It had been a long day and the last thing you needed was to be up at one in the morning, wet hair dripping onto your t-shirt after a bath, on the edge of your seat as you watched your ex-boyfriend qualify for his team’s home race.

You should be asleep, but instead, you sit curled into the corner of your couch, staring at the leaderboard on the screen.

P3 – Choi Seungcheol.

The commentators have been talking about him all session. About how this weekend is crucial, about how Ferrari needs a strong result at their home race. About how Jaehyun is only P5 and how Seungcheol is the only Ferrari in a position to fight for pole.

The pressure is unbearable even from here, thousands of miles away. You can only imagine what it must feel like there, in the cockpit, in that worrying little head of Seungcheol’s.

The camera cuts to the Ferrari garage, to Seungcheol sitting in his car, helmet on, hands loose on the steering wheel as he waits.

Your stomach twists as his engineer’s voice crackles through the radio.

"Track is clear. Sending you out now."

Seungcheol doesn’t respond. Just shifts into gear, rolling out of the garage onto the pit lane.

The commentators barely take a breath before launching into his out-lap analysis.

"This is it, folks. One final shot for Ferrari’s Choi Seungcheol. He’s currently sitting in P3, but can he challenge for pole?"

"He’s had a tough session so far, struggling with the car’s balance, but he’s pulled off magic laps before. Let’s see what he can do."

You exhale slowly, pressing your knuckles against your lips as the camera follows him through the out-lap. He’s weaving aggressively, warming up his tires, testing every movement.

And then, finally—

"Choi Seungcheol begins his final lap."

The screen shows his car flying into a long, sweeping curve, and something tugs at your memory.

"It’s trickier than it looks," Seungcheol had once told you. It was late, the two of you sitting in the dim glow of his kitchen after Monza in 2023. "It’s easy to take it flat-out, but if you misjudge the line by even half a meter, you’re screwed on the exit."

Your breath catches slightly as you watch him now, the Ferrari holding steady, perfectly placed, just like he described.

The timing screen flashes, indicating a purple sector.

The commentators react instantly.

"He’s improving! Seungcheol is on a great lap. Can he challenge for pole?"

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the blanket draped over your legs.

The car flies through the next sector, fast and on the edge. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. It’s pure instinct, the kind that only comes after years of knowing exactly where the limit is.

Purple again.

"He's still gaining! This could be huge for Ferrari!"

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath.

The final corner looms. The moment of truth.

"It’s deceptive," he'd said, "the Parabolica. The biggest mistake is to brake early. If you do, you lose all your momentum. You have to trust the car. Trust yourself."

His Ferrari dives in so late you think for a second that he’s overdone it. But who are you kidding? It's Seungcheol. Seungcheol who would never settle for anything less than a front row at Monza. He knows what he's doing.

As he crosses the finish line, the leaderboard updates.

P2.

The commentators erupt—a front row start for Ferrari. The camera cuts to the grandstands, where thousands of fans in red are screaming his name.

You exhale.

Not pole.

But at least he’s ahead of Jaehyun.

The screen flickers back to the garage. Seungcheol removes his helmet slowly, setting it down beside him. He doesn’t look at anyone, doesn’t react to the pats on his back. His expression is unreadable.

Seungcheol is disappointed. Yes, he's out-qualified Jaehyun. But a Red Bull still sits on pole. Another at P3. His teammate's stuck at P5.

He mentally scoffs, A championship contender, that boy.

It's been a hard weekend for Ferrari this year. The Red Bulls have been fast all weekend. All season, but this weekend matters the most and Seungcheol has a chance. To prove to the team, to prove to himself and to win for the fans. 

He watches as Jaehyun gets out of his cockpit, looking thoroughly frustrated for once. 

Good, Seungcheol thinks. He's not going to be able to fight for the championship always, but if Ferrari has any chance of challenging for the constructors then Jaehyun needs to start doing better. Needs to start being harder on himself. 

As his PR manager approaches him, Seungcheol thinks about what this year's driver’s championship winner would mean. If it’s going to be Haechan, which seems to be the most probable case, then that would mean the downfall of Ferrari again. If Jaehyun won against the odds, it would mean that Seungcheol lost to a teammate for the first time in his career.

Ferrari is going to start asking him to play the team game soon. He's not going to have the choice to deny that. He just hopes it doesn't start tomorrow.

He needs that win.

—

Sunday, Race Day

September 7th

Seungcheol doesn’t know why he’s bothering with coffee. It’s not like he needs it. His body is already running on adrenaline, his mind sharp, wired, bracing itself for the race ahead. But still, he stirs sugar into his cup, watching it dissolve in slow, deliberate circles.

It gives him something to do. Something to focus on that isn’t the feeling creeping under his skin, the quiet conversations happening around him.

He hears Jaehyun before he sees him.

“You always drink coffee before a race?”

Seungcheol looks up, finding Jaehyun standing across from him, arms folded loosely over his chest, gaze unreadable but not unkind.

“Sometimes,” Seungcheol replies, setting his spoon down with a quiet clink. “You?”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “Doesn’t sit right. Too bitter.”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose, a faint scoff of amusement. “That’s because you drink it wrong.”

Jaehyun tilts his head slightly, considering that. “Or maybe you just have bad taste.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. “Right. That’s why I’m the one drinking an actual espresso and not whatever sugar-filled disaster you get at the airport before flights.”

Jaehyun lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Okay, first of all, an iced latte is not a sugar-filled disaster.”

Seungcheol gives him a look.

Jaehyun exhales. “Fine. Maybe a little.”

For a moment, it almost feels easy. It reminds Seungcheol of when they weren’t sharing the same garage, when they weren’t dealing with the undercurrent of tension that came with being teammates. Back then, things had been simpler, Jaehyun in his own team, Seungcheol in his, their conversations laced with nothing more than lighthearted competition. The paddock had been big enough for both of them, their rivalry something manageable, something that only existed on track.

Jaehyun shifts slightly, straightening his posture, finally getting to the point.

“So,” he says, exhaling lightly. “Big day ahead.”

Seungcheol hums. “Guess so.”

Jaehyun taps his fingers against his arm, watching him carefully. “You’re planning to be difficult?”

Seungcheol finally looks at him. “Aren’t you?”

Jaehyun holds his gaze for a second longer before huffing out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I’m just saying, it’d be nice if we both made it to the finish line today.”

Seungcheol nods, slowly but surely. “Then don’t give me a reason to stop you.”

Jaehyun’s lips twitch like he wants to say something else, but he just nods once before stepping back.

Seungcheol watches as he walks off, settling at another table, already engaged in quiet conversation with one of their engineers.

He picks up his coffee again, rolling the cup between his palms.

A clean race.

Sure.

That depends on who refuses to back down first.

—

Seungcheol’s brother tosses you your drink as you settle down on the corner of their couch, next to your father. You wipe off the condensation on the can with the sleeves of your sweatshirt, tucking your legs under yourself as your father pats your knee, still talking strategy with Seungcheol’s dad. Your mothers are in the kitchen, loading the last plates from dinner into the dishwasher before they come over for the race. 

Seungho sighs, fiddling with the remote as he settles on the right channel before plopping down onto the bean bag at your feet. Your mothers sit on the two seater, smaller sofa to your left, you sitting with the fathers on the bigger one, just like you have for years. Race day traditions don’t just disappear, even when everything else has changed.

Seungcheol’s father peels an orange, handing over the pieces to you and Seungho. Your mother complains about the AC’s temperature, but your father tells her that it’ll be hotter by the time the race starts anyway. Your finger already finds its place on the corner of the sofa’s armrest, the splinters of old wood that you pick on when the race gets heated. You don’t need to just yet, but you guiltily realize that you’re ruining their sofa every time. No one says anything to you about it. No one has to. It’s been your spot, your thing for years.

Seungho nudges you lightly, nodding toward the TV. "They’re saying the softs might not last long in the first stint," he muses, popping a piece of orange into his mouth. "You think Ferrari will actually pit at the right time today?"

You snort. "That’s optimistic."

He hums, shifting in his seat. "If they want a chance at winning, they need to be aggressive. Hards won’t get them track position, and the mediums are a gamble if the degradation is worse than expected."

You watch as the broadcast shows the tire allocations on screen, your eyes flickering over the strategies analysts have predicted. "Yeah, but you know they’ll be too focused on playing it safe. They always are when it actually matters."

Seungho sighs, not disagreeing. His gaze lingers on the Ferrari pit wall, the strategists adjusting their headsets. "Cheol won’t want to wait for them to figure it out," he says.

"They’re going to have to take risks eventually," he muses as the national anthem ends, watching as the cameras linger on Haechan as he walks back to his car. "Red Bull is too far ahead otherwise. Haechan’s been cruising all season, and Jeno’s not exactly slow either."

You shake your head, sinking further into the couch. "It’s ridiculous. Their car is practically untouchable. Even when they mess up, they still somehow come out ahead. It’s like they’re playing a different game."

Seungho leans back, arms crossed. "Ferrari had the chance to challenge them early on, but they didn’t capitalize when it mattered. Now it’s just damage control."

You chew on your bottom lip, eyes fixed on the screen as the camera cuts to Seungcheol on the grid. His helmet is still off, jaw set tight, gaze flickering across the sea of people moving around him. He looks calm, but you know better.

“You don’t think Jaehyun has a chance?” You ask distractedly.

Your father lets out a small laugh, “Wishful thinking, honey. Seungcheol and Jaehyun need to watch out and start playing for the team. The second Red Bull lad isn’t too far away from snatching up third or even second in the standings if these two mess up.”

—

The race settles into a rhythm, not a comfortable one, not for him, but a rhythm nonetheless.

Seungcheol grips the wheel tighter, eyes flickering between his mirrors and the track ahead. He’s in second, exactly where he started, but there’s no comfort in that. There’s a Red Bull ahead of him, and another behind.

And Jaehyun.

Jaehyun, who started P5. Jaehyun, who has been carving his way through the field. Jaehyun, who right now, is fighting for P3

He sees it happen in his mirrors, sees the moment Jaehyun lunges into turn one, late on the brakes but just precise enough to make the exit ahead of Jeno. A bold move. A necessary one. Seungcheol doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react beyond the slight press of his foot on the throttle, keeping his own pace steady.

It doesn’t matter.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

The radio crackles to life. His engineer’s voice, calm and composed. But something’s still off.

“Jaehyun is the car behind.”

Not quite an order. Not yet.

Seungcheol doesn’t reply. Just tightens his grip, shifts slightly in his seat. He knows what’s coming next.

Another chime in his ear. “Let’s be smart about this.”

There it is.

He exhales slowly, foot pressing just a little harder against the throttle. Smart, meaning don’t fight too hard. Smart, meaning don’t ruin the team’s chances. Smart, meaning move.

He’s done playing smart.

Jaehyun is closing in, the red of his Ferrari filling Seungcheol’s mirrors as they barrel down the straight, DRS open, momentum in his favor. Seungcheol adjusts, keeping his line just tight enough to force him to work for it.

The first chicane is clean. The second is anything but.

Jaehyun dives. Seungcheol defends.

They come out the other side still wheel-to-wheel, neither willing to yield.

The straight ahead is the fastest part of the track, the only chance to breathe before the next braking zone. Seungcheol is already calculating his defense, watching for the moment Jaehyun makes his move, ready to cover him off—

Too late.

Jaehyun clips the curb, the rear unsettled just enough to break traction. The car bounces, weight shifting unnaturally, and before Seungcheol can even react, he sees it. The flash of the underbelly, the violent twist of suspension giving out, the horrifying realization that Jaehyun’s car is airborne.

For a heartbeat, there is only silence.

And then, impact.

The force slams through him, the weight of the other car crashing down against his, shaking his entire body. The harness digs into his shoulders and ribs, holding him in place, but his head snaps forward, then back, helmet knocking against the headrest. The sound is deafening—metal crunching, carbon fiber shattering, the high-pitched screech of tires skidding helplessly across asphalt. His vision blurs at the jolt, breath knocked out of him as they careen off track, the gravel rushing up to meet them. The car shudders violently, bouncing as the suspension struggles to absorb the force. He barely registers the dust cloud kicking up around him, the shards of debris scattering across the runoff.

You feel your heart stop as the scene unfolds on the screen. It stutters hard, gripping your chest and throat as you stare at the two Ferraris get pushed into the gravel. From the corner of your eye, you see Seungho get up, hands on his head. No one in the room speaks. No one moves. The only sound is the distant murmur of the commentators, voices rising with urgency, barely registering in your ears.

“Oh my word! Massive crash between the Ferraris! Are both the Scuderia cars OUT of their home race?”

Even with the volume low, even through the ringing in your ears, you hear the grandstands erupt. A mixture of shock, horror, disappointment.

The slow-motion replay flashes across the screen—Jaehyun’s car hanging in the air for a fraction of a second before crashing down on top of Seungcheol’s, the halo absorbing the impact.

“Look at that! The halo is doing its job there, saving Seungcheol. But what a terrifying impact!”

Your fingers dig into the fabric of your sweater, your chest aching with the force of holding your breath. The camera shifts to the wreckage, two Ferraris, lifeless in the gravel trap, neither driver moving yet.

The ringing in his ears is the first thing Seungcheol notices. Then the tightness in his chest, the dull ache in his shoulders, the way his hands are still gripping the wheel like the race isn’t already over. His body feels heavy, like he’s just been thrown into a brick wall and left there.

He blinks.

His visor is coated in a thin layer of dust, the track ahead distorted through the haze of gravel and smoke. Something is still pressing down on him. Jaehyun’s car, still partially tangled with his own.

His radio crackles, his engineer’s voice cutting through the ringing.

“Seungcheol. Seungcheol, are you okay? Can you hear me?”

He inhales slowly, tests the movement in his fingers, flexes them once, twice. His chest rises and falls, shallow but steady.

“I’m here,” he mutters, voice hoarse.

You hear the shuddering breath of relief that his parents let out as soon as they hear his radio on the television. You exhale too, feeling your hands tremble. You’ve seen Seungcheol crash before. But it’s never felt like this. Never this violent or sudden. Never with another car landing on top of him.

Your fingers dig into your sweater as you stare at the screen, waiting for movement, waiting for confirmation that he’s okay beyond just two words through the radio. The marshals are already there, swarming the wreckage, clearing debris, working to separate the cars, but you can’t tear your eyes away from Seungcheol’s cockpit.

You barely register as Jaehyun jumps out of his cockpit, turning around to look at the wreckage before shaking his head and walking away. It infuriates you. Seungcheol was doing what he had to do to defend. Why did this guy have to come in and ruin it all? There was a turn there, maybe he didn’t fucking notice that he had to move his steering wheel, you seethe.

The camera cuts to the Ferrari garage. His mechanics are frozen, watching the same screen, the same image of his wrecked car, faces unreadable but tight with something that looks a lot like guilt.

Seungho mutters. “Come on, man, Get out.”

And then, finally, movement.

The top of his helmet shifts, his hands coming up to unbuckle his harness. You feel like puking as he pushes himself up, slow and obviously shaken up, until he’s climbing out of the car.

“And it’s confirmed,” The commentator begins, “Both Ferraris are out of the race at Monza! Can you believe it? In front of the thousands of Tifosi here, it has been a nightmare of a weekend for Ferrari.”

But as you watch Seungcheol stand there for a moment, staring down at the car that was supposed to take him to victory today, you can’t help but stop the unease from settling down in your gut. 

He turns and walks away without looking back.

—

When he’s let back to his driver’s room after the medical check-up, Seungcheol slams the door shut behind him, the sound echoing through the empty halls. The windows shudder from the impact, but he pays no mind to them. 

His helmet is still in his hands, his grip so tight it almost hurts. His fingers flex around the edges, his breathing shallow, the weight of everything pressing down on him all at once. Then, without thinking, he hurls it across the room.

It crashes against the lockers with a violent clang, bouncing off metal before rolling to a stop near the couch. The sound rings in his ears, but it’s not enough. Nothing is enough.

He braces his hands on the edge of the table, exhaling sharply. His pulse is still hammering against his skull, a blunt ache settling at the base of his neck. His body feels stiff, sore from the crash, but it’s the frustration crawling under his skin that he can’t shake. He walks over to the bathroom.

This shouldn’t have happened.

Seungcheol’s jaw clenches as he stares at his own reflection in the mirror. His hair is damp with sweat, strands sticking to his forehead, his suit— the prized, blazing red overalls he once admired, the bright yellow emblem he respected— still covered in dust and streaks of dirt from the gravel trap. He looks exactly how he feels, like he’s been through a war and came out of it with nothing.

His head falls forward, hands dragging down his face, pressing hard against his temples.

He knows what’s happening outside. He knows that while he’s in here trying to catch his breath, Ferrari’s PR team is already working overtime to control the damage. He knows that somewhere in the paddock, Jaehyun is in his own driver’s room, being comforted, reassured, told that this wasn’t his fault.

Seungcheol exhales, a bitter scoff slipping past his lips.

He doesn’t need to hear it to know how this will play out.

Jaehyun is young, new, still learning. Seungcheol is experienced. Seungcheol should have been the one to manage the situation better.

That’s how they’ll spin it. That’s how they always do.

His knuckles whiten around the edge of the sink. He doesn’t trust himself to move just yet, not when his entire body feels like it’s still vibrating from the adrenaline. The crash replays behind his eyes every time he blinks—the lunge, the curb, the impact, the moment he realized he was completely powerless to stop it.

Be grateful you’re alive and well, Seungcheol reminds himself. It could’ve been so much worse. You’re okay. Physically.

Seungcheol struggles to get this breathing under control as he walks back out, picking his helmet up from the floor. A small part of the covering has chipped off, but it’s nothing he can’t get fixed. He stares at it for a moment— the black, prancing horse that adorns the back of his helmet. His race engineer had convinced him to get it after he’d won Monza for them in his debut year at the team. 

“You deserve to proudly show off that emblem,” He’d chuckled as he affectionately patted Seungcheol’s back.

Seungcheol wonders if he still thinks that. If he’s still deserving of this team’s respect. If they still have some for him, even if he is.

His thoughts are interrupted by rapid knocks on his door.

“Cheol, are you alright in there? Let me in.” It’s Seokmin, his trainer.

Seungcheol sighs. “I’m alright. Just leave me alone for sometime, please.”

Seokmin hesitates on the other side of the door, but eventually, his footsteps fade down the hall. Seungcheol exhales, pressing his fingers into his temples, trying to shake the exhaustion that clings to his body.

Then his phone vibrates.

The sound cuts through the quiet, sharp and unexpected. He doesn’t look right away, just lets it buzz against the table, debating whether he has the energy to deal with whatever crisis their PR team is about to throw at him.

But when he finally glances at the screen, his breath catches.

It’s you.

His throat dries up. For a second, he doesn’t move, just stares at your name, his mind sluggish in processing why, after everything, you’d be calling him now.

His finger hovers over the screen.

For a moment, he considers letting it ring out.

While you wait for him to pick up, standing in a corner of his parent’s backyard, you wonder if he’s changed his number already. Even if it is the same, would he still pick up?

The call connects.

You hear rough breathing on the other side. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, and you almost think he’s answered by mistake. Then, his voice comes through, low and strained.

“Yeah?”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Hey,” you say quietly.

Seungcheol doesn’t respond right away. There’s movement on his end, fabric rustling, the distant clatter of something being set down. When he finally speaks, his voice is flat, unreadable.

“What’s up?”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, glancing toward the house. His mother is still in the kitchen, her movements slow, like she’s distracted, like her mind is still on the crash. Your own parents are murmuring inside, their voices barely audible through the open back door.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” You sigh softly, “Are you okay?”

There’s a pause. Not too long, but long enough to know that he’s probably about to lie.

“Yes, I’m fine.” 

You don’t believe him and he knows that, because he doesn’t try to fill the silence or rush to convince you. There’s only the sound of his breathing, steadier now but still uneven at the edges, like he hasn’t fully caught it since stepping out of that car.

“No seriously, Cheol, everyone’s worried.”

There’s a soft scoff on the other end, the kind that isn’t amused at all.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol mutters. “They’re worried enough to call?”

You press your lips together, glancing back inside where Seungho stands at the door, a quizzical expression on his face as he tries to ask you what’s going on. “You know they are.”

Another pause. “Well, tell them they don’t have to be. I’m as good as I can be.”

You turn your back to his brother, throwing your head back in slight frustration, “Cheol, come on. They probably don’t want to bother you by calling right now.”

He doesn’t respond to that. The silence stretches again, and reality settles back in.

You kick at some of the pebbles on the ground, fingers tightening around your phone, “I wasn’t going to call either.”

“I figured. Wasn’t going to pick up either.”

You debate whether to say more, whether to ask the things you actually want to. Is Ferrari blaming you? Did Jaehyun say anything? Are you okay in ways that matter?

But you don’t. Instead, you sigh, voice quieter now. “I don’t know why I called.”

Seungcheol hums, a little absentminded, but not dismissive. “Guess you were hoping I wouldn’t pick up.”

You breathe out. “Maybe.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

You almost smile. Almost.

There’s something about the way he says it, like he knows neither of you really mean it, like he doesn’t mind that you called, even if he won’t say it outright.

You take a slow breath. “You should rest. I’ll let you go.” You hope someone reminds him to eat properly tonight. Hope someone eases his mind and tells him not to worry too much. That one loss here doesn’t mean the end of the world. 

He hesitates for just a second. “Yeah. Goodnight.”

You hesitate too, Can’t you just say it to him yourself? 

But it’s not your place anymore. So you don’t.

“Goodnight, Cheol.”

BRAZIL, AUTÓDROMO DE INTERLAGOS

Friday, Post FP2 November 7th

Seungcheol sits at the end of the long table, hands clasped loosely in front of him. Across from him, Ferrari’s team principal flips through his tablet, running over last-minute adjustments. His race engineer and senior management sit alongside him, unaware of why Seungcheol has called this meeting.

They don’t know yet.

Seungcheol exhales slowly, gaze drifting across the room, over the familiar red embroidered logos, the crest of the prancing horse he’s carried on his chest for the last six years.

The team he helped bring back to the top.

The team he’s about to leave.

The team principal finally looks up. “Alright, let’s go over—”

“I’m leaving.”

Silence.

At first, the reaction is mild, just confusion, like they’ve misheard.

The team principal’s fingers pause over his screen. His race engineer shifts slightly, exchanging a glance with the others.

Then, finally—

“What?”

Seungcheol leans back in his chair, voice even. “I won’t be re-signing with Ferrari.”

The words settle, the weight of them pressing into the room. His engineers stare at him, a mixture of shock and confusion on their faces

One of the executives clears his throat. “We haven’t even begun contract negotiations yet.”

“I know.”

A pause.

The team principal exhales, setting his tablet down, eyes narrowing slightly. His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it now. “Seungcheol, this doesn’t have to be a rushed decision. We can—”

“I’ve made up my mind.”

That’s when it truly sinks in. The initial surprise fades, shifting into something heavier, something closer to disbelief.

His race engineer straightens in his seat. “Look, if this is about the way this season has gone, if you’re frustrated, if you’re unhappy with how things have been handled, we can fix it. We can go into next year with a fresh start-”

“This isn’t just about this season.”

Seungcheol exhales, running a hand over his face. He knew they’d try to talk him out of it. Knew they wouldn’t just let him go without a fight.

So for a moment, just a moment, he lets himself be honest.

“You know…” he starts, voice quieter now, almost reflective. “Seven years ago, you called me to this very meeting room in Brazil.”

If everyone in the room wasn’t already still, they are now.

His team principal doesn’t react immediately, but Seungcheol knows he remembers.

“I was still at Alfa Romeo,” he continues. “I was still quite young and new, still figuring out the sport, still proving I belonged here. And you sat me down, and you told me that you saw talent in me and if I came to Ferrari, we’d bring this team back to the top. That you’d help me become a world champion.”

He lets the words linger, lets them sink in. His throat feels tight.

“And you did.”

The words aren’t empty. He means them.

Seungcheol looks around the room, at the men who have dictated his future for the past seven years. The ones who once fought for him. The ones who celebrated with him. The ones who, somewhere along the way, stopped prioritizing him the way they used to.

He takes a slow breath. “I’ll always be grateful for that.” He says, and for the first time, it hits him that he’s done with this team. That with what he’s said, they’re not his anymore. Seungcheol can’t help the feeling of mourning that overcomes him in this moment. “No matter how things have turned out, I won’t forget what we’ve achieved together.”

He isn’t sure if they expect him to say more. Maybe they expect him to be bitter, to bring up the choices they made this season, to throw blame in every direction.

But Seungcheol has nothing left to prove.

“Ferrari gave me everything,” he admits, voice steadier now. “You gave me my first real shot. You gave me my first win, my first championship. You gave me a team that I could fight for.”

He leans back, exhaling. “I’ve given you everything I had in return.”

The weight of that truth settles between them.

His voice drops slightly. “That’s what makes this so hard.”

There’s a flicker of doubt in the team principal’s gaze.

“Is this about another team?” he finally asks. “We haven’t heard anything yet, but if you’ve been approached, we should discuss it. We can match whatever offer they’re giving you.”

Seungcheol shakes his head slowly, the corner of his lips lifting in irony. They think this is about negotiation. About money, about leverage. They don’t realize it yet.

“There is no other offer.”

A flicker of uncertainty passes through the room.

The team principal frowns. “What do you mean?”

Seungcheol presses his fingertips against the table, grounding himself. This is it. If you say it, it’s real now.

“I mean, I’m not going anywhere else.” He’s surprised with how steady his voice is. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

The silence that follows is different now. They don’t know what to say, don’t want to realize what he means

His engineer’s brows furrow. “Cheol…” He hesitates, voice dipping lower, more personal. “You’re not just leaving Ferrari, are you?”

The team principal exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Seungcheol, you’re thirty. This is not the time to retire. You’re at the peak of your career. You don’t just—”

“I’m not retiring. But I know what I want.”

It’s the first time his voice hardens.

His pulse thrums against his ears. He doesn’t need them to understand. He doesn’t need permission.

But for the first time, he lets himself admit it.

He’s tired.

“You don’t have to decide this now,” the team principal tries again, but there’s something more fragile in his voice this time. “Take the off-season. Step back. Think about it properly.”

“I already have.”

And the finality with which he says it shuts them up. There’s no convincing him because he’s already gone. He’s been gone for a while now, but it’s real and true today.

Seungcheol pushes his chair back, rising to his feet. The Ferrari crest catches his eye on the team principal’s polo, the same one he’s worn for the last six years. Once, it felt like armor. Now, it just feels like something he’s outgrown.

No one stops him as he moves toward the door.

But just before he reaches it, his race engineer speaks again, voice quiet.

“You’re really sure about this?”

Seungcheol’s hand grips the doorknob tight. It’s a last-ditch effort, a peace offering, another chance to take it all back and go back to the team he’s called his home for the almost his entire career.

He nods, slow at first but his expression is sure when he turns around for the last time. “Yes, I am.”

When he closes the door behind himself, Seungcheol hopes that no one walks out to talk to him now. The finality of his decision settles down on him, light on his shoulders but still heavy on his mind. 

These hallways that he’s walked for so long, this team that he’s been leaning on for so long. He wonders how just a few words can change how he feels. His footsteps echo against the floor, the polished tiles reflecting the dim overhead lights. He knows every corner of this building by heart. The walls lined with photographs, framed moments of glory, the history of Ferrari captured in still images.

Your history too.

His fingers brush absently against the edge of one as he passes, a photo from their first constructors’ championship together. The entire team, arms raised, champagne spraying in the air. His younger self is at the center, a Ferrari flag draped over his shoulders, eyes bright with something fierce.

Hope.

Determination.

Belief.

He stops walking.

The picture right next to it is worse.

His first drivers’ championship.

He remembers that night, the way his race engineer had pulled him into a bone-crushing hug over the radio, the way his mechanics had lifted him onto their shoulders, the way he had looked at his car and thought—this is home now.

Now, he stands here, staring at that same version of himself, and wonders if he would even recognize him anymore.

Would that Seungcheol understand why he’s leaving? Would he be disappointed?

He breaths in deeply, tilting his head back.

This is what he wanted. This is what he chose.

It doesn’t make it any easier.

He forces himself to keep moving, the weight in his chest growing heavier with every step. The hallway stretches ahead of him, but for the first time in years, he’s not sure where he’s going.

Tomorrow’s race, for now. That’s where he’ll go. Let the season end before we figure it all out.

But tomorrow comes and Seungcheol knows this feeling of losing will stick to him for the rest of his life.

He hears the Red Bull team celebrating their Constructors’ win outside their garage. The cheers, the fireworks, the champagne. He’s been there before. Knows what if feels like to win this, to fight for something bigger than himself and come out victorious.

But not this year. Not anymore.

He glances around the garage. No one is talking. The mechanics keep their heads down, clearing equipment, avoiding each other’s eyes. The pit wall stares at the monitors like they can will the result into changing. His race engineer exhales sharply beside him, but doesn’t say a word.

They all knew this was coming.

Maybe that’s what stings the most. Not the loss itself but the inevitability of it.

He should be angry. He used to get angry.

But now, as he watches Red Bull celebrate on the screen, as he sees Haechan and Jeno lifted up on their mechanics’ shoulders, champagne bottles held high in the air, as he sees Jaehyun sitting in his chair, staring at the ground, shoulders stiff with disappointment, he just feels…exhausted.

The ‘what-if’s’ cloud his mind, momentarily. What if they’d backed him up like they used to. What if they’d all worked harder on the car, what if Seungcheol hadn’t been feeling like he was past his prime.

But a part of him knows, and he’s sick of shutting it down, so he lets the thought flow through him. This was bound to happen. This was always how it would’ve ended.

Seokmin hands his phone back to him, wordlessly, as they walk up to their hospitality. Seungcheol thinks Seokmin has known, maybe even before he’d made the decision. It’s easy to break the news to someone who is the least surprised by it. All Seokmin had done was clap him on the back once and wish him all the best. Seungcheol knows he’ll be there if he ever comes back and that is enough.

UNITED ARAB EMIRATES, YAS MARINA CIRCUIT

Sunday, Race Day December 7th

Ferrari’s lion walks away — Choi Seungcheol announces exit from the Italian team.

“Ferrari and Choi Seungcheol will part ways at the end of the 2025 Formula 1 season, bringing an end to a six-year partnership that delivered four driver’s championships, five constructors’ titles, and a legacy that has cemented him as one of the most successful drivers in the team’s history.

The announcement, made ahead of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, has sent shockwaves through the paddock. While speculation around Seungcheol’s future had been growing in recent weeks, many expected Ferrari to push for a contract renewal. Instead, the 30-year-old has confirmed that he will not be re-signing with the team.

What remains unclear is what comes next. Unlike most high-profile exits, Seungcheol’s departure has not been linked to a move elsewhere. Ferrari has not commented on whether they attempted to retain him, nor has Seungcheol confirmed if he plans to continue in Formula 1 beyond this season.”

You stop reading after that sentence.

Your eyes hover over the words, rereading the title once, twice, three times before you yell after your mom, asking her to come down immediately. Just as she walks down the stairs, your front door opens, Seungcheol’s mother walking in with an exasperated look on her face, hands gripping her phone tightly.

“From the look on your face, I’m assuming you didn’t know about this either.” She laughs out in disbelief.

You shake your head, still processing the words you just read as your mother asks her what’s wrong before snatching your phone from you. 

Seungcheol’s mother exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. “That boy,” she mutters, shaking her head. “Not a single word. Not to me, not to his father or his brother. We find out through the damn news?”

The frustration in her voice is clear, but you can also hear the hurt seep through.

You understand.

You sit down at the table, glancing at the article again. Seungcheol has not commented on whether he plans to continue in Formula 1 beyond this season.

The thought makes your stomach twist.

Your mother sighs, rubbing her temples. “He has a race today, no? How come they announced it today? Did you try calling him?”

“Do you think he’d pick up?” Seungcheol’s mother clicks her tongue. “He’s probably acting like it’s just another race weekend. I don’t need to try to know that his phone is switched off.”

She’s right. You know she’s right.

You can already picture it. Seungcheol walking through the paddock, head down, sunglasses on, pretending the world isn’t speculating about his future, pretending like he hasn’t just changed the course of his career with one decision.

Pretending like he hasn’t kept the people who have known him the longest in the dark.

But the one thing you can’t wrap your head around is—

“Why would he do this?” His mother sighs, heading to your kitchen to grab a glass of water, “He loves his team. Dreamt of driving for them since he was a kid. What went wrong?”

—

When the fireworks are over and the celebrations cease, Seungcheol comes down to the Ferrari garage, one last time.

The mechanics are mostly quiet as they pack up, with the season over and no more races to prepare for, there’s not much to talk about either. For a moment, Seungcheol is unsure of what he’d say to them. If there’s anything to be said, in the first place. He knows the news was broken to them before the articles came out, so that there would be no surprise and no disbelief during the race itself.

Seungcheol’s finished P2 here today. It isn’t a win, but he’s a little glad that he’s on the podium for his last race with the team.

 When Seungcheol steps inside, a few heads turn. Some of the younger mechanics glance at him hesitantly, like they don’t know if they should say something. But the ones who have been here long enough, the ones who have known him since the beginning, they know this is goodbye.

One of them straightens from where he’s kneeling by the tire blankets, wiping his hands on his overalls before walking over. 

“You’re really doing this, huh?” The mechanic’s voice is rough with fatigue, but affectionate still.

Seungcheol exhales, lips tilting into something almost like a smile. “Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence before the mechanic lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Damn. Going to feel weird without you around here, kid.”

Seungcheol nods.

One by one, the others start to gather. A few hesitant at first, but then more of them, his mechanics, his engineers, people who have been here since his first win in red. They’ve been through everything with him.

He mumbles simple words. Thank you, I couldn’t have done this without you, I’ll miss you all. They clap him on the back, exchange knowing looks, make a few dry jokes to lighten the mood. But there is an undeniable sadness in the air, the loss of a prized one, the loss of a team.

Eventually, his race engineer finds him.

Seungcheol knows that this moment would come, but when he meets the man’s eyes, he feels bare and stripped down in front of him.

For years, he’s been the voice in his ear, guiding him through every lap, every race. The man who’s saved his life a hundred times, talked him out of bad decisions, made him the best ones. The man he’s trusted almost his entire career.

And now, there’s nothing left to say.

Still, his engineer sighs, shaking his head. “Feels wrong, doesn’t it?”

Seungcheol lets out an awkward laugh. “A little.”

There’s a pause before his engineer speaks again, quieter this time. “I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol blinks, caught off guard. “For what?”

“For how this year went. For how they treated you.” He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “You deserved better.”

Seungcheol swallows. Hearing it out loud makes it even more real. “It is what it is. I don’t blame you.”

His engineer scoffs. “Bullshit.”

He stares at Seungcheol before speaking again, “Do you remember Austria?”

“You’ve got to be more specific than that. Which year?”

“In 2018.” 

As soon as he hears that, Seungcheol can’t help but laugh out loud, nodding his head.

“On the last few laps, you ignored my call to box for fresh tyres because, and I quote: ‘I can make it till the end.’”

Seungcheol smiles, “And then the rain hit.”

“And then the rain hit,” His engineer repeats, shaking his head, “And I spent the next five laps yelling at you to come in before you crashed into the barriers.”

He tilts his head, “But I didn’t.”

His engineer sighs, crossing his arms. “No. You didn’t. Somehow, through sheer luck or divine intervention, you kept it on track and won the damn race.”

Seungcheol remembers that day. The panic in his voice, the way his tires felt like they’d give out any second. The sheer adrenaline coursing through him as he dragged his car to the finish line.

He shakes his head, looking down at his shoes, “You were so pissed at me afterwards. I remember.”

“I was,” his engineer agrees. “But I was also secretly proud as hell.”

His engineer exhales. “That’s what made you special, you know.”

Seungcheol looks at him.

“You always knew where the limit was,” his engineer continues. “You always trusted yourself to find a way.”

Seungcheol swallows.

Because that’s the thing, isn’t it?

He’s spent his whole career pushing the limits. Trusting himself when no one else would. Fighting for what he believed in.

And now, he’s stepping away.

“I hope we meet again, on track.” His voice is soft now, “Doesn’t have to be here. Doesn’t have to be with them.”

Seungcheol looks up, surprised. 

“But if you come back, and if you still want me droning in your ear. I’ll come.”

He doesn’t respond right away. This is a promise. It’s the most heartwarming thing anyone here has ever said to him. 

But finally, his lips twitch in the closest thing he’s had to a real grin all season.

“Good to know.”

“So what now, Seungcheol? Where will you go?”

Seungcheol knows the answer now. It’s quite simple.

“Home.”

tags: @znzlii @yawnozone @archivistworld @minjiech @the-vena-cava @kookiedesi @starshuas @exomew @reiofsuns2001 @fancypeacepersona @angelarin @blckorchidd

[haoboutyou]

Cherry-flavoured

girl dad & husband (in that specific order)!Choi Seungcheol x wife!Reader

Genre: fluff, sickfic

Word Count: 1,400

Warnings: the flu; Seungcheol is down bad for his two girls; reader despises cherry-flavoured medicine

[Domestic AU] When both of his girls fall sick at the same time, Seungcheol is more than happy to take care of them both - no matter how difficult they are.

The kettle had barely finished when Seungcheol heard your voice calling out, “Can I get my tea yet?”

“You don’t even like tea that much,” he scoffed under his breath, careful not to be heard, before responding louder, “Just a moment, honey!”

He waited for a response and it soon came. A sniffling sound. A sneeze. But even then your pout was practically audible in your reply: “I don’t like honey.”

He sighed. The hot steam of the water was making his nose runny even now, a whole three days after his recovery from the flu. Still he carried on, adding spoonfuls of honey into two cups of tea. With the utmost care, he picked out the best looking cookies from the box (one Mingyu had so kindly brought over after hearing of your family’s predicament) and added them to the tray, right beside a small box of flu medicine.

To the sound of sniffles, coughing and whines of suffering, he steadily picked up the tray and began his journey upstairs. The ticklish feel of the cat scurrying past his ankles almost threw him off his balance. Just as he regained it, another fluffy creature practically flew past him – Kkuma stopped on the top step to look back at him, judging him for his slowness – but soon he reached the top of the stairs with a sigh of relief. 

The relief was temporary though because the moment he reached the 2nd floor, he was bombarded with complaints.

“What’s taking you so long, dad?” sounded from the bedroom to the right. It was followed by shuffling, a soft greeting for the cat, and more whining. “You promised to fix my TV!”

He took a moment to wonder when his little girl had started calling him ‘dad’. It sounded so formal and affectionless compared to the nicknames she’d given him in the past. 

But it was clear where his journey would take him next. Cautiously, he made his way to Minah’s bedroom. The door got stuck before he could fit himself through. He resisted the urge to forcefully rest his head against the doorframe. 

“Minah, princess, I told you I’d fix your TV after you clean your room,” he pointed out as he tried to shove the door further open without much success. It was harder to do this with no free hands and even he wasn’t bold enough to try to balance the tray with only one hand. “Where do you even walk?”

“I climb the walls like spiderman.”

His brows furrowed: that sounded an awful lot like talking back! Seungcheol wasn’t entirely sure whether she was just loopy from the fever or if it was time to stop letting the members babysit his daughter.

“Well, what’s daddy supposed to do?” he asked once he finally managed to break into the room. The tray remained mostly dry and he considered that a win. “I can’t climb the walls.”

There was a glint of mischief in his daughter’s eyes. “I’ll clean the room if you fix my TV.”

That was it, Seungcheol decided. He was done having children. If a few days ago he had wondered how to bring up the idea of having a second child with you, the desire now swiftly left as he realised his fate: endless circular arguments that would somehow always end with him folding around his little girl’s finger. 

He placed a cup of steaming tea and half the cookies on her bedside table. When she inevitably reached to take one (for she was only a girl; one with a sweet tooth), he let out a warning noise and handed her a spoonful of cough syrup. “Medicine first, candy second.”

His eight-year-old daughter offered him a look that called him dumb in five languages. The white cat in her lap seemed to match her sentiment. “Cookies aren’t candy, dad.”

“They’re chocolate-chip,” he retorted, already feeling his eyes widening with annoyance, “and chocolate is candy.”

“No, chocolate is chocolate,” she corrected him with a giggle that was soon interrupted by a coughing fit. 

Seungcheol felt himself soften at the sight. His free hand reaching out to brush her hair out of her face as she blew her nose, he patiently waited with the spoon still in his hand. Once she looked at him again, eyes red-rimmed and filled with exhaustion, he offered her a gentle smile. “Your medicine, princess?”

Her hand reached upwards towards the spoon. She hesitated. “Do I have to?”

“Do you want to get better?” he countered, raising a brow.

She groaned and looked up to her ceiling covered in plastic glow-in-the-dark stars. Clearly he hadn’t realised how difficult of a question that was to answer. “But then I’ll have to go back to school.”

“Don’t you want to see your friends?”

Once again he was on the receiving end of that look she had perfected – the one that called him old and dumb and boring. “I chat with them all the time.”

It was time to bring out the big guns – the one thing (a person, really) he hated to speak of but always seemed to get her to do what was needed. He squeezed his eyes shut as he braced himself to say the words: “If you get better, you can see Yongho again.”

The spoon was out of his grasp and in Minah’s mouth before he could open his eyes again. Defeated, he sighed and handed her a cookie in return for the newly empty spoon.

“Will you fix my TV now?” she then had the audacity to ask. 

And Seungcheol couldn’t even say no. 

He nodded and left the room with the tray in his hands, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll get mom her medicine first and then I’ll fix your TV.”

She cheered and he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Seungcheol?” he then heard your voice call. “How long does it take to make tea?”

He entered the room with a chuckle. “There’s only one of me, you know? And someone has to take care of the little one as well.”

“The little one,” you snorted at the nickname. “Honey, she’s eight. She has a boyfriend. You need to come up with a new nickname soon.”

“God, don’t even remind me about the boyfriend,” he groaned as he placed the tray down. “It should be illegal to date before the age of 30.”

Amused, you raised an eyebrow. 

“For her anyway,” he added with a pout. “And she’ll always be my little one.”

“Even when Yongho asks her to prom?” you teased, sitting up just as he made himself comfortable sitting on the bed. “Even on her wedding day?”

He stared at you. Then his eyes narrowed. “You’re just saying things to annoy me, aren’t you?”

“You’re the one that took your sweet time making my tea.” You reached for the cup. “My throat is so scratchy. I hate being sick.”

Golden opportunity. “If you don’t want to be sick, you should take some medicine.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the venomous glare you sent his way. 

“I think I would rather just succumb to the flu,” you told him and he was sure you meant it. 

But he had vowed to stay with you through sickness and health, and then he had sworn to your mother that he wouldn’t let you be sick when he could help it – really, he had a duty to fulfill here. “You’re setting a bad example for Minah, you know?”

“She’s not even in the same room–”

“MINAH, YOUR MOM’S NOT TAKING HER MEDICINE!” he bellowed right then and there, confident that he would receive a response that would force you to accept your fate. 

Seconds later, a loud – slightly wheezing – yell sounded from the other bedroom, “MOM, YOU CAN’T DO THAT!”

You grimaced under his self-satisfied stare. “Fine, but it better not be the cherry-flavoured one.”

He put extra effort into hiding the label from you as he poured a spoonful of the syrup and handed it to you. “Drink up.”

You did as told. Then glared at him with viciousness he rarely had the pleasure of seeing. “You just had to get the cherry-flavoured syrup, didn’t you? Traitor.”

“I love you too!” He offered an apologetic smile in return, placed a soft kiss to your cheek, and made a swift exit. 

Suddenly fixing Minah’s TV didn’t sound so tedious after all.

Note: I wrote this when my bestie @haoboutyou was sick and then she proceeded to begged me "150 times" to share this with y'all, so here we are, I guess. I hope this brought a bit of joy into someone's day! <3

[haoboutyou]

give it back! | kim mingyu

fluff, fwb!mingyu | 664 words | suggestive, swearing

divider credit

“Return my hoodies.” 

It is way too early for you to deal with this. You groan and roll over in your bed, willing Mingyu to leave your room. You hear rustling all around your room as Mingyu rummages through your closet. A whine escapes you when your blanket pulls off you, leaving you shivering and exposed.

“Come on, I know my children are in here somewhere.”

“Why are you here so early?” you grumble, sitting up. It’s a beautiful Sunday morning. The air is cool, and the wind blows through your room. It ticks all the boxes for the perfect Sunday morning sleep-in, yet you’re being jolted awake by the Kim Mingyu. Rubbing your eyes, you set your blurry sight at the foot of your bed as you take in his silhouette, snooping around the room. He’s unfazed as he goes through your room, looking under piles of clothing.

“I wanted to wear a hoodie today, but I couldn’t find any at home…” His voice trails as he busies himself with carding through your closet. “Aha! Here’s one!” Like a proud puppy showing off its stick, he lifts a grey hoodie like a prize. He gives it a little sniff, head tilting in confusion when he recognises his cologne still lingering on the item. “Is this recent?”

You stretch and yawn, reaching to pull the blanket back over you. “You left it here last Friday.”

“Last Friday? What would I be doing here– oh.” His cheeks burn bright red. “Right, right…” He clears his throat, slinging the hoodie over his shoulder while trying to avoid eye-contact with you. You scoff at his sudden shyness; no way actual campus-sex-god-reincarnate Kim Mingyu is getting shy over your hook-ups?!

“If that’s all you’re here for, can you shut the blinds on the way out?” You wave a hand away at him. You’ve just about settled into your pillows again when your blankets get pulled off you again. Your brows furrow as you stare up at the tall man crawling over you in your bed. “Gyu what the fuck!”

“There’s my other hoodie!” His eyes light up when he spots the second offending piece of clothing. 

You look down to where he’s staring. There you lay in bed, hair still mussed from sleep, wearing one of Mingyu’s oversized black hoodies and sleep shorts. You quickly wrap your arms around yourself, but Mingyu is faster; he’s on you in a heartbeat. Pinning your hands above your head is something Mingyu is no stranger to as he attempts to wrangle you out of his hoodie.

“No wai- Mingyu wait! Get off me you fool, you’re heavy!” Your whining elicits a husky laugh from him. You try to wrestle out of his grip, but he’s straddling your hips and effectively pinning you down with his weight. “Gyu!”

“Aww, c’mon Y/n!” he starts, grinning. “Why are you complaining? You liked screaming my name last time.” He has the audacity to wink at you as he pulls the hoodie off. The t-shirt underneath rides up your belly, and he takes the opportunity to stick his cold hands on the bare skin, revelling in the way your body shivers at his touch. 

A gasp. “Cold!”

“Revenge,” he puffs out his chest, satisfied. He’s about to slide off you when you seize the opportunity to tangle your legs with his and flip him over, with you straddling him instead. Mingyu yelps in surprise. Planting both palms on his chest, you smirk at his mildly amused face.

“You come into my house, strip me of my clothes–” 

“– It’s my hoodie, actually–”

“And you expect to just leave?!” You huff. “Way to treat a girl, Kim.”

You wiggle your hips and Mingyu’s hands immediately fly to your waist in an effort to still you. He smirks back at you, an eyebrow raised. “Yeah, that sounds like a problem.”

“Yeah?” you lean down, your chest flush against him as you whisper into his ears. “Then fix it.”

[haoboutyou]

Lovesick Fool

Word count: 1.3K Summary: “But you’re so huggable,” he murmured, tucking his face into the crook of your neck. “Boss,” Wonwoo finally spoke, sounding both resigned and mildly entertained. “We were in the middle of something.” “Yeah,” Vernon chimed in. “You were just threatening some guy’s entire bloodline, remember?” Pairing: S.coups x reader

Taglist: @haaruki  @agaha127 @zaycie @sh0dor1 @tinyelfperson @lezleeferguson-120  @ltfirecracker

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The name Choi Seungcheol carried weight. It was spoken in hushed whispers, feared by enemies, and respected by allies. He was the leader of the most powerful gang in the city—ruthless, cunning, and absolutely untouchable.

But when you walked into the room?

“Baby!” His entire face lit up like a lovestruck teenager, and his men immediately braced themselves for the inevitable shift in atmosphere.

Gone was the terrifying gang leader who could make a man disappear with just a look. In his place was a doting, borderline clingy boyfriend who had absolutely no shame in displaying his affection for you.

You barely had time to react before Seungcheol had crossed the room in long strides, sweeping you into his arms. “You’re finally here,” he sighed against your hair, holding you tight like he hadn’t seen you in months instead of a few hours.

From their spots around the room, his men exchanged knowing looks. Jeonghan rolled his eyes while Mingyu struggled not to laugh. “Here we go again,” Joshua muttered under his breath.

“Cheol,” you giggled, nudging him. “I’m literally right here, you don’t have to suffocate me.”

“But you’re so huggable,” he murmured, tucking his face into the crook of your neck.

“Boss,” Wonwoo finally spoke, sounding both resigned and mildly entertained. “We were in the middle of something.”

“Yeah,” Vernon chimed in. “You were just threatening some guy’s entire bloodline, remember?”

Seungcheol barely spared them a glance. “And? That can wait.” He pulled away just enough to cup your face, his thumb stroking your cheek with so much tenderness it was almost jarring. “Have you eaten today?”

Minghao sighed. “It’s like watching a tiger turn into a house cat.”

Seungcheol ignored them, waiting for your answer with absolute sincerity. You smiled, placing your hands on his chest. “I did, don’t worry.”

“Good,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

Meanwhile, the poor man who had been at the receiving end of Seungcheol’s threats was still tied to a chair, watching the entire scene unfold with pure disbelief. “Are we just going to pretend this is normal?” he blurted out.

Jun patted his shoulder. “Oh, you have no idea.”

The man tied to the chair looked around, completely baffled by the situation. One moment, he was about to wet himself under Choi Seungcheol’s glare—the next, the feared gang leader was melting into a doting mess over you, his entire demeanor softer than a marshmallow left in the sun.

“What the hell…” the man muttered, looking at the rest of the gang. “This ain’t normal.”

Jeonghan smirked. “Oh, it’s very normal.”

Joshua crossed his arms. “You just happen to be lucky enough to witness it firsthand.”

Before the man could fully process what they meant, Seungcheol finally turned his attention back to him. He still had one arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close as he regarded the trembling man with the cold indifference he was known for.

“Now,” Seungcheol said, his voice shifting from lovestruck to lethal in an instant. “Where were we?”

The man flinched. “Y-You were threatening to—”

Seungcheol sighed dramatically, resting his chin on your head. “You know, I was really angry earlier. But now that Y/N’s here, I’m feeling generous.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Generous, huh?”

“Mhm.” Seungcheol’s fingers lazily traced patterns on your waist, and his men exchanged glances, knowing exactly what was coming. “I’ll let you decide what happens to him.”

The man’s eyes widened in horror. “What?! Why—”

“You should be thanking her,” Seungcheol cut him off with a smirk. “She’s the reason you still have a chance to walk out of here.”

You hummed in thought, tapping your chin as you pretended to contemplate. The man paled. He had no idea who you were, but the fact that you held this much sway over Choi Seungcheol meant you were just as dangerous.

Or worse—you were the weakness.

And Seungcheol was completely unashamed of it.

“I say let him go,” you finally decided with a smile. “I don’t think he’s brave enough to cross you again, right?”

The man frantically nodded. “Never! I swear!”

Seungcheol sighed, looking like he was only agreeing because you asked. “Fine.” He flicked his wrist, and Wonwoo moved to untie the man. “But if I see your face again, I won’t be so nice.”

The man scrambled to his feet the moment he was freed, bowing repeatedly before bolting out of the warehouse like his life depended on it.

Mingyu whistled. “That guy’s never gonna sleep right again.”

Seungcheol, completely unbothered, turned his full attention back to you, his smile soft. “You wanna get something to eat?”

“You were just interrogating someone,” Vernon deadpanned.

“And now I’m done,” Seungcheol replied smoothly. “Let’s go, baby.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Fine. But you’re paying.”

Seungcheol grinned, pressing a kiss to your cheek before taking your hand and leading you out.

His gang stared after the two of you, shaking their heads.

“Absolutely whipped,” Minghao muttered.

“The scariest part,” Joshua said with a laugh, “is that he doesn’t even care.”

Seungcheol kept a firm but gentle grip on your hand as he led you out of the warehouse, completely unfazed by the stares of his men. He was Choi Seungcheol—the name that sent shivers down people’s spines, the leader who could crush his enemies without blinking.

And yet, here he was, grinning like a fool just because you agreed to dinner with him.

As you reached his car, he opened the door for you with an exaggerated flourish. “Your chariot awaits, my love.”

You gave him a look. “You just threatened a man’s entire existence ten minutes ago.”

“And now I’m taking my favorite person out to eat. I’m a man of many talents.” He winked before shutting the door behind you.

Once he slid into the driver’s seat, he reached over to buckle your seatbelt for you—something he always did, much to the amusement of his gang. He was perfectly capable of ordering people around to do his bidding, yet he insisted on personally making sure you were safe.

“You know, your guys are going to start thinking I have too much power over you,” you teased.

Seungcheol smirked as he started the engine. “Oh, they already do. And they’re right.”

You scoffed. “That’s dangerous for someone like you.”

He shot you a glance, his gaze fond but laced with something deeper. “Not when it’s you.”

The drive to the restaurant was peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos that usually surrounded his life. Seungcheol made sure to keep one hand on the wheel while the other rested on your thigh, his thumb tracing idle patterns against your skin.

By the time you arrived, it was clear that Seungcheol had no interest in keeping a low profile. The restaurant—one of the most exclusive in the city—was filled with high-profile figures, some of whom stiffened the moment they spotted him walking in.

It wasn’t just fear—it was respect.

But Seungcheol didn’t pay them any mind. His entire focus was on you, pulling out your chair before taking the seat across from you. “Order whatever you want,” he said. “Not that I wouldn’t force the owner to make something off-menu if you asked.”

You shook your head with a laugh. “You really have no shame.”

“Not when it comes to you.”

The two of you settled into easy conversation, though you couldn’t help but notice how some people kept sneaking glances at your table—some out of curiosity, others in outright disbelief.

The Choi Seungcheol they knew was a terrifying force to be reckoned with. The man sitting across from you? He was currently pushing a plate toward you with a pout.

“Try this,” he insisted. “It’s good.”

“I have my own food, Cheol.”

“But this is better.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned forward to take a bite, much to his satisfaction.

Across the restaurant, a group of men who had been in very tense negotiations with Seungcheol earlier that week were watching in shock. One of them leaned forward.

“That’s him, right?”

“Yeah.”

“The same guy who almost shattered my kneecaps?”

“Yep.”

“...And he’s feeding his girlfriend like a lovesick idiot?”

“Apparently.”

“...Should we still be scared of him?”“Oh, absolutely.”

[haoboutyou]

Hii!! I just love serenity street 17 so much, the stories are all so wholesome and cute! 🥹

Idk if you're still taking ss17 bonus requests but it would be good to see from Wonwoo and his fiance. It's been a minute since we saw them. Maybe a drabble about them bringing Sock to home?

Hope you are doing great! Lots of love 💕

Hi! Thank you for the sweet words and the request! I hope you'll like it!

Word Count: 772 /// Warnings: none /// requests for more Serenity Street 17 content are open!

“I can’t believe he’s ours,” your voice was barely a whisper as you spoke. “Look at him, he’s so tiny.”

Wonwoo would’ve laughed if he wasn’t filled with similar awe and a feeling eerily similar to worry. His eyes were locked on the tiny being, memorising each rise and fall of his tiny chest, and the very pattern of his black fur. “He’s perfect.”

After many weeks of preparation, the two of you had finally brought home your first cat – your downstairs neighbour’s cat’s kitten who had stolen your heart with his white whiskers and loud purrs. Gently pressing him to your chest, you had dutifully refused to let go of him the whole trek up the stairs. Not even your fiancé could be trusted with your new baby; frankly, you weren’t sure you could be trusted with him either.

“Do you think he’ll like his new room?” you wondered, finally daring to let your eyes wander from his fluffy form and onto the decorations of the spare bedroom. 

True to your word, you had let Wonwoo paint the walls red and set up his computer in here. It seemed only fitting to let the new cat have the rest of the room, filled with several cat beds (which you had spent hours picking out at the pet store, with neither of you being able to decide which plush fabric was plushy-er and so you just got all of them), three-story climbing trees, toys and scratching pads. 

You realised that a large box labelled as a bookshelf still remained untouched next to the armchair. The armchair you had started assembling this morning, before giddiness got the best of you and you all but dragged your fiancé down the stairs to Elise’s apartment. You needed to deal with that soon. After you were sure your baby was comfortable in his new home.

This time Wonwoo couldn’t help but snort. “Darling, it’s a cat. He’ll like it either way.”

“What if the red walls are too bright for him? I knew we should’ve gone for the darker burgundy. It feels too crimson in here–” 

“Once again, it’s a cat. I doubt he can tell the difference between crimson and burgundy.” 

(He bit his tongue before he could foolishly admit that he himself struggled to tell the difference. His energy was much more productively spent reaching for the tiny kitten and giving his tummy a gentle scratch.)

Letting out a loud purr, the cat – Socks, as the two of you and his mother’s owner had aptly named him for the white socks his fur formed at the feet – spread out on his back.

You let out an equally loud sound of pure adoration, squeezing your hands against your chest to keep from squishing the new member of your family in an act of cuteness aggression. Your phone was out not long after, the camera app already loading up as you prepared to take as many photos as you could of the adorable sight. Maybe even a video  or five for good measure.

“He’s not entirely black,” Wonwoo noted softly, stroking the small patch of white fur on the kitten’s chest. “At least he’ll be easier to find in the dark.”

“You’d probably find a way to stumble on him anyway,” you grumbled under your breath while adjusting your phone to get the best angle. “God, he’s just perfect from every angle.”

“Of course,” he laughed and nudged your shoulder, “he’s our son after all. He takes after me.”

“You wish. I bet he’s a momma's boy.” You considered for a moment. “Actually, he’d better be a momma’s boy because I’m the one who bought and built him the cat trees!”

He raised a brow. “I helped.”

“You’re just trying to take the credit.” Another worried thought passed right through you. “Do you think he has enough toys? Is two cat trees enough? Should we get him a bigger scratching pad? Oh my god, baby, what if he doesn’t like the food we bought him?!”

His warm hand landed on your shoulder. A kiss was pressed to your cheek. “How about we take a quick family nap and worry about it later?”

“Family nap?” The thought alone made you giddy once again. You leaned into his side, resting your head on his chest as he reclined against the wall. “I knew I married the right guy.”

His chest rumbled with laughter. “You haven’t married me yet.”

“But I fully intend to. Soon. You’re not getting rid of me. Ever.” Your eyes fell closed. “Socks can be our ring carrier.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, darling.”

[haoboutyou]

happy eid !!!!

[haoboutyou]

general leader cutie

[haoboutyou]

96ers 🖤 HxW (2024)

[haoboutyou]

YOU CANT CONVINCE ME THAT THEY DONT LOOK THE SAME

[haoboutyou]

— Synopsis: Where you “unfortunately” caught your best friend's roomate—your unsaid enemy—masturbating in their shared apartment. — WC: 4.6k — WARNINGS: smut, monster cock!seungcheol, explicit language and content, overstimulation, dry fucking, oral as a tongue massage (f. receiving)—a reward <3, body fluids (cum), dry humping, cock riding, dumbfication, degradation, aftercare, exhaustion, and DIRTY TALK.

here’s how it always goes with seungcheol:

you walk into a room, he immediately finds something to scoff at. maybe it’s the way you dress, maybe it’s the way you talk, maybe it’s just the fact that you exist in his general vicinity. but it doesn’t matter what you do—he hates you. or, at the very least, that’s what he insists on showing you.

joshua, your best friend and possibly the only person in the world who can tolerate both of you without losing his mind, always tells you to be the bigger person. “he’s not that bad,” he says, as if seungcheol didn’t practically hiss at you last week for sitting on his side of the couch.

but whatever. you don’t go out of your way to piss him off, and he doesn’t go out of his way to be nice. that’s just the way it is.

which is why you hesitate when joshua calls you:

“i swear, i wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. i left my keys at your place before i flew out, remember?”

“okay, but i literally don’t want to step foot in his apartment,” you stress, cringing at the thought.

“it’s my apartment, too,” joshua deadpans.

you groan, already feeling a headache coming on.

“just go in, grab the folder on my desk, and leave,” he insists. “cheol probably won’t even be home.”

which is how you find yourself standing outside their apartment door, holding joshua’s keys and hyping yourself up like you’re about to enter enemy territory. which, in a way, you are.

you unlock the door, push it open,

and immediately wish you hadn’t.

seungcheol. on the couch. fisting his cock.

your brain short-circuits. like, full shutdown, blue screen, cease all functioning mode.

the man is spread out—legs wide, head tipped back, theres a drop of sweat that drips from his neck aand land in the middle of his chest. hes exposing his toned abs that clench with every up and down of his hand. and his cock is huge. thick from the base to the top and flushed deep red at the tip, veins prominent as his fist works over it.

he’s so lost in it that he doesn’t even register your presence at first, not until he finally cracks his eyes open and sees you standing there, frozen stunned into silence.

the next few seconds happen in slow motion.

his eyes widen. his entire body stiffens. his hand stops.

“WHAT THE FUCK—”

seungcheol scrambles to cover himself, reaching for the nearest thing—which, unfortunately for him, is a shirt that does nothing to hide the absolute tent he’s pitching. his face goes red, splotchy from the neck up, and he looks so flustered that for a split second, you almost feel bad.

“why the fuck are you here?!” he practically barks at you, voice ragged from whatever the fuck he was doing before you ruined his life.

you blink, still processing the image that’s now burned into your brain for eternity. “uh. joshua?”

“what about joshua?!”

“he… he needed a document.”

seungcheol lets out a sound that is so frustrated, so exasperated, that it almost doesn’t register as human. “and you didn’t think to knock?!”

“why would i knock?! i didn’t think anyone would be jerking off in the living room like a fucking pervert—”

“IT’S MY APARTMENT.”

“IT’S JOSHUA’S TOO.”

“HE’S NOT HERE.”

“WELL, NEITHER AM I, NOW.” you turn on your heel, hand reaching for the doorknob. “i’ll just get the doc later—”

but before you can escape, he rasps, “don’t you dare tell joshua about this.”

you pause. smirk. oh, this is fun.

back still facing him, fingers still wrapped around the doorknob. you should leave. should pretend none of this ever happened. but something—some sick, wrong part of you—doesn’t want to.

so you turn. lean back against the door. cross your arms.

“what?” he snaps, shifting on the couch, the shirt still pitifully draped over his lap.

you tilt your head, dragging your gaze slowly down his body—his hard nipples, the taut muscles in his arms, the way his thighs tense like he’s fighting the urge to close them. you can see the way he twitches under the shirt.

“you’re still hard,” you note, your voice syrupy sweet, but your eyes gleam meanly.

seungcheol tenses. “so?”

“so… you’re mad at me for walking in,” you say, cocking a brow, “but you’re still hard as fuck.”

he grits his teeth, but his silence is loud as hell.

so you take a step forward. just one.

his breath hitches.

“cheol.” you coo at him. “you sure you hate me?”

he glares, but it’s weaker now, faltering under your scrutiny. you can see it—the slight tremor in his fingers, the way his pulse jumps in his throat, the way he’s not telling you to stop.

so you take another step.

and another.

until you’re standing right in front of him, the shirt the only barrier between his cock and your eyes.

his jaw tightens. “don’t.”

“don’t what?” you murmur, reaching forward to trace your fingers over his wrist—the one that was just wrapped around his cock. “don’t call you out? don’t get closer? don’t—”

in a flash, he grabs your wrist, yanking you down.

you gasp as you land on his lap, his hands firm on your hips, his cock pressing against your ass through the thin barrier of the shirt and your clothes.

his lips are right by your ear when he growls, “don’t fucking test me.”

you shiver, but you’re not scared, you’re thrilled.

so you shift, pressing back against him, and smirk when he lets out a sharp breath through his nose.

“or what?” you whisper.

his grip tightens. “you really wanna find out?”

your fingers curl into his hair, tugging just enough to make him hiss.

“yeah,” you breathe, lips brushing his jaw. “i do.”

he snaps.

the shirt under you is gone.

his mouth crashes into yours, hot and angry, his hands gripping your waist like he’s trying to burn the shape of you into his palms. his teeth nip at your bottom lip, his tongue prying your mouth open, swallowing the gasp you let out when his fingers dig into your hips.

you grind down, moaning into his mouth when you feel just how fucking thick he is, leaking against your skirt. 

his hands are rough when he yanks your skirt up, bunching the fabric around your waist with no intention of letting it fall back down. you barely have a second to breathe before his fingers push past your thighs, finding the front of your panties hooking his thumb into the damp fabric and pulling it to the side.

the rush of cold air makes you gasp, thighs trying to snap shut, but his thighs pins them open. and maybe, he has a shred of decency in him, because he lets out a low breath and murmurs, “this is gonna be rough.”

no warning. just that.

you should stop him. you should tell him to go slow, to prep you, to at least spit on it—but you don’t, you need to feel this big cock stretching you until every single thought inside your head gets completely erased.

there’s no lube, no prep besides the mess between your thighs, just the torturous process of sinking down.

seungcheol watches all of it. watches the way your lips part, how your lashes flutter, how your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders the lower you go. he’s leaning back against the couch, one hand gripping the plush of your ass, the other wrapped around his base, guiding you onto him like you’re something delicate. like he’s trying to help.

but he’s not.

because he knows what he’s doing when he taps his cockhead against your clit first, dragging the tip through your slick, coaxing out little whimpers that make him smirk. he knows what he’s doing when he presses up, just the tip slipping inside, barely enough to be satisfying but more than enough to make your thighs twitch.

your breath catches in your throat, your whole body twitching up as you take the next inch too fast. your brain is empty, your body is working on instinct, thighs shaking as you brace yourself against him, trying—failing—to push down further.

and he sees it. sees how you’re struggling, sees how your muscles twitch like you’re about to give out, sees how you want to take it but your body is fighting the stretch.

so he helps.

his hands clamp down on your waist.

and then he slams you down.

the sound that leaves your throat is so ruined that he cant help but feel a bit of compassion.

because suddenly you’re full. suddenly you’re sitting completely in his lap, completely engulfed in him, your thighs flush against his, his cock buried so fucking deep that you can feel it pressing up against every nerve inside you.

but when you try to move, try to lift yourself even an inch—nothing.

your thighs won’t cooperate. your muscles won’t listen.

you can’t move.

“oh?” seungcheol tilts his head, smug grin curling at his lips as he grinds up, watching the way your mouth falls open at the sensation.

“too big for you, baby?”

you whimper.

“thought so.”

and then he takes control, because you can’t move—so he does it for you. his hands lift you effortlessly, dragging your hips up before slamming you back down, setting the pace, forcing your body to take what it’s given.

and you can’t think straight anymore. every thrust knocks the air from your lungs, every time he slams you down it punches little whimpers from your throat that only make him hungrier.

“awww… thought you were so tough. but you can’t even fuck yourself on my cock, huh?”

you cry out, body giving up, melting against his chest as you desperately try to follow his rhythm, hips twitching with little, pathetic attempts to keep up. your body isn’t even yours anymore—just a toy, something for seungcheol to use, something he’s breaking in with every brutal roll of his hips. 

his fingers dig into your waist, gripping you so tight it hurts, but the pleasure drowns it out. you’re so deep into it, into him, that every ounce of shame has left your body, every shred of dignity gone. because you can’t do anything but take it, can’t do anything but let him use you like you were made for this.

he tilts his head, watching you fall apart, watching how your thighs tremble with every slap of his hips against yours.

“damn,” he laughs, licking his lips, voice mocking. “you’re making such a fucking mess of yourself.”

you whimper, forehead pressing against his collarbone.

and then he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“mm-mm, don’t hide now,” he says, smirking. “be a good girl and let me see that dumb little face while i ruin you.”

a sob rips from your throat, high-pitched and wrecked.

he groans, grinding up into you.

“fuck. bet the neighbors can hear you, huh? joshua’s gonna be so fucking embarrassed when he gets a noise complaint for his dumb little best friend getting dicked down like a whore.”

your whole body jerks, a whimper escaping your lips at the humiliation, the filth dripping from his tongue.

and he sees it.

his grin turns cruel.

“oh, you like that?” he taunts, thrusting up so deep your back arches. “you like knowing that you’re loud enough to make it everyone’s fucking problem? that you’re such a good little fucktoy for me that i can’t even keep you quiet?”

you nod, because you can’t lie. his fingers tighten around your jaw, his lips brushing against yours as he coos.

“poor little thing.”

he thrusts up again, so hard, so deep that your whole body bounces, hands scrambling against his chest, voice cracking in a choked-out sob.

and he moans, deep and satisfied, because you’re so fucking perfect for him. because your body is his to use, to mold, to ruin.

“joshua’s gonna kill me c-cheol.”

his hips snap up again, knocking the breath from your lungs.

“but you’ll tell him it was worth it, won’t you, baby?”

he smooths one over your back, pressing down so your tits rub against his burning skin, while the other stays firm on your hip, keeping you still. your body jerks with every pulse of his cock inside you, twitching as you flutter around him, so overstimulated you can’t tell where the pleasure starts or ends.

“s-seungcheol—” his name is nothing but a broken cry, muffled against his neck, but he’s relentless. he doesn’t even let you finish, just shifts his knees slightly and thrusts up into you with all the power in his core.

“fuck,” he hisses when you clamp down, crying out into his skin, and he wraps an arm fully around you to hold you up. “shh, baby, you’re being so loud.”

his hand snakes up your back, fingers tangling into your hair, forcing you to lift your head. you meet his gaze, and it knocks the breath from your lungs. he looks fucked, mouth parted, sweat dripping from his hairline, chest heaving, but he still manages to look at you like he’s about to devour you whole.

“c’mon,” he coos, tilting his head, his grip tightening just enough to make your scalp tingle. “tell me it was worth it. tell me how good my cock is.”

he punctuates it with a sharp snap of his hips and you keen, trying to lift yourself, trying to relieve some of the intensity, but your thighs betray you. seungcheol laughs, breathless but smug, and his fingers press bruises into your skin as he maneuvers you like you weigh nothing.

“see? can’t even move, huh? my poor baby,” he murmurs, voice syrupy sweet, his free hand cupping your cheek now. “you’re just gonna sit here and take it like the perfect fucktoy you are.”

heat prickles at your skin at the words, your brain too fogged up to be embarrassed, too fucked out to do anything but let him guide you. he rocks you against him, making sure you feel every inch of him dragging against your walls, rubbing at all the right places, pressing into you deeper than you thought was even possible.

“you take me so well, baby,” he praises, leaning in to press his lips against yours, just enough to tease. “so fuckin’ tight, so warm—fucking heaven.”

his hand slides between your bodies, two fingers finding your swollen, neglected clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over it. the sensation makes your thighs twitch, your nails dig into his back, a fresh wave of tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

“shhh, i got you, baby,” he whispers, kissing your jaw now, your temple. his fingers on your clit work in time with the slow, torturous grind of his hips. “i got you, yeah? you gonna cum for me? hm?”

he kisses you full on the mouth when you sob, swallowing the sound like he wants to keep it forever. and then he speeds up just a little, rolling your clit with more pressure, meeting every rut of your hips with a firm thrust up.

you shatter.

your whole body seizes, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as you clamp down so tight on him that it sends him tumbling over the edge with you. he groans, long and low, holding you so tight against him that you can feel every pulse of his cum inside you, hot and deep. his hips jerk once, twice more before he stills, forehead pressed against yours as you both gasp for air.

it’s quiet for a moment, the only sounds are the distant hum of the city outside the window, and the soft squelch when he finally shifts, making you both moan.

your body trembles like a leaf caught in the wind, and seungcheol drinks it in, the heat of your overstimulated form twitching against his chest as he presses slow, lingering kisses into the curve of your neck. his lips move down, sucking at the pulse point that hammers beneath your skin. your breath stutters. his fingers, nails just barely grazing, trail down the arch of your spine, featherlight but enough to make you shiver. you barely even realize you’re moving, the last bit of strength in your boneless limbs used to weakly push yourself up, to let his cock slip free from where it’s buried inside you. 

the second it leaves you, your body gives out. you collapse right into his chest, heavier than before, spent and trembling, the exhaustion hitting all at once. you can’t even pretend to be embarrassed about it. you just sigh, your lips brushing the base of his throat as you settle against him, body limp.

seungcheol holds you steady with both hands, like he’s afraid you might melt right into the couch and disappear. his broad palm cradles the back of your head, fingers splaying across your scalp, scratching at your roots. he keeps the other hand wrapped around your waist, thumb stroking absentmindedly against your ribs. the tension in his body hasn’t left yet. his shoulders are still tight. you know him well enough to know what’s coming before he even says it.

“you good?” 

you hum in response, nuzzling into his chest as your fingers curl weakly against his pecs. “just a little sore.”

he exhales through his nose. shifts beneath you. you can feel his fingers flex where they rest on your waist, like he wants to squeeze but holds himself back. then, with zero effort, he grips the back of your neck and lifts you up, just enough to force you to look at him. your lids are heavy, half-lidded, dazed, and fuck, that shouldn’t make him feel so possessive, but it does.

his thumb sweeps across your cheek, his jaw tensing. “shit. i’m sorry,” he murmurs, eyes scanning over your features like he’s searching for anything more than just exhaustion. “lemme take care of you, hm?”

you don’t have it in you to resist, don’t even want to. you let him move you, let him handle you like you weigh nothing as he lifts you from his lap and shifts you onto the couch, laying you down as if you’re something delicate. and maybe you are, now, after the way he ruined you. maybe that’s why you don’t fight him when he presses your thighs apart, watching as they just fall open on their own, spread wide like a doll.

you don’t have the strength to do much else than whimper softly as his thumbs spread you further, gaze locked onto your swollen cunt, still so slick from where he fucked you. his jaw clenches.

you don’t even get a warning before he moves in, before his hands grip your thighs to keep them open as he dives between them, mouth sealing over your clit in one slow stroke of his tongue.

you jolt, a weak little gasp punching from your lungs. your fingers barely find the energy to tangle into his hair, and the grip is nowhere near as firm as it usually is, but he groans anyway. whether it’s from the feeling of your grip or from the way you instantly react to him, you don’t know. but he doesn’t stop.

his tongue moves slow, warm and so fucking wet as he licks broad, flat strokes over your sensitive flesh, working you open again with patience. he isn’t trying to overstimulate, isn’t trying to get you off again—though you can already tell it wouldn’t take much. his focus is entirely on easing the ache, on massaging every tender inch of you with his mouth, his lips, his tongue.

“feels good?” his voice is muffled against you, but it vibrates in just the right way.

you nod, breath hitching when he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue rolling it in slow circles. your body twitches, heat curling at the base of your spine. “cheol…”

he moans against you, and presses you down harder against his face. your hips jump, an embarrassing whimper breaking free as his tongue dips lower, tracing around your entrance before dragging back up, collecting every bit of slick along the way.

you whine, fingers curling tighter in his hair. he doesn’t tease. doesn’t prolong it. just keeps his pace slow and steady, gentle enough to soothe, firm enough to keep you on the edge of something, even if you’re too sensitive to chase it. and if the way he’s grinding his hips into the couch tells you anything—it’s that he’s just as affected as you are.

he’s not eating you out to get himself off, but fuck if it isn’t working.

the obscene sounds of his mouth working between your thighs filling the entire apartment, mixing in with your breathless moans and the way he groans right into your cunt. you don’t even have it in you to be embarrassed about the way your cum is smeared all over his chin, his jaw, his cheeks—how it drips down onto the couch below with every intentional roll of his tongue against your entrance.

his tongue works in circles, pressing flat to your hole before dragging up again, tasting every bit of your arousal as it gushes out onto his lips. his mouth is open the entire time, tongue rolling and flicking, nose nudging against your clit as he angles his head lower. he flattens his tongue, groaning as he drags it up through your folds before plunging it into you, so messy that you swear you see white behind your eyelids.

your back arches, chest rising in sharp, hiccupped gasps, every single nerve in your body on flames. your thighs twitch in his grasp, and he squeezes them tighter, keeping you spread open just for him. his hands slide up, one wrapping firmly around your waist, keeping you pinned in place, while the other travels up, up—his fingers finding the stiff peaks of your nipples.

your eyes snap open, a gasp catching in your throat as he rolls one between his fingertips, twisting just enough to make your eyes roll. you swear you hear him chuckle against you, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“breathe,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your clit before sucking it between his teeth, tongue rolling in lazy, teasing circles on the swollen bud. “breathe for me, baby.”

you try. you really do. but the way his mouth moves, the way his fingers tweak and pull, it’s too much. you’re spiraling. you feel another orgasm creeping up so fast it steals the air right out of your lungs.

he sees it. he knows.

his grip tightens on your thigh, his tongue flicking faster, working you open as his free hand continues to play with your tits, kneading the soft flesh, fingers rolling your nipples in rhythm with the lazy grind of his tongue against your clit.

your moans turn high-pitched, desperate. your body twists beneath him, unable to keep still as the pleasure builds, climbing higher and higher.

but then—a whimper.

not from you.

from him.

you force your heavy lids open, head lolling to the side as you try to focus on him. and fuck, the sight that greets you is almost enough to make you cum then and there.

seungcheol is rutting against the couch. grinding, fucking humping it like a damn dog, his hips rolling in slow thrusts, his rock-hard cock straining against his stomach, smearing precum all over his abs and the fabric beneath him.

he whimpers again, this time louder, his brows furrowed, his breath coming in short, uneven pants.

“fuck,” he groans, mouth still pressed against you, voice muffled by the way his tongue keeps working you over. he pulls back just enough to speak, his lips glistening, his chin soaked. his eyes are dark, glassy, pupils blown wide as he looks up at you. “can’t—fuck, i can’t stop. you taste too good.”

your chest tightens, a desperate, aching cry slipping from your lips as you clutch at his hair, thighs twitching in his grasp. “cheol—gonna—gonna cum, oh my god—”

he moans, actually fucking moans, his hips grinding down harder against the couch as he redoubles his efforts, tongue circling your clit in precise, teasing flicks, his fingers pinching your nipples just hard enough to send you over the edge.

your body locks up. your back arches. your mouth falls open, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, all-consuming.

seungcheol doesn’t stop. doesn’t slow down. he works you through it like it’s his mission, licking you clean, his tongue rolling over your entrance, collecting every last drop as your body trembles violently beneath him.

your chest heaves, your vision blurring, but even through the haze, you can feel him still grinding against the couch, still so fucking hard and desperate, all because of you.

your brain is slow. dial-up connection slow. everything feels like it’s underwater, your body floating somewhere between consciousness and the best orgasm-induced coma of your life. it’s warm, so warm, like your body is still riding out the fever of your high, tongue pressed against the roof of your mouth, throat dry, muscles heavy like they’re full of sand.

you don’t even remember when it happened—when you blacked out, when you got moved. just flashes of cool wipes dragging over your skin, a damp cloth pressed between your thighs, seungcheol’s hands gentle, careful, murmuring something you were too gone to comprehend. like déjà vu, like something out of a dream.

but you’re awake now. sort of. and you’re in his bed.

the sheets are soft, cool against your fevered skin, and it feels so good that you can’t help the tired, pleased moan that slips past your lips, involuntary, barely conscious.

but it’s enough to make him look at you.

you blink, vision still a little hazy, but yeah, that’s definitely seungcheol, sitting at his desk, dressed in a loose shirt and sweats, hair damp, probably from a shower. there’s a slight smirk on his lips, but his eyes are soft as they sweep over you, taking in the way you’re still half-buried in his sheets, limbs heavy, body relaxed.

then it hits you.

the documents.

joshua.

fuck.

your eyes widen, and you jolt up too fast, regretting it immediately when the soreness between your thighs protests, a sharp ache shooting up your spine. “fuck—”

seungcheol’s already up, one hand pressing to your shoulder, guiding you back down before you can do any more damage. “hey, hey, relax. you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“the—documents,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut again as the exhaustion creeps back in. “joshua.”

he chuckles, and you open your eyes just in time to see him shaking a small stack of papers in his hand. “yeah, yeah. i got it. sent them over while you were passed out.”

you frown, groggy. “i was supposed to send them.”

“and joshua needs to get used to me handling shit for you,” he says, grinning as he sets the papers down. “besides, he’d probably prefer not to get another noise complaint under his name.”

your face heats up instantly. “oh my god.”

“mhmm,” seungcheol hums, tilting his head. “wanna know how loud you were?”

“no.”

he laughs, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, thumb tracing your cheek. “then go back to sleep, baby.”

you glare at him. or, at least, you try to. it’s weak, and he knows it, because all it takes is one more stroke of his thumb before your eyes flutter shut again, body sinking further into his bed.

yeah. you can fight him about the joshua thing later. maybe. probably not.

[haoboutyou]

but daddy i love him

[haoboutyou]

Found You First

Lee Jihoon x Fem!Reader

Genre: fluff & humour with a slight side of angst. kind of a slow burn.

Word Count: 17K

Warnings: adult language. alcohol and food mentions galore. Hoshi meddles and creates more problems for everyone involved. reader’s size is not specifically mentioned, but Jihoon and she fit into each other’s clothes. one mention of “daddy” as a joke.

[best friends to lovers!AU] For years you’ve hated Valentine’s day, convinced you’d never find a love worth celebrating. Maybe this year you’ll see that what you needed has been right in front of you all along.

♡ This fic is a part of @camandemstudios Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab! Please check out the other writer's works as well! They're all so good and we've all worked so hard!! ♡

[Still don’t know what to get your loved-one for Valentine’s day? We’ve got you covered!]

You stared at your phone, almost praying it would blow up and disappear along with the message. Unfortunately, you still needed your phone and the universe knew it. You sighed and deleted the message.

Maybe you wouldn’t be so bitter every February if the world was a little kinder to single people. After all, at least half the people in the world must be single – whether by choice or not. And yet it seemed that everything in the world was keen on reminding you of how entirely single you specifically were, your sister included.

She all but wrestled the phone out of your hand. “That’s it. I’m signing you up for dating apps.”

“Please don’t,” you replied with only half your usual annoyance and enthusiasm. Maybe a part of you thought this was exactly the push you needed. 

Already nose-deep in the app store, she didn’t even bother to pretend to hear you. 

“This one has good reviews–” she mumbled to herself as if it was her phone all along.

You only hugged a cushion to your chest and stared at the TV. Whatever romantic film your sister had chosen to watch today was not helping your problem. 

“What’s the point? Maybe Soonyoung’s right.”

“Who?” She finally glanced up.

“Soonyoung.”

She blinked. “Is this Soonyoung cute?”

“Can you please stop trying to set me up with every guy you hear about?” You rolled your eyes. “He said that the key to finding love is to first love yourself.”

“That’s, like, basic philosophy,” she replied easily and turned back to your phone. “I need your email and a password– Oh, wait, I can just make something up.”

You were fairly certain she wasn’t listening to a word you were saying but you were past the point of caring. At least talking to a person who isn’t listening is a (small) step above talking to the lonely snake plant on your windowsill. 

“Maybe I should take some time to just find myself,” you contemplated out loud. “I could try a new hobby. Or a new style. Find new books to read. Maybe then I won’t even care that I’m single.”

Still not looking up from the app she had newly installed on your phone, your sister hummed. “One of my friends did say that fictional boyfriends are better than real ones.”

So maybe she was better at multitasking than you had thought.

You put the cushion away and leaned closer to her. “What are you doing on my phone anyway?”

Proudly, she turned the device for you to see. “Ta-da! Your first ever dating app profile!”

A shiver of fear ran up your spine. “You signed me up for a dating app?”

“And you’re not allowed to delete it until you find a boyfriend,” she declared. “And if you do, I’ll just download it again.”

“You’re a menace.”

“Whatever,” she laughed and handed you back the phone, picking up her own from the coffee table. “Oh, I should get going.”

You couldn’t help but pout. “Already? Why?”

She rolled her eyes and went to pull on her coat. “Because, unlike you, I have a boyfriend who wants to take me out on a date. In fact,” she was practically beaming and you felt the ugly green tentacles of jealousy crawling up your leg already, “he’s taking me on a date every day until Valentine’s day.”

A pause. With a startle, you soon realised she was expecting you to cheer for her. You tried to find words that weren’t as bitter as you were feeling. “Oh, that’s so sweet of him.”

It was the right answer. She actually squealed as she confirmed, “Right? He’s such a romantic.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratory whisper as she leaned closer to you over the back of the sofa. “I think he’s going to propose on the big day.”

You almost sighed in despair. “I hope so! You deserve that ring.”

“You are so right,” she agreed and opened her mouth to say something more when the door suddenly opened. 

You tilted your head to see who had intruded. It was Jihoon, black hat covered in white snow and a takeaway bag in his hand. He blinked at the sight of your sister before smiling and waving. “Hi. I didn’t know you had visitors.”

“I do have friends other than you, Hoon,” you informed him. “Also, I do have a working doorbell.”

He gave you a funny look. “And I have your spare key.”

It was clear you had made a mistake when you awarded him the honour. Now you were stuck dealing with him even when you didn't want to.

“I’ll leave you two,” your sister announced and left, not before whispering something in Jihoon’s ear in the passing.

Jihoon’s ears turned red as he cleared his throat and set the takeaway bag on the table. 

“What did she tell you?” you asked him with a groan. You knew your sister better than anyone – there was no way she hadn’t told him something so embarrassing you wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes for weeks to come. “Lay it on me.”

“Nothing. It was nothing.” His reply was just a little bit too quick and wavering, but you decided to let it go this once. “I brought you some leftovers.”

You raised a brow. “Leftovers?”

“They ordered too much food to the studio today, so I brought you the extras,” he told you almost timidly, gesturing to the bag like it was no big deal and had required zero thought from him. He was a strange man but maybe that’s why you liked to keep him around. “Can’t let the good food go to waste. Besides,” his eyes seemed sharp all of a sudden, “have you eaten at all today?”

He didn’t need an actual answer – you both knew the truth.

“I’ll be sure to savour it,” you told him with a joking salute. “Want to join me for a movie?”

His nose scrunched up at the mention. “I wish. I promised to help Seungkwan set up for the party tonight.”

Right. The party. Seungkwan’s “Jeonghan’s party”. In three hours. You had forced yourself to forget about it. 

Jihoon pursed his lips in thought, brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “But we could always pretend we got kidnapped by a serial killer.”

“Sounds like too much work.”

“We escape to Iceland, become anonymous sheep herders and no one ever hears from us again,” he then suggested, snapping his fingers for emphasis and raising his brows as he waited for your reaction.

But as tempting as that sounded… “Seungkwan would find and skin us in fourteen days flat.”

He groaned and threw his head back. “Then I guess we have no choice. We must commit a crime so vile they give us a life sentence.”

“He’d just bring the party to the jailhouse,” you laughed. “And we wouldn’t even be able to sneak out.”

He took a deep breath and straightened back up. “Well, I’m out of ideas. Just plain suffering it is then.”

You glanced at the clock. “It’s not too late to fake our deaths.”

Jihoon snorted a laugh. “You just said that pretending to get kidnapped would be too much work.”

“Faking deaths is different! Or! We could summon a freak storm that would leave us stranded here,” you suggested. 

“How?”

“I’m sure there’s a good Youtube tutorial somewhere.”

He giggled at the idea. “You really don’t want to go to the party, huh?”

You could only sigh and wish for the plush green fabric of the sofa to swallow you whole. “There’s definitely going to be so many couples there, all dressed in matching outfits and giggling and making out. And I’ll be all lonely and miserable, quietly downing all of Seungkwan’s wine.”

When you looked at Jihoon, he was smiling at you almost fondly. He was silent for a while. Then he spoke again, “I’ll keep you company. Don’t worry.”

“It’s not the same,” you whined like a little brat even as his promise made you feel a tiny bit gooey and soft inside. 

“I’m sorry?” He just laughed again and shook his head, the remnants of snow falling onto the floor. “I’m bringing those muffins you like so much.”

You felt yourself perk up immediately. “Muffins? Why didn’t you just say so?”

He laughed harder but said nothing else as he turned and left. You would’ve been upset if you didn’t know him better. 

Your phone chimed with a new notification. 

[Claim your Valentine’s day coupon now and surprise your partner with a free tour of the museum!]

You groaned but didn’t delete the message.

[HOON: if you want to match with someone, I’m wearing red today]

You groaned harder and shut off your phone.

It wasn’t that you actually disliked these parties. You quite liked them, really. Seungkwan had figured out the perfect balance of socialising, snacks and music. It was a joy to be present, hanging out with your friends as you forgot about the problems of the week. 

The only problem was that ever since Seungcheol and Chan had introduced the idea of an annual friendly “Party King” competition, the number of parties you were gently blackmailed to attend had doubled. And, frankly, your social battery was due for an upgrade that never came.

You suspected the same went for Jihoon.

Clad in his dark red hoodie, he joined you on the sofa the moment his eyes caught yours. Sipping his soda and softly singing along to the music, he completely ignored your personal space and made himself comfortable by your side.

“No wonder you can’t get a boyfriend,” Seungkwan joked when he walked past the two of you, a box of party games in his arms. His smile was blinding as he told you, “Your guard dog’s going to scare all of the guys away.”

You blinked in confusion. He nodded to your side. Following the gesture, you found yourself face to face with Jihoon. A groan left your mouth.

“What?” Jihoon wondered. 

“Seungkwan says you’re the reason I’m single.”

He didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the fact. “Well, if they want to date you, they have to impress me first.”

You almost felt a little fond of him, appreciating his protectiveness. But you also knew your Jihoon and you knew he wasn’t finished yet.

Under your warning eyes, he took a sip of his soda before smirking. “God knows you wouldn’t recognise a red flag if it slapped you in the face.”

Glancing down at his clothes, you snorted a laugh. “You’re literally dressed as a red flag yourself. I should be avoiding you of all people.”

“No, I’m just warning other people that you are a red flag,” he replied effortlessly, cutting your laugh short. Sensing he was now in real, actual danger, his eyes widened. “That was a joke. Just a joke. I’m sorry–”

You smacked him upside the head and shook your head. “Did someone mix alcohol into the soda? You’re so mean today.”

He blinked once. Twice. Looked into his soda cup. And then cursed. “I knew it tasted funky! Yoon Jeonghan!”

You could only laugh harder as he jumped up from the sofa and ran into the kitchen with fury that could not be matched. Drunk words are sober thoughts they say. Which is precisely why you hardly drank anything at these gatherings. 

Jihoon returned less than two minutes later, two unopened colas in hand. There was still an attitude to his foot stomps and a glint of annoyance in his eyes, but he opened one of the cans before handing it to you like he always did. 

“Not even Jeonghan can tamper with closed cans,” he reasoned almost bitterly. “Who mixes vodka into soda?”

“Lots of people,” you told him with a chuckle and a gentle pat to his shoulder. “It’s called mixing a cocktail.”

He rolled his eyes. “Rude of them to not consider people who don’t drink alcohol.”

“Kind of like it’s rude of them to not consider the single people here,” you half-joked in camaraderie. “Have you noticed they’ve only been playing love songs tonight?”

Jihoon’s brows furrowed. “Have they?”

You nodded towards the speakers that were blasting Love Me Right. “The last two songs were Lover and Steal the Show.”

He grimaced. “There’s still 12 days left until Valentine’s day. Are they insane?”

“Probably.” You rested your legs onto his lap. “I guess I’ll just be extra bitter and lonely this year then.”

“No shot at romance?”

You raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on your lips. “You literally just said you’re wearing red to warn others how much of a red flag I am. And now you want me to find romance?”

“I have mixed feelings about you dating,” he told you honestly – a little too honestly, if the red tint of his ears was anything to go by. He cleared his throat. “I should start checking the drinks for alcohol before I drink them.”

Pretending not to notice, you took a sip of your cola. “I keep thinking about what Soonyoung said yesterday. About loving myself before I can find someone.”

“Isn’t that just social media nonsense?” Jihoon wondered quietly, resting his free hand on your knee. His thumb rubbed little circles onto your skin, comforting you.

“What if he’s right?” you continued. “What if I love myself so little that I simply cannot be loved?”

Frowning, Jihoon let out a sharp noise of protest. The gentle touch of his thumb turned into a warning pinch between his fingers. “You are loved! Who put this dumb thought into your mind?”

“... Soonyoung?” 

“I’ll beat him up on Monday,” he half-heartedly promised, a heavy look still on his face. Softening his voice, looking straight into your eyes, he spoke, “Don’t you dare think you cannot be loved. You are loved.”

“By whom?”

He looked away and didn’t say. 

“Whatever,” you sighed once the silence became too much. The speakers began playing Die With a Smile. You sighed once more. “Can’t they play something less romantic? I’d kill for a dumb, mindless party song right now. Do you think you could ask Jeonghan to play something else? He scares me–”

But it seemed that Jihoon was still stuck on the last topic. “What are you doing for Valentine’s day this year?”

“... Aside from crying myself to sleep after watching To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before for the 15th time?”

“You don’t think you love yourself enough to be loved by someone else,” he echoed your earlier words, his eyes stuck on something in the distance, “so why not change that? Treat yourself to something good this year. No sad movies and ice cream,” he finally looked at you again, “just do something you’ve always wanted to do.”

You knew he was right – he always was right. “But it’s boring to do that alone.”

“Then I’ll come with,” he decided after a moment of thought. A small smile appeared on his face. His thumb finally resumed its circles on your knee. It was sweet. Until he opened his mouth again, repeating the words playing on the stereo: “Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow.”

To the sound of his giggles, you snorted and slapped his hand away. “You’re awful.”

“I’m serious–”

“Aren’t you two just the cutest!” Jeonghan interrupted your banter with a childish pout on his rosy lips as he leaned against the wall across from the table. Soonyoung was smiling brightly at his side. “Are you dating yet?”

You wondered if he was done asking that at every party yet. It’s not like it was ever going to change (no matter how much he, Soonyoung, and your mother hoped it would).

Jihoon sat up, narrowed eyes settling on Jeonghan as if he was the devil himself. “Did you mix vodka into the soda?”

“Maybe,” came the reply with a shrug and a wicked giggle. 

“I could get you a boyfriend for Valentine’s day,” Soonyoung suddenly said, his brown eyes set on you. There was that glint of mischief again. You realised you feared this man more than you feared bears, and not for the usual reasons.

Even so, you laughed. “Soonyoung, if you were any good at being a wingman, Jihoon wouldn’t be single right now. In fact, you’re, like, the number one reason why he’s single.”

Forgetting his own argument with Jeonghan, Jihoon seemed to take offense to your statement. He let out a noise of hurt before pinching your knee once again.

“Au contraire, my friend,” Soonyoung argued and leaned so close that you could smell the raspberry-flavoured liquor in his breath, “I’m going to be the reason he finally gets the girl.”

You raised a brow. “Remember, just last week you told a girl Jihoon’s not into women when she asked if he was single.”

“I was drunk,” he told you, wearing a mask of nonchalance. “I don’t remember much from that night.”

“Or the time I got a girl’s number but you stole it and dropped it in the pool,” Jihoon pointed out with a smile that seemed almost venomous. You had no doubt he’d hold that mishap over Soonyoung’s head for the rest of their lives – you almost hoped he would.

Soonyoung had the decency to look a little deflated at the mention, at least. But even so there was no stopping him. Mumbling under his breath, he repeated himself, “I’m going to be the reason he finally gets the girl.”

You shared a look with Jihoon and mutually decided to forget this exchange.

When you were sixteen, Jihoon’s dad let you in on a little secret. He had peeked out of the kitchen to make sure his son wouldn’t hear and then he’d told you that Jihoon had set his phone up so that he would never miss your calls. He thought it was the most adorable thing, and so did you. 

You hadn’t even realised your phone’s Do Not Disturb setting had an option to do so but suddenly you were giddy, excited to set your phone up in a similar manner. And when you didn’t quite manage to figure it out, you decided to compromise and just make his ringtone the loudest one you could find. It worked just the same for you.

You’ve had many phones since then, but the ringtone never changed. 

Though you were no longer sure if it was the obnoxiousness of the ringtone itself or the muscle memory of answering so many calls from him late at night, it never failed to wake you up when he needed you. 

Once again you woke up to the noise, hand automatically reaching for your phone even though your eyes were still closed and your mind was still halfway lost in dreamland. 

“Jihoon?” you mumbled his name as if his ringtone hadn’t been burnt into your memory.

The other line was silent for a moment. Then you heard a soft sigh. “Sorry. Did I wake you up again?”

“No,” you lied, dragging the vowel out as much as you could to loosen up your vocal cords. “What’s up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Nightmare, stress or boredom?”

“... All three?”

“You have to pick one.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

He groaned but it was soon followed by a soft laugh. “Do you remember when we were kids and I threw that ball into Mr Yang’s window?”

Weird change of topic, you thought, but Jihoon did love to reminisce. So you humored him. “You mean the time he yelled at you so hard that you cried?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “And then you told me he deserved to have his window broken. And you built a pillow fort in your closet for me to hide so my parents couldn’t find and scold me.”

“It had world-class security,” you joked. “Buddy and I were a trusty team.”

But it was like he hadn’t heard your interjection, too lost in his own memory book. 

“You hid in there with me and hugged me when my mom came to get me,” his voice trailed off. He cleared his throat. “You know, she wasn’t even that mad at me. I only had to do the dishes for a week.”

“You were just a kid and she knew that,” you spoke so softly that you wondered if he even heard you this time. The shared memory of the day ran in front of your eyes. It was a simpler time but even back then you had been ready to do anything for him.

Silence engulfed the two of you, only the gentle static of the phones reminding you of the other still being there. Ten whole minutes went by like this and for a moment you wondered if he’d fallen asleep.

“I should go to sleep,” you spoke low in case he really was asleep. “I have to wake up early tomorrow.”

He hummed. “Why?”

“I’m going to a museum and I want to leave by 10. So I should get up before 9. And it’s already almost 3 am, so you know…”

“Since when is 9 am early?” he half-joked before suggesting, “Just go later.”

“I’m a woman of principles, Lee Jihoon. When I have plans, I see them through.”

He scoffed out a laugh. “Liar. Remember that novel you said you were going to write?”

“No clue what you’re talking about,” you feigned innocence, “and you have no proof.”

His laugh sounded like he was sitting right next to you. You silently thanked the wonders of modern technology. 

As you prepared to say good night, you heard his voice again. “You remember the thing Soonyoung said yesterday? About finding you a boyfriend?”

You scoffed. “You don’t think he was serious about that, right? He was just joking, being Soonyoung.”

“Right. Right…” He sounded distant again, like he was in a daze, as he spoke, “Do you think– Have you ever wondered if—” He groaned and you could practically see him scrunching his eyes shut in frustration. “Nevermind, it’s dumb. Sleep must be sneaking up on me.”

You hadn’t realised you’d been holding your breath. It came out in a not entirely genuine laugh. “Maybe we should both go to sleep.”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a sigh. “You’re right, like always.”

“Always?” you teased.

“... Well, maybe not always.”

“You can’t take it back now,” you whined through laughter. “You almost never compliment me or my choices.”

He took a breath like he was about to say something. But nothing came out. Only a sigh. Then the phone call ended without another word – the way Jihoon liked it.

You rolled over to your side, reaching to put your phone away again when it buzzed. The screen lit up with a message. 

[Hoon: if I complimented you and all of your good choices, it would take forever.]

Crawling out of the comfort of your bed on one of your few days off, you wondered if the art of loving yourself was really worth the effort. 

As usual, half an hour was spent on reading the news and watching videos you weren’t entirely interested in. Another half an hour went by as you stared at the ceiling and contemplated your life decisions until you finally found the willpower to shower, get dressed, and eat a quick breakfast.

By 10, you were starting to feel like a human-being again, so you grabbed your keys and bag, and you walked out of your apartment. 

“You said you wanted to leave by 10,” Jihoon’s voice nearly shocked you into running back to your room. He was the dictionary definition of nonchalance as he stood in front of your door, barely even lifting his head, trying to read something off his phone. “It’s already 10:04, slowpoke. Are you ready to go yet?”

You stared at him for a while. Why was he here? Had you invited him along? No, you were sure you hadn’t. And then your jaw dropped as his words sunk in. “You’re the reason I stayed up until 3!”

“And to make up for it, I already sacrificed my arm by cleaning the snow off your car. You’re welcome. Let’s go.”

He never once looked up from his phone as he headed back down the stairs. You could only laugh in disbelief and lock your door before following after him. 

“Why are you here anyways?” you finally asked when the two of you reached your car which had, indeed, been brushed clean of snow. “I was going to go alone.”

Jihoon shrugged. “I was bored.”

“You were bored and just invited yourself along?” You wished you had that kind of audacity. 

The car seemed to be colder than the weather itself. You involuntarily shivered as you pulled the door closed behind yourself. Jihoon let out a noise of complaint as he settled into his usual spot in the leather passenger seat. Envy filled you as he adjusted himself and burrowed further into his warm fleece jacket. 

In an act of something akin to revenge, you tossed him your phone. “Read the directions. If I miss a turn because of you, I’m making you pay for my coffee.”

“Yes, captain,” he joked and turned the heat up to the maximum. One could only pray that your car’s battery would survive the trip. “Are we making any stops on the way?”

“I wasn’t going to.” You really weren’t. It was just a 70-minute drive to the museum – adding to the duration really wasn’t on your bucket list – but knowing Jihoon, not stopping for snacks was simply not an option. The deepening pout and his wide eyes were enough indication that you were right to assume so – he only ever used his cuter side to win. A deep sigh bubbled in your throat. Through gritted teeth you spoke, “But I suppose we could squeeze in a quick stop.”

He let out the tiniest cheer and happily gave the first instruction: “We need to go right, turn left at the intersection and then–” A noise of curiosity. “A Hyunjin wants to know if you have any pets? I guess?”

You frowned. There wasn’t a single Hyunjin you could think of. “Hyunjin?”

“That’s what it says,” he told you with a shrug. “He also wants to know how you feel about… ferrets.”

You weren’t entirely sure what that was about. “Just ignore it. Where to next?”

“Uh,” he vocalised, “right again.”

“Why did we even turn left then?” 

He chuckled. “I’m just telling you what the app says.”

“Whatever. Next?”

“Just keep going straight. We should reach the highway in, like, fifteen minutes.” 

Fifteen minutes straight through the busiest part of the city? You regretted your museum plans already. Should’ve just stayed at home and watched Youtube the whole day. There was a sneaking suspicion that even if you had watched traffic camera livestreams, you would’ve seen fewer red lights.

While you painstakingly stared at the lights, praying for them to turn green already, you noticed Jihoon happily scrolling through your phone. Your hand rose and somewhat forcefully landed on his thigh in a warning gesture. “Stay out of my private messages, creep.”

“Why would I want to read your private messages?” he half-joked and made a face that made you roll your eyes. “By the way, your mom said to bring tiramisu cake to dinner on Friday.”

Defeated, you sighed. “Tell her I’ve got it covered. What’s the occasion?”

“She wouldn’t tell.”

“You’re chatting with her right now?”

He smiled at you like it was obvious. “She’s my mother too.”

“Stop. That’s gross.”

“Also, who’s Andrew?” he then asked, smile dropping.

Another name you weren’t sure could be associated with yours. “Who?”

“An Andrew Johnson,” he slowly read the screen. “He wants to know what your favourite colour is.” His head whipped up just as you pressed the accelerator. “What’s with all these weird chats? You don’t seem to know these people?”

Desperately, you tried to recall a Hyunjin or an Andrew. You had no recollection of either. And somehow the list only seemed to grow with Jihoon calling out a new name and question at what felt like every minute: “Jongho just sent the cringiest pick-up line I’ve ever read”, “Joshua wants you to know that you have a typo in your profile”, “Minjae asked if you prefer walks on beaches or forest hikes”. 

Each notification made you more confused than the one before and soon you felt your brain would melt.

You finally had enough of the confusion when he said, “Turn right. I want a burrito. Also, Chanyeol says you look hot in your profile picture.”

“What profile picture?” you nearly cried out as you slammed the brakes in front of the gas station. “What is going on?”

Jihoon looked just as disheartened and puzzled as you felt, if not even more so. He unbuckled his seatbelt like it had been trapping him and threw your phone back to you for inspection like it was burning hot. He was already halfway through the door when you caught your bearings again. “You want anything?”

“Just a coffee,” you told him, barely paying half a mind to the conversation as you scrolled through your notifications. 

You barely noticed he left when you tapped on one of the notifications showcasing an unfamiliar name, a message and a photo of a handsome man. The screen opened on an app you had barely any recollection of ever downloading. A familiar ‘swipe left or right’ homescreen made you groan and shut your eyes as you locked the phone and tried your hardest to pretend this wasn’t real. 

Minutes passed in blissful almost-ignorance. You felt at almost-peace. It was almost nice.

Until Jihoon arrived once again, two burritos, a water and a coffee in hand, and a scowl on his face. 

“Did you figure out who those guys are yet?” he asked and for a moment you thought he sounded bitter. 

You didn’t have any sighs left in you, so you just grabbed a burrito and the coffee. “Yep.”

He raised a brow while he silently took the burrito back and handed you the other one instead. “So?”

You frowned at his actions. “Did you just swap the–”

“You wouldn’t like this one,” he said and took a pointed bite out of the burrito. “So, the mystery men?”

There it was: the last sigh you could force out of yourself. It didn’t feel anywhere as freeing as you hoped it would. “My sister got a hold of my phone the other day and downloaded a dating app. I think she might’ve messaged a few guys she thought I’d like.”

“You don’t seem happy about it.” You barely understood his words with his mouth so full of food. 

“I don’t really believe in dating apps working, you know,” you told him honestly and took a bite of your own burrito. Your eyes closed in bliss – you should’ve trusted Jihoon’s judgement from the start. “This is so good.”

“I know,” he replied with a knowing half-smile that disappeared as fast as it appeared. “If you don’t believe in the app, just delete it.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Made a promise to not uninstall it.”

Your phone made the executive decision to light up with another notification just then. Jihoon tilted his head to read it and carefully voiced out the message: “Seungho says your eyes look as pretty as the starry night sky– Okay, that’s just cheesy.” 

Brows furrowed and nose scrunched up in disgust, he grabbed the phone, unlocking it with ease (you had only half a memory of ever giving him the password), and scrolled through the apps until he found the culprit. 

“I’m uninstalling it,” he told you when he felt your curious eyes on him. 

Your eyes widened at their own accord. “You can’t. I promised my sister–”

“Lucky for you, she’s not my sister,” Jihoon says as he swiftly uninstalled the app and brought peace into your life once again. His frown turned into a proud smile as he handed the phone back to you. “You’re welcome.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, confused. “Did you really just–?”

“Anything for you.” He said it with the uttermost seriousness. “If she tries that again, tell her she’ll have to deal with me first.”

Shaking off the odd wave of appreciation you felt for this man – your best friend, you reminded yourself –, you settled back down in your seat. You stared out the window for a while, slowly devouring your burrito. 

Head whipping around to stare at him in disbelief, you jolted upright again. “Wait, so my mom is your mom, but my sister is not your sister?!”

He was too busy enjoying his food (and accomplishments) to ever reply.

The banners of the café were mocking you.

Bright reds and pinks snickered as you walked past. Papers cut into perfect little hearts flew past your head, giggling as if they were better than you.

“Happy Valentine’s day!” they all said, side-eyeing you while you resisted the urge to commit your first arson. 

“When was the last time you ate something other than candy?” is all that Jihoon said in reply when you told him such. 

You spared a glare at him. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged. “You just tend to get a little…” he hummed in thought, glancing up at the sky as if he was expecting a dictionary to drop from a cargo plane any second now, “imaginative when you’ve had too much sugar.”

“I’m always imaginative.”

“It was not a compliment.”

You rolled your eyes in response and opened the door. “You can say what you want but I know for a fact that this whole holiday was invented to make fun of me.”

It didn’t take much to figure out that the pensive scrunch of his nose, the narrowing of his eyes and the tilt of his head meant that he was holding back a question that would probably end with one of you in the ER and the other in a police car. You decided the look alone was enough to warrant slamming the café door closed in front of his face and marched up to the register. His loud laughter taunted you as you did so; not even the thick walls of Soonyoung’s mother’s café could muffle the sound.

You didn’t bother to turn around to look at him as the bell chimed and Jihoon walked right up, taking his usual spot next to you, the remnants of laughter still on his tongue. “I will never get your deal with Valentine’s day, I swear.”

“There’s no deal. Only hatred. Even loathing, if you will.”

“I’ll make sure to ask Soonyoung to make your coffee as dark as your soul then,” he promised with a cheeky grin. The list of crimes you wished to commit on this day was growing by the second – he knew damn well to not come between you and your vanilla mocha latte.

“Anyways,” you sighed theatrically, “can’t Valentine’s day be over already?”

“I sure hope not,” Soonyoung’s bright voice sounded as he practically danced out of the backrooms, “our sales are always the best on Valentine’s day. So, what can I get you two?”

Why did everything have to be Valentine’s themed anyway? And so expensive? The new higher price of the chocolate muffins had you absolutely appalled.

Your bitter thoughts were interrupted by a nudge to your side. “What do you want?”

A new wave of confusion hit. “Since when do you ask that?”

“You’re acting like I order at random,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “They don’t have your usual waffles.”

You were even more appalled. Absolutely horrified, really. “They don’t have waffles?! What kind of a café doesn’t have waffles?!”

“We have waffles!” Soonyoung seemed offended by your best friend’s claim, a pout on his lips as he stood at the counter in his red apron (and was his name tag heart-shaped? (You could’ve sworn it was just a rectangle last week)). 

Who were you supposed to believe? Soonyoung who worked at the café and was too earnest to ever really lie to you? Or Jihoon who sometimes lied to you just to have a laugh? You were leaning towards the former, and Jihoon could read it from your face.

He groaned. “Fine, I’ll get you your pink heart-shaped waffles.”

The use of emphasis was not accidental and his brows rose in challenge, daring you to agree to his absolutely horrifying order.

“Heart-shaped?” You prayed he was joking. 

Turning to face Soonyoung, you found yourself disappointed to realise he wasn’t. With a bright, proud smile on his face, Soonyoung nodded. “We’re switching up the menu for the holiday.”

Single and lonely as you were, you could think of few things less appetizing than pink heart-shaped waffles. Biting back a whine of frustration, you leaned your forehead onto Jihoon’s shoulder and mumbled, “Just get me anything but that.”

You realised your mistake almost as soon as you said those words. Eyes widening, you pushed yourself back upright and tried to stop him as he placed an order for cinnamon rolls and a Nuts About You praline latte with a wicked grin on his face. You both knew exactly what he was doing and he found great amusement in your misery.

“Perfect–,” Soonyoung started, already clicking away to add your order.

You interrupted with a rather loud, “I do not want that!”

Jihoon’s lips quirked. “Why not? Too nutty for you?”

“I just don’t want it,” you declared, crossing your arms over your chest as you glared at him. “Just because.”

He pretended to roll his eyes before turning to Soonyoung again, “She’ll have a Cupid’s Special Never Bean Kissed instead.”

“We’re no longer friends, Lee Jihoon.”

The stupid smile didn’t leave his face. “You don’t want me to pay for lunch?”

Second mistake of the day. You groaned and his laughter filled the store as you did so. 

“Your food should be ready soon. Are you paying together or separately?��� Before you could answer, Soonyoung added – and you could’ve sworn his eyes glinted with something not entirely wholesome –, “If you say you’re a couple, I can give you a 20% discount and two slices of cake for free. This goes until February 15th.” 

You and Jihoon stared at him dumbfounded. 

He shrugged. “I’m not allowed to assume.”

“What about this–” Jihoon widely gestured to the both of you, appearing equally baffled, “–says ‘might be a couple’?”

Soonyoung shrugged once more and put on a wide smile. “Are you?”

“No!”

“Worth a shot,” he sighed, his smile never fading. “You two could pull off being a couple though.”

“Why are we friends with you again?”

“Because you love me.” Your scrunched up face must have seemed doubtful enough because he soon added, “And my mom makes me give you employee discounts.”

“Exactly why does he keep offering us the couples’ discount every year?” Jihoon wondered under his breath two minutes later while practically throwing himself onto the chair across from yours. “He knows we’re both single.”

“Maybe he’s trying to play matchmaker,” you joked, grabbing a cinnamon roll off the plate he’d placed on the table. “You know, to set us up or something.”

Jihoon caught your eyes. A moment of silence passed as you contemplated your words. 

Then he shook his head and huffed. “He’s not dumb enough for that.”

“No, you’re right.” You took a bite and almost moaned at the taste – Soonyoung’s mother had a knack for baked goods. “God, this is so good– Besides,” you quickly returned to the topic, “I think he might have been right last time.”

Jihoon’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“You know, the whole ‘you have to love yourself to be loved by someone else’,” you reminded him with a shrug. “I’ve been trying to do things for myself this week and it’s actually been so nice.”

“Things like what?” he wondered, grabbing a cinnamon roll as well.

“Well, the museum visit, for one. I got a text about it and thought ‘I don’t have anyone to take with me, but I might as well go for myself’, so I went and it was actually really nice,” you pointed out. “Freeing, in a way.”

He blinked. “I was literally with you the entire day.”

“You’re practically attached to me,” you joked with a dismissive wave of your hand. “It doesn’t count.”

“Your coffee’s ready!” Soonyoung appeared at the table with two cups. He placed one in front of you, keeping the other in a flimsy grip in his other hand as he did so. 

Before you could comment on it, the other cup dropped from his hand with a loud gasp and an apology.

“I’m so sorry,” Soonyoung was reaching for tissues before you could even comprehend what had happened. 

Then you felt your suddenly cold button-up shirt press and stick to your skin. Glancing down, you cursed under your breath and reached for a handful of tissues of your own, starting to dab away at the spots of coffee on your white shirt.

“Should’ve known something like this would happen,” you spoke through gritted teeth as Soonyoung’s lips kept spilling apologies after apologies. “This is why I never wear white.”

Jihoon sat frozen on his chair, wide eyes wildly switching between you trying to clean your shirt, and Soonyoung, practically on his knees, wiping the floor. Eventually, he settled on watching you.

Your desperate clean-up attempt soon slowed. It was no use. You didn’t possess the magic necessary to get an iced americano out of the white fabric. 

“Can I do anything…?” Jihoon asked softly.

“Nothing short of finding me a new shirt to wear,” you told him with a laugh that had no joy in it. You still had four hours of work left and you were certain your boss would have a word with you for the accidental dress code violation – wearing clean clothes was, after all, written in bold on the first page of the employee handbook.

He frowned. “I could give you my hoodie to cover-up?”

You perked up at the idea. “Would you?”

He snorted a laugh. “Is that really a question?” 

Without another word, he sat upright and pulled on the hem of his black hoodie, revealing a grey t-shirt under it. It took him a few seconds and some noises of struggling (that you suspected he only made to cheer you up), and then he handed the hoodie to you. 

It was warm to the touch and smelled like your best friend when you pulled it over your head. Your day was better immediately.

“It feels like a hug,” you mumbled without really meaning to.

Jihoon’s breath seemed to get caught in his throat at that exact moment. He coughed twice before humming, “You say the weirdest things.”

Thursdays are movie nights. No matter the situation, no matter your feelings, Jihoon and you would buy copious amounts of snacks and gather at either of your apartments to watch a movie together.

“We’re not watching The Lion King,” he declared while hauling your giant grocery bag up the stairs (he’d insisted it was easier to just stuff everything into a giant bag than to carry several bags; who were you to try and stop him?). “I don’t feel like crying today.”

“You never cry anyway,” you grumbled and supported the bag from underneath. There was just the tiniest tear in its side and you were growing wary. There was only one more flight of stairs to go.

He stopped and turned his head to glare back at you. “Are you suggesting I’m a monster? Who doesn’t cry during The Lion King?”

“You,” you supplied with an innocent smile and pushed at the bottom of the bag to urge him forward. “If you don’t want to watch The Lion King, then pick something better. I dare you.”

“Captain America.”

“I’m locking you outside,” you replied with a scoff. “You can sleep on the doormat, or maybe Ms. Kim will be merciful and give you one of her dog beds.”

“Can you stop acting like you don’t enjoy Marvel movies?” he wondered. “Or would that break your programming?”

As you arrived on your floor, you told yourself it was not worth the fight. You reached into your pocket to pull out the keys, ignoring Jihoon’s groans of exhaustion as you slowly and meticulously pressed the key into the hole. But when you began to turn it, the door handle tilted downwards and the door opened.

You blinked in surprise as Yoon Jeonghan gently ushered you out of the way so he could leave. He wore a pleasant smile as he opened the door wider to let you into your own apartment. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked when you found your voice again.

He shrugged. “Wanted to see if you had any of that good ramyeon.” When you lifted a puzzled brow, he victoriously held up three packets of your favourite ramyeon. “I’ll be taking these. Thank you for being such a good friend!”

While you searched for words to say, he rushed down the stairs. He was still in hearing range when your brain kicked into gear and you called out, “How’d you get inside?!”

“Stole Jihoon’s key!” came a joyous reply from three stories below. 

Beside you, Jihoon let out a loud groan of frustration, brows knitted and nose scrunched. “That son of a bi–.”

“I was looking forward to that ramyeon!” you whined and stomped into your apartment, pulling your best friend after you by the sleeve.

Lost in noodle-grief, you burrowed into the sofa cushions as he placed down the bag and began rummaging through the two drawers you had so kindly surrendered to him and his clothes. You watched as he closed the drawers with a defeated short hum and opened your closet instead. It didn’t alarm you – it hadn’t in years. 

“Why are your shirts so much nicer than mine?” he suddenly asked, pulling off his crispy black button-up shirt to replace it with your favourite white t-shirt.

Momentarily you were brought back to reality just to reply with a short and simple: “Because I actually pay attention to what I buy from the store?”

His head turned just to give you good-natured glare. It soon gave way to a mischievous smirk – one crafted to annoy you. “Why would I do that when I can just borrow your clothes?”

“One day I’m going to take away your closet privileges,” you lazily vowed. 

He stuck his tongue out. You always did bring the more mature side of him out.

As you turned on the TV – one that came with your studio apartment and would have been entirely useless if not for the movie nights –, Jihoon threw himself into the cushions next to you.

Taking advantage of your state of not-quite-being-there, Jihoon stole the remote. When you whined and tried to get it back, he laughed and pushed you away with his free hand. While you fought to get the remote, the TV began playing yet another Marvel movie. 

The opening credits began playing and you only knew it was Iron Man because he’d made you watch this movie a thousand times. You wanted to argue but the movie nights had one unbreakable rule: once a movie starts playing, there’s no changing it. 

“Seriously?” you groaned and threw your head back against the backrest of the sofa. 

Like the TV, the green sofa had also been in the apartment for as long as you knew. You had always thought it to be a rather cosy and perfect lounging spot. Slowly, however, you were realising it had its flaws, the worst one being that with Jihoon’s manspreading habit, there simply wasn’t enough space.

“Move,” you nudged his leg that was leaning too close to yours for comfort. “Hoon, you’re on my side of the sofa.”

He only nudged your leg back with a laugh. “Since when?”

“Since ten minutes ago,” you declared, pushing back harder. “And stop manspreading. That’s rude. You’re taking up all of the space.”

“Didn’t your mother teach you to be nice to guests?” he teased, leaning even closer with his whole body now until his chin rested on your shoulder. 

You found yourself pleasantly surprised by his warmth. It was cold outside, you reasoned with yourself, of course you were enjoying any warmth you could get your hands on. Besides, it wasn’t often that Jihoon burrowed this close to you. You were bound to find joy in his rare act of affection.

Your joy was short-lived though because it was only now that you noted (with slight to moderate annoyance) that he had stolen a coke from your fridge. You scoffed.

“You’re hardly a guest. A parasite is more likely.”

As more and more of his weight pressed onto you, you groaned in pain. He only laughed at your misery. 

“You steal my clothes. You steal my space. You use me as your personal cushion,” you counted. “Does your audacity have no limits?”

He paused, lips pursing as he thought for a moment. Then he smiled brightly. “No.”

It took all your strength to push him off you. He had the gall to giggle the whole way, and you soon found yourself laughing along with him. 

“You’re awful,” you told him with an affectionate grin. Your efforts of moving him were in vain and he happily rested his head on your shoulder, occasionally slurping his (formerly your) coke. You tried really hard not to think of how awfully domestic this position would’ve looked to a stranger.

“You’re not allowed to complain,” he eventually told you. “You’re the one that stole my hoodie yesterday.”

You gasped, appalled by his accusation. “You offered!”

“I was practically blackmailed,” he spoke loudly as if announcing it to a theatre of people. “What choice did I have?”

“Maybe I need to do this self-love journey just so I’ll have someone who actually loves me and isn’t faking it to be a drama queen,” you concluded with a theatrical sigh. 

Jihoon laughed and nudged your side. “No way. You’re stuck with me no matter what.”

And you appreciated that. You really did. But. There was always a but.

“How am I supposed to learn to love myself more anyway?” you wondered, leaning into the cushions as well as his warmth, angling your body to enjoy the benefits of both. “I socialised at Seungkwan’s party. I went to a museum. I feel like I love myself enough. What else can I do?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Something that says I’m unapologetically me,” you said thoughtfully, trying to think of something. You weren’t entirely sure it had anything to do with self-love. Really, it was probably more-so to avoid your loneliness on Valentine’s day. “Something I’ll enjoy but find a little challenging, so when I’m done with it I’ll feel pride.”

“You could order your own coffee for a change.”

Dreams shattered, you let out a scoff. “I would but you never let me.”

“Yeah,” he agreed readily, “you always get the same thing anyway.”

“Well, what if I wanted to try something different?”

“You snooze, you lose. Just be glad I pay for your lunch.”

“Thank you, daddy.”

Silence. Long and awkward (just how you liked it) as you watched his reddening face with a wicked grin. This is what he got for being mean and useless. Finally, he ran a rough hand over his face and declared, “That’s it. You can pay for your own lunch from now on.”

“Oh no, how will I live,” you bemoaned, fully aware that he’d never let you pay for your own meals. “I’m still open to ideas though. I need something to do.”

Jihoon offered a mocking smile. “Well, you didn’t like my idea, so–”

“Please,” you begged, tugging at his shirt with one hand. “Anything. Please. Tell me to read The Odyssey. To start a charity. To paint an overcomplicated mural–”

Clearly uninterested in the topic at hand, he cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together. “Is it just me or is it cold in here?”

Now that he mentioned it, your hands were feeling a little freezing. Just a bit. And your toes felt like they’d been on an ice block this whole time.  You frowned. 

“No, you’re right,” you realised and jumped up to check the thermostat. It proudly showcased the number 10. You hurriedly set it to a higher heat. 10 degrees was not enough to keep you alive, you feared. 

“Someone’s messed with my thermostat,” you told him as you returned to the sofa. “This old building gets cold so fast.”

Jihoon’s brows furrowed in thought. “You don’t think…”

“What?” you wondered, pressing closer to him in an effort to get warm again. The world off the sofa was far worse than you had anticipated and now you were forced to shiver as you waited for Jihoon’s natural warmth to reach you as well. You felt your eyes widen as the pieces clicked into place. “Jeonghan?”

“He was acting suspicious,” he confirmed as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, effectively pulling you closer. 

Though you found yourself wanting to purr in bliss, you told yourself he only did so because he felt sorry for you – you never were built for the cold climate. Making a mental note to fight Jeonghan the next time you saw him was the best distraction you had.

Minutes passed in silence, par the movie playing in the background. You weren’t sure either of you were focused on it. But the rule stood and neither of you dared to be the first one to break it. So you remained right there, in his arms, unable to think about anything other than your vengeance plan and Jihoon’s embrace.

It was warmer now. Whether it was the doing of your apartment’s heating or Jihoon holding you like you were his lifeline, you were too comfortable to contemplate. The soft chimes of dreamland were calling you now.

“You know,” Jihoon spoke, voice low and gravelly, “they say cuddling helps to preserve heat.”

You knew it was just a dumb excuse. You knew you should’ve poked his side and made a joke about him using you for his personal gain. But as you pressed your cheek against his chest and wrapped your arms around his frame just a little tighter, you forgot all about it. 

By the time you remembered to argue, you felt your eyes getting heavy and his heartbeat slowing down under your ear. 

You hadn’t disliked Seungkwan’s parties all that much last week or the week before that. But this was getting excessive – even Seungcheol had said so, but Seungkwan listened to no one. Seungkwan, you see, had a goal and no one could dissuade him from reaching it.

“I think at this point they have no choice but to crown him the party king,” Jihoon mused, once again sitting by your side on the sofa as the two of you watched the party host gloat about his impeccable party streak. “It’s quantity over quality.”

Taking a sip from your soda, you hummed in agreement. “If nothing else, they should crown him for all the effort alone. Have any of the others even planned any parties yet?”

“I think Seungcheol’s planning the Valentine’s day Party with Soonyoung.”

You nodded. “I’m definitely going to be sick for that one.”

“You’re going to have to pick a different excuse,” Jihoon pointed out with a chuckle. “You’ve pulled the flu excuse four times already this year. They’re getting suspicious.”

“Join me in becoming sheep farmers in Iceland?”

“If Seungkwan would find us in 14 days, Seungcheol would find us in half that,” he told you and you weren’t entirely sure he was joking. 

You sighed. “Do you have to ruin all of my dreams?”

He laughed and nudged your shoulder. It was only recently that you’d noticed how often he did that. You hadn’t seen him do it to his other friends, now that you thought about it. It was always him and you. Perhaps, you thought, you had finally discovered his love language.

You noted with glee that he did it again, this time so slightly you almost didn’t feel it. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?” you wondered, unable to think of anything you had done to warrant those words.

The room seemed to get brighter, lit up by a radiant magical glow, as his face broke out into a wide smile. “For staying sober with me. I think I’d go insane here if you didn’t.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic. You’d live,” you told him and took a sip of your cola as you surveyed the room, taking note of your friends’ antics. “I’m not entirely sure about the others, but you would live.”

He burst out laughing at your words as if it was the funniest joke in the world (it really wasn’t; you had elicited far colder responses to far funnier jokes but you appreciated the enthusiasm). “You’re probably right. But still,” he took a calming breath, a bright grin still on his face, “I’m glad to have you with me. I can’t imagine you have much fun sitting here with a sober me when you could be doing drunk karaoke with Joshua and Jihyo.” 

You were about to tell him there was no place you’d rather be when Vernon appeared from what you could only assume was the shadows and gave the two of you that blank helpless wide-eyed look of his. 

You and Jihoon sighed in unison.

“What is it this time?” he wondered, already adjusting his sleeves and flexing his fingers in preparation for whatever herculean task awaited him.

The reply was short and laconic. “The fridge is being weird.”

Jihoon offered you a look that told you he couldn’t have cared less about the decade-old fridge Jeonghan had wrestled out from some old lady’s hands at the second-hand store. It wasn’t his property. It had, in fact, absolutely nothing to do with him because he didn’t live here. 

“Just go,” you laughed and waved him away, earning a look of betrayal. “The child won’t leave you alone if you don’t help him.”

“I’m not a repair guy,” he told you with a mild glare before groaning once more and finally getting up. From his new higher vantage point, he could look right into your empty cup and roll his eyes as if he didn’t want to say the words he’d utter next: “I’ll get you a new drink while I’m gone.”

You sent him off with a grateful smile and a plan to conquer the space he’d left behind. Your feet would thank you for the gentle stretch of being rested on the sofa and you could already practically hear the odes they’d sing to you. But then, as fast as the spot beside you became empty, it immediately was filled again. 

“I’m sorry if this upsets you,” a girl you vaguely knew by the name of Yeonmi spoke as she slumped into the free space Jihoon had left, slurring her words, “but I’m going to marry him.”

You quirked a brow. “Who? Vernon?”

“No!” She pointed at your best friend. “Him! Jihoon!”

You suddenly wondered if you were hallucinating this entire interaction. You blinked once, and then once more, before turning your head to look. Certainly Yeonmi was drunk off her ass and had mistaken him for someone else! Or maybe you yourself were drunk – who’s to say Jeonghan hadn’t mixed vodka into the soda once again? He’d done it before, more than twice.

But then you saw: Jihoon stood at the kitchen aisle. Laughing at what appeared to be the funniest joke in the world, he passed bottles of water around for his drunk friends. One by one, they accepted their bottles with grateful glee and promises to never drink again. 

Then, whining something about how he’s not that drunk yet, Seungcheol tried to push the bottle away and your best friend’s grin morphed into a short-lived frown as he smacked him across the back of his head with the very same bottle and forced it into his hand. Just like that Jihoon’s smile returned as Seungcheol’s pout only pursed out more.

As you began to laugh at the scene, you suddenly remembered why you’d looked over in the first place. Brows furrowing, your head snapped to glare at Yeonmi once again. “You want to marry him?!”

You weren’t entirely sure why the idea irritated you as much as it did. Maybe Jeonghan actually had mixed something into the soda. You certainly had no other reason to be so irate by the concept of Jihoon marrying someone. 

“Absolutely,” Yeonmi mumbled, gaze stuck as if Jihoon was a beautiful mirage that would disappear if she took her eyes off of him. She took a sip of her cocktail, unaware of the scathing look of disapproval she was on the receiving end of. “Isn’t he just perfect?”

Fighting to keep your irrational temper in check, you took a deep breath. “Since when do you like him like that?”

“Today.”

“What?”

Yeonmi must have taken the growing volume of your voice for a sign of excitement because she quickly added, “I think we’ll get married tomorrow.”

“You can’t marry him,” you told her without as much as a scoff. It wasn’t a joke. It was not a threat. It was a clear-cut fact of life. To you it was anyway.

Finally, Yeonmi tore her attention away from him and stared at you, blinking her saddened puppy-dog eyes. “Why not?”

You didn’t have a reason. Not a very good one anyway. “You just can’t.”

“But I want to!” She continued pouting. You noted with glee that it was the alcohol talking. Sober Yeonmi would never do this to you. But sober Yeonmi was far gone – six beers deep gone. “Why can’t I marry him?”

Unfortunately, drunk Yeonmi was far less reasonable than you knew sober Yeonmi to be. You had to think long and hard about your words if you wanted to put this conversation to rest soon. “Because he–”

“Who’s marrying who?” Seokmin stumbled into the conversation and onto the sofa, settling right between the two of you like a rather ill-fitting puzzle piece. A drink in his hand, a backwards cap askew on his head, and a comically large tiger plushie under his arm (one you could practically hear Soonyoung already frantically searching for), he stared at you two in child-like excited wonder. 

You almost had a spark of hope – could this be your saving grace? your ticket out of this conversation that was irritating you for reasons outside of your comprehension? – until you realised that Seokmin was almost certainly just as drunk – if not more – as Yeonmi. You pinched the bridge of your nose and groaned.

“I’m marrying Jihoon,” Yeonmi declared all too proudly, her pout turning into a bright smile that could rival the sun. For a moment you found yourself almost bitterly thinking she was exactly the pretty kind of girl your best friend deserved. Then she just had to open her mouth again: “Tomorrow. I’m marrying him tomorrow, for sure.”

Her words were met with a dramatic gasp and a matching bright smile. “You are?”

“I am!”

“She’s really not,” you mumbled from where you’d been pushed against the armrest by their celebration.

Then Seokmin froze mid-squeal-of-joy. He slapped a hand over his mouth. He loudly whispered, “But you can’t!”

Yeonmi’s smile once again dropped. “Why not?”

“Because Jihoon’s (Y/n)’s boyfriend!” He told her with such conviction that you began to wonder if you had missed a major life event of your own damned life. 

You frowned. “We’re not–”

“Oh.” Yeonmi nodded solemnly. “You are right. I can’t believe I forgot that.” She paused before loudly whispering, “You know, I heard they’re actually married. Eloped in Vegas during spring break back in college.”

“I heard that one too!” Seokmin pointed out with inexplicable uncontained glee. “I heard he wrote a song and sang it to her at the proposal.”

“That’s so romantic,” Yeonmi swooned, smiling like it was the cutest news she’d heard all day. Her dreams of marrying Jihoon had disappeared just like that. 

But you felt like you were living in a nightmare.

“What are you guys talking about?” you cried out, watching them in astonishment and horror. “There’s nothing going on between us!”

“I mean,” Soonyoung joined in, leaning against the armrest like he’d been there all along, “you’re practically married, even if the elopement thing isn’t true.”

Yeonmi gasped. “It’s not?”

You ignored her.

“It’s okay if the spark goes out a little bit, you know what I mean,” Soonyoung attempted to explain? comfort you? Whatever he was doing, you wished he’d stop. “Relationships take work, you know.”

You felt your left eye twitch. “We’re not dating.”

This was news to your friends – if their wide eyes and dropped jaws were anything to go by, anyways. 

“But–” Seokmin started, slumping in his seat as if his whole world had shattered into pieces. “But you’re Jihoon and (Y/n). You’re practically always glued together.” 

“So? We’re friends. Best friends. You know this.”

“If what you guys have isn’t love, then what is?” he wondered, asking no one in particular it seemed. His gaze had frozen on the fairy lights taped to the ceiling. He looked close to tears and you decided you’d had enough of this and got up off the sofa. 

It had been a while since you’d been out on the balcony anyway. It was nice and quiet and away from your nosy friends who clearly could not wrap their minds around the possibility of two friends not dating. The fresh air bit at your nose but you decided it was better than facing them again. 

Looking out at the nightlife of the city below, your thoughts kept drifting back to what they said. Why had you felt so irritated at the idea of Jihoon being with someone else? He wasn’t yours to keep, as much as you liked to joke about it. He wasn’t your husband, he wasn’t your boyfriend, not even a friend with benefits. He was just Jihoon.

You were just you and Jihoon. That’s what it had always been. 

So why did the idea of being ‘just (Y/n) and Jihoon’ suddenly sent a rush of rage and insult up your spine? 

“(Y/n)?” a voice called out and you felt the subtle warmth of the apartment creep out through the opened balcony door. You turned to find Seungkwan standing right there, his kind eyes looking at you as if you were insane. “Aren’t you cold?”

“It was stuffy in there,” you excused yourself and turned back to stare over the railing.

He hummed in understanding but couldn’t stop himself from adding, “Could’ve just opened a window instead of standing out here without your jacket.”

You let out a short laugh. “I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Warmth surrounded you, the feel of a soft knitted cardigan following soon after. “Better?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“I’m a little surprised Jihoon hasn’t given you his sweater yet,” he noted under his breath as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted you to hear it or not. He cleared his throat and added louder, “Sorry, I’m sure you’ve heard enough of Jihoon today. Seokmin and Yeonmi are a lot, I know.”

You weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “You heard them?”

“I’m sure half the party heard them,” he told you as if it was obvious before his expression melted into something more compassionate. “Do you want to talk about it?”

It was hard to choose. So you stayed silent instead. Seungkwan seemed to decide that was a yes.

“You know, I think Jihoon holds you closer to his heart than he sometimes lets on,” he told you. “Most of us see through his facade by now, but sometimes I wonder if you’re still one of the few who can’t.”

Great. Exactly what you needed: a double dose of ‘I’m an awful friend’.

“You know that keychain you have? That little cat he whittled out of wood back in high school?” He chuckled to himself. “He spent a whole week making it, constantly texting the group chat if it was perfect yet. Perfect for what, we’d ask and he’d always say it was for you like it was the most obvious thing.”

He leaned against the railing with you. Just as soon as he did so, he cursed. Seungkwan stepped away almost immediately. His voice was suddenly much louder than before: “It’s so cold! Can you even feel your arms?”

A little dazed by the information you’d learnt, you shrugged. “I guess.”

“That’s it,” he decided and grabbed a hold of your arm before dragging you back inside against your will (not that you were complaining; you suddenly realised it was indeed very cold outside). “If you want to be cold, I can give you ice cream, but please stop trying to contact frostbite.”

You barely made it through the kitchen door before running into Jihoon. It was starting to feel like Seungkwan needed to find a bigger venue for his parties because you were clearly not able to find even a minute of peace here. 

“There you are,” he practically cheered at the sight of you, a wide grin breaking out on his face as if he hadn’t seen you in days rather than mere 20 minutes.

You were painfully aware of Seungkwan’s knowing smile as Jihoon handed you a cup of soda. You took a small cautious sip – it didn’t taste anything like alcohol. There went your accidentally tipsy theory. You let out a soft groan at the thought.

“You good?” he wondered, hand reaching out to pat your shoulder. “Soonyoung said you looked kind of upset.”

“I’m fine,” you said. It was a lie – at least it felt like a lie. You always did hate to lie to Jihoon. But what else were you supposed to say? “It’s just been a long day.”

If he caught onto your false narrative, he didn’t mention it.

It was 2 am and you couldn’t sleep. Your friends’ words kept echoing in your head and no amount of “we’re just friends” could keep them at bay. 

For a short moment, you almost reached out to him. Your fingers knew the path to Jihoon’s contact in your phone without you even thinking about it. It was only when your thumb hovered above the green call button that you realised what you were doing. 

You found yourself scoffing. Exactly was your plan? To text him? To call him and tell him…? Tell him what?

“Hey, Jihoon, I just wanted to let you know that Seokmin and Youngmi and probably half our friend group think we’re married or at least dating and, honestly, not even gonna lie, I think it suddenly made me realise I might be and have been for a while sort of, kind of, maybe just a little bit or maybe even very much in love with you. Thoughts?”

You didn’t exactly pride yourself in your ability to put together words (and you were certain Jihoon wouldn’t have cared much for it if you did), but even you knew you couldn’t tell him that. Certainly not at 2 am and definitely not after being his friend for so many years.

So you muted your phone, put on a ridiculously long historical movie you weren’t planning on paying any attention to, and found a tub of ice cream from the deepest crevices of your freezer. It was you against your demons now. You weren’t going to leave your apartment until you’d figured out how to look him in the eyes again.

Because Jihoon’s (Y/n)’s boyfriend. You’re practically married.

The voices kept echoing in your head like annoying little mosquitoes, sucking on your lifeforce. It was nothing short of irritating; not because you thought they were wrong, but precisely the opposite.

You sat on the sofa, head heavy with foreign thoughts. Foreign thoughts that weren’t all that unfamiliar at all – they’d been peeking their heads out every once in a while ever since high school. But you had always acted like they weren’t there: you brushed them aside, painted over them with other thoughts, and told yourself what you felt for Jihoon was just friendship.

Good old plain and very platonic friendship. Nothing else at all. 

Your heart fluttering every time he laughed at your jokes? Friendship.

Your breath getting caught in your throat every time you saw him without a shirt? Definitely friendship.

The ugly jealous feeling in your chest – the very one that took over your entire being when Yeonmi said she’d marry Jihoon? Friends get jealous all the time, don’t they? 

“They don’t,” the character on the TV said at that very moment, like a sign from the universe.

But you’re Jihoon and (Y/n). If what you guys have isn’t love, then what is? 

The voices kept on echoing. You squeezed your eyes shut and drowned your sorrowful realisations in stracciatella ice cream. 

Spoonful after spoonful, your brain numbed and froze. But the knowledge had sunk deep into the crevices of your very being and you knew that no matter what happened, one thing was true: nothing about your feelings for Lee Jihoon was platonic in the slightest.

Jihoon’s studio was a cosy and comfortable place. Dimly lit and full of his soft humming along to the songs he rarely let you listen to, it had become your safe space the day he showed it to you. 

Never once had you felt out of place in it. But when he invited you to come keep him company this evening, you found yourself hesitating at the door for the first time. 

It was as if you had forgotten how to act. 

Did the you who felt only platonic feelings for Jihoon ever knock? Did you simply burst through the door and throw your keychain at his head when he was too focused on his work to notice? Or did you just sit outside the door until he suddenly remembered he’d invited you over and come searching for you?

Had your heart always sped up, doubling its pace when you stood in the hallway? Had you always worried your hair was a mess? Surely you hadn’t. Suddenly you felt like a fool for putting on a lip stain.

You forced a deep breath of air into your lungs and knocked on the door. It immediately felt wrong.

The door opened seconds later. Jihoon greeted you with furrowed brows and an amused smile. “Since when are you so polite?”

You feigned a laugh. “Had to make sure you weren’t rotting away in your chair.”

He rolled his eyes. His hand reached out and wrapped around your wrist before swiftly pulling you inside. “Come on, you’re probably freezing. How long have you been standing there?”

Silence filled the room as he led you to the sofa. 

You realised under his confused gaze that the old you – the definitely-not-in-love-with-my-best-friend you – would’ve argued. You would’ve told him something silly to distract him from your tells of embarrassment. You would’ve shoved him and  he would’ve laughed. He had expected you to.

Making your lips curl into another smile that wasn’t quite sincere, you nudged him with your foot. “Did you miss me? Be honest.”

Another silence. You thought of how he should’ve snorted a laugh and told you “you wish” before turning to his computer and telling you about his woes as a music producer. Instead, he frowned.

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

Your mouth felt dry. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just,” he started, scratching the back of his head all the while watching you cautiously. You felt like a cornered stray cat as  you sat on his sofa, still clad in your coat and hat. “You’ve been acting a little weird today.”

You wanted to laugh. You hadn’t even interacted with him enough for him to come to that conclusion. In fact, there had been a conscious effort to avoid him until you could trust yourself to look him in the eyes and not burst into ballads about how wonderful he was. 

“I guess I’m just a little under the weather.” You still despised lying to him, but you told yourself it wasn’t a complete lie. If nothing else, you were at least a little bit love sick and you weren’t entirely sure yet whether seeing him was the cause or the cure. 

His eyes blinked wide. “You’re sick?”

Jihoon waited a minute, watching you patiently (though you could see a line between his brows that only appeared when he was particularly frustrated). Then he walked forward. You blinked up at him standing over your seated form, his brows knitted with concern as he held the back of his hand to your forehead. 

“Do you have a fever?” he wondered and leaned his face closer on instinct, pressing his lips to your forehead like a mother would to her child. He pulled back before long, seemingly finally realising his error, and grumbled, “Definitely a fever.”

Right. A fever. You were hot to the touch. Definitely a normal reaction to seeing your best friend for the first time all day. Nothing abnormal about that. 

“It’s nothing,” you told him, still forcing a smile, and patted his hand. “What are you working on today?”

At the mention of his work, he seemed to perk up a little. His lips quirked in that way they always did when he was about to tell you a lie. “Nothing interesting.”

“I’ve known you for nearly two decades,” you told him with a scowl. “You can’t keep things from me.”

He scoffed and turned on his heel, returning to his usual seat at the desk. His eyes narrowed when he glanced back at you over his shoulder. “I’ll keep all the secrets I want from you.”

“No chance,” you teased, resting your head on your palm as you leaned forward against your knee. “You're practically transparent.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he told you with a chuckle and turned to the screen. Before long, his headphones were on his head and his head was deep in the music again. 

You’d never felt like you didn’t belong in this room and you didn’t feel like it now either, even as your chest threatened to burst open with all of your doubts and feelings. Your coat slid off your shoulders and you settled down on the sofa.

The you from before would’ve unlocked your phone and watched something on it at an obnoxious volume just to annoy him (but had that ever really been the goal and not just a ploy to get his unwavering attention at any cost?), but you found yourself lost in your thoughts, overthinking every memory you had of him.

You thought back to how he always seemed to be pressed to your side on movie nights – giggling in your ear, repeating and mimicking the actors just to make you laugh, nuzzling his cheek against your collarbone like a cat showing his affection. 

You thought back to the late night calls and how they made you so giddy despite the fact that you desperately wanted to sleep; to the protective glares he gave any man that looked at you and how a shiver went up your spine every time he crossed his arms over his chest while doing so; to the shirts and sweaters of his that you had unapologetically stolen to keep warm at night and breathe in his scent.

As you watched him – his head bopping along to the beat you couldn’t hear, his lips pursed in an effort to not spoil the lyrics, his dark eyes flitting your way every so often –, you realised there was no room for doubts. There was nothing uncertain about your feelings for Lee Jihoon. 

All this time, you had loved him for his laughter and his jokes. You had loved him for his yelling and his tears. You had loved him for his melodic voice and his silly 3 am ideas. You had loved him for the warmth of his hands when he taught you to play the guitar and the fond disappointment in his eyes when you failed your driving test for the first time.

There was nothing you didn’t love about him.

Even now you noted with certain fondness that one side of his headphones was off his ear just enough so he could hear you and it made you love him all the more so. 

The only thing you didn’t entirely adore about this man was that he wasn’t yours.

His eyes found you again and he quirked a brow. “Why are you staring at me?”

“I think I just realised why I don’t like Valentine’s day,” you told him without thinking. It was silly. Of all the millions of things you could’ve told him, of all the possible insults and puns and jokes, you told him the vulnerable truth you had only barely just graped yourself.

Jihoon swiveled his chair to face you, suddenly intrigued. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His raised both his brows this time, staring at you with interest. You didn’t shy away from eye contact – not now when you’d finally learnt to appreciate the shades of brown. You only smiled and watched him as he sighed in defeat and turned back to the computer.

“Fine, keep your secrets,” he mumbled under his breath.

You weren’t sure you had another option.

While you had always hated Valentine’s day, Seungcheol and Soonyoung loved it with their whole hearts. Who would’ve guessed that the two men who could strike fear in anyone’s heart with just a look were hopeless romantics?

After spending hours contemplating if you wanted to be present at this event at all, you arrived fashionably late. Why they had decided to hold the celebration the night before Valentine’s day was beyond you, even if it was the reason that finally convinced you to go.

Welcoming you into their house brimming with roses and heart-themed decorations, Seungcheol handed you a red paper rose at the front door and sent you on your way with a wink. 

“Jihoon’s in the kitchen,” he told you with a smirk that said he could see right through you. You hoped you weren’t as obvious to the others.

Taking your time to look around was just an excuse and it felt like everybody knew it. They gave you smiles and winks and claps on your shoulder as you passed them by with soft greetings. You couldn’t help but feel nervous.

Looking for distractions, you craned your neck to look at the decorations. Heart-shaped balloons of red and pink and white floated against the ceiling. They were surrounded by pink and white party banners hung between the walls, cut into triangles with little hearts drawn in the centre, little fairy lights wrapped around the strings keeping them together. The floor was covered in rose petals. If Seungcheol and Soonyoung knew anything, it was how to go all out (and the amazed yet annoyed look on Seungkwan’s face told you he realised it could cost him the competition).

As you walked through the crowd, you realised that for once the pinks and reds hadn’t filled you with frustration and anger and resentment. Instead, a strange feeling of bitter sadness filled your chest. The spot on your side felt empty even with tens of people pushing past you. Even when you were avoiding him, you missed him.

You decided there was no point in torturing yourself further. After all, you thought, wasn’t being by his side but never being able to call him yours torture enough?

True to Seungcheol’s word, you found Jihoon in the kitchen. And you quickly realised why people had been greeting you the way they did. A laugh threatened to bubble out of you at the sight.

Jihoon stood on the kitchen island, surrounded by countless bottles of beverages, singing into a wood spoon. Eyes heavy-lidded in a way you hadn’t seen them be since that one night he got drunk in an act of teenage rebellion in 11th grade, he swayed in his spot and sang love songs at the top of his lungs. 

You dreaded to think what Seungcheol and Soonyoung might think of his actions. But when you looked around you found that rather than trying to get him down, Soonyoung sat on the kitchen counter across from the island, a whisk in hand, harmonising. People came and went, getting their drinks, and loudly cheered the duo on but didn’t pay them much mind beyond that. Perhaps they didn’t realise how unusual this sight really was.

Their rendition of a Bruno Mars song came to an end to the sound of a drunken applause and a few shouts for an encore. Jihoon waved away the compliments, nearly knocking himself off balance in doing so. As he lifted the spoon to his lips to start another song, his eyes met yours. The spoon clattered to the floor and his body followed not much more gracefully. 

He called your name with such joy that you couldn’t help but smile and open your arms as he practically tackled you in a hug. His face pressed against your shoulder so tightly that you worried if he could even breathe. “You came!”

You didn’t have any words to tell him, still too baffled by the situation at hand. Your eyes found Soonyoung’s and you raised your brows in question. He only smirked and shrugged innocently before practically dancing out of the room.

Drunk words are sober thoughts they say. That is the only reason why you hardly drank at gatherings; not at all because Jihoon once smiled at you all pretty and told you he was glad he had at least one sober friend to keep him company. But it seemed that tonight he was too drunk to appreciate the sentiment.

“I think I’m drunk,” Jihoon mumbled after a while and pushed himself upright. You kept one hand on his shoulder to keep him from tilting further left than he already was. “But it doesn’t feel so bad.”

“You’re going to regret this tomorrow,” you told him softly and led him to sit down. 

Like an obedient puppy, he followed your command and sat on a chair, leaning his forearms on the back of it and his chin on the very top. His eyes watched you curiously as you found a glass and filled it with water. You held the glass out for him to take but he just stared at you with starry eyes.

“You look pretty tonight,” he finally uttered when you raised your brows in question. 

You frowned and pushed the glass closer to him, hoping he’d take the hint. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he told you, a smile appearing on his face but there wasn’t any humour in it. It was hard to tell what emotions he was trying to convey: happiness? fondness? adoration? Whatever it was, it was making you just a little flustered. And then he delivered the final plow: “You always look pretty.”

Your heart was positively working at three times– no, ten times its usual pace. You sucked in a shallow breath and nudged him with the glass again. This time he took it. 

“Since when do you drink anyway?” you asked to change the topic.

For once he answered the question and shrugged. “Soonyoung thought that maybe I should give it a try again. You know, with all the rejection and everything.” His gaze fell to the tiled floor as he mumbled, “It’s actually been kind of nice.”

“What rejection? Who would reject you?”

He laughed but it sounded bitter. “Who indeed?”

“Did you ask someone to be your Valentine?” you realised and it felt like someone was trying to carve out a piece of your heart. “And they said no?”

Jihoon scoffed and placed down the water. His hand reached for a different cup, full of liquor you could practically smell from all the distance away. As he lifted the cup to his lips, he spoke, “What’s the point of asking if they’re going to say no anyways?”

The room felt hotter than usual. You could hardly breathe. You hadn’t even known Jihoon liked someone. Of course you had to find out merely days after coming to terms with your own feelings for him. Your love life was cursed and so was everything related to Valentine’s day.

You stayed silent to mourn the reality.

“You know what’s the worst part?” he then spoke again. It was hard to tell how drunk he was because he was hardly slurring his words. “I see her every day. Well,” he frowned, “almost every day. Whatever.” He shook his head and took a long sip of the drink. “Every day I see her and every day I think today is going to be the day I finally tell her. And then I don’t. Because I’m just her friend. She’s spent all those years telling everyone we’re just friends and I don’t want to be just her friend. I want so much more. But every time I try to tell her so, I chicken out.”

You could hardly listen to his proclamations. Your eyes were burning, ready to shed silent tears. You wondered if he’d even notice if you did cry. The Jihoon in front of you was a side you hadn’t seen before and you loved him just the same, even if this side was reserved for another woman.

Finally lifting his head, his eyes found yours. They widened. “Are you okay?”

Turning away to discreetly rub the tears out of your eyes, you nodded. “Yeah, sorry. Must be allergic to something in the air. Maybe it’s all the pollen.”

When you turned back to him, he looked almost deflated. He looked down again and ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe you’re just allergic to me.”

The tears seemed to vanish at the absurdity of his words. “... What?”

He shrugged. “Every time I say something nice to you, you start acting all weird. Avoiding me. Sometimes I think that if I confessed to you, you’d die on the spot.”

Whatever Soonyoung had been making him drink had to be incredibly strong. Every sentence he uttered seemed more absurd than the one before.

“I should get you home,” you decided with a sigh, resisting the urge to tug your hair out. Just because he was drunk didn’t mean he could play with your feelings like this – knowingly or not.

He whined. “I don’t want to–”

“You’re drunk, Jihoon,” you told him firmly. “If you drink any more tomorrow, you’ll murder me in the morning for letting you get this hungover.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes and glared at you before pouting and looking away. “As if I’d ever hurt you.”

“You’re drunk and you’re not making any sense and I’m taking you home to sleep,” you repeated yourself and reached for his arm. You expected him to resist your strength as you pulled him up but instead his hold on your fingers tightened. He stood up and leaned forward, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

“I don’t want to go home yet,” he told you after a moment of resting. “Can we just nap somewhere?”

You didn’t have the willpower to fight. The little you had, he had shattered without meaning to. You went to hook your arm around his elbow – he didn’t let you, only tightening his hold on your fingers. 

Without much of a choice, you squeezed his hand and slowly led him to a guest room. Seungcheol and Soonyoung’s house had two of these, one on the first and one on the second floor. For a moment you headed towards the one on the first floor. Then your heart ached just a little and you decided you needed to get away from the people to let your heart break in peace.

The second floor guest room had floor to ceiling windows covered with white curtains. The streetlights shone through at an angle that you knew would annoy you if you tried to fall asleep. You suspected that’s why they had designated it for guests rather than sleeping here themselves.

You practically shoved Jihoon onto the mattress to avoid any further complications. Instead of grumbling like you expected him to, he fell down with a series of giggles. You couldn’t help but smile.

There was a single fleece-lined blanket folded on the foot of the bed. You placed it over him with care. When you went to turn around and find a place to sit – or maybe even go back downstairs to drown your sorrows in wine –, his hand shot up and grabbed a hold of yours.

“Stay,” he spoke so softly you almost thought you hadn’t heard him right. “Stay with me. Don’t leave. Please.”

“I was just going to sit down,” you told him gently, trying to pull your hand free. 

He let out a whine. “See? This is what I mean. You’re allergic to me.”

Exhaustion was making your head ache. Or maybe it was all the tears that were waiting to be shed. You didn’t have the energy to fight, so you sank down next to him, crawling to fit under the blanket with him. “Just go to sleep.”

His hand never left yours as he curled it to rest against his chest and placed his heavy head on your chest. Silence filled the room. You didn’t dare breathe – who knew when you could have him this close again without feeling guilty or angry at the fates?

Minutes passed. You thought he’d fallen asleep when he whispered, “When other guys flirt with you or smile at you or tell you you’re pretty, you smile and thank them. When I do that, you avoid me.”

You wondered when the topic had shifted from his mystery crush to you. 

“Because we’re friends.”

“There it is again,” he mumbled, glaring at the ceiling as if willing it to crumble and rain down on him. “Friends.” The word sounded like venom. “I pour my heart out to you, I write songs to you, I dream of you every time I fall asleep, but that’s all I ever am. A friend.”

“It’s never bothered you before.” You frowned. Despite his harsh tone, you found yourself playing with his hair, and him leaning into your touch. 

He let out a deep breath. “Because I’ll do whatever it takes to be with you.” His head nuzzled closer to you, his breath tickling your skin. You thought you felt his warm lips press down before he whispered, “The other guys will have to go through me if they want you for themselves. I found you first.”

Silence filled the room again, soon accompanied by his soft snores and mumbles of promises he wasn’t conscious enough to actually make. You weren’t sure you could sleep now or ever again, too busy putting the puzzle pieces together.

His words had mangled your heart in every way possible. And yet there was a glimmer of hope as you wondered what he’d meant by his words. 

Drunk words are sober thoughts they say and now you found yourself wondering how much truth there was to his words. 

He whispered your name in his sleep and you found yourself giving in to the wistful dreams of that being his truth. As you pulled him closer, you prayed you wouldn’t have to wake up to another heartbreak.

If you had thought the streetlights at night were a curse last night, then now you found yourself thinking that any and all kinds of outside light had been invented just to make whoever inhabited this room as miserable as possible.

The morning sun shone right into your eyes even through the curtains at 6 am. Even if you hadn’t spent the entire night in a restless limbo between sleep and trying to solve the mystery of Jihoon’s words, you would've been upset to awaken to the horrid rays of bright sunshine.

The more you woke up, the more your world seemed to be upside down. Sometime at night, Jihoon’s arms had wrapped around you, tight and secure as they held you close to his chest. His lips were pressed to your temple. You almost wished he’d never wake up so you could enjoy this embrace for an eternity.

But another part of you didn’t want to face the disappointment of him jerking away from you as he’d wake up, embarrassed to have ever cuddled you in his sleep.

You took a deep breath and slowly tried to detangle yourself from his limbs. Finger by finger, you pulled yourself free. You were just about to roll off his left arm when it suddenly curled and effortlessly pulled you back into his chest.

When you looked at him, Jihoon wore a frown and a pout. “You were supposed to stay.”

“I did,” you whispered, unsure if he was really awake yet or not. 

“Stay longer,” he demanded almost childishly, wrapping his newly free arm around you once again. “It’s still early.”

Your brain was trying hard to convince you that he thought you were someone else. Then he mumbled your name again and you saw his eyes slowly flutter open. Instead of pulling away and apologising like you expected him to, he offered you a smile. 

“What?” He chuckled, voice gravelly from sleep. 

You hesitated. But you knew that if you didn’t get answers, you’d drive yourself insane. “Do you…” You swallowed. “Do you remember what you said last night?”

His brows furrowed just a little but his lips remained in a pleasant smile. “About what?”

“About the girl who you’ve wanted to ask out for years but never did,” you supplied softly. “And about us being friends?”

The joy melted from his face. His eyes wavered. His lips quivered. He gave them a nervous lick before practically gasping for air. He remembered.

You tried to choose your words carefully, you really did. But they still came out all clumsy like they always did. “Is the girl me?”

He looked like he’d been caught in a crime. But his arms remained around you – you wondered if he was filled with the same selfishness you’d felt the night before: the urge to enjoy this feeling of closeness before it could get ripped away forever.

“How’d you know?” he whispered. 

“You said something last night,” you told him carefully. “Something that made me realise that maybe you feel … the same way as I do.”

He avoided your eyes, looking around the room. Then his gaze snapped back to you, suddenly full of clarity. “The same way?”

This was it, you realised. It was now or never. It was true love or losing your best friend. Except you weren’t sure you could still be friends even if you didn’t pour your heart out – could you look him in the eyes again and not think about the words he said last night? 

“Jihoon, I think–” The words were on the tip of your tongue, clinging to it like it was their last lifeline. It was hard to say what you wanted to.

His face, so devoid of joy just moments before, had lit up with hope. “Yeah?”

“I think I’m in love with you. I thought I could keep it a secret and not ruin our friendship,” you told him through nervous laughter, turning to look at the ceiling, “but now I’m not so sure I could have.”

“What made you change your mind?” he wondered as he looked at you with nothing short of awe. 

“When you were talking about that girl last night,” you were still struggling to breathe, adrenaline pumping through your veins, “I was so heartbroken. I was going to cry all through the night. Then you said something that made me think… It made me think, or maybe foolishly hope, that you meant me. Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you mean me–?”

“I love you,” he replied before you could even finish your sentence. A smile appeared and you were filled with relief as he leaned his head closer to press against yours. “I’ve been in love with you since 7th grade. I thought I’d never get to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you demanded to know.

His breath sounded more like a hopeless laugh. “I didn’t want to lose you. I thought there was no way you’d love me back.”

“Clearly you were wrong.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled and surged forward to press a gentle kiss to your lips as if he couldn’t contain himself any longer. You savoured the feeling, pressing closer to him, tugging him closer with a hand on the back of his head. He pulled back and laughed again. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Good thing you can do it again as many times as you please,” you told him with a smile. “You know, I’ve always hated Valentine’s day, but you have a real shot at changing that right now.”

The door burst open just as he matched your grin and began to lean closer. Startled, the two of you looked up. Clad in a tiger-striped onesie, Soonyoung stood at the door, eyes wide. Moments of awkward silence passed. Then his face broke out into a wide grin and he slammed the door shut. You heard the lock click just a second later, followed by an almost villainous laughter.

You exchanged startled looks with Jihoon. Then he shrugged and leaned forward to kiss you again.

“All the more time to make up for the lost years,” he told you as he pulled you closer. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

Author's Note: I both loved and hated writing this fic. If at any point, you found yourself thinking "huh, i wish the writer did more with this random crumb in this story that looks like it should've been a part of something bigger", i can almost guarantee you i had plans to do something with it and then forgot or abandoned the idea mid-way through.

Either way, I hope you enjoyed this fic at least moderately and if you did, please feel free to reblog with comments or leave an emoji-filled reply or maybe even send me an ask to let me know what you thought!

[haoboutyou]

─ ♡ crash course in romance | kwon soonyoung

SUMMARY: meet kwon soonyoung, he’s the ultimate goofball—sweet and chaotic but clueless when it comes to romance. so when you ask him to be your fake boyfriend even though you barely know him, he says yes, even though he's never dated before and has no idea what to do. as you show him the ropes and coach him on how to be the perfect boyfriend and slowly get to know him, soonyoung finds himself slowly falling for you. and maybe, just maybe, you're falling for him too.

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x fem!reader

GENRE: strangers to lovers, fake dating, best friend’s brother, first love, light slow burn, humour, rom com.

WARNINGS: kissing, fluff, light angst, mentions of alcohol and alcohol consumption, use of curse words, little suggestive (towards the end), cameo of roommate!seungkwan and other svt members, hoshi being a clueless idiot

WORDCOUNT: 40.8k

A/N: FINALLY A LONG FIC FOR MY HUSBAND AAAA . this fic is part of the lonely hearts cafe collab by @camandemstudios! i had so much fun writing this fic. yapped to much and ended up with 40k but i'm so proud of this fic. thank you to @wheeboo for hearing me crash out over this fic. it is also set in the same universe as her chan fic! and thank you to cam and em for hosting this lovely collab! please support the other writers in this collab and check out their amazing fics too! i would love to know what you think so feedback is always appreciated <3 thank you to @diamonddaze01 and sar @cheolhub for beta-ing the fic!

you’re about to pull up at your best friend, jihyo’s place. you dial her number, calling her up and she picks up after four rings, her voice filling the space in your car.

“hey”, she says as she picks up. “hey jihyo, i’m about to reach your place to collect my mail and other packages”, you say. “oh, i’m actually not at home right now, but i’ll tell soonyoung to hand them over to you, i think he’s dropped by”, jihyo informs and you can hear the bustle of people talking through the phone as she speaks, assuming she must be at work. “sure, okay”, you say and jihyo mumbles something about calling you back later before cutting the call. you pull up at her driveway a few minutes later.

you step out of the car and walk up to the house, ringing the doorbell. usually you’d ring the doorbell and walk right in, but considering she wasn’t there, you didn’t want to suddenly intrude, it felt odd. you wait a few moments and you can hear the shuffle of feet from the inside, along with a soft thud of something falling, probably a box. the door finally opens and you’re greeted by kwon soonyoung—jihyo’s younger brother.  

“hey, yn right?”, he says when he sees you. “jihyo told me you’re here to collect your mail and stuff”, he tells with a slightly frazzled face, like he was put to this task last at the minute and had no idea what to do, like a deer in headlights. you nod and he gestures for you to enter. you walk inside as he disappears back into the other room, probably to fetch your mail. you’d asked jihyo to drop by your place if she could to collect your mail since you’d been out of town for two weeks on a business trip and you didn’t want anyone stealing your packages or snooping around.

you’d known jihyo ever since you joined university. she was your roommate and now bestfriend. she was kind, sweet, funny and a little chaotic, but you loved everything about her. so naturally, you’d been to her house countless times, and met her brother too— soonyoung. he was two years younger than jihyo and you, and he was always so sweet. when you’d come over during the break or to hang out, you’d see soonyoung occasionally or bump into him when you were entering or leaving, as he’d always be doing his own thing. but now, you were probably seeing him for the first time since you graduated university and started a job, having moved a little further away into the city. so it’s been almost three years since you saw soonyoung again, because whenever you’d meet jihyo now, it was always in the city or somewhere out, not at her family home.

soonyoung had changed a lot. he’d grown tall and his hair that had been virgin black was now dyed a silver blonde. it had grown too, his hair falling over his forehead in a cute shaggy mess and growing a little long at the ends, almost at the beginning stages of a mullet and somehow, he pulled it off—t looked good on him. his face was framed by soft rounded features and he somehow raidated a youthful, approachable glow about him. his almond shaped eyes are soft, but also sharp, holding warmth in them, and lastly he had definitely been hitting the gym because he looked different—he looked good.

two minutes later, soonyoung walks into the room holding a big box with a smaller box stacked on top of it along with a few small parcels and envelopes. “this is all the stuff”, he announces, like he’d just accomplished a huge task by collecting all of this for you. 

“thanks!”, you say, taking a step forward to take the box but he speaks again. “let me load it up in your car, it’s a bit heavy”, he says as he looks at you, blinking. “okay, sure”, you say and you open the door, walking outside towards your car with soonyoung following beside you. you unlock the car and pop open the trunk and soonyoung sets down the pile of boxes with a soft thud before taking a step back. 

“thanks again soonyoung”, you say, looking up at him. now that he was right next to you, you realise how tall he’d actually grown. he gives you a polite smile as he runs a hand through his silver blonde hair, the strands of hair getting messed up, falling over his forehead in a cutely disheveled manner. “it’s no problem”, he says and with that you give him another small wave and head out, heading back home.

when you get home, you find your apartment spick and span—quite the contrast to which you had left it, considering you had left on the business trip in a rather short notice. but now as you walk inside, your shoes are all neatly lined up by the side, the bunch of laundry that had been rotting on your bed for two weeks was neatly folded and kept aside in your wardrobe. your mugs, which had piled up were all neatly rinsed and washed and your fridge was stocked with new food—no doubt all the doings of your mother. 

you immediately reach for your phone and dial your mother’s number and she picks up almost immediately, like she had been waiting for you to call. you drag your suitcase to your room and leave it there, taking off your coat and throwing it on your bed.

“mom, did you drop by?”, you ask, already knowing the answer, but you liked to tease her. you visibly hear her sigh and you hold back your laugh.

“no darling, a ghost dropped by your apartment”, she deadpans, making you let out the laugh that you were holding. “i don’t even think a ghost would want to live in your apartment in that state”, she adds. 

“i was busy and i had to leave on short notice”, you counter. “that’s what you always say”, she says and you scowl. “it was really short notice this time”, you say and she only hums in response.

“thank you mom, i love and appreciate you for that”, you say after a moment. “i made your favourite, it’s in the fridge”, she adds and you smile. your mom really knew the way to your heart. you walk towards the kitchen and fill the kettle with some water.

“so, did you meet any cute guys on your trip”, she asks and you let out a small groan at her question. of course that’s what she’d ask you first, not how the trip was or how work had been.

“no mom, it was a work trip”, you say, letting out a sigh. “still! you should keep an eye out”, she says. “after you broke up with that jaehyun, you’ve been sulking around. it’s time to find a guy and settle down”, she adds and just then the kettle lets out a whistle, signaling that the hot water is ready. you take a mug from the shelf and pour the boiling hot water into in, watching as the steam curls at the top before you drop in a tea bag, watching the tea leaves slowly seep into the water, turning it into green tea.

“for the millionth time, he broke up with me mom, and i just need some space right now, i’m not in the mood for a relationship, nor do i have the time”, you tell as you take the mug of tea and walk over to the couch, plopping down on it and putting the mug on the table beside you.

“nonsense, if you start dating again you’ll feel better. do you want me to find someone for you? i found this guy, i’ll send you his picture, i can set you up with him on a blind date and—”, you cut her off.

“mom, i’m serious about the no dating thing right now”, you say and she clicks her tongue in disapproval. “i’ll still send you his picture if you change your mind”, she says as you take a sip of the hot tea.

fast forward two weeks later, you’re at the bar of a restaurant, downing your fourth drink of the night. the music playing is loud and the lights are dim. you put the empty glass down on the marble counter with a soft clink and shake your head a little to get your mind straight. you can already feel the effects of the alcohol in your system, your head feeling light—you were definitely tipsy. you glance over your shoulder and see your coworkers all talking to each other, laughing about something, all nursing drinks of their own and you turn your head again, looking down at the empty glass in front of you before asking for another drink. this was a company treat for finishing a project with a high value client. that’s why you’d been out of town for those last two weeks, securing the deal and finishing the project. it had all been riding on you and you’d done it. though if you were being honest, you really didn’t want to be here right now. you’d rather have been at home, lying in your bed, under the blankets and watching some nonsense on television. but who were you to say no to free food and drinks since the company was paying for it—so here you were.

your phone pings with a message from your mom and you open it to see another picture of a guy she’d found you, saying he came from a good background and that you’d be a good match. she really was not taking no for an answer. you sigh and put your phone down with a light thud and groan, burying your hands in your face. 

“are you okay?”, you hear someone ask and you peek through your hands to see whoever it was, only to recognise the face—kwon soonyoung. you look at him and a hint of recognition seems to flit over his features as well as he looks at you.

“soonyoung? hey”, you say, sitting a little straighter. “yn hey”, he says, his tone casual.

somehow, hearing your name from soonyoung’s mouth feels oddly sweet. “are you okay? it looks like you were having a bit of an existential crisis”, he says, making you sigh even more. you look at him and his silver blonde hair seems to catch the light he’s sitting under and it highlighst his features. his jawline is sharp and his eyes are just as sharp. he’s wearing jeans, a shirt and a ring adorns his pinky finger. you notice the helix piercing in his ear, which you never noticed before and you glance away for a second before looking back at him.

“yeah, that’s exactly what is happening right now”, you say as soonyoung takes a seat beside you.

“what are you doing here by the way, is jihyo here too?”, you ask and he shakes his head. 

“nope, i’m here alone”, he informs and you nod. “you?”, he asks, curious in his tone.

��work dinner”, you say, gesturing to the table over to the side where all your colleagues sat, talking and drinking and his eyes follow your gaze before returning back to yours.

you glance over at soonyoung, realising you don’t actually know much about him. all you knew is that he graduated last year because jihyo told you about it, but besides that, nothing much.

“so, what have you been up to?”, you ask, curiosity getting the better of you and soonyoung seems to sit up straighter at your question.

“i’m actually working! i’m the manager and one of the instructors at a dance studio downtown”, he says and you widen your eyes in surprise. 

“wow, that’s very cool”, you say. you remember jihyo mentioning something about soonyoung liking dance, and having even majored in a dance related program in college. “i think it’s been almost three years since i saw you, so you’ve changed quite a lot, grown up i can say”, you tell and he gives you an almost shy smile.

“yeah, my mom always mentions you, asking jihyo to invite you over to dinner”, soonyoung fills in and you smile, remembering how warm and welcoming jihyo’s mom and entire family has always been with you. you really should drop by sometime.

“what have you been doing?”, he asks a moment later.

“nothing much, same old corporate job that i say i’ll quit everyday but don’t because i need the money”, you tell, feeling deadbeat. 

the drink you had ordered finally arrives and you take a big sip, emptying it almost immediately. soonyoung looks a little alarmed at that but he doesn’t say anything. you feel the rush and buzz in your head, feeling tipsy and slightly intoxicated before you decide to speak again, which was a bad decision because you were always a yapper when you got tipsy. so right now, soonyoung was going to face the wrath of whatever nonsense you were going to tell him, poor thing.

“this sounds really stupid, but my mom keeps trying to set me up on blind dates and i keep telling her i don’t want to date right now and she can’t seem to take no for an answer”, you tell in one breath.

“that’s exactly like my mom, she keeps trying to set me up too”, he says, a small lopsided pout forming on his face as he speaks.

“damn, i think all moms are just universally coded like that”, you joke and he lets out a small laugh.

there’s a moment of silence between you both after that and you gulp down the rest of whatever drink is remaining in your glass.

“the thing is, i’ve never dated before so she thinks something is wrong with me”, soonyoung fills in. 

“wait, what? really?”, you ask, a little surprised because looking at soonyoung now, he was pretty good looking and pretty handsome, so hearing him say he’s never dated before takes you by surprise. 

he nods. “yeah, i just…haven’t found the one you know”, he says, like it wasn’t a big deal.

“my mom thinks i’ve dated too much and something is wrong with me”, you tell, letting out a small laugh at your situation. “she wants me to settle down and stuff but i’m not ready for that, at least not now”, you add. “it’s kind of ironic considering i have four exes, so you’d think i’d have found the one by now, but nope”, you say defeated. 

“it’d be funny if we fake date just to get them off our backs”, you blurt out a second later without thinking, the words already out before you can take it back and you watch as soonyoung blinks at you, the words slowly sinking into him.

“that’s actually a genius idea”, he says, a hint of enthusiasm in his tone. “wait, really?”, you ask, not expecting that answer from him. “i could use a break from my mom trying to set me up on blind dates, i wouldn’t mind”, he says.

“okay, done deal”, you say almost immediately. why? because you were stupid and tipsy and not thinking straight. just then one of your coworkers comes over, saying you were wanted back at the table and she grabs your arm, taking you over there.

“i’ll text you”, you mouth to soonyoung who watches you leave. but who were you kidding, you weren’t going to text soonyoung because you didn’t have his number. 

a week later you seem to have completely forgotten about the deal you had made with soonyoung when your head was in the clouds. sure, you remember meeting him and talking to him, but the bit about fake dating seemed to have been erased from your memory. so when you go to see jihyo later that evening, you're surprised to see soonyoung there too. you all sit down at a cafe nearby, jihyo saying that soonyoung was in the area so she called him over too since he had the car.

the conversations are normal, nothing ordinary, just you filling in jihyo on your work drama and life while she does the same, while soonyoung leans back in his chair, listening intently. you didn’t think soonyoung had a thing for gossip, but the concentration on his face and the way his brows were furrowed said otherwise.

jihyo’s phone rings and she excuses herself, saying it was a work call and walks outside the cafe to speak, leaving you and soonyoung alone. soonyoung picks up his eyes and looks at you before speaking.

“are we still doing the fake dating thing?”, soonyoung asks softly and you almost choke on your tea upon hearing his words. he’s quick to hand you a tissue and lean forward and push the glass of water towards you.

“the what now?”, you ask and he gives you that lopsided pout again. why did that look so cute on him.

“fake dating? you know, the one we talked about last week at the bar?”, he fills in and you wrack your brain trying to think when you both even talked about this before the memory seems to slowly make its way back into your mind. 

“oh”, you say once you seem to recall everything and you glance outside, seeing jihyo still talking on the phone. 

“you were serious about it?”, you question, which only seems to make him more confused.

“were you not serious about it?”, he asks, blinking at you. you open your mouth to speak but close it, unsure what to say. 

“but won’t it be awkward since i’m jihyo’s friend?”, you ask and he only shrugs, like that didn’t seem to matter to him.

“nah, i’m sure she’d be chill with it, we could let her know too, it could just be a something between the three of us”, he explains and you nod because he did have a point. 

“i’ll think about it okay, give me a day?”, you ask and he nods. “sure, you can text me”, he adds and you internally wince. “i actually don’t have your number so”, you say softly, unlocking your phone and handing it over to him. he dials in his number and hands it back to you.

jihyo’s walks back in, taking a seat, looking between you and soonyoung, giving you both a look. “what happened here?”, she asks and you both seem to shake your heads at the same time.

“nothing, i was just asking soonyoung what he’s been up to”, you say instead and she seems to smile, sitting back down. “he’s been up to a lot, haven’t you soonie”, jihyo says, nudging him with her elbow and soonyoung gives her a look at the mention of his nickname.

you don’t text soonyoung after a day, nor the day after and it’s been a week now. you’ve sat and thought about it, overanalyzed it, overthought it and made up every possible worst case scenario that could happen if you fake date your best friend's brother and the light at the end of the tunnel does not seem bright with that idea. so, you decide to tell him no, that you don’t want to fake date, that it was a stupid idea and would never work in the first place. but when your mom calls you up again, trying to set you up on yet another blind date, you’ve hit your limit. you open your phone, click on soonyoung’s contact and text him.

you [7:37 PM]: hey, it’s yn! i’ve decided that yes, we can go ahead with the fake dating plan.

when soonyoung gets your text, he nearly drops his phone. after you failed to text him, twice, he was bummed, thinking that you didn’t want to talk with him, and that you just said that you’d text him just to be nice since you were jihyo’s friend. but now as he sees your text on the screen, he doesn’t know how to respond. 

“close your mouth man, a fly is going to go in there”, seungkwan says, snapping soonyoung back to reality.

soonyoung whips his head up and clears his throat, setting his phone down on the table. he glances at seungkwan, his roommate and friend, and that one look from soonyoung is all it takes for seungkwan to understand that soonyoung was up to no good.

seungkwan visibly sighs before he speaks. “what did you do now?”, he asks, massaging his temples.

“first of all, i didn’t even do anything”, soonyoung counters. “right, now spill”, seungkwan says and soonyoung takes a second before he speaks again.

“what do you know about fake dating?”, soonyoung asks, almost too innocently, making seungkwan’s eyes widen. “fake dating? what ghost has possessed you”, he asks, making soonyoung roll his eyes.

“just tell me if you know anything about it or not”, soonyoung says, crossing his arms over his chest in defense, frowning slightly. “i don’t know man, i guess it’s just like normal dating expect it's fake. you’re pretending and putting on an act and of course the most important thing is that you don’t catch feelings”, seungkwan says.

“is it hard?”, soonyoung asks, genuinely curious and seungkwan only blinks at his roommate. “i don’t know? i’ve never fake dated”, seungkwan says, exasperated all of a sudden. “why do you want to know all this anyway?”, he asks. soonyoung only blinks back at seungkwan and shrugs his shoulders. “just curious”, he says, trying to act casual but seungkwan can see right through it.

“did something happen at the dance studio? is this why you’re asking about this?”, seungkwan asks and soonyoung shakes his head.

“no! nothing like that, i was just asking jeez”, soonyoung says, pushing his chair back and getting up, grabbing his phone from the table as he trudges back into his room. seungkwan doesn’t ask anything more as he watches soonyoung go. soonyoung sighs softly, falling on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, thinking about how to respond to you. he feels like a fool now. he’s the one that brought it up, suggesting the fake dating plan when you’d clearly just been joking about it. but now that you said yes, he had no idea what to do. a moment later he reaches for his phone, opens your contact and texts you back.

soonyoung [7:55 PM]: hey! okay let’s do it.

you [7:56 PM]: sounds good! let’s meet up tomorrow afternoon? i’ll text you when i’m free and we can go from there!

you’re sitting in a cafe downtown, waiting for soonyoung. you were nervous for some reason and it makes you laugh, because you’d never get this nervous about meeting someone. you deal with clients on a daily basis and they never made you feel like this. you take a deep breath and that’s when soonyoung walks in. you see him enter the cafe, his eyes scanning the area before they land on you. you give him a small wave and he makes his way towards you, pulling out a chair and sitting down. 

“hey”, you say. “hi, sorry if i’m late, the class ran a bit late”, he informs but you didn't mind.

“no worries, can i get you anything?”, you ask, standing up to order. “oh, no it’s fine”, he says but you wave your hand. “it’s fine soonyoung, my treat, what will you have?”, you ask and he says he’ll just have an iced americano.

his coffee and your hot tea arrives and you set it down on the table, taking a seat. soonyoung’s hair is styled differently today, exposing his forehead, with just a few loose strands falling over his forehead and he’s wearing jeans and a loose button up shirt.

“so,” you began, clearing your throat a little too loudly. “um, how’s your… coffee?”, you ask, wincing internally, realizing how dumb you sounded. but soonyoung only seemed to smile softly and nod. “it’s good,” he says, his almond shaped eyes sparkling with warmth. ”how’s your tea?”, he asks.

“it’s good too,” you say, taking a sip, swallowing it down and there was another beat of silence.

“so”, you start again, looking at soonyoung. “about the fake dating thing…i guess we should set some ground rules right?”, you say and he nods, like he understood what you meant, but he didn’t. he takes a sip of his coffee, gulping down 1/4th of the drink in all the nervousness before he looks back at you.

“i don’t really know how fake dating works”, he finally says. “i mean i’ve never dated before, so i don’t know how this entire thing works really”, he admits, looking sheepish.

“that’s fine soonyoung, i’ll teach you. i have plenty of experience, so i can definitely show you the ropes and stuff about dating, it isn’t that big of a deal”, you add on and relief seems to wash over his features. “okay”, he says, “so what do we do?”.

“first the ground rules: make a convincing story, set some boundaries and an end date”, you say and he nods along, waiting for you to continue.

“so, for the story, if anyone asks how we met, we gotta have the same story so it’s convincing”, you explain. “so we could just say we met through jihyo, right?”, he suggests and you nod. “yeah, sure, that could work”, you say. “we’re going to tell jihyo about this right, otherwise it’s going to be really awkward”, you add and he nods again.

“okay then, now for the boundaries. we can decide what is okay and not, PDA wise and stuff”, you say and soonyoung only seems to blink at you, a little clueless.

“PDA?”, he asks. “public display of affection? you know, like holding hands and stuff”, you tell.

“right, yes”, he says. “so, are you okay with that? i mean holding hands and stuff if we need to? that’s all we’ll basically do, drawing the line there, no kissing or anything else, just holding hands”, you say.

“okay, only holding hands, that’s easy”, he says, like he’d done it a thousand times before. 

“and the end date, how long do you think we should do this for?”, you ask and he leans back in his chair, thinking, that small frown forming on his face again as he’s thinking.

“how long do people usually do this for?”, he asks, like you’re some sort of expert in fake dating. “uh— maybe three months to begin with? we can decide what to do after that”, you tell, unsure how long to set this for either. “so basically if we both need plus ones to an event, we can call each other or if your mom bothers you again, just say you’re dating me”, you tell.

another sense of relief seems to wash over soonyoung at your words and he lets out a  small goofy smile. “okay”.

“okay”, you say and silence seems to engulf you both again. “cool”, he repeats, getting nervous again. “cool”, you repeat again, an awkward tension now filling the air between the both of you. you take a sip of your tea, but the silence only seems to grow louder before you decide to speak again.

“i should head back to work, but just text me if you need anything”, you say, gathering your bag and standing up. soonyoung stands up too and says a small ‘see you’ before watching you walk out the cafe door. 

that night as you lay in bed, you just can’t bring yourself to call jihyo and tell her this rather ridiculous plan about fake dating her younger brother. you were somehow convinced that and sure that she’d disown you, block you and ask you what the hell was wrong with you. so after contemplating about it for nearly an hour, your finger that was hovering over her contact finally taps the call button and the phone rings. you throw your phone on the side, burying your face into the pillow, regretting every life decision you’ve ever made when she picks up, her voice filling the room since it was on speakerphone.

“yn hi babe”, she says, sounding upbeat. “hi babe”, you say and pause, trying to gather your thoughts and think of how to drop this bomb of information on her.

“i need to tell you something”, you start off. “but promise me that you won’t kill me”, you say and jihyo laughs. “what yn, you know i would never do that, what’s wrong?”, she asks but you hesitate. “you did say that the one time i texted my ex”, you say and she scoffs. “okay that was for a valid reason though, we don’t support texting exes over here”, she says and you roll your eyes.

“okay back to the topic”, you say as you gather the courage to spill the beans to her. “you know how my mom keeps trying to set me up on blind dates right?”, you ask.

“yeah, oh my god, is she still doing that?”, jihyo asks and you groan out a yes.

“so what about it?”, she asks, trying to get back to whatever you were trying to tell her. “i might have made a really stupid decision”, you say, biting your lip.

“what did you do?”, she asks. “i may have decided to fake date this guy to get her off my back”, you say and you hear jihyo exclaim on the other side. 

“OHMYGOD WHO”, she asks, almost yelling at you and you wince, clearing your throat before breaking the news to her.

“your brother, soonyoung”, you say softly, hoping she didn’t hear it but she does. 

“wait WHAT”, she asks and you can hear the confusion in her voice. “what do you mean you’re going to fake date soonyoung? my brother?”, she asks again, like she was trying to make sure she didn’t hear you wrong.

“yes, soonyoung, your younger brother”, you repeat and the line is silent for a few seconds.

“are you insane? what is wrong with you”, she says. “i’m not insane! it’s a perfectly good solution for two people to fake date to get their pestering mother’s off their backs!”, you tell, trying to sound convincing but it seems to lack conviction even to you.

“i met soonyoung at the bar two weeks ago and we talked a bit. he told me about how your mom kept trying to set him up on blind dates and stuff, so i jokingly suggested we fake date since my mom was doing the same thing, and well, here we are”, you explain.

“but soonyoung out of all people? he’s clueless yn, he’s a walking disaster when it comes to dating, no wonder he’s still single”, jihyo says and suddenly you feel bad for him.

“hey! don’t say that, i’m sure he’ll make a great boyfriend”, you say, recalling how cool he looked when you saw him earlier. he just needed a little push, somewhere to start. “he’s cute”, you say and jihyo scoffs softly. “well, don’t say i didn’t warn you about what you’re getting into”, she says. “yes ma’am”, you say and she laughs.

“also this is top secret, you can’t let anyone know we’re fake dating. i’m only telling you because you're my best friend and his sister, so i don’t want things getting awkward between us”, you say and jihyo hums at your words.

when soonyoung gets home that night there’s a shift in energy in him, he’s nervous, but also excited for some reason. seungkwan is quick to notice and soonyoung decides to be the first to break the news to him—that he has a girlfriend now, but he was going to leave the fake part out of it.

“i—um— seem to have gotten myself a girlfriend”, soonyoung says once he’s closer and seungkwan spits out the water in his mouth, the water sputtering out and landing right on soonyoung shirt.

“seungkwan what the hell?”, soonyoung shouts looking down at his clothes, as seungkwan wipes his mouth with his hand.

“what? you got yourself a girlfriend? the mr. i won’t date till i find the right one has finally found himself a girlfriend?”, he asks, shocked.

“yeah, why is that so hard to believe?”, soonyoung asks with a frown and seungkwan nods. “yeah that’s really hard to believe, but who’s the girl?”, he asks and soonyoung shrugs lightly.

“just someone, you don’t know them”, soonyoung says, trying to avoid the topic but he melts under seungkwan’s gaze and gives in, “she’s my sister’s best friend”, soonyoung finally admits and seungkwan’s sharp inhale of air can he heard.

“i didn’t know you had a thing for your sister’s best friend dude, holy shit”, seungkwan says, but soonyoung only rubs the back of his neck, trying to ease his nerves and play it cool.

“yeah, haha, i mean my sister is cool with it so”, soonyoung says, hoping he sounded convincing enough.

“so you think she’s the one then?”, seungkwan asks. “you’re always telling me that you didn’t want to date just for the sake of dating, but wanted to only date when you found the right person”, he asks and soonyoung feels his ears turn red at seungkwan’s words. fuck, he was going to have to lie again to keep this up or else he was screwed. 

“yeah, she’s the one”, soonyoung says quickly before turning around and making a beeline to his room, nearly slamming the door shut. shit, this was going to be harder than he thought.

“what do people do on dates?”, soonyoung asks the next morning, the question sounding so innocent that seungkwan wants to strangle him. 

“people just do couple things, they talk about stuff, support each other, do things together, hold hands, kiss”, seungkwan says, listing out stuff.

“do i have to be like cool?”, he asks. “no man, you don’t have to be cool, just be you”, seungkwan replies. 

“do you know what she likes?”, seungkwan asks and soonyoung only blinks back at him. “then go ask her, find out what she likes, dislikes, get to know her. i thought you’d know all this by now”, seungkwan says in an almost scolding tone.

“of course i know what she likes!”, soonyoung replies before he says something about having two classes scheduled today so he’ll be home only in the evening and he walks out the door, thinking he’s such an idiot, that he was doomed—because he really didn’t know much about you. he had half a mind to call jihyo and ask, she’d know plenty of things about you. he was even sure jihyo would know your astrological chart by heart if he asked but he didn’t. 

work is busy today and you had two client meetings, plus you had to manage three projects simultaneously so you were running around pretty much the entire day today. you barely have the time to eat lunch or dinner, just nibbling on some snack bars through the afternoon and by the time you clock out, it’s late, later than usual. you walk to the bus stop, hoping you haven’t missed the last bus and sit down and wait, hoping it’ll still come otherwise you are going to have to take a cab.

on the other side of the road, soonyoung walks, evidently a little tired but still energised, a slight little bounce in his step. it isn’t until soonyoung turns around to cross the road that he spots you sitting at the bus stop across the road. it’s an odd thing really, how you’d always taken a bus at that bus stop, and how soonyoung always walked down that path everyday for the last two years, but today is the only time he sees you there, notices you.

he straightens up and blinks, looking at you to make sure it was indeed you and crosses the road when the light turns green. you haven’t seen him yet, busy typing away on your phone. he stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets and walks towards you, his shoes crunching on the leaves fallen on the roadside.

“yn hey”, he says and you snap your head up at the mention of your name, your gaze softening when it lands on soonyoung. 

“oh, hey”, you say, surprised to see him here. “heading home?”, he asks and you nod. “yeah, you too?”, you ask and he nods.

“do you always work this late?”, he asks, taking a seat next to you. “no, usually i leave earlier, but today was a busy day, i had things to take care off”, you say and he nods.

the bus finally comes and you get up. you turn around, giving soonyoung a small wave before you climb onto the bus and find a window seat. soonyoung watches as the bus leaves before he turns on his heel and continues walking in the other direction, kicking a stone as he takes a step, his hands still stuffed in his pockets. soonyoung reaches home and unlocks the door to the apartment, stepping inside and spots seungkwan on the couch.

“someone is late”, he says but soonyoung shrugs. 

“i was with my girlfriend, i saw her at the bus stop so i stopped to talk”, soonyoung tells proudly. “did you drop her home too?”, seungkwan asks and soonyoung furrows his brows in confusion.

“drop her home? was i supposed to?”, soonyoung asks and seungkwan runs a hand across his face, clearly done with his clueless friends behaviour.

“dude, it’s so late and you let her take the bus alone and didn’t even offer to drop her home? are you stupid? that’s the basic thing to do when you’re in a relationship”, seungkwan explains, shaking his head in disapproval. 

“i think instead of dance classes, you need to start taking some romance classes”, seungkwan adds. “wait, is that actually a thing? do you think i should sign up for that?”, soonyoung asks, oblivious, which only makes seungkwan groan even louder.

“oh my god, you, my friend, are hopeless, i can’t believe this”, seungkwan exclaims. 

if soonyoung was going to get this fake dating thing right, he had a lot to learn. 

“did you look at the picture i sent, he’s a decent guy yn, give him a chance”, your mom says as you wait for the leftover takeaway food to heat up in the microwave. you take a breath, because you had to break the news, and you weren’t sure how she was going to react to it.

“mom, i found a guy and we’re in a relationship”, you say and you mom goes silent for a moment before her voice crackles through the phone again. “who?”, she asks, her tone a little scary. well, here goes nothing.

“soonyoung”, you say. “who?” your mom asks again and the microwave beeps, your hand reaching out to open it.

“soonyoung, you know, jihyo’s younger brother”, you say, hoping she wasn’t going to freak out about this.

“how long has this been going for”, you mom asks, her tone taking a sort of serious edge. “last week”, you say, biting your lip as you take the plate and walk over to the small table. 

“why?”, she asks and you furrow your brows. “what do you mean why, mom, i like him”, you say, trying to sound convincing. 

“what does he do?”, she asks. “he works at a dance studio”, you say. “does jihyo’s mom know about this?”, she questions and your silence is all she needs to get an answer. 

“of course mom”, you say a beat too late, hoping you didn’t screw things up already, but soonyoung’s family were bound to find out about this some way or another. you just didn’t know how quick the news was going to spread like wildfire. your mom had immediately called up soonyoung’s mom, who then asked jihyo if this was true before calling up her son for more answers. 

when soonyoung’s phone rings, his mom’s caller ID on display, he smiles and picks up the phone, but he doesn’t expect his mom to ask him bluntly, “you’re dating your sister’s best friend?”. soonyoung nearly trips on the steps but catches his balance before it’s too late and stops in his tracks.

“what—how did you find out?”, he asks. “you think i’m not keeping tabs on you boy? i have eyes everywhere”, his mom tells and soonyoung scratches his head.

“how long has this been going on for?”, she asks and soonyoung stutters out an answer, wracking his brain on what to say. “last two weeks”, he says and his mom clicks her tongue.

“yn’s mom said it’s been going on since last week”, she questions him and soonyoung nearly breaks into a cold sweat with the way his mom was interrogating him. “um-yeah-no last week-it’s been official since last week”, soonyoung sputters out, hoping he didn’t already bust his cover. “i see”, is all his mom says after that, the line going silent for a few seconds before she speaks again.

“take good care of her”, is all his mom says finally, before saying she had to get back to making some kimchi and hangs up the phone.soonyoung stands there stunned and a little nervous about how he’s going to tell you about this. he decides to text you when he gets home.

soonyoung [6:33 PM]: hey! hope all is well.

you [6:35 PM]: yeah, what’s up?

soonyoung[ 6:37 PM]: so my mom found out we’re dating…

you [6:38 PM]: omfg i’m sorry this is my mom’s doing i told her and she must’ve immediately called your mom 😭

soonyoung [6:39 PM]: oh…so we’re cool right?

you [6:39 PM]: yeah, don’t worry, they were bound to find out anyway.

soonyoung [6:40 PM]: okay 👍🏽

you call jihyo when you reach home. “i told my mom and she immediately told your mom like we committed a crime or something”, you tell. “yeah, my mom sort of chewed my head about it too, i’m glad soonyoung isn’t here or he'd put me in hell right now”, jihyo laughs.”i wouldn’t be surprised if half the neighbourhood knows about this by tomorrow”, you add and jihyo laughs even more.

“are you enjoying my sorrow right now?”, you ask. “well, you’re the genius who wanted to fake date my brother out of all people, so this is on you, don’t say i didn’t warn you”, jihyo says and you scoff. 

“whatever”, you tell. “but your family is chill with this right?”, you ask, unsure.

“yes, what do you mean? my mom is literally in love with you, she’s doting over you all the time, so i know she’s secretly happy about this, even though it’s fake”, jihyo says and you let out a small breath of relief. “okay good, because i was starting to think i would never be welcome in your house again”, you joke. 

“you know, soonyoung works really close to your office, he moved into that part of town too for work and stuff”, jihyo says and your ears perk up at this piece of information.

“oh yeah, no wonder i bumped into him at the bus stop yesterday”, you say, the information clicking in your brain. “if you get the time, you should drop by the dance studio, it’s actually pretty cool and he’s actually really good at teaching and dancing”, jihyo praises. 

“how come he’s never dated before?”, you ask, curious to know the reason. you remember him telling you something about not finding the one, but you were sure jihyo had more inside information on why exactly. 

“i don’t know, he’s always been sweet, but when it came to dating, he wasn’t really interested. he said he didn’t like anyone, and wanted to devote his time to dancing rather than dating. he’d always say he’d date someone when the time was right, when he really liked someone”, jihyo explains and you hum in response. “yeah, he’s silly like that. good luck dealing with him”, she says, making you chuckle.

“come on, he’s not that bad, he’s sweet”, you say.

“did you break up with your girlfriend or something? i haven't seen you talk to her or go meet her once this entire week”, seungkwan asks as soonyoung is eating dinner, who nearly chokes on the spoonful of soup.

“she’s just busy!”, soonyoung counters and seungkwan only narrows his eyes at soonyoung, not taking his word for it. “she’s busy”, soonyoung mutters again, averting his gaze, looking at the meal in front of him, but he can still feel seungkwan’s piercing gaze on him.

“something isn’t adding up”, seungkwan declares, crossing his arms over his chest and soonyoung tries not to panic, he couldn't blow his cover. “is she not taking you seriously because you’re her best friend’s brother?”, he asks and soonyoung blinks in relief.

“no dude, she really likes me, she’s just really busy at her super important corporate job”, soonyoung says and seungkwan raises a brow. “corporate job? what does she do?”, he asks and soonyoung freezes, because fuck, he had no idea what you did.

“um, she’s like super duper important and has a really high position”, soonyoung says and seungkwan furrows his brows more. “but what exactly does she do?”, he asks and soonyoung lets out a fake cough, standing up to go grab some water and he turns around, only to see seungkwan still waiting for an answer. 

“she deals with people you know, she’s a people person”, soonyoung says, sounding like a fool. “right, and i’m supposed to understand what that means”, seungkwan tells and soonyoung lets out a nervous laugh.

“i mean, even if i told you, you wouldn’t understand, it’s complicated”, soonyoung says, trying to act cool and just then seungkwan’s phone rings, prompting him to get up to fetch it and soonyoung thanks the gods because he was this close to revealing the truth.

“my mom wants you to come over for dinner”. jihyo says over the phone.

“oh…oh… is this bad? oh my god”, you say, panicking a little. it was funny how you’d always loved her family, her mom loving and welcoming you, but now that you were dating, well fake dating her son, suddenly the thought of going over for dinner felt daunting.

“yn chill out, you’re acting like my mom is going to kidnap you and chop you up into pieces! she’s chill with you guys dating trust me”, jihyo says, trying to soothe you. “i don’t know why you’re freaking out so much when the whole arrangement is fake anyway”, she adds.

“i just don’t want your mom to think i broke her son’s heart when we end the thing”, you say and jihyo hums. “i’m sure she’ll understand”, she says, trying to soothe you. “so you’ll drop by this weekend for dinner then?”, jihyo asks again and you bite your lip, contemplating a response before you say yes, because if you were going to fake date, you had to do it right.

on the day of the dinner with jihyo’s family, you’re a mess. your entire wardrobe is dumped out on your bed and you’ve tried on at least eight articles of clothes, discarding them all because they didn’t look good. you finally settle for something simple, a pair of high waisted jeans paired with a flowy baby blue top that was tucked in, and ankle length boots. it was simple and comfortable. you decide to drive to her place instead of taking the bus. you usually only took the bus to the office and back since it was cheaper than driving there everyday.

when you pull up at jihyo’s place, you have to sit in the car for a minute and breathe. why were you so nervous? you knew her parents and they were so sweet to you, but tonight the thought of sitting and having dinner with them felt nerve wracking. you open the door and step out, making your way to the door and ringing the doorbell. soonyoung opens the door and he lets out a small smile when he sees you, beckoning you to come inside. just then his mother comes into sight. she lights up when she sees you and immediately pulls you in for a hug. jihyo’s dad waves at you from the back as jihyo tackles you in a hug too and you give him a small wave.

“yn! look at you, it’s been so long since i saw you, you’re all grown up now”, she says and you laugh softly and smile. she ushers you inside and asks soonyoung to fetch you something to drink. so far the conversation seems to be going well, but if you only knew how awkward it was going to get when you all sat down for dinner. 

soonyoung sits next to you. “so, how did you guys end up dating?”, soonyoung’s mom asks and you glance at soonyoung before you clear your throat and answer. “it just sort of ended up happening”, you say, giving his mom a small smile in an attempt to distract her from your half baked answers.

“how long have you liked each other then? has this been going on for long?”, soonyong’s mom asks, looking between you and soonyoung, who is close to breaking into a sweat because he had no idea what to say, so he just blabbers something at the same time you open your mouth to speak.

“one month”, he says in a rush. “two weeks”, you say and you both look at each other and you tilt your head to the side, giving him a look and soonyoung scrambles to save face.

“i mean to say that i liked yn for a while, so it was one sided until two weeks ago”, he says and jihyo lets out a small snort at his answer. soonyoung looks at you with that lopsided pout on his face and rubs the back of his neck, nervous, his eyes asking if he did okay. you only laugh softly and lightly nudge him with your elbow. “he’s funny, but yeah that’s the story”, you tell, playing along. “then what made you say yes to dating him?”, his mom asks and you panic again. “um—he was cute and eventually grew on me”, you say, sounding ridiculous and jihyo stifles a laugh and you give her a look. jihyo’s mom doesn’t say anything more, and the conversation diverts to what you have been doing and catching up and you couldn’t be more grateful. when dinner is done, you’re helping clear the table. that’s when soonyoung notices you and rushes over, saying he’s got it and takes the plates from you. 

jihyo whisks you away to her room and you crash on her bed, the various memories of when you’d come over and the countless sleepovers you’d had during your college days come flooding back. “this room hasn’t changed a bit”, you say, sitting up and looking around. you both probably end up talking for a good 30 minutes when a realisation hits—the realisation that you were here for soonyoung and you’d been completely ignoring him. jihyo gets called downstairs and she says she’ll be back, leaving you alone. you sit on the bed, contemplating if you should head out too and find soonyoung when you notice a head peeking into jihyo’s room—soonyoung. when he sees that you’ve caught him, he straightens up and runs a hand through his hair, coming into view.

“soonyoung hey”, you say, realising you’d barely greeted him or talked to him this entire evening. “hi”, he says looking at you before speaking. “my mom was asking if you wanted some ice cream?”, he asks. “sure”, you say and soonyoung leads you downstairs. jihyo’s arguing about something with her mom and when her mom sees you, she ignores jihyo and hands soonyoung a tray with two bowls of ice cream.

“here, eat it in your room with yn”, his mom says and soonyoung blinks, glancing at you.

“i’m coming too!”, jihyo yells but her mom stops her. “stop it, leave soonyoung and yn be”, her mom says, ushering you both back up the stairs. jihyo mouths an ‘all the best’ to you and you give her a look. you both walk up the stairs and you’re standing in front of soonyoung’s room when he looks at you. “just…give me a minute, it’s a bit of a mess”, he says, stepping into the room quickly and you hear the shuffle of feet as he tries his best to tidy up the room quickly while you’re standing outside. he dumps whatever clothes were on his bed into the wardrobe and shuts it, straightening his bedsheet and fluffing up the pillows as much as he could. his eyes scan the room once more and once he deems it tidy enough he opens the door rather hurriedly, like he was scared that he’d made you wait for too long.

“you can come in now”, he says and you step inside. soonyoung’s room is so much like his personality. there are a bunch of old textbooks stacked up in a corner of his table. there’s a bluetooth speaker by the side and bunch of charging cables strewn next to it. there's a photo frame that has a small collage of pictures—soonyoung, jihyo and their parents and you smile softly at the sight of soonyoung grinning wide in the picture. your eyes glance down and there is a whole corner on the floor that is stacked with shoe boxes all stacked on top of each other, holding his sneaker collection. on the wall on the other side, there are a bunch of medals and certificates decorating his wall. you walk forward to take a closer look at them—they were all medals and certificates he’d won through participating in various dance competitions or events. you turn around and soonyoung’s holding out the bowl of ice cream for you and you take it. the ice cream’s already half melted but you don’t mind and soonyoung gestures for you to sit down on his bed. you take a seat on the edge of the bed while soonyoung pulls out the chair from the study table, taking a seat there. you eat a spoonful of the already melted ice cream and there’s an awkward silence that engulfs the both of you. 

“that’s quite an impressive collection of medals and certificates”, you say finally, earning a look from soonyoung, who bursts into an almost shy smile. “thanks”, he says. “how’s it working at the studio?”, you ask and soonyoung’s face seems to light up at your question.

“it’s really good! it’s really fun to see people from all different walks of life come together because of their passion for dancing. we get so many different people, ones who just dance as a hobby, some who are passionate about it and do it on the side, some who join to rediscover their passion for dancing and other beginners who just want to take a dance class for the fun of it. i think dance is a wonderful thing and me being able to teach and do what i love for a living is so worth it to me”, he explains and you smile at the way he explains it with so much enthusiasm, with so much passion.

“that’s wonderful to hear”, you say and he smiles more. “you should drop by sometime”, he asks. “i’d love too”, you say.

“sorry my room’s kind of a mess”, he says, looking around and getting a little self conscious about it. “it’s fine, it’s not bad…it’s just you”, you say. “you think so?”, he asks and you nod again, earning another shy look from him.

and just then jihyo bursts into the room, opening the door and startling you both. “guys, stop making out, mom wants to know if you want more ice cream”, she says rather loudly and you get up, smacking her arm.

“shut up jihyo, oh my god”, you grumble out, getting embarrassed while she only laughs at your misery. “i hate you so much”, you repeat and you glance over at soonyoung who looks like he’s just seen a ghost, his face turing pale.

“jihyo why would you say that!”, soonyoung says standing up and crossing his arms across his chest in an attempt to look tough, but his sulking tone shines through. “you guys need to have a little fun, come on!”, jihyo says laughing.

“also babe, it’s getting late so i thought i’d come ask you if you wanted to stay back or head home”, she says, looking at you. you glance at the time on your watch, realising that it was indeed late and you should probably leave to reach home since you also had work tomorrow.

“i’ll leave, i have my car anyway so don’t worry”, you assure and you nod. you walk down with jihyo, soonyoung following behind you with the ice cream bowls in hand and he drops them off at the sink when you’re putting on your shoes by the door.

“aren’t you going to walk her out?”, soonyoung’s mom says from the kitchen and you hear her. you can see the mental picture of his mom shooing him towards the door to walk you to the car. soonyoung comes up into sight again and jihyo pushes him forward, telling him to drop you to the car. 

“you don’t have to walk me, i’m fine”, you say but jihyo isn’t taking no for an answer. “come on yn, just let him”, she insists and that’s how you find soonyoung walking you towards your car, which was parked a little down from jihyo’s house. you glance at soonyoung, who’s walking with his hands stuffed into his pockets. the night breeze blows and catches in his hair, tousling it but he doesn’t seem to mind. his blonde silver hair seems to catch the moonlight and streetlight around, and under it, you notice how handsome it makes him look.

“sorry if this whole thing was weird for you”, you say after a moment, realising it must've not been easy for him to pretend, let alone know what to do since you recall him telling you that he's never dated before. “it wasn’t all that bad”, he says, looking at you and you stop walking, having reached your car.

“well, if anything comes up, i’ll text you”, you say and he nods. you get in your car, bid soonyoung goodbye and start your car, driving back home.

after the family dinner with you, soonyoung is determined to up his game and be a better fake boyfriend for you. so his search history looks a little like this:

how to be a good boyfriend

what does a boyfriend do

what do people do on dates

top ten date ideas

how to impress your girlfriend

how to hold your fake girlfriend’s hand

top ten pick up lines 

soonyoung spends the entire night staying up and searching all of this, reading through various blogs, articles and people’s comments to determine which approach was the best and what really worked. he had no idea dating included so many things, let alone having it pretend on top of all of that. but he was going to tackle it, because he wanted to impress you and be a good fake boyfriend for you. it’s only two weeks later when soonyoung bumps into you again.

you’re at a cafe, your favorite one and since it's friday, you decide to drop by and grab a quick bite there, you had always loved the food here. soonyoung is walking down the road when he happens to look into the cafe and that’s when he spots you sitting inside. he stops in his tracks and looks at you, squinting his eyes and making sure that it was indeed really you before his legs seem to have a mind of their own and take him inside the cafe. he pushes the door open, stepping inside, and the aroma of coffee and baked goods welcome him. he looks at you from the corner, watching you type away something on your laptop that’s open on the table, a mug of hot green tea on the table. he hesitates for a moment, not sure if he should come and say hi or leave. but then you look up and your eyes land on him. he looks away immediately before looking back in your direction and makes his way towards you.

“hey”, he says once he’s close enough. “soonyoung hi”, you say, looking at him. just then the waiter comes by and drops off your sandwich and soonyoung stands awkwardly by the side. 

“i’ll head out”, he says softly, like he was unsure if he was welcome to stay but you look at him. “you’re leaving already?”, you ask, to which he only blinks at you. you gesture for him to sit down and he takes a seat opposite you. “do you want anything, i’ll get it for you”, you ask and he shakes his head in refusal.

“oh no, i’m good”, he says. “coffee? tea? anything at all? it’s really no big deal”, you say but he says he’s fine again. you offer him the other half of your sandwich too, but in the end he only ends up munching on a few of the chips that were on the side. 

“you’re cute when you’re shy”, you say after a moment and he lets out a shy smile.

“what do you do?”, he asks after a moment, leaving you confused for a second before it clicks that he’s asking you what you do for a living. “oh, i’m currently working as a project manager for an advertising agency”, you say and he nods, like he’s impressed. “that must be really hard”, he asks. “yeah, it can get pretty hectic”, you say before silence settles between the both of you again and you take a bite of your sandwich. 

“so you teach everyday then? or does it work on shifts?”, you ask and again his eyes seem to light up at the mention of dance or you taking an interest in what he does. 

“yeah mostly it’s five days a week but the timings can vary. it mostly depends on the crowd, and what i’m going to be teaching, but sometimes i get days off in between since we have other dance teachers on rotation”, he explains. 

“that’s sounds really nice, god i wish i could get a day off in the middle of the week like that”, you say, already thinking of the workload that was waiting for you back home.

“you majored in dance right?”, you ask a second later and he nods. “yeah, a performance and choreography major”, he says and you nod your head, impressed. you finish eating the rest of your sandwich and you both walk out, hoshi offering to walk you to the bus stop. 

when the new week rolls in and it’s monday, soonyoung finds himself thinking about you. he finds himself waiting for you near the bus stop, hoping he’d spot you so he  walks by the cafe again. it’s silly really, how badly he wants to bump into you, to have an excuse to talk to you again. he could just text you, but it doesn’t feel the same. and on wednesday, he does manage to spot you, but this time he quite literally bumps into you. you both are turning around the corner and you’re in a rush when you bump right into him, your phone falling out of your hand and clattering to the floor.

“oh shit, i’m so sorry”, you say, a little frazzled, bending down to pick up your phone but he’s already got it. it’s only when he stands back up that you realise it’s soonyoung.

“soonyoung oh, hi”, you say and he seems to look relieved almost to see you, like he’d been waiting for this moment, his eyes lighting up when he realises it’s really you in front of him. “yn”, he says, saying your name so sweetly, like he’d been waiting for you for far too long as he blinks at you. he hands you your phone but not before glancing at it, making sure it wasn’t cracked or anything.

“sorry, i wasn’t looking where i was going”, you tell, apologizing. “heading somewhere?”, he asks, noticing how rushed you looked. “yeah, i have to meet a client so i’ll get going, see you around”, you say, giving him a tiny wave before walking ahead, leaving soonyoung behind. you hadn’t given him time to reply or say bye back to you and he just watches you walk away, whatever words he wanted to say dying on his lips. soonyoung stuffs his hands in his pockets and makes his way to the dance studio, a little bummed about not evening getting so say anything else to you besides the hi. he pushes the door open to the dance studio, waving at the receptionist and walking inside towards the staff rooms. he grabs his dance outfit from the locker and changes into it before walking into one of the dance practice rooms.

soonyoung turns on some music and does some light stretches, warming up his body for the dance session that was going to take place. soon, the room starts filling up with students and he greets them all one by one as they enter. soonyoung’s passion for dancing was immense, it was something like breathing to him, it came naturally. soonyoung was also great teacher, he was firm when needed but also patient and he was good at helping the students understand the movements easily, how to move their bodies and he always advocated about how taking care of yourself, a balanced diet and stretching was always required and a must. he’d often take a few extra minutes after class to help students who were particularly struggling or wanted extra help. the best part was the group dance showcases every week, showcasing everyone’s progress and dances, and he always found that exciting—to see his student’s progress and improvements always made him swell with pride. today’s dance session goes well and soonyoung is satisfied. it’s only when the class ends that three girls come up to soonyoung.

“do you have plans for dinner? you could join us”, one of the girls says. “yes! you always say no, you have to come tonight”, the other girl says, laughing softly, trying to convince him as they flirted with him.

“sorry, i have to get going”, he says, trying to sound nice as he smiles a little even though they try to convince him more and ask him out, but he declines and turns on his heel, making his way out the door, hoping he could catch you at the bus stop. but when he walks to the bus stop, soonyoung doesn’t spot you there, and he glances at the time, coming to the conclusion that he was a little late and had missed seeing you. 

soonyoung doesn’t bump into you again until friday. he’s walking by, minding his own business, making his way to the bakery downtown. this place was known for their freshly baked goods, the ovens churning out fresh bread and other delectable goods almost every four hours, so he knew he’d always get his hands on something freshly made. this place was particularly famous for their salt bread and doughnuts. seungkwan had asked soonyoung to get some salt bread on the way back home to stock up for the week so that’s where soonyoung was heading. soonyoung can smell the aroma of the freshly baked bread down the road. when soonyoung walks in, there’s a crowd no doubt. his eyes flicker around, looking at what was on display and that’s when he spots you. you’re standing in line, waiting to order and soonyoung slowly but carefully makes his way towards you. when’s he’s close enough, he ends up nudging you slightly because of the crowd and you turn around, ready to give a piece of your mind to whoever bumped into you, when your gaze softens at the sight of soonyoung. he gives you a small smile when he sees you, his eyes forming little crescent moons as the smile reaches his eyes.

“yn hi!”, he says, like he’s so happy to see you and you smile back.

“hey hi again”, you say, realising you’d started to bump into him quite often. 

“this place has the best salt bread, i’ve come to stock up on that”, he says and your face lights up. “they really do! and the doughnuts too, i need to indulge in some so i came to get some as an end of the week treat”, you explain.

it’s your turn to order and you go up to the counter, placing your order. “please give me two salted caramel doughnuts, two chocolate glazed ones and”, you stop, glancing at soonyoung.

“what are you getting?”, you ask. “oh, just some salt bread, two loaves”, he says.

“and two loaves of salt bread”, you say to the cashier who rings up your bill. you’re about to hand your card to the cashier when soonyoung stops you, saying he’ll pay, but you’re not having it. “soonyoung it’s really fine, consider it my treat”, you say, giving him an easy smile and handing over your card, but soonyoung thrusts his hand forward as well and the cashier stands blinking between the both of you.

“so who’s paying”, the guy asks, looking at the both of you. “mine, take mine joshua”, you say. having been a regular at the bakery, you’d gotten to know joshua who works there, so he listens and he takes your card. soonyoung stutters out a “no let me pay”, but it’s too late and joshua taps your card. you receive the goods from the counter two minutes later and soonyoung carries his bag with the two loaves of salt bread and the two chocolate doughnuts you bought for him and sneaked inside his bag. (he didn’t know).

“you really didn’t have to pay for my stuff yn”, he mutters out as you both walk to the side of the store. you’re about to respond to him when you hear someone call out your name

“yn! oh my god hi”, you hear someone call out and you turn around, watching your co-worker, mina, walk towards you. your eyes widen in surprise and you glance at soonyoung, who seems oblivious to the panic in your eyes.

“oh hi! didn’t think i’d run into you here”, you say, trying to sound calm. your co-worker, mina, seems to notice you glancing over at soonyoung and looks at you, waiting for an explanation. 

“this is my friend,”, you say in a rush, panicking when you say it. soonyoung’s smile falters for a second, his eyebrows raised slightly, a flash of surprise in his expression, having gotten caught off guard by the ‘just a friend’ part. but he’s quick to mask his expression with a easy grin, but the way his lips were turned down, forming a little pout told a different story

“yep, just a friend,” soonyoung repeats, his tone light but with a hint of forced cheerfulness. he politely says hi to your friend and stands there while the two of you make conversation.

“great, i’ll catch up with you later yn, see you later”, mina says to soonyoung too before she waves and leaves.

soonyoung glances over at you.”just a friend? i thought we’re supposed to be pretending to be a couple”, he says, looking at you with that lopsided pout on his lips. 

“i’m sorry, i panicked”, you tell, feeling a little bad but in hindsight, you really don’t know why you said that. soonyoung doesn’t say anything else as you both walk out of the store. “i’ll see you around then”, you say, when you both are outside.

“let me walk you to the bus stop”, he offers. “oh, it’s fine, it’s just a five minute walk”, you say. “but i want to”, he says lightly, so you let him.

“what else do you like from that bakery?”, soonyoung asks, glancing over at you, in a small attempt to get to know you better. “hm, i do love their red velvet cake and their dark chocolate chunk cookies”, you say and soonyoung makes a mental note to get those for you next time. after five minutes, you’ve reached the bus stop and he watches you get onto the bus and waves as it leaves.

it’s only when soonyoung gets home that he realises you’d sneaked in the chocolate doughnuts with the salt bread. “why did you get doughnuts? but i’m not complaining they’re always so good”, seungkwan says when he opens the bag that soonyoung had left on the counter.

“doughnuts? what do you mean? i didn’t buy doughnuts”, soonyoung says and seungkwan opens a box to reveal two chocolate glazed donuts inside them. “oh”, he says softly. soonyoung thinks it’s a mistake, that the cashier accidentally packed your doughnuts with his bread, so he snatches the box from seungkwan, telling him not to eat it and places it back in the bag before rushing to his room to grab his phone.

soonyoung [9:10 PM]: hey! 

you [9:12 PM]: hi, all okay?

soonyoung [9:13 PM]: you left your chocolate doughnuts with me, it was in my bag.

you [9:13 PM]: oh! no they’re for you, enjoy!

soonyoung [9:14 PM]: oh

you [9:14 PM]: yes :)

soonyoung stares at his screen, trying to formulate a response but doesn't know what to say. so he just settles for saying a thank you and shouts out to seungkwan that he can have the doughnuts. “are the doughnuts good?”, soonyoung asks, when he walks out to see seungkwan stuffing his face with it.

“oh my god, it’s so good, i can’t believe i’ve never tried this one before! i’m glad you got it”, seungkwan says and soonyoung only seems to sigh in defeat before walking over to the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water.

“why are you sulking?”, seungkwan asks, being able to read soonyoung’s emotions. “i’m not sulking”, he says but who was he kidding, he was. “it’s stupid”, soonyoung says but seungkwan only looks at him, waiting for him to explain.

“it’s just that, when me and yn were at the bakery earlier, she introduced me as her friend”, soonyoung says softly and seungkwan sucks in a dramatic breath. “WHAT?”, he says, his voice muffled through the big bite of the doughnut he had taken.

“that’s foul”, seungkwan says after a moment, which only seems to make soonyoung pout more. “i’m sure she didn’t mean it in a bad way”, soonyoung says, which only seems to fuel seungkwan’s thoughts.

“are you crazy? she introduced you as her friend and not boyfriend? that's so foul, you know what, give me her number, let me talk to her”, seungkwan says, all riled up for no reason. “woah that’s not needed man”, soonyoung says, walking over and grabbing the other doughnut, taking a bite out of it. “hm these are actually really good”, soonyoung says as he walks back to his room, the doughnut in his hand.

it’s a week later and soonyoung has been busy with dance lessons at the studio, and you have new projects on hand at work. finally, he has a day off and decides that it’s the right time to buy you back some chocolate doughnuts. he walks to the bakery with a stride and on a mission. along with the two chocolate glazed doughnuts, he gets you four dark chocolate chunk cookies and a slice of red velvet cake, remembering you mentioning that you liked those too. he pays at the counter and walks out of the store, excited to give these to you, only to realise he doesn’t know where you work, or exactly where your office is located. 

he thinks that he should text you and ask, but then that’ll ruin the surprise. so he asks jihyo instead, who is a menace and it takes three pleases before jihyo laughs and says she’ll text him the location to your office. he nearly jumps when his phone pings with a text and he’s quick to put the location in maps. it shows that it’s a fifteen minute walk from the bakery, which wasn’t too bad, so he starts walking in the direction of your office, hoping you’d like the little surprise.

when soonyoung finally reaches your office, it’s a huge building and he looks up, counting eight floors, wondering which floor you work on. he walks inside before turning to the reception desk on the left side. 

“hi, i’m looking for yn, she works here”, he says and the receptionist looks at soonyoung. “and you are?”, the lady asks, looking soonyoung up and down.

“oh! i’m her…boyfriend”, he says with a small smile. “i just got her some stuff to eat”, he adds and the receptionist nods, scribbling down something in a book.

“it’s lunch break now so she’ll probably be at the cafeteria, 4th floor”, the lady says and soonyoung thanks the lady and walks towards the elevator. he hums to himself as he walks into the elevator and when it opens, he’s greeted by your co-worker whom he saw the other day—mina. soonyoung walks into the elevator and presses the button to the fourth floor.

“hi, you’re yn’s friend right?”, mina says after a moment, seeming to recognise soonyoung. “yeah, her boyfriend actually”, he corrects and your friend lets out a small gasp in surprise. and just then the elevator pings, signaling that it has reached the fourth floor and the door slides open. 

“i got her some things from the bakery”, he says, holding up the bag as he steps out of the elevator, mina following beside him. “that’s so sweet, oh my god”, she says.  "you're really spoiling her, huh?", she adds with a more teasing tone as you both step out. just then two more of yn’s colleagues appear around the corner, all of them stopping short when they notice soonyoung standing there, looking a little lost and a lot out of place.

"what’s going on here?" one of them asks, raising an eyebrow at the scene before them. the way soonyoung was standing, clearly unsure of where to go makes him even more endearing. soonyoung looks around at the people that seemed to have gathered around him. “yn’s boyfriend is here”, mina sings songs and the rest of the girls all exclaim. “no way”, one of them says and the whole group goes silent for a split second, before they erupt into small gasps. "oh my god really?!" one of them asks with a small grin. "yn has a boyfriend?"

soonyoung lets out a nervous laugh, his face turning a little pink at the sudden attention he was getting and he scratches the back of his neck and asks, “uh, do you know where i can find yn?”.

“she’s probably in the break room getting coffee, let me call her”, mina says and just then yn seems to step out and mina calls out her name. “yn! over here!”, mina calls out to you and you turn your head around when you hear your name, your eyes spotting your coworkers all gathered in the corner near the elevator, and that’s when your eyes land on soonyoung. your eyes widen in surprise and you make your way towards them. it’s only when you’re close enough does mina speak.

“yn you didn’t tell us you had a boyfriend?”, they all tease. “you’ve been hiding him? i thought you were just casually hanging out with him? you said he was just a friend when i bumped into you guys last week”, mina asks as she looks at you.

you panic and scramble for an answer. “oh, we just started dating three days ago”, you blurt out. “uh, we just, you know, kept it low, i didn’t want to make a big deal out of it”, you add, trying to salvage the situation.

"he’s literally perfect for you!", they chimed in, making your cheeks flush. you shoot a quick glance at soonyoung, who looks just a flustered, but seems to mask it better than you. “he’s so cute, much better than all your exes if you ask me”, one of them adds and you just give them a small laugh.

“oh my god, babe you have to bring him to my wedding as your plus one at the end of the month!”, mina says and all the other girls all chime in with a big yes and you know you really can’t pull yourself out of this situation now. “yeah, okay sure, i’ll get him along”, you say, giving mina a small smile. 

“we’ll give you two some alone time, there’s ten more minutes left for lunch break anyway”, mina says, giving you a mischievous look and you glare at her before all your co-workers walk to the break room and you grab soonyoung's arm, dragging him to the balcony on the other end of the room.

“soonyoung what are you doing here?”, you ask, confused, and a little frazzled at his sudden appearance at your workplace.

“i wanted to give you something back for paying for those breads last time, so i went to the bakery and got you all your favorite things from there”, he explains sweetly, holding out the bag. “i got you those dark chocolate chunk cookies, red velvet cake and those chocolate glazed doughnuts too”, he finishes, still waiting for you to take the bag from him. you reach your hand out and take the bag from him, opening it to take a peek inside, the smell of sugary goodness wafting in the air. “you didn’t have to”, you say, your tone softening at his gesture. 

“but i wanted to”, he tells and you smile at his warmth in his tone and the sweetness of his gesture. “that’s sweet of you”, you tell softly and he grins proudly. “no worries”, he says, looking at you, content. “i thought you’d enjoy it during a hectic work week”, he chimes in and you nod. “i definitely will, thank you”, you say and your eyes dart around, looking to see if anyone was around, which soonyoung picks up on.

“i’m sorry if i showed up unannounced, i didn’t think i’d bump into your co-workers”, he says, thinking he’d done something wrong. “no, you’re all fine soonyoung, it just took me by surprise”, you say. “cool, um, i guess i’ll see you around then?”, he says, sounding a little unsure as he says it. “yeah, see you around”, you say and he smiles. 

when soonyoung’s phone rings and he sees jihyo’s caller id, he has half a mind to ignore the call, but he doesn’t, knowing she’d just continue to call and pester him until he did pick up. 

“what?”, soonyoung asks, only to be met with a scolding. “that’s how you talk to your sister?”, jihyo asks and soonyoung sighs. “i’m busy”, he mumbles out in a whine.

“i have two tickets for this movie that was released last week, but i can’t go anymore, so i’m giving it to you”, jihyo says and for a second, soonyoung thinks that this is some kind of trap. “you’re joking”, he says. “i’m serious! take them, i really can’t go”, jihyo says.

“okay, but what will i do with the other one?”, he asks. “then take yn with you idiot, she’s been wanting to see that movie anyway”, jihyo says and soonyoung seems to stand up straighter at the mention of your name. 

“yn?”, he asks. “yes, yn, take her along”, jihyo says again like she’s already tired of talking to soonyoung. “i’ll send you the tickets, so go, i have to go now”, jihyo says and ends the call, hanging up before soonyoung can say anything more.

the thought of you seems to make soonyoung unintentionally smile and his phone pings with a text from jihyo with details about the movie and tickets. soonyoung opens the text and finds out that the movie was booked for saturday evening, which was in three days. soonyoung isn’t sure about it, isn’t sure if you would even want to watch the movie with him. so he sleeps on it, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he actually does want to go watch that movie with you. but the question is how he was going to ask you.

it’s already friday and soonyoung is starting to get restless. he can barely focus on anything, his thoughts racing in endless circles about one thing—you. his mind won’t stop replaying the thought of you and if he should ask you out to go to that movie with him, and it’s driving him crazy. the nervous energy bubbles up inside him until he can’t take it anymore, so in a desperate attempt to clear his head and figure out what the heck he was doing, he decides to hit the gym.

he pushes through the door, ready to work off some of his restless anxiety, but as soon as he steps inside, his eyes landed on a familiar face—lee chan, who was his school friend. chan smiles and waves at him when he spots soonyoung, but soonyoung only gives him a half-hearted wave of the hand. 

confused, chan trudges forward to soonyoung. “everything okay?”, he asks and soonyoung sighs dramatically, his shoulder slumping. “i don’t think you’d be much of a help with this man”, he says, looking like a lost puppy. but chan’s face is full of determination as he steps closer, crossing his arms. “what’s going on?”, he asks.

soonyoung’s eyes dart around as he tries to get the words out without sounding like an idiot, but it’s no use. “how do you ask a girl out to the movies?” he blurts out, his voice full of uncertainty that it was almost painful.

chan blinks at him for a second, not expecting soonyoung to ask him something like that. chan scratches the back of his head, looking just as clueless as soonyoung. “um, i guess you just…ask her?”, he says, unsure.

soonyoung groans again, pulling a hand down his face. “ask her how?”

chan blinks again, looking around for some kind of answer. “I don’t know man, maybe text her? call her? i don’t know, just… ask?”

“it’s not that easy, chan,” soonyoung says, practically sinking into the bench that he had sat on. “why? does she not like watching movies or something?”, chan asks.

soonyoung buries his face in his hands, exasperated. “no! not like that—it’s just—ugh!” he lets out another sigh, quieter this time, and looks up at chan with eyes full of uncertainty. “i don’t know if she’d actually want to watch the movie with me”.

chan tilts his head, giving soonyoung a confused look. “you guys don’t do movie dates?”

soonyoung’s response is a helpless gesture of both his hands, as if he was trying to wrangle some logic from the air around him. “i… i don’t know! we haven’t really done anything like that before, and i—” he cuts himself off with a dramatic sigh. “this is so stupid, isn’t it?”

chan blinks at him, then his face softens with a quiet chuckle. “it’s not stupid man, you just gotta be honest with her and just ask her”, he encourages. chan gives him a small smile, patting him on the shoulder. “you’ll figure it out man, don’t stress, girls like that honesty thing trust me”, chan says.

chan then leaves since his workout is over and soonyoung is left alone with his thoughts. soonyoung contemplates how exactly he is going to ask you out to the movie without making a total fool of himself. he should just ask you right? it was such a simple thing really, but the thought of it felt too daunting for soonyoung. 

after the gym session, soonyoung heads back home. he takes a hot water shower but he still can’t stop thinking about the movie, about you. maybe he should ask seungkwan? when he comes out of the shower, he throws on sweatpants and a loose shirt, walking into the living room to see seungkwan sprawled on the couch. he walks up to seungkwan and takes a seat on the other end of the couch.

“what is it this time?”, seungkwan asks, without even looking at soonyoung, making him scoff. “why do you always assume i did something”, soonyoung complains. “because you have that look”, seungkwan tells and soonyoung mumbles something under his breath and finally seungkwan looks up at him,

and all of a sudden, soonyoung feels like an idiot all over again. “how do you…you know…like…how to ask a girl out…to the movies”, soonyoung asks slowly, the words coming out unsure. 

“man not this shit again”, seungkwan mutters, giving soonyoung a look “i’m starting to wonder how you even got a girlfriend at this point when you’re so clueless”, seungkwan says, bruising soonyoung’s ego.

“hey! i’m not that bad, this is just all…new”, he says, trying to salvage the situation but seungkwan was right, he was totally and utterly clueless.

“just tell me how to ask her to the movie”, soonyoung repeats, bringing the focus back on the situation. “and quick because the movie is tomorrow and i already have the tickets”, he adds. seungkwan gives him another serious look, asking soonyoung to come closer with a gesture of his hand.

“if you want to properly ask her out, you need to get a dove, write a message and send it to her house as a messenger”, seungkwan says, his tone dripping with sarcasm, but soonyoung doesn’t catch it. “but then wouldn’t that take too long?”, he asks.

“exactly you idiot, so you need to call or text her”, he nearly yells at soonyoung, exasperated. 

“but should i say?”, he asks, that lopsided frown forming on his face. “ssk her if she wants to watch a movie with you, what else are you going to say?”, seungkwan asks, scoffing with annoyance.

“okay man, calm down”, soonyoung says, unlocking his phone and opening your contact. his fingers hover over the keyboard as he wracks his brain on what to ask. he gives seungkwan a glace, who looks like he’s ready to snatch soonyoung’s phone and ask you instead.

soonyoung [10:35 PM]: hey! i know this is last minute but do you wanna go watch a movie with me tomorrow evening? i have an extra ticket.

soonyoung hits send and throws his phone on the couch with a yelp, covering a hand over his mouth. 

“i asked her," he says, his phone in the middle of the couch now. two minutes later his phone pings and soonyoung jumps. “is it her? what if she said no?”, soonyoung asks and seungkwan reaches for the phone to see who texted.

“it’s her”, seungkwan says. “really? what did she say?”, soonyoung asks, leaning closer.

“she said she doesn’t want to see the movie”, seungkwan lies and soonyoung looks like he’s about to burst into tears at any second. he snatches the phone from seungkwan and reads the reply you sent.

you [10:37 PM]: soonyoung hi! sure i don’t mind.

“SEUNGKWAN”, he yells, getting up in a huff and hurling one of the pillows at him. “i’m never asking you for help again”, soonyoung mutters out, walking back to his room. he closes the door and crashes onto his bed before he reads your text again, a small smile creeping up on his face.

so you did want to go to the movie with him. 

he turns over and buries his face into the pillow and smiles wider before gathering his thoughts, typing out a quick response.

soonyoung [10:38PM]: okay! the movie is at 8pm so i’ll pick you by 7:15

you [10:38 PM]: cool okay!

when saturday evening rolls around, soonyoung is freaking out. it’s like a tornado hit his room with the way all the clothes are splayed out on his bed and floor. he barges into seungkwan’s room for the fourth time, asking him if his outfit was okay.

“is this okay?”, soonyoung asks, adjusting his top. “yeah it’s fine”, seungkwan says, not bothering to look, which only makes soonyoung groan out in annoyance. “chill out man, it’s just a movie, you look fine”, he says, finally looking at soonyoung. “okay okay”, soonyoung says, glancing at the time on his watch and realizing he had to leave now if he wanted to reach your place on time.

you on the other hand are a mess too and you're starting to wonder why you agreed to this, except you had a good reason why—you wanted to test soonyoung’s and your chemistry. if he was going to come to the wedding with you, it needed to look like you were both really dating, and not pretending. plus this seemed like a good opportunity to teach a few things to him about being a boyfriend since he didn’t have any prior experience. 

you glance at the mirror, smoothing out the cream colored sweater that was tucked into the waistband of your high waisted jeans. it’s cozy and warm, perfect for the evening ahead. the look is casual yet sweet, just the right balance for a movie date. you slide on a pear of black ankle boot and you grab a small shoulder bag and sling it over your arm. you brush a hand through your hair, leaving your hair loose and letting it fall and frame your face naturally. 

just then you hear the honk of a car outside–it must be soonyoung. in a rush grab your lip tint, stuffing it in your bag and walking out. you open the door just as soonyoung is about to knock on the door and he’s a little surprised with the way you open the door so quickly, nearly bumping into him.

“soonyoung, hi!”, you say in a rush of nerves for some reason. soonyoung’s wearing a loose, dark brown jacket over a simple black tee and jeans. his ash blonde silver hair is slightly tousled as it falls over his forehead, just enough to make it look like he’s run his hands through it a few times, giving him a messy, carefree look—it’s cute. his hair catches the light under your front door, softening his sharp features, but still making him look striking in a way. 

soonyoung almost forgets to respond to you, distracted by how pretty you look. his eyes roam over you, lingering on you, taking in the way your hair falls loosely and frames your face just right, or the way you’d put on some makeup, something different than your usual office makeup, something bolder, but still pretty. his eyes flicker back up to yours, a hint of surprise in them, before he finally gives you a soft, almost distracted smile.

“h-hi”, he stutters out, clearing his throat, hoping he didn’t sound like a fool and wasn’t caught staring at you in awe. “are you ready?”, he asks after a second, and you nod. “yup, i’ll just grab the keys and lock up”, you say and walk back inside, grabbing the keys from the bowl and walking back out. you lock the door behind you and drop the keys in your bag. 

soonyoung runs over to the car and you’re confused for a moment before you realise he’s opening the door for you. you give him a small smile and say a small thank you before you sit inside, and he closes the door.  but how did soonyoung know all this? he had stayed up the entire night, googling silly things. every search felt like another step into the unknown. “what to do on a movie date,” he typed in, squinting as the search results loaded. his fingers hovered over the screen, unsure if it was a good idea to click on it before and if he overthinking this entire thing. in a panic, he clicks on the —“10 things you should NEVER do on a first date” article.

the more he googled, the more overwhelmed he became. “date ideas for people who have no idea what they’re doing,” he types instead, praying for something that might make him seem like less of a disaster. he didn’t want to screw this entire thing up. he had even watched a youtube tutorial titled “how to not be awkward on dates (for dummies), and read through countless articles like “how to be a good boyfriend,”. “how to impress your girlfriend”, “how to hold hands”. he was trying his best, but this was all just new, uncharted territory for him.

the drive to the theater is quiet and when he pulls up at a red light signal, soonyoung turns around to glance at you. you dig into your bag for the lip tint you had thrown in there and open it, hoping it still had some product left in it because it was on the verge of getting over. you open the cap and try to scrape out whatever product you could get on the wand and apply it on your lips, dabbing it with your finger to spread it out evenly. you hadn’t bought a new one because this one was out of stock and you hadn’t had the time to go to a store and look for similar shades. soonyoung watches you, wondering why you hadn’t just bought a new one. it’s only when the cars honk from behind that he snaps out of his daze from staring at you and drives ahead. once you reach the theater, you get out and you both walk inside. you stop just short of the entrance, prompting soonyoung to stop and turn around, looking at you a little confused.

"hey, soonyoung?," you say, your voice soft but purposeful. he walks over to you immediately, eyes wide with anticipation, clearly ready for whatever you’re about to say. “yeah?”, he asks.

you hesitate for a moment, then take a deep breath. “do you maybe want to try... holding hands?", you ask softly.

for a split second, soonyoung’s face freezes when he hears your words and his brows furrow slightly, like he didn’t quite catch what you said. he repeats it, a little too quickly, as though he’s making sure he heard you right. “hold hands?”

you smile, trying to ease the awkwardness. "yeah, like... we could practice doing some stuff today, you know? since you're coming with me to that wedding and all."

soonyoung blinks a couple times, still processing your words and his gaze flicks down to the ground, then back up at you, like he's trying to figure out if you're joking. "wait, you really meant it? you're really taking me to the wedding?"

you can’t help but laugh a little, amused by how surprised he sounds. "of course, i wouldn't leave you behind. plus, if i showed up without you, my friends would probably kill me”, you explain.

soonyoung relaxes a little, but there's still this wide-eyed, nervous energy around him. he clears his throat, trying to act cool, but it’s clear he’s a bit flustered. “i—uh—okay, so hold hands?”, he prompts again and you nod. “yeah, just for a bit, we can practice, it’s not a big deal”, you say, trying to sound reassuring.

soonyoung scratches the back of his neck nervously. "okay... we can try, i mean, we’re just practicing, right?", he asks as he looks at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and hesitation. you extend your hand slowly, watching as soonyoung does the same. his fingers tremble just a little, and he hesitates for a fraction of a second before his hand brushes against yours. he pulls his hand back almost immediately, like he was suddenly unsure. he looks at you again and you give him a small encouraging smile.

this time, when you offer your hand again, soonyoung hesitates just a little, his fingers hovering over yours as if he’s psyching himself up to reach out and take your hand. when he finally takes your hand, it’s tentative—like he's afraid he might break something. but then, after a deep breath, he laces his fingers with yours, and his hand feels warm, a little sweaty, but he’s holding your hand now.

you feel a soft chuckle bubble up from soonyoung. "whoa, this is actually kind of nice," he admits, his voice a little higher pitched than usual, a clear sign that he’s nervous but trying to hide it. you smile, "i think it’s nice too”, you say, smiling up at him.

for a moment, neither of you speaks, just standing there with your hands clasped together and soonyoung fidgets slightly, glancing down at your joined hands as if he was checking that it's real, and then back up at you. his face is flushed, a mix of shyness and excitement and something a little more earnest in his expression. he notices how small your hand looks in his, how his hand practically could engulf yours entirely, and he thinks that’s cute.

"so," he starts again, his voice soft, but holding a tone of determination. "we’re really doing this, huh? holding hands like a couple?", he asks as he looks at you. 

you chuckle, the tension easing as he gets more comfortable. "yep, just a little practice before the wedding”, you confirm. 

after that first tentative moment of holding hands, the two of you make your way into the theater and soonyoung seems to have shaken off his initial nerves. but every now and then his fingers give yours an almost unnoticeable squeeze, as if he’s checking to make sure it’s still real, that he is in fact holding your hand. you buy a bucket of popcorn and you both head inside the theater, finding your seats. soonyoung is nervous as he sits down and he wipes his slightly sweaty palms on the side of his jeans, before glancing over at you. 

the smell of buttery popcorn fills the air as you reach into the bucket, grabbing a handful before turning your attention back to the screen. you glance at soonyoung, who is sitting beside you, his hand hovering hesitantly over the popcorn. he had barely eaten any since the movie started, and you could tell he was holding back.

"i'm not going to eat this entire bucket myself soonyoung," you say softly, nudging the popcorn towards him with a smile. "you can have some more”, you say and he nods, mumbling a quiet, "yeah, sure," before finally taking some more.

the movie starts, the screen illuminating both of your faces in the dim theater. at first, soonyoung is focused on the movie ahead, his gaze locked onto the action unfolding before him. but at some point, his attention wavers, and instead of the film, he finds himself watching you—the way your eyes light up whenever something funny happens, the way your brows furrowed in concentration during an intense scene. the soft glow of the screen made your features even more captivating, and he couldn't help but admire the way you reacted so naturally to every moment.

his fingers absentmindedly reach for more of the popcorn, just at the same time yours does, and the brief touch of your fingers against his sends a jolt of electricity through him, and he immediately retracts his hand, swallowing nervously. you turn your head slightly, glancing at him with a knowing smile, before pushing the bucket a little closer to him in silent reassurance.

when the movie is over and the credits roll out, you stretch lightly in your seat before looking over at him. "that was good," you say with a satisfied smile and soonyoung nods, though he had hardly paid attention to the second half of the film. you both step out into the cool night air. your stomach grumbles quietly because the popcorn you had eaten had been more of a snack than a meal, and now the real hunger was creeping in. you glance over at soonyoung. "i'm still kind of hungry, do you want to grab something to eat?", you ask.

"yeah, sure," he replies, perking up slightly. "there's this really good burger place not too far from here, i can drive us there”, he says.

when you arrive at the burger place, the scent of grilled patties and crispy fries fill the air as you both step inside. the restaurant has a casual, welcoming atmosphere, and you quickly place your orders before finding a booth to sit in. soonyoung sits across from you, his fingers fiddling with the napkins on the table, carefully arranging and then rearranging them as if it was the most important task in the world. there was a nervous energy about him, and you watched him for a moment before leaning forward slightly.

"you okay?" you ask, tilting your head lightly and his hands still for a second before he lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “yeah, just, uh…" he hesitates before looking up to meet your gaze, and then glancing away again. you smile softly, resting your chin on your hand. "you sure?”, you ask again and he finally lets go of the tissue in his hand. “i guess i'm just kind of nervous”, he admits.

"nervous?" you repeat, eyebrows raising slightly. "why?"

soonyoung hesitates, then meets your eyes again, this time holding your gaze a little longer. "i just don't want to mess this up”, he admits softly.

your heart does a small, unexpected flip at his words and a warmth spreads through you as you smile at him, a little softer this time. "soonyoung," you say, your voice gentle, "you don’t have to be nervous, you’re doing great!”, you assure and his lips part slightly in surprise before he breaks into a small grin, a mix of relief and happiness flashing across his face. and just like that, the nervous energy between you both shifts into something lighter—something warm.

the food arrives and the scent of freshly grilled burgers and crispy fries and buttery toasted buns fill the air as you and soonyoung sit across from each other in the booth. you are hungry, so without hesitation you pick up your burger and take a big bite. the flavors hit instantly and you let out a small hum of satisfaction.

soonyoung laughs softly at your reaction, taking a bite of his own burger. "good, right?" he asks, his words slightly muffled as he chews and you nod.

"amazing," you reply after swallowing, already reaching for a fry. "you were right, this place is really good”.

the two of you eat comfortably, occasionally exchanging small talk. the late night atmosphere in the diner feels warm, with the soft hum of conversation from other customers and the occasional clang of plates from the kitchen, the smell of fries and salt lingering in the air.

at one point, soonyoung glances up and notices something—just the tiniest smudge of sauce at the corner of your mouth. his lips part slightly, his fingers tightening around his burger as he thinks and hesitates, wondering what to do. he was hoping you’d notice it and take action yourself, but you were too busy licking salt off your fingers from the fries, completely unaware of it.

soonyoung could’ve told you, he could’ve pointed it out and let you wipe it away yourself because that would’ve been the normal thing to do. but instead, before he can stop himself, he is already moving and he reaches across the table, lifting his hand. his thumb grazes over the corner of your lips in the most soft motion. his touch is warm, almost featherlight and it catches you completely off guard. your breath hitches and your eyes flicker up to meet his, widening slightly, 

soonyoung freezes midway, his brain catching up on what he had just done. his thumb still lingers on your skin, before he pulls his hand back quickly, looking down before he looks back up at you.

"uh—" he starts, clearing his throat, his ears burning red. "you, uh... had some sauce right there." he says as he points awkwardly to the same spot on his own mouth.

you blink quietly, still processing what he had done, the warmth of his touch lingering even after he had pulled away.  "oh, thanks," you murmur and soonyoung lets out a nervous chuckle, looking down at his own food like it had suddenly become the most interesting thing right now. “yeah, uh, no problem”, he says, taking a fry and shoving it in his mouth in an attempt to recover from what he had just done.

you don’t say anything more, but it was like there was a shift in the air between the both of you—a quiet sort of electricity buzzing beneath the surface. soonyoung finally looks up, stealing another glance at you before he picks up his drink and chugs it down, hoping it’d ease his racing heart. 

when soonyoung goes home, he looks defeated. he sighs as he plops down onto the couch and keeps recalling the moment where he wiped the sauce off your lips, feeling like such an idiot. he hadn’t screwed up things between you both, right?

you decide to meet soonyoung once more next week for a little more practice, and today’s meeting point was by the lake near the park. the reason you loved going there was to feed the ducks. you had made it a habit to go there at least once a week or twice a month if you were too busy, and today seemed like a good excuse to go there—with soonyoung too.

you decide to walk there from your place, since it was relatively close and decide to meet soonyoung at the park itself, texting him the location. you wear something simple, some blue jeans, a white crop top, a baby blue cardigan and a pair of sneakers—it was simple, yet comfortable. the sunlight filters through the trees, casting soft patterns of light and shadows onto the wooden walkway to the lake, the air smells faintly of greenery and a quiet breeze rustles the leaves of the trees.

soonyoung stands there, casually leaning against the black railing, waiting for you. his blonde hair gleams under the sunlight, slightly ruffled by the wind, falling over his forehead and eyes. he’s wearing a light gray denim jacket that’s oversized over a simple crisp and clean white t-shirt that peeks out. he’s also wearing grey denim shorts to match and it hangs jus right, stopping just below his knees. his look is complete with a pair of cream colored slip on shoes. he shifts slightly, one hand resting against the railing, the other hand loosely hanging by his side. his gaze is steady and soft, yet thoughtful, as though he’s lost in the moment. he can hear the rustle of the leaves, feel the warmth of the sun and the quiet hum of the world around him. it’s only when he glances to his left that he finally sees you and his eyes light up. he gives you a wave as you walk up to him and you give him a small smile. 

“hey, you made it”, you say, the paper bag you bought along with some bread rustling in your hand. soonyoung’s looks curiously at the bag in your hand then looks at you. 

“do you want to hold hands again? you know, for practice”, you ask, and soonyoung nods, before squeaking out a small yes. you hold your hand out and this time he takes it without much hesitation, intertwining his fingers in yours and he gives you a small grin.

“come on, they’re waiting, let’s go”, you say, not giving him much information and you start walking, leading soonyoung, who’s following beside you as you both walk together hand in hand.

“who’s waiting?”, he asks. “the ducks!”, you reply and he glances at you. “ducks?”, he repeats. “have you never fed the ducks here?”, you ask and he shakes his head, “i didn’t know you could feed them”, he says. “well, i’ll introduce you to them”, you say turning the corner and the lake is visible now, the ducks too.

you smile softly when you near the ducks, letting go of soonyoung’s hand as you crouch down near the lake shore. the ducks seem to recognize you immediately, their quacks echoing across the water as they paddle toward you, their little feet slap against the wet grass as they waddle up to the edge, and your smile widens at the sight.

“well, someone’s popular,” soonyoung teases, crouching down beside you as you pull out some bread crumbs from the paper bag you had brought along.

“hi, guys,” you say softly, tossing a piece of bread toward the closest duck. the rest of the flock scrambles forward, quacking in protest, and you can’t help but laugh. you hand soonyoung a handful of crumbs. “here, you can help me feed them”, you say. soonyoung he throws a piece of bread to a particularly round duck and you point at it. “that’s sprinkles,” you say, grinning.

soonyoung freezes mid toss and turns to you with a raised eyebrow. “wait, you’ve named them?”

“of course,” you reply, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. you gesture to another duck, slightly smaller but just as eager. “that’s biscuit”, you say and then you then point to three more ducks that have joined the crowd. “and over there are noodle, muffin, and bubbles”.

he stares at you, visibly baffled. “you’ve named all of them?”

“well, not all of them,” you admit with a shrug. “just the regulars”, you say.

soonyoung narrows his eyes, looking between the ducks. “how can you even tell them apart? they all look the same to me”, he says and you gasp softly in mock offense. “excuse me? they each have their own unique personalities!”, you say and he snorts, clearly unconvinced, but he plays along, tossing a crumb toward the closest duck. “okay, that’s… biscuit, right?”, he asks and you shake your head. “no, that’s sprinkles”, you correct.

“right, sprinkles,” he says, nodding like he’s taking this very seriously. he tosses another crumb, pointing to a different duck. “and that one is muffin?”.

“nope, that’s bubbles,” you say, giggling now. he lets out a dramatic sigh, throwing another small piece of bread. “this is impossible! they’re all the same color”, he says, looking defeated.

“you just need to pay attention,” you say. “like noodle—he’s the one with the slightly crooked feather on his tail, and muffin is always the one at the back, kind of shy”, you explain. soonyoung squints at the flock, clearly trying to identify the subtle differences you’ve pointed out. “okay, but how am i supposed to tell biscuit from sprinkles?”, he asks.

“well, sprinkles has more attitude,” you say with a grin, gesturing to the duck in question, who is currently quacking loudly and shoving the others out of the way to get to the crumbs. soonyoung laughs, tossing another piece of bread to it. “oh yeah, i see it now”, he says.

soonyoung tosses a crumb directly in front of sprinkles and the duck snatches it up with a quick peck and waddles closer. "hey, sprinkles has really got an appetite," soonyoung remarks, tossing another crumb and the duck waddles even closer. then, for reasons only soonyoung would understand, he suddenly cups his hands around his mouth and lets out a loud, dramatic "QUACK!".

you freeze, turning to him as you try not to laugh. you’re about to open your mouth but then all the ducks on the pond swivel their heads in unison, their beady eyes locking onto soonyoung like he just declared a fight on the ducks.

"uh-oh," he says, standing up slowly.

"soonyoung, what did you do?" you whisper, trying not to laugh as sprinkles seems to waddle closer to him.

"i was trying to communicate!" he hisses back, taking a step backward as more ducks emerge from the water, their webbed feet slapping on the grass.

"well, they’re communicating now" you say, barely holding back laughter.

one duck quacks loudly, as if rallying the troops, and suddenly the entire flock is waddling toward soonyoung, their little heads bobbing with determination as they flock towards soonyoung.

"oh no," he stammers, backing away faster and all you can do is double over with laughter as the ducks seem to crowd around soonyoung. you stand up and try to shoo away the ducks, trying to distract them with breadcrumbs, but they aren’t deterred. so soonyoung does the only thing he can think off—he grabs your hand and runs. 

“soonyoung!”, you yelp out as he takes off, pulling you along with him and you run behind him, his hand interlocked with yours. you’re running, dodging stones and twigs, but then your leg gets caught on a stone and you lose your footing, and before you can process what’s happening, your balance topples and you’re falling.

“soonyoung!” you cry out, as you fall forward.

he reacts in an instant when he hears your voice and he whips around just in time to see you stumbling forward. without a second thought, he lunges toward you, arms outstretched, holding onto you and instead of hitting the ground, you land on him, the momentum knocking the both of you over. the world spins for a second, and when it steadies, you realize you’re sprawled on top of soonyoung, your hands pressed against his chest. his arms are wrapped around you, one hand cradling the back of your head to shield you and his face is so close to yours that you can feel the warmth of his breath as he speaks.

“are you okay?” he asks softly, his voice full of concern. his wide, worried eyes searching yours, making your heart stutter.

you nod, suddenly hyper aware of how close you are. “yeah, i’m fine,” you mumble out, quickly pushing yourself up and sitting back. but the moment you put weight on your foot, a sharp pain shoots up your ankle and you let out a small gasp.

“what’s wrong?” soonyoung asks as he gets up immediately. “i think i sprained my ankle”, you say softly and his eyes dart to your ankle and back to your face, guilt etched into his expression. “i’m so sorry,” he says, his voice filled with regret. “this is my fault. i should’ve been more careful. i shouldn’t have—”

“soonyoung,” you interrupt, your voice soft despite the light pain. “it’s okay. it’s not your fault.”

“but it is,” he insists, shaking his head. “i shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess. i didn’t think—” “hey,” you say, placing your hand lightly on his arm. “it’s just a sprain. i’ll be fine”, you assure, but the lopsided pout on his face remains and he doesn’t look convinced. instead, he shifts closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “you could’ve really gotten hurt, shit, i don’t know what i’d do if something worse happened”, he says, but you give him another reassuring smile. “i’ll be fine, really”, you say. soonyoung helps you get up and guides you to a nearby bench, his arms steady around you as he holds you, but the guilt never leaves his face. he sets you down on the bench and looks at you like you’re made of glass, like if he just blinks, you might shatter.

“you can’t go home like this”, he says with a frown. “i’ll carry you home”, he declares after a moment and you blink at him. “wait what?”, you say but he’s already crouching down in front of you, patting his back.

“get on”, he says and you stare at him because he couldn't really be serious about this.

“soonyoung, no, that’s ridiculous,” you protest. “you can’t possibly carry me all the way home”, you say looking at him.

he turns his head to give you a look over his shoulder. “you’re not walking on that ankle, not even for a second”, he declares.

“but—” “no buts, now come on. you’re not going home like this and i refuse to let you limp the whole way”, he says with a pout. you sigh, knowing there’s no winning against him when he’s this determined. “fine, but don’t you dare drop me”, you finally say, giving in.

“pfft. please”, he scoffs. “i’ve been training for this moment my whole life”, he says and you roll your eyes because that was such a jihyo thing to say. they really were a pair of siblings. you carefully move forward, draping your arms over his shoulders and the second you do, he reaches back, hooking his arms under your legs and lifting you up effortlessly.

“whoa—okay,” you gasp as he stands up straight, securing his grip, adjusting his hold slightly so you’re comfortable. “okay now hold on tight”, he says and you do, wrapping your arms a little tighter around his shoulders as he starts walking. despite everything—the pain, the ridiculousness of the situation—you can’t help but smile lightly.

“you’re really that worried about me, huh?” you ask softly, resting your chin against his shoulder. soonyoung doesn’t answer right away, but when he does his voice is quieter than before. “of course i am. it’s you”, he says and your heart stumbles a little at his words.

“i just hate that you got hurt because of me” he continues. “if i had been paying more attention, then maybe i could’ve—”

“stop that,” you interrupt. “this isn’t your fault, soonyoung. you already did more than enough to make sure i didn’t hit the ground face first”, you say and he exhales slowly, his grip on your legs tightening just a bit. “still. i’d rather be the one getting hurt than you”.

the two of you continue down the sidewalk and his steps are careful and steady. despite your protests earlier, you find that being carried by soonyoung like this is… nice. it doesn’t feel weird or odd, but it feels right for some reason, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. soonyoung's grip on your legs is secure and his warmth seeps through his shirt into you. every so often you can feel the slight shift of his muscles as he adjusts his hold, making sure you’re comfortable. the steady rhythm of his breathing mixes with the distant hum of the evening air, and for a moment, it’s easy to forget about the dull throbbing in your ankle. you glance up and realize your house is just a few minutes away and guilt creeps in at the thought of him carrying you all this way. “are you sure you don’t need a break?” you ask hesitantly. “i think i can walk from here”, you add.

he doesn’t even slow down as he replies. “i’m good,” he says, as if carrying you for the past several blocks was nothing. but you don’t miss the way his shoulders subtly flex or  the way he exhales just a little harder than before. you frown, guilt pressing harder against your chest.

“soonyoung,” you say softly. “i’ll just walk. it’s really fine. i don’t want to burden you”.

he scoffs, adjusting his grip on your legs as if to prove his point. “burden? are you serious?” he asks, glancing back at you with a look. “well yeah, aren’t you tired?”, you ask and he stops walking. then,with zero warning, he spins you around on his back, making you yelp and you tighten your hold around his shoulders, your legs wrapping around his sides out of instinct, your arms tightening around his neck.

“soonyoung!” you screech, your voice caught between shock and laughter. his grip is secure despite the sudden movement. “if i was tired, do you think i could i do that?” he challenges playfully and you huff, smacking his shoulder as he starts to walk again.

“what the hell? i’m telling jihyo about this”, you say and soonyoung freezes mid step. 

“wait, what?”, he asks, his tone faltering and your smirk widens. got him. “oh, you heard me”, you say as he slowly starts walking again, but there’s a slight panic in his voice now. “you wouldn’t”, he tells.

“oh, you know,” you say innocently, tilting your head. “how would she feel knowing her little brother just threw me around like a sack of rice? or what would she say about how you almost dropped me in the middle of the street?”, you tell with a dramatic sigh.

“i did not throw you!” he exclaims, voice high-pitched. “and i definitely didn’t drop you!”, he defends as he starts walking again faster this time like he was on a mission to prove something. “you wouldn’t”, he says and you smirk, having fun teasing him.

“oh, i definitely would”, you say. “yn, you can’t be serious”, he asks.

“i am dead serious”, you say and he groans like his soul is physically leaving his body. “do you want me to die? because that’s what’s gonna happen if she finds out”, he says with a small whine. you can’t take it anymore and you burst out laughing, shaking slightly as you cling onto him. “oh my god, you’re so dramatic”, you say as you giggle and you lift your hand to ruffle his hair, your fingers slipping easily through the soft strands. “you’re such an idiot,” you say, your voice fond despite your words. he stiffens for half a second—so brief you almost don’t catch it—before he exhales sharply. he mumbles something, ducking his head slightly, but making no move to stop you.

“I’m just pulling your leg,” you say finally, your voice light and teasing. you’re still smiling as you drop your hand back to your side, and he hums in response, low and soft. he doesn’t say anything else, but the faint smile on his face remains. your house finally comes into view, and you’re suddenly hit with the realization that in just a few minutes, he’ll set you down and this whole thing—this stupid, sweet, ridiculous moment will just be a memory—and somehow you almost don’t want it to end.

soonyoung carries you up to the front steps, pausing in front of the building. “home sweet home,” he says and you blink, snapping back to reality. soonyoung carefully kneels so you can slide off his back, his hands lingering on your arm to make sure you’re steady. but the moment your foot touches the ground, a sharp sting shoots up your leg, and you wince.

soonyoung’s hand tightens on your arm as he turns around. “don’t put weight on it yet,” he says, his brows knitting together in concern. “are you okay?” , he asks and you sigh, shifting your weight to your other leg. “yeah, i guess it’s just sore”, you say and his frown deepens. “make sure to put some ice on it”, he says and you nod.

“i’ll be fine after some rest”, you say and soonyoung still looks worried. he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “again i’m so sorry”, he says.

“i swear if you apologize one more time, i’m really going to tell jihyo”, you threaten and he gives you a look. “okay okay”, he grumbles, looking at you before he takes a step back. “just remember to ice it”, he says again as he walks backwards and you nod, waving at him before you unlock your door and hobble inside. soonyoung texts you later that evening. 

soonyoung [9:37 PM]: did you ice your leg???

you  [9:38 PM]: oops, i will do that now.

soonyoung [9:40 PM]: yn 🤨 please ice it and rest your leg! (p.s please don’t tell jihyo)

the office is abuzz with talk and energy, since it was your co-worker’s wedding this weekend. “yn you’re bringing your boyfriend to the wedding right”, mina asks, nudging you lightly and you give her a knowing look.

“yes yes, i will”, you say and they all seem to cheer. “he’s so cute, what does he do by the way?”, one of them asks, and all of them seem to turn their attention to you, interested in your boyfriend, well fake boyfriend. 

“he’s a dancer”, you say and they all gasp collectively, not expecting that answer. “that’s so cool!”, one of them says. “he works at a dance studio downtown”, you add, feeling a little proud. 

“he’s so much better than jaehyun”, mina says and at the mention of jaehyun, the atmosphere shifts. it’s subtle—just a slight pause in conversation, a flicker of exchanged glances—but you can feel it. mina presses her lips together, like she’s debating whether to say more, before finally sighing.

“speaking of jaehyun…my fiancé invited him,” she says carefully. “apparently, they’re close business friends so…” mina trails off, watching you closely for your reaction. the thought of seeing jaehyun again makes your stomach flip and you gulp. 

“it’s fine, i’m over him anyway”, you say, shrugging, trying to act like this piece of information didn’t really bother you. mina doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push it and one of the girls quickly changes the subject, plucking the invitation from mina’s hand.

“okay, but can we talk about the most important part of the wedding?” she asks dramatically and mina’s eyes light up. “the slow dance?”, she asks and the group bursts into exciting chatter and mina nods with a smile on her face. “it’s going to be a huge part of the reception! after the first dance, everyone joins in, so no one is getting out of it,” she says.

“that sounds so romantic,” one of the girls says, sighing dreamily. “it is,” mina agrees. “but you know what i’m most excited for?” she turns to you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “seeing yn’s boyfriend on the dance floor”, mina says and you look at her, eyes widening.

“oh my god yes, he’s literally a dancer so he’s gonna make everyone else look so amateur”, one of them says, and they all laugh. “wait, wait,” another friend chimes in, grinning at you. “you’re gonna slow dance with him, right?”

you open your mouth, ready to argue, but the group seems to gasp at the same time. “oh my god,” mina gasps. “what if he dips you? or does one of those fancy spins? yn you guys have to dance together, you have no choice”, mina declares and you internally groan, covering you face in embarrassment. “yes you guys have to dance!”, the others echo in and you can only hide your face even more. you had zero dancing skills so you were very likely to make an embarrassment out of yourself on the dance floor, and knowing mina, she was going to make you dance no matter what. 

on your way home, you decide to take a detour and drop by the dance studio soonyoung works at. you were hoping he’d be there because you weren’t sure if he was working today or not. you manage to find it pretty easily and walk inside. you look around like you’re lost and you glance around at the place. 

“can i help you?”, someone asks, walking towards you. “oh, i’m looking for soonyoung”, you say. “oh, did you have a class scheduled with him? i think he’s done for today”, they say, but you shake your head.

“oh no, i’m just here to see him, i’m his girlfriend”, you say, the words coming out naturally before you can catch yourself and they nod, telling you to follow them. you nod in thanks, your heart suddenly hammering in your chest as you walk down the quiet corridor. your footsteps echo slightly against the polished floor, and with each step, a new thought rushes through your mind. should i have said that? does it even matter? why am i nervous?

when you finally reach the last door, they let you know that he’s inside and you could go in before they turn around and walk back to the front. you hesitate as you stand in front of the door, your fingers hovering over the handle. but then you notice that it’s slightly ajar, and without thinking, you push it open just a fraction more. your eyes immediately land on soonyoung. he’s in the center of the room, his reflection mirrored back at you from all angles. he’s practicing something intricate, his footwork light and sharp and you pause, watching him for a moment. he’s completely focused and you take a slow, deep breath, steadying yourself before gently knocking on the door. the sound breaks through the room and soonyoung hears it immediately, his movements slowing but never fully stopping. "come in," he says, but he doesn’t glance up yet.

you step forward cautiously and close the door behind you. when soonyoung finally looks up, his eyes widen slightly in surprise as he looks at you from the reflection in the mirror. “yn?”, he says, his voice carrying a note of surprise as he turns to get a better look at you as you walk closer to him.

you shift awkwardly under his gaze, suddenly hyper aware of everything in the room. you clear your throat, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "uh, hey," you say, voice coming out a little breathy. “what are you doing here?”, he asks, a little confused but happy to see you. “i mean not that you can’t come here, i just didn’t expect to see you here”, he says, his fingers starting to fidget with the hem of his shirt nervously before he crosses his arms across his chest.

“i just i’d drop by, you’re always asking me to come visit”, you say softly, looking around the huge room, taking in the mirrored walls, the polished wooden floor, and the faint hum of music still lingering in the air. soonyoung stands near the wall, his posture relaxed yet impossibly striking. he’s wearing a white sleeveless tank top, the fabric clinging just enough to highlight his toned shoulders and chest. and with the way his arms are crossed against his chest, it only seems to highlight and show off the defined curve of his biceps and toned arms, which are on full display. a simple silver chain rests against his collarbone, catching the light and you gulp before you tear your gaze away.

“i wasn’t sure if you’d actually be here,” you add after a moment, trying to sound cool. “well, here i am”, soonyoung says, his voice smooth and teasing. when you glance back at him, he’s watching you with a raised brow, “ i didn’t expect you to catch me mid practice though”, he continues, pushing off the wall and taking a few slow steps toward you. “but i’m glad you came”, he says, his tone sweet.

his words are light, but there’s something in the way he looks at you—soft, warm, almost appreciative, that makes your stomach flutter. you clear your throat, willing yourself to focus on literally anything else, but your eyes betray you again, trailing down to his arms and the way his shoulders shift as he moves closer. the tank top he’s wearing does absolutely nothing to help your situation, and you silently curse him for looking this good.

“i guess i thought i’d surprise you,” you manage to say, your voice quieter now. “plus the wedding is this weekend, so i thought i’d just drop by”, you say as you fish into your bag for the invitation, handing it to soonyoung. 

“can i ask you something?”, you ask after you give him a moment to go over the invitation and he looks up at you. “sure”, he says but you hesitate, the words dying on your tongue. “never mind, it’s stupid”, you say, brushing it off, but soonyoung doesn’t let you brush it off.

“what is it?”, he asks again and you stare at him for a second, your eyes darting to the side of the room before you speak.

"um...do you know…how to slow dance?", you ask softly and soonyoung tilts his head slightly before he nods. "yeah i do, why?" he asks curiously.

you cross your arm over your chest. "you know mina’s wedding? the one we’re going to, apparently slow dancing is part of it, and since we’re fake dating, people are gonna expect us to dance together. i just don’t wanna make a fool of myself if we actually end up dancing”, you try to explain and you watch as soonyoung puts down the invitation on the floor near his bottle before he stands back up. 

“so you want me to teach you?", he asks and you nod shyly as heat rises to your cheeks. "only if you actually know how," you shoot back, looking at him. soonyoung lets out a mock offended gasp, pressing a hand to his chest. "excuse me? i’m a dancer, so of course i know how to slow dance”, he says and his eyes hold a little amusement in them as he takes a small step closer.

“i can teach you”, he offers and you feel so shy all of a sudden. you shrug, “if you’re willing to then i guess fine”, you say and he laughs softly, his voice dipping lower as he extends a hand toward you. he pauses just a fraction of a second before speaking again. “can i?”, he asks, holding his hand out, as if giving you space to make a decision. this was the same boy who was nervous about holding your hand for the first time and now he is asking you if he could hold yours.

“i promise i won’t step on your toes”, he says, to lighten the mood, but there’s something almost vulnerable about the question, the way he’s careful, like he’s waiting for your permission to do more than just teach you how to move. you shrug your bag off your shoulder and put it to the side. then you reach out for soonyoung’s hand, your fingers curling around his fingers. the air around you feels charged with something subtle and his smile deepens slightly. there’s a glint of reassurance in his eyes, in the look he gives you that makes your heart stir. 

your breath stutters as soonyoung pulls you in, his fingers warm and steady around yours. he doesn’t hesitate, like this is the most natural thing in the world. "okay," he murmurs, his voice softer now, melting into something calmer, something almost intimate. "let’s start with the basics”, soonyoung says again, his voice turning quieter. he gently tugs you forward, positioning your feet. “for a basic slow dance, you want to keep close, but not too close, because you don’t want to crowd your partner’s space,” he explains. 

you swallow, suddenly hyper aware of everything—his hand in yours, the slight distance between your bodies, the way his gaze flickers down to meet yours. and suddenly you’re not sure if you’re more nervous about the dance, or the fact that soonyoung is so close to you. you try to take a small step back, in an attempt to create some distance between you both but he gently tugs you back in. “i’m not going to bite”, he jokes, looking at you, probably sensing your nervous energy and you let out a small nervous laugh. “okay okay”, you say and watch as soonyoung shifts his other hand, reaching out but stopping mid air. 

“can i?”, he asks again and you nod before soonyoung shifts his hold, guiding your hand up to rest lightly on his shoulder while his other hand settles just above your waist. “first we’ll start with the basic steps”, he says, his voice quiet but firm. “left foot forward, like this”, he says and demonstrates, stepping forward with his left foot. you mimic the motion, lifting your left foot and bringing it forward just as he did and soonyoung watches you intently, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, but there’s no judgment, only quiet encouragement. he takes a small step backward, gently pulling you along with him. 

“perfect,” he says, his voice smooth and soft, a proud smile curling on his lips. “now, bring your right foot to meet it, just like that and step together. but take it nice and easy, there’s no rush”, he guides. his touch is light, hovering near your waist to ensure you’re in position. “feel the weight shift between your feet as you move” he continues, his voice gentle. “it’s about connecting with the rhythm, letting your body move as one”, he instructs. 

you try to focus on matching his steps, but your mind is a little too occupied with the fact that his hand is resting on your waist and you can feel the warmth of his hand seeping through the fabric of your blouse. you fumble on the next step, accidentally stepping on his toes. "shit i’m sorry”, you say, glancing up at him but he doesn't seem to mind. "relax," he says, giving you a small smile, like he expected this.

"you’re thinking too much”, he adds and you scowl at him. “easy for you to say since you’re the expert here”, you counter and his smile only seems to deepen at your words.

you restart the movements and you step out with your right foot this time. soonyoung mirrors you, guiding you slowly through the motion. his hand rests lightly against your lower back, adjusting your posture, his touch both firm and reassuring. “good, now we’ll step back. first left foot and then the right foot to meet it”, he says and soonyoung’s hand never leaves your back, always guiding you with gentle pressure as you step and move together.  

“you want to move your body with your feet, don’t just focus on your feet—your body needs to follow too. it’s about fluidity, like we’re moving together as one”, he says, instructing you throughout. you think it’s kind of hot how much knowledge he has about this, especially with the way he was teaching you. you move through the sequence again, a little more fluid this time, the steps coming more naturally. soonyong notices the shift, his eyes lighting up. “there you go, you’re getting it”, he says with a smile.

for the next few minutes, you both move in sync, each step a little smoother, a little more confident. soonyoung’s hands are always gentle on your body, but they’re never hesitant as he guides you through each movement with a patience that makes you feel like nothing else matters in this moment. as you both continue to move, the music in the background fades into a soft hum, and the only sound is the rhythm of your movements, the gentle pull of his hands, and the careful way in which he holds you.

"okay, now just follow my lead, do you trust me?”, he asks, breaking the silence and you hesitate for half a second before you nod, not sure what he meant. 

"good," he says, and then without warning, he starts moving again, this time but slightly faster. you gasp, nearly tripping over your own feet, but his hold tightens just enough to steady you.

"soonyoung!”, you say and he laughs. "you said you trusted me," he says, his tone way too smug. "well i take it back," you grumble out, but you follow his steps anyway, trying your best to match his pace. and to your surprise, after a few beats, it actually starts to feel easier, almost natural. the push and pull of movement, the way his steps guide yours without hesitation. he’s a natural at this and eventually your body starts to just follow.

soonyoung’s smile widens as he pulls you in a little closer, his fingers gently curling around yours, guiding you into another step. the moment is easy, light, almost playful, but there’s still that underlying warmth between you both. “see?” he murmurs again, his voice lower now, closer to your ear. “you’re doing fine. i knew you had it in you”, he says, his hand lightly resting on your waist as his thumb traces small circles on your back and you can’t help but feel a small shiver run through your spine at the action. his gaze is so soft, so assured as you glance up at him and he tilts his head, his eyes sparkling mischievously. 

“do you want me to dip you?”, he asks and your eyes widen in horror. “no, thank you”, you say quickly, giving him a look and he feigns mock offense. he raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your reaction. “what? you don’t trust me?” he asks, his voice teasing and you shoot him a look. “i don’t want you to drop me”, you say and he chuckles, his hand still firm on your waist, but the sound of his laughter is deep and warm. 

“you really don’t have faith in me huh?”, he asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief, but there’s a softness in them too. “yup, zero faith in you, considering you almost dropped me on the road when you carried me on your back that day”, you tease and he rolls his eyes. “i mean, i’m not exactly the most graceful person”, you add after a moment and he hums in response. he doesn’t push you or he doesn’t try to convince you, but his gaze holds a quiet promise.

“but i’ve got you, alright?”, he says after a moment. “i promise that if i dip you, i won’t drop you, so you’re in safe hands”, he says with an encouraging smile and you can’t help but feel a flutter in your chest at his words, the way he says it with such confidence, with such certainty.

“i appreciate the offer, but i think i’ll stick to just the basics for now”, you say and he nods. “alright, alright, we’ll stick to the basics,” he says, still grinning, but there’s a softness to his smile now. “but just so you know, i could dip you and make it look effortless”, he adds and you roll your eyes at his cockiness. there’s an undeniable warmth that spreads through you at the thought of him being so sure of himself, of you. 

you shrug, pretending to be unimpressed, but the flush creeping up your neck betrays you. “i’m sure you could,” you say, still a little unsure, but more than willing to believe in him now. “maybe one day”, you say and soonyoung’s smile softens at your words. he nods with a kind of understanding that makes you feel like he’s not just teaching you to dance, but he’s teaching you how to trust him. “whenever you’re ready,” he says quietly, his voice sincere. “there’s no rush, we’ll get there when we get there”, he says quietly. 

you don’t even realize how close the two of you have gotten. his hand is still warm against your waist, his fingers lightly pressing against your lower back, like he’s making sure you don’t pull away too soon. his breath fans against your cheek, and when you glance up, he’s already looking at you. your heart starts to race, but it’s not from nerves anymore —it's from something else entirely, something unfamiliar and new. your breath hitches in your throat. the intensity in his eyes makes your stomach flip. his gaze is soft, but there’s also something deeper in his look, like he’s seeing you in a way he hasn’t seen you before and your eyes glance down at his lips for a split second before you look away.

and then the moment comes crashing down on you all at once—he warmth of his hand, the pressure of his hold on your waist, the slow rise and fall of his breath against your cheek, the way his fingers press into your lower back, grounding you, holding you there close, too close, it’s suddenly all too much. your heart is racing and you suddenly feel hyper aware of every single point of contact between you both, of the way his grip is steady, sure, like he doesn’t want to let go just yet. you stop moving and soonyoung does too, his body stilling the moment he feels you freeze. his grip on you lingers for a second, his fingers squeezing softly against your waist like he’s waiting for you to say something.

“i should go,” you blurt out, the words tumbling from your lips faster than you can process them. your voice is quieter than you mean for it to be, unsteady in a way that makes your own chest tighten. “it’s…it’s late”, you say. soonyoung doesn’t respond right away and his grip on you doesn’t tighten, but it doesn’t loosen either, he just holds you there for a beat longer, like he’s hesitating, like he’s not quite ready to break the moment. his fingers flex slightly, almost like he’s trying to memorize the feeling before he has to let it go. then, slowly—finally—his hands slip away, falling to his sides.

“oh.” his voice comes out, softer now, quieter than before and you nod too quickly, taking a step back, then another. “thanks for, um, for teaching me”, you say, swallowing hard, your throat suddenly dry.

soonyoung watches you, his eyes unreadable for a moment. there’s something in his expression—something hesitant, like he wants to say something else, do something, but instead, he just offers you a small, lopsided smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“anytime,” he murmurs out, but there’s something else under his tone, something you can’t quite name. “i can drop you home”, he offers but you shake your head. “it’s fine, i got my car today”, you say and you give him one last wave before you turn around and walk out the door. you don’t turn around.

when soonyoung get’s home, it’s late and the apartment is quiet. he tosses his keys onto the counter, shrugs off his jacket, and kicks off his shoes and he walks into his room. he has a quick shower and crashes into bed. normally, this is the part of the night where he falls asleep, exhausted from the day, but tonight sleep feels impossible, because all he can think about is you.

soonyoung runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as he lays on bed. his body is heavy with exhaustion, but his mind refuses to slow down. his fingers still remember the warmth of your waist, the way you fit so perfectly against him, and how natural it felt to hold you close. he groans, dragging a hand down his face. 

this isn’t normal, he’s not normal right now. every time he closes his eyes, he sees you—sees the way your brows furrowed when you were concentrating on getting the steps right, or the way you bit your lip when you got nervous, or the way you fit so perfectly against him like you were meant to be there.

soonyoung turns onto his back, staring at the ceiling, frustration bubbling up in his chest. he’s never been good at reading between the lines, but this felt like something. he tries to close his eyes, willing himself to sleep before groaning into the air. it’s ridiculous really, how much this is getting to him. he’s never had trouble sleeping before. and maybe, just maybe, he’s overthinking it. maybe you really did just want to go home because it was late and maybe he’s reading too much into the way your eyes flickered to his lips for that split second before you looked away. but the ache in his chest tells him otherwise.

soonyoung sighs again, flipping onto his stomach and burying his face into the pillow. this is so stupid. soonyoung doesn’t do this. he doesn’t lie awake at night thinking about slow dances and fleeting touches and what if’s, and yet, here he is. soonyoung’s chest feels tight, but not in a way that hurts. it’s just a feeling that’s… there. a strange, persistent weight that he can’t seem to shake off no matter how many times he tries to convince himself that he’s overthinking it. he’s never felt this way before, never been this restless, this frustrated over something so simple. 

but soonyoung does know this— the moment he held you in his arms, something shifted. he doesn’t know what and he doesn’t even know how to describe it, but he felt it. something about you makes everything feel different and it makes his heart race for no reason, makes his stomach twist with something unfamiliar.

sleep doesn’t come easy for soonyoung that night because every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is you.

that entire week is like a blur to you. you don’t contact soonyoung again, trying to occupy yourself in your work so that you don’t have to think about him. but you do, and  everytime you think about him you think about the way his hand felt against you, the warmth in his touch and gaze and your heart does a little flip and you’re convinced that something is wrong with you. it’s saturday evening now and the wedding is tomorrow evening, so you couldn't really avoid soonyoung any longer. you decide to text him, just to remind him that the wedding is happening tomorrow in case he had forgotten.

you [8:37 PM]: hey! just reminding you that the wedding is tomorrow evening.

soonyoung nearly jumps from his seat when he sees your notification, before he regains his composure and clears his throat. he’s quick to type out a response. 

soonyoung [8:40 PM]: yup 🫡

you [8:42 PM]: we’ll take my car so come to my place.

soonyoung [8:42 PM]: okay!

the next evening, your room is a mess, again. you finally decide on an outfit for the evening—a satin floor length dress in a soft, baby blue color. the dress is strapless, with a perfectly fitted bodice that cinches at the waist, hugging you perfectly in all the right places. the top of the dress has a subtle sweetheart neckline, offering a soft, feminine touch while maintaining an air of refinement, making it a perfect dress to wear to a wedding. there’s a small slit that runs along the side of the dress and it stops just above your knee. the hem of the dress trails just slightly on the floor. you turned toward the mirror, studying your reflection once more, running a hand through your hair. the soft waves cascade down your back and your fingers gently comb through it, giving them a little more volume and a little more definition. that’s when your doorbell rings. you freeze for a moment, a flutter of excitement rising in your chest. he’s here—soonyoung’s here.

you step toward the door, your heels clicking lightly against the floor with each step and you pause just before the door, taking another breath to steady yourself. you open it and soonyong stands in front of you, looking like he just stepped out of a dream himself. but you don’t give him time to talk, ushering him inside, saying you were almost ready and you walk back inside. he follows you and closes the door behind him before he calls out for you.

you turn around and look at him and he looks nervous for some reason. he digs into his jacket pocket and removes something—a brand new bottle of lip tint and another bottle of liquid lipstick. “i remembered how yours was over so i thought these might suit you”, he says shyly as he hands it to you. you smile at his gesture and take them both. the shades he had picked were really gorgeous and you immediately open the lipstick. soonyoung is quick to open his phone and turn on the front camera, letting you use it as a mirror, and you give him a small grateful smile as you apply the lipstick. you open the tube and apply the lipstick, using his phone a a mirror. soonyoung’s gaze lingers on your, and on your lips as he watches you apply the lipstick and his breath catches for a moment as his eyes wander over your body, taking in the sight of you, the way your lips pucker ever so lightly as you apply the lipstick and he bites his lip softly. he shakes away any irrational thoughts and clears his throat. 

“what do you think?”, you ask and he nods, like he’s happy with how it looks on you. “it looks great, it suits you really well”, he says, proud of his shade picking skills and you nod. “you’re right, i really love this shade”, you say and then you say something about getting your phone from the other room and go fetch it. it’s only when you step out of the room and glance at soonyoung that you take him in fully.

he is standing by your photo frames that are on the wall, looking at them with an inquisitive expression. he is wearing a sleek black suit that fits him perfectly. it clings perfectly to his frame and you can tell it’s been tailored with precision as it highlights the broad line of his shoulders and tapers down in clean, crisp angles. his black shirt is sleek and is a perfect match for the suit, its matte fabric contrasting the rich, glossy finish of his jacket. the silver chain he always wears is draped around his neck. his blonde hair, which is a striking shade of silver, falls in soft, tousled layers over his forehead and eyes, framing his face with a touch of wildness that contrasts his otherwise immaculate appearance. the longer strands at the back brush the collar of his jacket and his hair seems to be like a halo against the blackness of his attire.

you realise you’ve been staring too long and you shake your head, walking ahead, your heels clacking against the floor as you make your way towards soonyoung. and it’s only when you’re close by that you see the subtle makeup he’s done too. his eyes are lined softly and the faint smudge of kohl only adds to the depth to his gaze, making his already piercing stare seem impossibly intense. there’s a soft dusting of highlighter kissing the high points of his face—his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, giving his skin an ethereal glow. his lips are faintly tinted, carrying a natural flush that softens the sharpness of his features. you find yourself again lost in him until he clears his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“um, we should leave right”, you say, grabbing your handbag and stuffing your phone inside. you grab the car keys from the bowl and walk towards the door, signalling for soonyoung to head out so you could lock up. you lock the door and you both walk down towards your car when soonyoung walks over to the driver’s side. “let me drive tonight”, he says, holding out his hand for the keys.

“it’s okay, i can drive”, you say but he insists. “please, i want to, i don’t want your feet to hurt by driving in heels”, he says and you look down at your feet before glancing back up because he did have a point. 

“okay then”, you say, handing him the keys, your fingers lightly brushing against his as you drop the keys in his hand. you walk over to the passenger side, opening it and sitting down. soonyoung gets into the driver's side and he glances over at you, waiting for a moment as he looks at you, but you’re too busy digging for something in your bag to realise. so soonyong takes action and he leans forward, leaning towards you. you turn your head, confused, before you see his hand reaching out for the seatbelt and for a moment everything seems to slow down.before you can react, he's slowly pulling it across you, his arm brushing against your side as he secures the strap. the sudden closeness is unexpected, and your breath catches in your throat. he’s close and his eyes flicker up to yours as he buckles the seatbelt, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. "gotta be safe," he says, his voice warm but light, as if the moment was as ordinary as any other.

you blink, the sudden closeness making your cheeks flush. "right," you mutter out and the air between you both seems to crackle with something unspoken, something that wasn’t there before. soonyoung leans back into the seat, his eyes briefly meeting yours again before he turns the key in the ignition. the soft hum of the car engine fills the silence. the car pulls out of the driveway and soonyoung drives smoothly. there’s a subtle tension in the air between you both, but neither of you address it. soonyoung’s hands are steady on the wheel, his posture casual, but every so often, you catch him glancing at you, as if he’s trying to gauge your reaction, trying to decipher what you might be thinking.

as the car rolls up to the wedding venue, you’re pulled away from your thoughts by the sight of the grand building in front of you. the lights are bright, illuminating the entrance where guests are already gathering. soonyoung parks the car with a smooth turn, his hands steady on the wheel and you both glance at each other at the same time. 

“so...” soonyoung begins, glancing over at you, but his words trail off as he looks back at the venue. his hands stay on the wheel and he shifts in his seat. the reality of the night is here. you’re about to pretend to be a couple in front of all these people. a feeling of unease stirs in your stomach, but before you can overthink it, soonyoung speaks.

“ready?” he asks, his voice light. you nod, though there’s a small flutter of nerves that you can’t seem to quite shake off. “let’s do this”, you say and you both step out of the car, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you approach the entrance. he glances over at you again and for a moment and there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. you both walk toward the entrance, but soonyoung’s not sure what to do. his movements are slow, and he glances at you, his eyes searching for a sign—some kind of cue. should he offer his arm? should you take the lead? he almost seems out of place and you can’t help but smile at how genuine his confusion is. you both stop a few steps from the entrance, and he looks at you again, his hands shifting nervously at his sides.

“you know we’re supposed to look like a couple, right?”, you say, giving him a light teasing look. soonyoung blinks at you. “right, of course,” he says, but his voice still carries that light tone of uncertainty and suddenly, he’s nervous. there’s a moment of silence before you take a small step closer to him. you look at his hand and then back up at him. “maybe we could link arms?”, you ask and soonyoung pauses for just a moment, the question lingering in the air. his eyes flicker toward your hand, and without thinking, he offers it to you, his palm open and waiting.

there’s something so endearing about how awkward he seems, how genuinely unsure he is, despite being so confident in other areas. with a reassuring smile, you reach out and take his hand, your fingers brushing over his in a soft touch before you link your arm with his. “perfect,” you say. “now let’s go in”.

as you and soonyoung step into the venue, the soft murmur of voices fills the air, the clinking of glasses and gentle laughter of people bouncing off the walls. you walk side by side with soonyoung and the natural warmth of his hand in yours is comforting in a way. the two of you navigate through the crowd, occasionally stopping to exchange pleasantries with acquaintances you knew while soonyoung stands beside you, offering them friendly smiles. after a while the whole charade is a little more seamless now, the act of being a couple not feeling so foreign anymore. as you reach the main area where the newlyweds are standing, a few of your friends spot you from across the room.

“yn! over here”, one of them calls out and mina spots you too, smiling when she sees you. you walk towards them with a smile and you let go of soonyoung’s hand as you envelope mina in a hug, congratulating her. all your friends seem to coo over soonyoung, who offers them friendly smiles, and he congratulates mina and the groom too. 

you decide to go grab a drink and ask soonyoung if he wants one too, but he declines. you walk over to the bar counter and reach out for a glass of champagne when you hear someone call out your name. you turn around and your stomach drops at the sight of jaehyun—your ex.

“yn, hey”, he says, walking up to you and all you want to do is run away, but you don’t. “jaehyun, hi”, you say with a neutral tone. “it’s nice to see you”, he says after a moment and you only nod, because you clearly don’t reciprocate the same feeling. 

“are you here alone?”, jaehyun asks. “no, i’m here with my boyfriend”, you say as you glance over at soonyoung, who’s watching the both of you intently. you give him a small wave and soonyoung makes his way towards you. your hand instinctively wraps around his, and jaehyun glances down at where your hand is linked around soonyoung’s before he looks back up at you.

“this is my boyfriend, soonyoung”, you say. “this is jaehyun…a friend”, you say, leaving out the ex part because soonyoung didn’t need to know that right now.

you head back to the hall and the first dance commences between the bride and groom. you sit and watch with the others. mina and her husband take the center stage and dance and it’s so sweet. you smile as you look at mina and take a picture of them too, one for the books. then it ends and you can see mina calling everyone else to join. the soft melody of a love song drifts through the reception hall, wrapping around the slow moving couples already on the dance floor. you’re sitting at the edge of your seat, your fingers toying with the stem of your champagne glass, unsure if you wanted to join. your mind is busy thinking about jaehyun, and somehow, the sight of him seems to irritate you more than you thought. just at that moment, soonyoung’s shadow falls over you. “dance with me?”, he asks and you look up to see him standing in front of you. his one hand is outstretched, the other tucked casually in his pocket. his expression is easy and there’s a certain warmth in his eyes with the way he looks at you. 

“i’m not sure”, you say, trailing off, but then you glance up and see mina calling you over with a hopeful expression. she mouths a ‘please’ and you can’t seem to say no to that. “okay fine, just five minutes though”, you say standing up, puting down the glass of champagne and taking soonyoung’s hand. he holds your hand, his fingers curling around yours—warm, steady and reassuring. he gently leads you onto the dance floor and then his other hand comes up to rest on your waist, while the other holds your hand in his. you move your hands to rest on his shoulders as soonyoung slowly moves. but then you spot jaehyun at the side, looking at you and there’s something in the way he looks at you that sends your stomach twisting. you glance away, stiffening and you don’t even realise that you’ve stopped moving.

your muscles tense, and suddenly, you’re not really dancing anymore. and then you’re moving, but too fast, too rigid, completely out of rhythm with soonyoung. you step out with the wrong foot when you’re supposed to sway, rush when you’re supposed to follow and all your movements are erratic and clumsy, a stark contrast to the easy flow of the song.

soonyoung notices this instantly and his hold on your waist tightens a bit, just enough to anchor you back to him. his head tilts to the side slightly, concern flickering across his face as he watches you, his fingers brushing against your skin in a silent attempt to steady you. “hey,” he murmurs, his voice low. “what’s wrong?”, he asks and you blink up at him. you shake your head quickly. “nothing, i just—”, you trail off, the words falling flat.

soonyoung doesn’t say anything, but instead he shifts slightly, adjusting his movements as he gently guides you along with him this time. “be in the moment, breathe, listen to the music”, he says and you nod, but your body is still rigid, and soonyoung can feel it. you don’t want to admit that your mind is elsewhere, that your thoughts are tangled up in things you wish you could ignore. he can tell you’re distracted, that there’s something on your mind. but soonyoung is patient and he doesn’t press or doesn’t demand an explanation. he just watches you silently, his eyes searching yours before he speaks again.

“i’m going to dip you if you keep doing that”, he says and that makes you snap your head up to look at him. you narrow your eyes at him as you speak. “don’t you dare dip me kwon soonyoung”, you say and he chuckles at the mention of his full name.

“still don’t trust me huh”, he asks. “no”, you deadpan and he smiles softly. 

then leans in slightly, lowering his voice as he speaks. “well that’s too bad because if you keep dancing like a robot, i’m going to have to dip you, that’s the rules”, he says, making you furrow your brows.

“what rules? that’s not a thing”, you counter. “oh it is actually”, he says. “i wrote it myself and rule number one is if your dance partner is too stiff, you must dip them”, he tells proudly and you scoff. but then you notice the mischief in his eyes and the alarms start ringing in your head. “soonyoung, no, do not dip me”, you say.

“why not?”, he asks. “because!”, you lower your voice, glancing around. “we will become the center of attention at a wedding that is not ours”, you say and soonyoung blinks, and then slowly, that mischievous grin spreads across his face.

“oh, you’re right,” he repeats. “that would be so dramatic”, he says, holding your gaze as you glare at him. “exactly so no dipping”, you repeat.

“but then it would be really iconic you know”, he says, like he’s trying to convince you. “no”, you say, but a soft laugh escapes you at his antics. soonyoung smiles because that’s exactly what he wanted. his smile lingers as he watches you and he notices the way the tension in your shoulders slowly eases, the way your body starts to relax under his hold. he wanted you to relax and let go and now you’re moving much better now, there’s no rush anymore. soonyoung watches you carefully, taking in the way your breath evens out, the way your fingers rest more comfortably against his shoulders. he doesn’t say anything for a moment, just lets the dance continue, letting you find your own pace. 

“we still could, though”, he says and you blink up at him. “could what?”, you ask. “steal the show”, he says, his lips twitching into a small smirk. “one big dramatic dip and the crowd would lose their minds”, he says and you groan softly, rolling your eyes at him, and then you laugh again when you picture it in your head and that’s enough for soonyoung. he grins. mission accomplished.

“no soonyoung, we are not going to steal the show, it’s not even our wedding”, you say, the words slipping out of your mouth casually, but soonyoung’s ears perk up for some reason. 

“so…you’re saying if this was our wedding you’d let me dip you?”, he asks, looking at you intently. his tone is playful but there's an underlying hint of curiosity in it. you shrug lightly. “i mean, hypothetically, if it was our wedding, then maybe”, you say and his heart seems to almost skip a beat at your words. his usual easy grin falters for just a heartbeat, just enough for you to notice the way his breath hitches and the way his eyes flicker with something unreadable. you hold soonyoung’s gaze as they draw you in. you could kiss him you think and you gulp at the thought. 

the realization comes crashing down on you all over again, the weight of the moment making everything seem too much, too fast. you clear your throat, taking a step back, pulling yourself away from him and the intensity of his gaze. “i-i need to use the restroom,” you say quickly, suddenly needing to escape the unexpected tension. “okay,” he says softly, his hands dropping from your sides, but you can still feel the warmth of his touch. “i’ll be here when you get back”, he says and you nod before you step away from him and turn around, walking to the washroom, your heart still racing.

you stand in front of the washroom mirror and look at yourself. what was wrong with you? you could not be going around, thinking these kinds of thoughts about soonyoung. you shake your head, getting your thoughts back together before you exit the washroom. you are about to take a turn to head back to the dance floor where soonyoung is, when jaehyun comes walking through the corridor. you freeze for a second when you see him, but then continue walking, deciding to ignore him, but he stops you.

“yn”, he says and you hate it, hate the way he says your name, but you still turn around. he looks at you for a second before he speaks. “you look good tonight”, he says and you want to scoff, you want to roll your eyes but you don’t, keeping your face neutral. “thanks”, you mumble out.

“i’ve been thinking about you recently, so i’m sort of glad we bumped into each other here”, he says and you clench your jaw. you did not need to be hearing this right now. you don’t know what’s worse—the fact that he’s talking to you like nothing happened between you both, or the fact that he’s so damn casual about it, and his words feel like a punch to the gut.

“listen jaehyun, i’m not—”, you start but he cuts you off. “can we talk perhaps? would you be willing to give me another chance, i just miss you so bad”, he says and you scoff at the audacity he had to be saying that.

“you miss me?”, you repeat, and you can’t hide the disbelief in your tone. “after everything you did you think you can just waltz back into my life, tell me that you miss me, and i’ll forget all the shit you put me through?”, you ask, trying not to get upset.

outside, soonyoung waits for you like a puppy in the wedding hall, sitting on the chair looking around, hoping to see you soon. but it’s been fifteen minutes now, almost twenty and you haven’t come back yet, and he’s starting to get worried. so he gets up and makes his way to the building on the other side, hoping to find you. 

jaehyun’s expression falters for a second, but he tries to close the distance between you, stepping forward. “yn please just—”, he starts off, but before he can reach you, you take a sharp step back.

“no, i’m not doing this,” you say firmly. you turn to walk away, your body tense, but jaehyun grabs your wrist, stopping you. his grip is firm, and for a second, you freeze, caught off guard.

“yn please,” he says again, almost pleading. “jaehyun let me go”, you say, but he doesn’t. “let go”, you repeat, trying to pull your hand away. “let’s just talk yn”, he says but you don’t want anything to do with him anymore. 

“she said to let her go”, you hear a third voice— soonyoung’s as he stalks forward, grabbing jaehyun’s hand and yanking his hand off you. he looks directly at jaehyun, his gaze steady and unwavering. jaehyun huffs and walks away, leaving you and soonyoung alone in the corridor.

soonyoung’s eyes flicker briefly to you, his eyes softening with concern and he immediately notices the way your hands are trembling, how your breathing is shallow. you look up at him, and that’s when you realize your eyes are wet with tears you're trying to hold back. soonyoung’s brows furrow in worry. “hey, are you okay?” he asks, his voice gentle but firm. you blink rapidly, trying to clear your head, trying to blink back the tears.

“i'm—i'm fine,” you whisper, though the words aren’t true and soonyoung knows it, but he doesn’t press you for details. soonyoung doesn't know what comes over him, but he reaches out for your hand, intertwining his fingers in yours and giving your hand a gentle squeeze, as if he was trying to ground you back to reality. his touch is warm and you don’t want to let go.

“come on,” he says gently. “let’s go outside for a bit and get some fresh air yeah?”, he asks. you hesitate for a moment and you look at him, only to see nothing but quiet understanding in his gaze. there’s no judgment, it’s just him, waiting patiently, holding space for you. you nod slowly and soonyoung slowly leads you outside. his thumb moves in slow circles against your hand, in an unconscious attempt to soothe you as he walks with you outside to the quiet garden area behind the venue. you let go of soonyoung’s hand as you cross your arms over your chest and watch from a distance—watching everyone dancing, having fun, drinking and talking. you can hear the faint echo of the music and the faint chatter of people and the cool night air wraps around you as the sound of laughter and music fade into the background. a shiver runs through you and you rub your arms for warmth, though it does little to nothing against the cold night air. a moment later you feel something warm and soft being draped over your shoulders.

you glance down in surprise, fingers brushing over the fabric—soonyoung’s jacket. it’s oversized on you, the sleeves falling past your hands, but there’s the lingering warmth of his body heat still clinging to it. you blink up at him, and he shrugs, a small, lopsided smile playing at his lips. “this will keep you warm”, he says and you mumble out a small thanks before you look back ahead.

soonyoung doesn’t say anything right away and instead he watches you for a moment, taking in the way your shoulders are still tense, the way your jaw clenches ever so slightly, the way your breathes are just a little too controlled—like you’re trying to hold something in. soonyoung can tell that whatever happened back there was something more and you clearly didn’t want to talk about it. 

instead, he steps beside you, shoving his hands into his pockets as he tilts his head up, looking at the sky. the stars are scattered across the dark sky, shimmering faintly. “you know,” he murmurs after a moment, “this is kinda nice”, he says. you blink, glancing at him. “what is?”, you ask and he nods towards the sky. “the stars, the quiet, just being here with you”.

something about the way he says it makes your chest tighten. just being here with you. for some reason that makes your throat feel tight and you swallow, turning your gaze back to the stars. “yeah,” you murmur. “it is kinda nice”, you say before you feel the weight settle on your shoulders again. your fingers clutch onto his jacket as if you’re trying to ground yourself, but it’s not working and soonyoung notices it instantly. 

you take a step forward, not really thinking—just needing to move, but the soft grass catches onto your heel, tilting you off balance. you barely get a gasp out before you trip. but before you can even register what’s happening, a pair of strong hands grab your waist and soonyoung catches you, pulling you up against him with ease. your hands clutch onto his arms instinctively, “whoa—”, he huffs out. his voice is low, close to your ear. his grip on you doesn’t loosen, his hands staying on your waist, hot and unmoving, holding you close—closer than before—closer than you should be and your breath stutters. you’re pressed up against him, chest to chest, your noses barely a breath apart. it’s like he doesn’t even realize how close he’s holding you, how there’s barely any space left between the both of you. you can feel the heat of his skin through his shirt and the faint scent of his cologne lingers in the air between you.

your gaze flickers up to meet his and the world seems to slow down at that moment, and neither of you move. soonyoung watches you carefully, his lips parting like he wants to say something, but the words never come. his gaze drops, just for a second to your lips and your heart skips a beat. soonyoung’s eye’s flicker back up and he holds your gaze, his fingers instinctively pressing into your sides before he finally loosens his grip, but he doesn’t let go completely. he stills holds onto you, staying right where he is, holding you close. and then he speaks, his voice soft, careful, gentle. 

“do you wanna go home?”, he asks lowly and his breath is soft against your skin as he speaks. his nose brushes against yours ever so slightly as he speaks, just the faintest touch, but it’s enough to send sparks flying. you blink, surprised, because you weren’t expecting him to ask that. whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this. he’s so so close and you gulp. you can barely form any words with how close he is, with the way he’s looking at you, with the way he’s holding you. you open your mouth to speak, but soonyoung beats you to it.

“it’s okay if you do,” he adds. “we don’t have to stay if you’re not comfortable”, he whispers and you swallow hard. “maybe going home would be good”, you manage to muster out softly, feeling like you were melting under his gaze with the intensity that he was looking at you with.

he slowly loosens his grip on your waist and eases his hands, his touch lingering just for a second longer before finally pulling back completely. you exhale, stepping back slightly, your fingers brushing against his for a fleeting moment before they fall down by your sides. the cool night air rushes between you both and you look away. you don’t know why, but maybe it’s because this all feels too much—too raw, too intimate and too real. you try to distract yourself, so you smooth your hands over your dress, clearing your throat. soonyoung watches you carefully. “come on,” he finally says, his voice softer than before. “let’s get you home”.

when you reach home, you bid soonyoung goodbye, and you offer to drive him home, but he declines, saying he’d take a cab. you’re quick to peel off your heels when you enter and sigh in relief as you walk barefoot to your room. you toss your small hand bag on the bed and plop down, letting out another heavy sigh. you fall back down on the bed and you stare up at the ceiling, thinking about soonyoung. 

you can feel your heart pick up its pace at the thought of him and you groan. you think about how close he was, how his nose brushed against yours ever so slightly, and how if you had just leaned in slightly, you could have kissed him. you shake your head at the thought again and you seriously think there’s something terribly wrong with you. you could not be thinking about kissing your best friend's younger brother because that was just wrong. there’s no way you could be falling in love with soonyoung, right? somewhere along the line, you had started seeing him as a man, not just as your best friend's younger brother and the realization hits you hard, making you curse under your breath. this was just supposed to be casual, not real.

when soonyoung goes home later that night, he’s confused. he finds himself laying wide awake in bed again. his heart is racing, still, hours later, and he has no idea why. there’s a strange unfamiliar tug at his heart at the thought of you. he presses his palm flat against his chest, like that would help steady his beating heart, help him stop whatever this feeling was, but it doesn’t work. soonyoung frowns at the ceiling instead, frustrated. what the hell is wrong with him?

soonyoung doesn’t understand what’s happening to him. he doesn’t understand what he’s feeling and it’s driving him crazy. he stirs and grabs his phone, opening the browser, his fingers hovering over the keyboard for a second before he types the first thing that comes to mind.

“how do you know if you’re falling in love?”

the search results load instantly and soonyoung squints at the screen as he scrolls though them. his heart thuds uncomfortably as he skims through the first few answers in the article clicked on.

you think about them all the time.

you want to be around them constantly.

your heart races when you see them.

you feel nervous and excited around them at the same time.

you find yourself drawn to small details about them 

you miss them when they’re not around.

soonyoung’s stomach flips as he reads and he swallows hard. he scrolls faster, clicking on another link, his fingers trembling slightly as he types in a new searches, hoping to find some more answers within them.

what does love feel like?

why does my chest feel weird when i think about someone?

can you fall in love by accident?

what to do when you fall for your fake date?

he exhales sharply as he reads the through the articles and all the answers and he drops his phone onto his chest, rubbing a hand over his face. soonyoung’s heart is racing and his head is spinning. his emotions are tangled into a mess he can’t begin to unravel and he’s now he’s even more confused.

and the worst part is he knows, he now knows what this is, what this feeling is. soonyoung is falling for you, hard, and that was never part of the plan.

it’s been a week since the wedding, since soonyoung held you so close, since you felt your heart race in a way you hadn’t felt in a while. you think you’re going crazy, that there’s some sort of bug that’s bitten you that’s making you think all these stupid thoughts. in all this, the one person who seems to be on your mind is jaehyun. fuck, ever since you saw him, the past, all the memories, the way he left you feeling all comes flooding back and you hate it. since it’s friday, the weekend, you decide to indulge yourself and decide to drown your sorrows down with alcohol. maybe if you drink enough, the ache in your chest will dull and all the thoughts will quiet down and you can forget—at least for a little while.

which is how you find yourself slumped at the bar, staring at the rim of your third bottle of soju. your fingers trace circles against the cool glass as you sit. the bar is dimly lit, the low hum of chatter and clinking glasses buzzing around you, but you barely register any of it. the warmth of the alcohol spreads through your veins, making everything feel just a little slower, just a little heavier. your vision blurs slightly as you fumble for your phone, unlocking it with shaky fingers and you squint at the screen, scrolling through your contacts.

you were meaning to call jihyo, you swear you were. but in your tipsy state, your finger presses on the contact just below hers instead—soonyoung's.

soonyoung is no doubt surprised when you call him, but he picks up nonetheless. “hello?”, he says, his voice filling you ear and you don’t even register that it’s not jihyo’s voice. you sit up, blinking lazily. “hi babe”, you say and there’s a beat of silence as soonyoung furrows his brows, wondering if he had actually heard you right. did you just call him babe?

“i’m at the bar we usually go to downtown,” you continue, your words slurred but carrying a familiar warmth, as if this were any normal conversation with jihyo. “and i’m so wasted right now, but i can’t stop thinking about stupid jaehyun”, you say and soonyoung sits up straighter, his fingers tightening around his phone. but you don’t even give him a chance to interrupt as you go on, the words tumbling out of you in your tipsy state.

“jihyo, wait…did i tell you what happened at the wedding?”, you ask and that’s when it clicks for him. you had meant to call jihyo, but you had called him instead. he thinks that he should probably interrupt and tell you that it’s not jihyo that you called, but he doesn’t, something stops him. maybe it’s the slight wobble in your voice, or the way you sounded so tired, but he keeps the phone to his ear, listening to you.

“it’s so stupid really, i don’t know why i’m–i’m wasting my time over him”, you slur out, the words coming out in a rush, softer, more vulnerable, and that’s when soonyoung realizes how drunk you actually are and his heart tugs with worry.

soonyoung knew which bar you were talking about because he’s gone there with jihyo and his friends before. he’s already getting up without hesitation, worried and you continue to speak. “he came up to me and—”, your voice cuts off, the call hanging up and soonyoung is confused. he pulls his phone down from his ear and calls you again, but you don’t pick up and it goes straight to voicemail. he calls again but the same thing happens and he realises your phone must have died.

“shit,” he mutters under his breath and now soonyoung is really worried. he doesn’t waste another second as he opens the door to his room, throwing on his jacket as he practically runs out the door, ignoring seungkwan yelling at him as to where he was running off to so late. his mind is racing, heart hammering in his chest as he speed runs toward the bar you mentioned. he just runs, trying to make his way to you as fast as possible. thankfully the bar was closeby, and if he ran, he could reach you in ten minutes. by the time he pulls up to the bar, his hands are trembling and his breathing is heavy from all the running. his chest is rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. the neon sign of the bar flickers above the entrance, casting a dull glow around him and his legs move on their own as he pushes the door open and steps inside. 

his eyes scan the dimly lit room, and the dull music that plays in the background fills his ears. he moves past tables and clusters of people, his heart pounding as his eyes try to find you—and then there you are. you’re sitting at the corner by the window, slumped forward, resting your chin on your hand, your elbow resting on the table as you stare into space. your fingers lazily trace circles on the table and three empty bottles of soju sit in front of you.

soonyoung lets out a quiet sigh of relief when he sees you and his legs automatically move on their own, making his way towards you. “yn” he says, his voice urgent and worried. “are you okay?”, he asks, looking at you. you blink slowly, lifting your head to look at him, your eyes hazy and unfocused, and for a second you just stare, like your brain is trying to process the fact that he’s here—that he’s in front of you.

“soonyoung?” you murmur, blinking again. your lips curve into a lazy, tipsy smile. “oh, hey! did jihyo send you?”, you ask and he only blinks at you. he sighs again. “you’re okay,” he breathes, more to himself than anything.

his eyes sweep over you and take in the way you’re swaying slightly in your seat, the way your fingers fumble clumsily with your empty glass, the way your shoulders slump like the weight of the world is pressing down on them.

“what happened?” he asks, his voice softer now. “why didn’t you charge your phone? you scared the shit out of me”, he says and you pout slightly, looking at him, confused. “my phone died?”, you ask and soonyoung runs a hand through his hair, sighing again. “yeah, it did”, he answers.

you giggle lightly—like it’s funny—but soonyoung doesn’t laugh, because underneath the drunken haze, there’s something off about you. you’re not just tipsy, you’re sad.

soonyoung takes a seat beside you, because you were sitting at a table with two seats beside each other. he’s close but not too close, his shoulder just barely brushing against yours and he’s quiet, watching you carefully. and before you can stop yourself, the words start tumbling out. 

“it’s so stupid soonyoung”, you say, frowning.“i saw jaehyun at the wedding and it was like everything came rushing back to me, you know?”, you say, your tone carrying a hint of sadness in it. “i thought i was over him, i should be over him, but seeing him again, hearing him say he misses me like it meant something—”, your voice cracks and you let out a sharp humorless laugh. “like he didn’t leave me when i needed him the most”, you finish and exhale shakily, dropping your gaze. soonyoung doesn’t interrupt, he just listens to you.

“we dated for four years, and he just broke it off like it was nothing”, you say drily. “he broke up with me, dumped me actually, because he said i was boring, that i was no longer the same person he had fallen in love with. and it hurt, it hurt so bad. i spent so long thinking something was wrong with me, that i wasn’t enough for him. that maybe if i was more fun, if i could just change something about me, then maybe he would have still loved me, that he would have stayed”, you say, your voice shaking as you speak. 

the words hang in the air, heavy and soonyoung shifts beside you, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for yours but isn’t sure if he should. “i just—i don’t know why i let it get to me,” you mumble, your voice quieter now. “it’s pathetic.”

“soonyoung,” you whisper his name after a moment, your voice small as you look at him, your eyes wet. “do you think i’m boring?”, you ask and his eyes widen slightly at your question, caught off guard. “what?”, he asks.

you swallow the lump in your throat, blinking rapidly, but it’s useless—the tears are already welling up and a shaky laugh escapes you. “maybe he was right, maybe i am boring”, you say and you sniff, willing yourself not to cry but it doesn’t work. your vision blurs and your shoulder shakes as a quiet sob slips out.

soonyoung’s chest tightens at the sight of you breaking down. “hey, no—” he says softly, shifting closer, his hand hesitating before he reaches for your face. he cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away a tear, but another one follows immediately after and his heart clenches.

“you’re not boring,” he says, his voice firm but still gentle. “not even close”.

his hand lingers on your cheek, warm and grounding, and when you finally look at him again, his gaze is so soft, it makes your breath catch because it’s so achingly tender. soonyoung watches as more tears slip down your cheeks and he wipes them away with his thumb. “don’t cry over him, he’s not worth it”, he murmurs, his voice low.

you sniffle, swallowing down another sob and his hand tilts your face up just a little more, his thumb tracing along the curve of your cheekbone. “you are enough, more than enough,” he says, like he needs you to believe them. “and if he couldn’t see that, then that’s his problem”, he finishes. you let out a shaky breath at his words, your lip trembling as another tear slips down and soonyoung catches it before it can fall too far, this thumb caressing your cheek gently. 

you take another shaky breath as you look at soonyoung, your voice barely a whisper as you speak. "i—i think i want to go home", you say and his face softens and without another word he nods in understanding “alright,” he says gently. “let’s get you home”. 

soonyoung helps you gather your belongings and holds onto your handbag before he stands up. he offers you his hand. you take and rise to your feet, your legs are still a little shaky. soonyoung notices this and immediately moves to support you. you don’t know what it is, but being close to him feels like the most natural thing in the world right now. he leads you out, supporting you as you walk. his hand on your lower back, his steps matching yours, making sure you’re steady as you reach the bus stop.

he bus ride is quiet, the hum of the engine and the soft flicker of streetlights outside the windows the only sounds. you sit beside him, a comfortable silence stretching between you. without thinking, you shift closer to him, your body seeking the warmth and comfort he offers. his arm instinctively wraps around your shoulders as you lean into him, his presence grounding you like nothing else. the slight bump of the bus makes you instinctively grip his shirt, your fingers curling onto the fabric as if it’s the only thing holding you together. soonyoung’s body stiffens at first, but then he relaxes, his hand gently resting on your shoulder as he holds you. he doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t need to. 

you’ve fallen asleep and soonyoung gently wakes you up when your stop is near. you stir awake and blink in confusion before you realise where you are. the bus slows to a stop, and as the doors open, soonyoung's hand instinctively intertwines into yours, guiding you off the bus. you feel a little unsteady, and the alcohol making your legs feel like jelly, still tipsy, and soonyoung immediately notices, his arm going around your waist to steady you.

“i’ve got you”, he murmurs, his voice soft as he helps you step down onto the sidewalk. he’s watching you closely, his gaze gentle but full of concern. “you okay?” he asks and you nod, though you’re still a little out of it. slowly, you take a step forward, and soonyoung stays right there, just close enough that you can lean onto him if you need to. you try to keep your balance, but with each step, you feel the world spinning just a little bit more, the alcohol still clouding your senses. soonyoung is quick to catch onto this and immediately shifts, now holding onto your waist with more purpose, his grip tightening just enough to make sure you don’t lose your footing. “it’s okay, i’m right here” he says softly again, his voice close to your ear. without realizing it, you find yourself leaning into him, your body instinctively trusting the comfort he provides. soonyoung walks beside you in quiet understanding as he leads you to your house, his steady pace matching yours and you can feel him subtly adjusting his steps to ensure you’re not struggling, walking with you slowly.

as you reach the door of your building, soonyoung helps you up the stairs, his hand never leaving your side. he’s so in tune with you, watching you closely for any sign that you might stumble. with each step, he remains right there, supporting you, not letting go. when you finally reach your door, soonyoung gives you a soft smile, one that’s full of care and warmth. "you’re home," he says quietly, still holding onto you.

“thank you soonyoung”, you say, giving him a small smile and he smiles back. “call me if you need anything,” he says softly, his tone filled with unspoken understanding and you can tell that he genuinely cares. you nod again and he watches as you unlock the door and walk inside, making sure you get in safe before he leaves.

when soonyoung wakes up the next morning, he’s a mess and perhaps a little lovesick.  he can’t stop thinking about you, can’t stop thinking about the way you clung onto him, the way you seemed to so naturally fit in his life. he gulps as he sits on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his hair and thinking about how fucked he is. he was never supposed to fall for you, he was never supposed to catch feelings. he didn’t even know how it happened. this was all new to him and he was falling in love for the first time—with you.

he heads out of the room and walks to the kitchen, his footsteps heavy. he grabs a bowl and pours in some cereal and milk before he pulls out a chair and takes a seat at the dining table. soonyoung shovels the cereal in his mouth like a robot, his mind wandering, his thoughts a mess, his feelings in chaos. “did you break up or something, you look like you’re about to cry”, seungkwan cuts in, looking at the soonyoung who looked like there was a grey cloud looming over his head.

soonyoung only sighs as he shovels another spoonful of the already soggy cereal in his mouth, chewing and swallowing before he speaks. “i screwed things up”, soonyoung says. In defeat. “did you guys fight or something? you know flowers are always the answer, rose specifically”, seungkwan adds.

“no we didn’t fight….i just…fuck….this whole thing is so confusing”, soonyoung says, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. “i think i’m in love”, soonyoung finally says and seungkwan looks at him like there’s something wrong with him. “you’re making a fuss because you think you’re in love with your girlfriend? are you drunk?”, he asks, giving soonyoung a look.

“but that wasn’t part of the plan!”, soonyoung almost yells, frustrated at seungkwan, and frustrated at himself mostly. he never in his wildest dreams thought that he would find himself in this situation, and yet here he is.

“what do you mean that was never part of the plan? were you guys not exclusive or something? was this a situationship kind of thing?”, seungkwan asks, confused, having no idea that soonyoung was only fake dating.

“ugh it’s complicated man”, soonyoung says before muttering something about how he needed to get ready for work and gets up, leaving the table, leaving seungkwan even more confused. soonyoung doesn’t know what to feel, doesn’t know what to think. so he does what he thinks is the easiest thing to do—he avoids you.

you wake up that morning and last night’s events come crashing down on you. you curse under your breath but your heart also flutters at the thought of soonyoung. you shake your head, hoping to get your thoughts back in order. no, you can’t be falling for soonyoung, you just can’t. so you decide to avoid him. the week goes by fairly easily, with you managing to not bump into him anywhere thankfully. but every once in a while, you find yourself thinking about him, thinking about the warmth of his touch, the softness in his gaze, the way his eyes would turn into little crescent moons when he laughed or smiled and your heart aches—because you miss him. 

when jihyo calls you to meet up with her at a cafe to catch up, you jump at the opportunity. you push the door open to the cafe, the scent of coffee and buttery pastries welcoming you. your eyes scan the room and you spot jihyo. you walk a few more steps inside, making your way to the table and that’s when you spot soonyoung there too, and you freeze. what the fuck. why was soonyoung here too? jihyo spots you and waves over to you and you break your trance and walk ahead. soonyoung seems to finally notice you too and his eyes widen in surprise before he looks away in a hurry.

“there’s my baby girl”, jihyo says as he pulls you into a hug and you smile, hugging her back. you pull away and glance at soonyoung, giving him a small wave to acknowledge his presence and he gives you a small “hi” before looking down at his hands in his lap. you sit down opposite them. “i brought soonie along since he said he was in the area, so i invited him too, i hope you don’t mind”, jihyo asks. “it’s fine”, you say, giving her a small smile, but you were dying on the inside. 

you glance at soonyoung and you catch him already staring at you and the both of you look away at the same time. soonyoung seems too busy arranging the tissues on the table. then jihyo tells soonyoung to go fetch the order and he glady gets up. he comes back a moment later with a tray of drinks— a iced latte for jihyo, an americano for himself and a hot green tea for you. you had also ordered two pastries, a strawberry cream cake and an almond croissant for soonyoung. 

“how was the wedding by the way?” jihyo asks casually, taking a sip of her iced latte and soonyoung nearly chokes on his drink. you freeze mid bite, your grip on the spoon faltering for a second and across the table jihyo raises an eyebrow at the both of you. soonyoung desperately coughs into his sleeve, trying to regain his composure.

jihyo frowns and reaches out, thumping soonyoung firmly on the back. “jeez, slow down man, the coffee isn’t going anywhere”,  jihyo says when he stops coughing and he clears his throat. 

you quickly look down, pretending to focus on your cake, your heart hammering in your chest. you and soonyoung haven’t really talked since the wedding, or since he dropped your drunk self home—not about that moment, not about how close you were, not about the feelings that were bubbling up and slowly simmering inside. instead, you both did what mature adults do—you both ignored it, completely.

“it was fine,” you say too quickly, shoving a piece of the cake in your mouth so you don’t have to talk anymore.

“yeah, it was totally fine, just normal wedding things”, soonyoung says and you glance at him, noticing how he looks equally uncomfortable and frazzled. jihyo’s eyes the both of you suspiciously. “just fine?”, she asks as she turns to soonyoung, nudging him. “you always go on about the food at weddings, and you didn’t dance? that’s like your entire personality, you live for wedding dance floors”, jihyo says to him. soonyoung, who had just reached for his fork, panics at the question and moves too fast, knocking the fork right off the table with a loud clang. 

soonyoung looks like his entire life is flashing before his eyes and he scrambles to pick up the fork. “nothing! that was nothing! i’m just clumsy”, he says and jihyo gives him a look, as she narrows her eyes at him. “uh-huh”, she says and then she turns to you. “you’re being suspiciously quiet”, she says as she looks at you and you try to stay calm.

“i’m just eating my cake,” you say, voice a little too high pitched. “nothing weird about eating cake”, you say, shoving another spoonful of the cake in your mouth. jihyo looks between the both of you, the gears turning in her brain. “you guys are being weird”, she declares. “we’re not being weird”, you say, taking a big sip of your tea. jihyo looks at you both again before she suddenly gasps, smacking the table so hard that soonyoung flinches. 

“oh my god”, she says. “you guys hooked up at the wedding, didn’t you?”, she completes and you mid sip, nearly spit out and choke on the hot tea and soonyoung makes an unintelligible sound of horror. “WHAT?!” you yelp at the same time soonyoung practically shouts, “NO”. 

“what the fuck jihyo, we did NOT hook up oh my god”, you groan out, covering you face in embarrassment. soonyoung just looks baffled, at a loss for words. “we didn’t do anything, stop being gross”, soonyoung whines, nudging jihyo, who looks between the both of you, clearly enjoying this.

“right”, she says and decides to leave it. she’d grill out about this later. you gulp down your tea and soonyoung chugs down his americano while jihyo sits back and watches this unfold, eyeing you both, while you try to act normal. 

later that week, soonyoung is a mess—a pathetic, sulking mess. he drags his feet wherever he goes, sighing dramatically at least twenty times a day. all his friends and colleagues at the dance studio notice this of course, because how could they not? he barely reacts to any teasing and barely fights back when seungkwan steals his food, so it’s bad. in an attempt to not feel like a heartbroken puppy, soonyoung does the only thing he knows how to do—he dances. he spends more time at the dance studio, dancing it out, trying to get his mind off things, his mind off you. but he can’t because you seem to have taken over his mind and heart. he groans and collapses onto the floor, breathing hard as he tries to catch his breath from exerting himself a little too much. no matter what he does, he just can’t get you off his mind.

after that week, you end up ghosting jihyo too, only because you didn’t know how to face her. how could you admit that you were falling for her younger brother? that would just be crazy and you’d sound insane, you couldn't do that. so, like a completely mature adult, you ghost her for almost two weeks before she puts two and two together and decides to turn up at your apartment. you don’t expect to see her, so when you open the door to her, your eyes widen in surprise. 

“jihyo, hey, what are you doing here?”, you ask, stepping aside and she gives you a knowing look. “do i need a reason to see my best friend?”, she says, stepping inside and you let her, because it’s not like you can shove her out. you turn around and walk inside, asking if she wants anything to drink or eat, but she just raids your fridge and pantry like she always did, and finds a pack of chips, opening it. you pray to the gods that she doesn’t bring up soonyoung, or the fact that you’ve been ignoring her, but you know she will— because she’s jihyo.

“so, care to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”, she asks finally and you take a big gulp of water instead, hoping to buy some time while she bores her eyes into you. you let out a nervous laugh. “what do you mean? i’m not avoiding you”, you say and she raises an eyebrow at you.

“right, so you haven’t been ignoring my calls or leaving all my texts on read on purpose?”, she asks and you nod. “i’ve just been really really really busy, work picked up, we got new clients and it’s just been really hectic”, you say. but you knew jihyo and you knew that she wasn’t buying this bullshit excuse you were giving her. 

“so you hooked up with soonyoung then”, she says and your eyes widen in horror again. “JIHYO NO, oh my god”, you groan. “why do you keep thinking that”, you ask, looking at her. “because if you don’t start spilling the beans and tell me what’s going on, i’m just going to believe that you and soonyoung hooked up”, she says as she chomps down on a chip. you scoff at her and clear your throat, trying to gather your thoughts. one thing about jihyo was that she didn’t take bullshit from anyone—not even you. so you knew you had to come clean, otherwise she would quite literally haunt you about this.

“fuck”, you say under your breath looking down at the floor before you look back up. how were you even going to say this? 

“just don’t kill me”, you start off as jihyo looks at you, chomping down on another chip, waiting for you to continue. “i—i think i’m falling for soonyoung”, you finally say, the words finally out, hanging in the air between you both. you expect jihyo to gasp, to throw the bag of chips at you, to say that she wasn’t going to be your friend anymore, but she doesn’t. she only shrugs and nods. “yeah, that makes sense”, she says.

you blink at her, confused. “that’s it? that’s all you have to say about what i just confessed”, you ask and she shrugs her shoulders again.

“if you want my permission, then i approve, you guys are cute together anyway”, she says and you give her another confused look. you stare at her, utterly bewildered. “i—what—excuse me?””, you stutter out because whatever reaction you were hoping for, this wasn’t it at all.

“honestly, i already knew something was up between you guys.  the way soonyoung looks at you? the way you look at him when you think no one’s watching? soonyoung’s been acting so different lately, so anyone who knows him could tell. sso babe, this has been so obvious for weeks”, jihyo says and you jaw drops.

“and then you guys were acting so weird after i asked about the wedding”. “we were not,” you argue, but the heat creeping up your neck says otherwise and jihyo gives you another flat look. “you both nearly choked to death when i brought it up that day”, she says and you scowl. “that doesn’t mean anything”, you say and she scoffs. “oh please, anyone could tell that there’s something going on between you both”, she says and you feel heat creep up your cheeks at her words. there’s no way you both had been that obvious. 

“sooo… are you gonna do something about it?”, she asks a beat later and you look at her. “so you’d be okay if i date your brother?”, you ask and she nods. “yeah, like i said you guys are hella cute together, and soonie is like head over heels in love with you”, she casually says and your blush more. “stop it, he’s not head over heels in love with me, i don’t even know if he likes me back”, you counter but she just gives you a look.

“girl, trust me, that boy is in love”, she says, popping another chip in her mouth. “so i think you should tell him how you feel, because he’s been moping around like an idiot”, she adds and you perk up at the mention of that.

“what do you mean?”, you ask. “that stupid idiot is walking around sulking all day, acting heartbroken and it’s pissing me off. but it’s also his first time falling in love so i’m cutting him some slack, otherwise i would have knocked some sense into him long back”, she tells.

jihyo glances at the clock on the wall. “okay, i’ll take this as my cue to leave, i have to get to a meeting, but please go tell that boy how you feel before he evaporates off the face of the earth with the way he’s sulking”, she instructs, popping one last chip in her mouth and dusting her hands. she walks towards the door, slipping on her shoes. “and if you guys do hook up, please use protection”, she says and you gasp in horror, your soul nearly leaving your body.

“JIHYO!” you screech and she just cackles. “get out, get out”, you say, playfully shoving her out and she laughs. “what? i’m being serious, i’m not ready to be an aunt yet”, she adds, her eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“oh my god, shut the fuck up”, you say exasperated, but your face is burning and she laughs as she waves at you. “mhm, sure, sure, i’ll call you later”, she says before turning around and giving you a serious look. “just don’t break each other's hearts”, she says, giving you one last look before heading off.

hours later, you lay in bed thinking about what jihyo said and thinking about soonyoung. was he really moping around? there’s no way he actually liked you back that much…right? so you get up, throw on a jacket, grab your phone from the nightstand and make your way to him. the receptionist doesn’t even blink when you walk right in, seeming to recognise you and she only yells out which room number soonyoung is at. you stride forward like you’re on a mission, but as soon as you reach the door, you freeze for a moment. 

you reach for the door handle, just at the same time soonyoung pulls open the door from inside and it takes you by surprise. before you even have the time to react, a startled gasp leaves your lips and you find yourself stumbling forward—right into a solid, warm chest—right into soonyoung. you crash into him, your hands instinctively gripping his arms as you try to steady yourself, but the force of your fall sends him stumbling back a step. his hands fly to your waist, catching you before you can completely lose your balance, fingers pressing against your sides in a firm yet gentle grip.

“whoa—what the—”, soonyoung breathes out, his voice a little strained as his back hits the edge of the doorframe, but his arms stay wrapped around you, keeping you from toppling over entirely. you blink up at him and your face is just inches from his, close enough to see the way his lips part in surprise, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin as his hands still hold onto you. “s-soonyoung,” you stammer out, trying to pull back, but his grip lingers for just a moment longer, as if his body reacts before his mind does. then, as if snapping out of a daze, he lets go quickly, clearing his throat. you take a step back, creating some distance between you both and your gaze flickers to the sides of the room before landing back on him, nervous.

“what are you doing here?”, he asks, thinking something might have happened with the way you practically fell on him moments ago. you blink up at him. “i—uh—came to talk to you”, you say and soonyoung blinks back at you. “you did?”, he asks, his voice soft, almost uncertain and you nod.

you take a step inside the room and soonyoung closes the door behind you. “yeah”, you say. the dance practice is room lit, the glow from the overhead lights brightening the room and polished wooden floors and mirrors. there are no chairs, just a wide open space.

“uh—sorry, there aren’t any chairs,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “but the floor’s not too bad, i sit here all the time”, he says and you can’t help but smile a little at that. “yeah, i figured”, you say. soonyoung smiles nervously and then gestures toward the corner of the room where his bag and water bottle are. “let’s sit?”, he asks and you follow him to the corner of the room. you both sit down and he sits beside you—not too close, but not too far either. the silence between you both stretches, thick with unsaid things. soonyoung fidgets with his fingers, tapping it restlessly against his knee. 

“hi”, he finally says softly, breaking the silence and looking at you, his eyes holding a tender gaze. you smile lighty. “hi”, you say, looking at him. “what did you want to talk about?”, he asks slowly after a moment, although he thinks he knows why you came. soonyoung is looking at you—uncertain, nervous, but hopeful. you hesitate, suddenly aware of how fast your heart is beating. you take a deep breath. “i…”,you start but pause and swallow, before speaking again.”i’ve been thinking about you…a lot”, you say and soonyoung stills. his fingers stop their nervous tapping on his knee and his posture straightens.

“me too”, he admits after a moment. “i… i don’t really know how to say this,” he says, letting out a small, breathy laugh. “i mean—i do know. i’ve been thinking about it for weeks, but now that you’re here, i just—i’m sorry if i messed things up between us and ruined the whole fake dating plan”, he says in a rush as he exhales sharply, shaking his head. his fingers fidget in his lap again, his knee bouncing slightly with the nervous energy around him. you open your mouth to say something but he speaks up again.

“but i think—”, he says, inhaling sharply. “i think i’m falling in love with you”, he confesses softly, the words coming out of his chest and now hanging delicately in the air between you both. he looks nervous and his eyes are filled with vulnerability and hope. the moment the words are out, he immediately looks away, his eyes flitting across the room like he’s searching for some sort of escape, his fingers tightening in his lap. he waits for you to say something, anything.

you swallow hard, feeling your heart hammering against your chest at his confession, the one he beat you to. “soonyoung” you whisper and his jaw clenches slightly with tension. “i know this probably isn’t what you expected and i understand if you don’t feel the same way. i just—” he lets out a breath, clenching his palms into fists on his lap. “i just couldn’t keep pretending, couldn't keep it in anymore”, he says and his voice is so genuine that it tugs at your heartstrings. 

“you didn’t mess anything up”, you say, and he furrows his brows slightly, like he’s not sure, like he’s not convinced. “i didn’t?”, he asks and you shake your head. 

“because i think i’m falling in love with you too”, you finally confess and his eyes widen in surprise as silence engulfs the both of you. soonyoung stares at you, blinking like he’s not sure he heard you right. “wait,” he breathes out. “you— you do?”, he asks and a small, shy laugh escapes you as you nod. “yeah, i do”, you confirm and he blinks at you again. you can see the way a slow smile starts to spread across his face before he clears his throat, trying to play it cool. he turns his head away for a second, blushing fiercely, trying to collect himself. 

“i thought i was going crazy when i thinking about you all the time, wondering if you maybe felt the same way”, he says. you smile, a hint of warmth blooming in your chest. “you weren’t going crazy”, you assure and he shakes his head. “i mean, i actually was  kind of going crazy”, he admits with a small laugh and you laugh too.

the walk home feels surreal almost, as if neither of you can quite believe what just happened. the cool night air brushes against your skin and there’s a comfortable silence in the air, peaceful almost. you both can’t seem to stop smiling—especially soonyoung. he walks beside you with hands stuffed into his pockets at first, but every few moments, he glances over at you, his face flushing whenever your eyes meet. you can’t help but notice how much more nervous he seems now that things are real. it’s sweet and endearing, and it makes your heart flutter in a way you didn’t expect.

his plucks his hands out of his pockets and they brush against yours as you walk together. you glance at him and he’s trying to keep his composure, his fingers brushing against yours again. so when you reach out and gently close your fingers around his, soonyoung’s eyes widen. he stops walking for a beat, like he’s processing the softness of your touch, the warmth of your hand in his. he looks over at you and gives you a shy smile. it feels so natural, holding his hand, and there’s something about they way they fit together so perfectly that makes your heart swell. you give him a small smile and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, like he’s trying to make sure this is actually real.

when you reach your building, neither of you immediately lets go. you stand there for a moment, the quiet hanging between you both as you just enjoying the warmth of each other’s touch, of each other’s presence. you look up at him. “thanks for walking me home,” you say softly. soonyoung’s smile is sweet. “anytime,” he says, his voice just a little hushed, like he’s holding onto this moment just as tightly as you are.

you finally pull your hand away from his and look down at the ground before you look back up at him. “i guess i’ll see you later then”, you say and he nods. “yeah, okay”, he says, stuffing his hands back in his pockets. you take a few steps backwards and lift up your hand to give him a wave. “bye”, you say and he gives you a small wave too. you walk inside your building but after a few steps you halt. you think for a moment before you turn around and jog back outside and see soonyoung walking away, his back turned to you. 

“soonyoung wait!”, you call out and he turns around immediately, confused for a second as you run up to him. you stand in front of him, and with a sudden rush of courage you lean in, going on your tip-toes and you press a soft lingering kiss to his cheek. soonyoung freezes, his eyes widening in surprise. you pull back and glance at him. “goodnight”, you whisper and take a step back, seeing the tips of his ears turning red, caught completely off guard by your action and it’s like the world seems to pause.

after what feels like an eternity, he swallows and he stammers out a response. “g-goodnight”, he says, his voice softer than usual, tinged with surprise. you give him one last shy smile before you turn, walking back to your building and before you step inside, you glance back at him one last time to find soonyong still standing there, dazed, watching you and he rubs the back of his neck nervously, like he was trying to ground himself, make sure what happened was real and you smile at how cute he is before finally slipping inside.

1 month later

the room is dimly lit, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm, golden hue over everything in your apartment. you sit on the couch and notice soonyoung and how nervous he seemed to have suddenly gotten. he was restless for some reason and you were quick to notice it.

“you okay?”, you ask, your voice soft as you look at him. “yeah, just nervous i guess”, he says, his voice small. 

“nervous? why?”, you ask as you lean in closer to him, putting down the lego blocks with the half built flower on the table. soonyoung had gotten you one of those lego flowers to build, so you called him over to do it together. but soonyoung only shrugs at you, tearing his gaze away from you. you tilt your head, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “come on, what’s up?”, you ask as you look at him. this time, he doesn’t answer right away. his lips part as if he wants to say something, but he hesitates, his throat bobbing with an anxious swallow. when he finally looks at you, there’s something unspoken in his gaze.

“it’s stupid”, he says as you look at him, “i’m sure it’s not”, you assure.

“i…i really want to…”, he trails off, feeling the tips of his ears heat up and he looks away. “soonyoung”, you say, laughing softly at the way he was acting. 

“i just really want to kiss you but i don’t know how”, he says, almost too quickly that if you weren’t listening you wouldn't have caught it, but you hear every syllable.

for a moment, there’s silence between you both and the world narrows down to just you and him. you can see his nervous energy with the way his hands curl into his lap, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. you watch as his gaze flickers down to your lips before quickly darting away. a small smile tugs at your lips. “soonyoung,” you say softly, amused but undeniably endeared by him. you reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “then how about i teach you?”, you say and he blinks at you.

you slide closer to him and your legs brush against his. you slowly shift so you’re straddling him, knees on either side of his waist as you settle on his lap. he freezes, caught off guard by the closeness. you place your hands on his shoulders, your touch light and delicate. "is this okay?" you ask, softly. he swallows, his throat tight and heart racing as he nods slowly, though his voice barely comes out. "yeah, it’s okay”.

you had dated before, so you knew what this moment was supposed to feel like—gentle, unhurried. but for him, this was all new. it was his first kiss, his first real kiss, with you.

you move your hands to cup his cheek, your thumb gently brushing along his jawline, tender and light. you don’t rush, you take your time. you lean in slowly, teasingly almost, your face just inches away from his and he waits patiently. you lean in more and his eyes flutter close, waiting in anticipation. your lips brush against and his breath catches.

you press your lips to his gently, as if you were testing the waters. his body goes still, the touch of your lips so soft and warm, but different. it was new, so new. there was so much happening in his chest, an overwhelming mix of excitement and nerves and something tender. you pull away slightly, just to make sure he was okay and his eyes flutter open. “relax baby”, you mutter softly, looking at him and he nods ever so slightly.

you lean in and kiss him again, pressing your lips to his, cupping his cheeks and you can feel him relax into you a bit this time. when he doesn’t pull away, you whisper against his lips, “now part your lips just a little”, and he does, his breath shaky as he follows your instructions. you tilt your head a little, deepening the kiss ever so slightly and his hand moves instinctively to your waist, pulling you in a little closer and you can feel the warmth of his body against yours. your lips move slowly against his, but just as gentle. all that mattered in this moment was him and his first kiss with you. he kisses you back and you go slow, giving him time to adjust, letting him slowly take the lead as you let him find his own rhythm, letting him figure out what feels right. his hands rest on your waist, holding onto you and your hands move to rest on his shoulders. 

he kisses you back, clumsily at first like he was unsure, but slowly as if he was learning the movements of a dance, he becomes a little more confident. his lips follow yours and his one hand comes up to cup your cheek, pulling you into the kiss even more. your hands slide up into his hair, your fingers threading through the soft strands of his blonde hair, pulling him closer as you deepen the kiss even more. the kiss grows more intense, slower now, as if neither of you wants to pull away, and his lips move with more of a certainty now, matching the rhythm of yours.

you pull back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his, both of your breaths coming out in soft, uneven gasps and you watch the way his chest rises and falls as he catches his breath. his lips are plump and pink and slightly swollen from the kiss, his cheeks flushed, and there’s an unmistakable glow in his eyes.

“you’re a quick learner,” you say, your voice breathless from the intensity of the kiss and he gives you a shy, almost bashful smile, biting his lip as he looks at you. 

“i didn’t expect it to be like that” he trails off, his voice a little low and rough from the kiss, but there’s an undeniable softness in the way he says it.

“you mean good?” you tease, tilting your head slightly, a playful grin forming on your lips as you look at him, your arms resting on his shoulders, your fingers playing with the ends of his hair.

“i think i want to learn more,” he murmurs and you blink at him, the words sinking in, and once they do, you can’t help but laugh softly. soonyoung’s smile grows, his eyes twinkling with both a hint of mischief and something much deeper—something warm. he leans in, kissing you again but you giggle into the kiss and he can’t help but smile against your lips, the warmth of the moment sending a flutter through you.

“kwon soonyoung”, you say his name, your lips brushing against his and he hums in response, capturing your lips in another kiss before you pull away again. you look at him, your fingertips trailing up to his jaw, your thumb lightly brushing over his cheek. he watches you with that soft, adoring gaze, but there’s something playful lurking just beneath it. you catch it and you’re about to say something, but before you can get any words out, he moves.

with a quick, almost effortless motion, he flips you over on the couch. a surprised squeal escapes you, which is quickly replaced by laughter as you land on your back with a soft bounce against the couch. soonyoung grins down at you, his hands on either side of you, his body hovering just above yours. you huff, but the warmth in your chest betrays you. “soons”, you start, looking up at him.

“yes?”, he says, his voice is teasing, his nose brushing against yours, his grin widening when you roll your eyes. his smile is so full of sunshine, of laughter, so infectious and so sincere, so full of everything bright and dizzying.

you sigh dramatically, letting your fingers trail up the back of his neck. “you have a lot learn”, you murmur and he hums, pressing another kiss to your jaw. “then teach me”, he whispers. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close and he lets out a quiet laugh, burying his face in the crook of your neck. the two of you stay like that, tangled together, his body pressed against yours. his fingers absentmindedly trace little circles on your waist as he holds you. when he lifts his head and looks at you again, there’s something softer in his gaze, something deeper.

“what?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper and a smile blooms on his face. “just thinking”, he says. 

“about what?”, you ask and his grin widens. “that i really really like you”, he says, and warmth blooms in your chest at his words. your smile softens. “good,” you whisper out. “because i really really like you too”.

and as he holds you there, you realize that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be—wrapped up in his warmth, his laugher. you think that maybe this, right here, is exactly where you’re meant to be.

END

EXTRA SCENE because i went a little insane over him

soonyoung is practically vibrating in his seat as he waits in the arrivals area to pick you up from the airport. his leg is bouncing with restless energy. three weeks. almost three whole weeks since he had last held you, kissed you and seen you. it was only supposed to be a one week trip. and that one week he would have survived. but there were delays and complications in the project you said—and one week turned into three.

he spots you walking out of the terminal, dragging your suitcase behind you, exhaustion evident in the way your shoulders are slumped, your eyes tired. he’s on his feet in an instant and he comes up to you. you don’t even get a chance to get a word out before his arms are wrapping around you, pulling you into a bone crushing hug. "you’re finally back," he murmurs into your neck. you let out a soft laugh against his shoulder. "i’m back”, you say as you hug him back.

soonyoung pulls back just enough to cup your face, eyes scanning every inch of you as if making sure you were real. "three weeks baby, you almost killed me”, he says dramatically.

"sorry," you tease, smiling softly as your fingers brushed through his hair. "i barely survived without you," he mutters before grabbing your suitcase with one hand and lacing his fingers through yours with the other, pulling you toward the exit. the ride home is filled with him sneaking glances at you every five seconds, his hand still intertwined in yours, a soft grin playing on his lips whenever he catches you watching him back.

when he finally pulls into the driveway, he barely lets you step inside before his hands are on you again, like he couldn't bear to stay apart from you any longer. you enter your apartment and soonyoung trails behind you as he carries you suitcase, placing it to the side and you walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water, incredibly thirsty from the flight. 

“god, it’s good to be back”, you say as you chug down a glass of water and put it down on the counter. soonyoung stalks forward, his gaze sharp. “i got you something by the way, it’s in the suitcase and—”, you’re cut off by the way soonyoung walks forward, cupping your cheeks before his lips are on yours. your back hits the wall as he walks you backwards and pins you there, kissing you urgently, hungrily. his hands grip your waist, pressing you into the wall as if he is trying to make up for every second you’d been apart. you gasp softly into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer and his lips move against yours with desperation.

"soonyoung—" you try to speak between kisses, but he only hums in response, lips trailing down your jaw to the curve of your neck.

"missed you so fucking much," he whispers against your skin, his voice low with need. "i’m never letting you leave for that long again," he murmurs against your lips. his hands tighten around your waist and your bag slips from your shoulder, forgotten on the floor as he captures your lips in another dizzying kiss. his hands slide under your shirt, his fingers splaying across your bare skin, warm and possessive. he grabs your waist, lifting you up effortlessly as your legs wrap around his torso. his lips move down to your jaw, finding that sensitive spot beneath your ear and you let out a soft gasp.

“fuck”, you whimper out softly as he moves, his grip firm as he walks the two of you toward the couch. the world tilts slightly as he sits down, settling you onto his lap, your legs straddling him now, your knees resting on the soft cushion. his hands find your waist again, his thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin, and when he looks at you, his gaze is dark. 

you smirk, tilting your head as your fingers comb through his hair. "what happened to the boy who was absolutely clueless about dating?", you tease, letting your hands slip under his hoodie. your fingers skim over his abs and torso, slow and deliberate, feeling the way his breath stutters at the contact. soonyoung groans softly, his grip on your waist tightening as his body melts into your touch, his head tilting back slightly as he recovers from the sensation. 

“i’m a quick learner”, he says after a moment, a small smirk playing on his lips and you chuckle before you lean in. “oh? is that so?" you murmur, your lips brushing against his but not kissing him yet. his lips chase yours, closing the distance as he kisses you again, slower this time—deeper. the way he kisses you is intoxicating—slow but full of purpose, like he’s savoring every second. your fingers tangle in his hair and his hands roam over your body, sliding up your back, down to your hips, squeezing your waist as he pulls you closer until there isn’t any space between the both of you and the warmth of his body seeps into you. 

he pulls away, his breath heavy as his chest rises and falls, his gaze locked onto you as he tilts his head back on the couch. soonyoung looks absolutely wrecked. his lips are pink, swollen, kiss bruised and slightly parted as he catches his breath. his usually sharp features are slightly softened by the dazed expression he wears, his pupils blown wide, his hair messy from where your fingers had tugged at it. his gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, as if he’s debating if he can survive another kiss or if it might just be the end of him. 

then a slowly, a lazy, lopsided grin tugs at his lips—the kind of smirk that’s cocky, but still soft. "besides”, he says, voice low, "you’re the one who taught me everything”.

you chuckle at his words and your fingers ghost over his jaw before you brush your thumb over his bottom lip. “i guess i’m a pretty good teacher then”, you say softly, tilting your head as you watch him and soonyoung huffs out a soft laugh, but his eyes never leave yours.

his hands tightens around your waist, like he’s deciding something, and he leans in again slowly, his lips ghosting over yours as he speaks. “the best”, he whispers against your lips, before kissing you breathless again.

taglist: @joshuaahong @paindivinemp3 @itsveronicaxxx @frankenstein852 @weird-bookworm @mirxzii @naaaaafla @gyubakeries @wheeboo @fxstpace @ylangelegy @lvlystars @kyeomyun @icyminghao @ihrtboo @n4mj00nvq @imujings @alsktudy @d-i-y-a-n-a @binnielovie @fancypeacepersona @karynnonna @alyssa19123456 @diamonddaze01 @minhui896 @yoozuku @hyunyin @blue-jisungs @lockburn-castle

[haoboutyou]

lee chan + “you trust me, right?”

“chaaan, im tired.”

chan doesn’t have to look at your face to know that you’re pouting, but he does so anyways. why shouldn’t he? you’re too cute for him.

“oh cmon, we barely even started!”

you groan, forehead leaning against his shoulder.

maybe you should close your eyes for a break.

yes. a break would be very much welcome. it didn’t matter that you were standing up– you can already feel yourself drifting to sleep on his shoulder.

too bad you’re jolted awake almost immediately, chan’s large hands shaking you gently. he’s almost intimated by the animalistic growl you let out, but chan laughs it out when you try to snuggle deeper into the crook of his neck.

“babe, we’re still standing.” all he gets back is a muffled groan. he chuckles again as his hands slide down your arms, intertwining with yours together and resuming position.

“one more time, i promise. you almost got the footwork down!”

you trust chan and his insane dance skills. you really do. that’s why you’ve asked him to teach you the waltz in the first place.

…who knew he was such a tenacious teacher.

your feet hurt like never before, muscles you didn’t know you had stretched beyond your imagination, your entire outfit absolutely drenched in sweat after a grueling 2-hour warm-up and dance practice. how he still looks perfect after all that, you’ll never know.

chan locks eyes with you, staring back with an unbridled amount of energy. “one more time; i’ll massage your calves later.” he grins when you sigh, knowing he’s won the one-sided argument.

“we’ll do it with music. don’t overthink the steps; i’ll lead you, okay?” he pauses, staring straight into your soul. “you trust me, right?”

“of course i trust you.” a genuine smile on your tired face. “lead the way, mr lee.”

his hand on your waist, the other firmly in yours. soft music fills the practice room once more, chan gently leading you through the 3-step waltz– maybe it’s not as bad as you think after all.

[haoboutyou]

Hii. I'm a big fan of yours but more like a silent reader. I just read your Vernon girl dad and was wondering if you could make one with Seungkwan. It would be sauurr cute like him taking her to parks and stuff. Feel free to ignore if you aren't comfortable!! :) love you!

hii!!! thank you for loving my works i appreciate that sm<3 seungkwan as a girl dad is SO cute so here’s my contribution. ily too thank u for requesting! 💞

texts with girl dad! seungkwan

character: boo seungkwan

genres: girl dad seungkwan, smau, fake texts, fluff, crack

masterslist

taglist! join my taglist here <3

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[haoboutyou]

ramen & fate | boo seungkwan

SUMMARY: in which you meet a rich guy at the convenience store during a late night ramen run.

PAIRING: chaebol!seungkwan x reader

THEMES: strangers to lovers, meet cute kinda

WARNINGS: fluff, use of curse words

WORDCOUNT: 2.4k

A/N: @wheeboo happy birthday my love! this is a little gift from me to you! this is such a silly idea but i thought i'd write it out for you and i hope you like it <3

you walk into the convenience store and walk inside and the faint sound of pop music hums from the speakers overhead, blending with the quiet hum of the refrigerators in the back. you barely notice any of it though because your mission is clear - ramen. you really needed a ramen fix right now.

you make a beeline for the ramen aisle, the craving gnawing at you and nothing else would do now, not after the day you've had. there's a strange comfort in that little cup of noodles, in its simplicity, in the way it tastes exactly how you expected it to. your eyes scan the shelves and you spot your favourite ramen, only to find one left on the shelf. you immediately reach for it without a second thought, but so does someone else.

your fingers brush against another hand, and you pause, startled. your eyes follow the hand, trailing up a crisp white sleeve, past a perfectly tailored suit jacket, until they land on the face of the man reaching for the same cup of ramen. he’s tall so you have to tilt your head slightly to meet his gaze. his expression is cool, almost unreadable, his jawline sharp and sleek, his styled hair making him look like he just walked off the set of some corporate drama.

"oh," you say, blinking as your hand hovers over the cup.

he looks down at you, his brows lifting slightly as if in mild surprise, but he doesn’t immediately pull his hand back. "looks like we’ve got the same taste," he says, his voice smooth.

you blink at him and wrack your brain for a response before you let out a nervous laugh. "well, it is the best one", you reply as you look at him.

he smirks faintly, tilting his head. "i agree, but there’s only one left."

there’s a pause, the moment stretching out as both of you keep your hands over the cup of ramen and suddenly this feels like some sort of high-stakes negotiation situation.

"i—uh—had a long day," you say, trying to justify your claim, though you immediately feel silly for doing so. "i really need this ramen".

his smirk softens into something resembling amusement. "and you think i don’t?", he counters, raising a brow at you. "i’ve had back-to-back meetings since seven this morning", he says.

"well, i’ve been running around non-stop too", you protest, your grip on the edge of the shelf tightening. his gaze flickers between you and the ramen before he exhales, and lets out a small resigned sigh and to your surprise, he takes his hand away.

"alright," he says, stepping back slightly. "you win, take it", he says as his hand swings down. "really? thanks," you say, though your tone is cautious, like you’re not entirely sure this isn’t some kind of trick.

he gives you a small nod, then glances at his watch, grabbing a different ramen from the shelf and walking to a different aisle without sparing you another glance. you blink, a little confused but get about on your mission to get the ramen. you grab a few more stuff, some kimbap and something to drink and make your way to the cash counter when you spot the man in the suit again.

"i'm sorry sir, but i don't have change for such a big bill", you hear the worker say. "unless you buy items for that amount, i don't really have a way to give you back your change", the worker continues.

you walk front and put your stuff on the counter. "i'll pay for his stuff", you say and he looks at you.

"i've got it, i'm sure i have smaller bills somewhere", he says as he pulls out his wallet and your eyes nearly pop out with the fat wad of cash you see in it, all big bills. what the fuck. you decide to ignore what you just saw and by the time the man in the suit is digging his wallet, you've already paid for your stuff, his included.

you take your things and towards the corner of the store to cook your ramen. once the ramen is done, you take a seat and that's when the man in the suit appears again. he’s got his own ramen cup in hand, the sleeve of his tailored suit pushed up slightly to reveal an expensive looking watch. he moves methodically, peeling back the lid of his ramen cup and pouring in the hot water with a steady hand, there's no hesitation and no fumbling. he catches your gaze, and you quickly look away, suddenly very interested in your own noodles. you can feel his eyes on you for a moment, but then he goes back to his ramen, silent and composed. you sneak another glance at him and think to yourself - he is pretty handsome.

you’re halfway through your noodles, the warm broth hitting just the right spot on a cold night before you hear the shuffle of footsteps coming towards you.

"mind if i sit?" he asks, his voice smooth and you nod. he sits down with a kind of effortless grace, setting his ramen down in front of him and adjusting his sleeves like he’s dining at a michelin-star restaurant instead of a dingy convenience store. you focus on your noodles, hoping he won’t notice the way your gaze keeps flickering back to him and you watch as he stirs his ramen and takes a bite.

"you didn’t have to pay for my stuff, you know," he says after a bite, breaking the silence.

"it’s not a big deal," you reply with a shrug. "maybe you should carry smaller bills next time", you tell and you can see the faint smile on his face.

"i swear i thought i had change on me", he says, rather to himself.

"doesn’t seem like you need to worry about it," you remark before you can stop yourself. “i mean, with a wallet like that.”

his smile widens slightly, and he leans back in his chair, resting an elbow casually on the table. "appearances can be deceiving," he says, his tone teasing but with an undercurrent you can’t quite place.

you raise an eyebrow. "right, and expensive suits and fat wads of cash are just a camouflage?", you ask.

"something like that," he replies, and there’s a glimmer in his eyes now like he’s enjoying this back and forth talk, like he's amused by you.

you huff out a soft laugh as you shake your head. "well, next time you’re low on change, i suggest hitting the ATM before wandering into a convenience store", you tell and he nods.

"noted," he says, and there’s a warmth to his voice now.

"i’d like to pay you back", he says after a moment, but you shake your head.

"that's not necessary," you reply, waving a dismissive hand. "it’s just ramen", you say.

and he just looks at you, and it looks like he wants to say something more, but he settles for giving you a small smile instead. "alright, if you’re sure".

after finishing his meal, he gathers his things, straightens his perfectly tailored suit and offers you a polite, "thanks again," before leaving.

you think that’s the last you’ll see of him, until you notice something on the table, his sleek black leather wallet, the kind that practically screams expensive. your eyes widen as your hands reach out for it and you mutter under your breath.

grabbing the wallet, you flip it open and find a few crisp bills (all large denominations, of course), some credit cards and a single business card tucked inside, but there's no name, just a logo and a phone number. you hesitate for a moment before you decide to call the number, but it goes straight to voicemail.

for the next few days, you keep the wallet with you, figuring he’ll eventually call back or text or come looking for it, but nothing. it’s not until a few days later, when you’re rushing through a crowded sidewalk with a bag of groceries in one hand and your phone in the other, that fate decides to intervene. you’re trying to balance too many things at once, not paying attention to where you’re going, when you collide hard into someone coming from the opposite direction. the impact sends your phone clattering to the ground and your grocery bag spilling open. "oh, come on!" you groan, crouching to pick up your things.

"sorry about that", a familiar voice says, and you freeze mid-reach.

you glance up to see him, the ramen guy, in his perfectly tailored suit guy, crouching down to help. he looks as polished as ever, his suit immaculate despite the chaos of the street and he notices you at the same time, and his eyes widen slightly.

"you," he says, clearly surprised.

"you," you reply, just as surprised. "i've been looking for you, you left this", you say after you've gathered all your groceries and stand up. you dig into your bag and bring out his wallet, handing it over to him.

his expression shifts. "i didn’t even realize it was missing until yesterday, but by then, i figured it was gone for good", he says as he looks at you.

"well, lucky for you i found it,” you say as you hold it out for him. he takes it from you, his fingers brushing yours briefly, and his smile softens. “you have no idea how much this means, thank you", he says

"you’re welcome," you reply and he looks down at the wallet in his hand, then back at you.

“i owe you, again", he says. "let me buy you dinner, it's the least i can do, please", he asks and you blink, caught off guard.

"dinner? that's...", you trail off as you chew on your lip, considering his offer. "but you don't even know me?", you say, unsure.

"i'll take my chances", he says, a small smile playing on his lips.

“alright,” you say, nodding. “dinner sounds nice.”

the smile that spreads across his face is slow and warm, like sunlight breaking through clouds and it softens his polished, professional look, making him seem boyish almost.

"i didn't get your name", you ask.

"i'm seungkwan", he says, holding out his hand and you reach for it, shaking it, the warmth of his hand engulfing you. "yn", you say, giving him a small smile.

you both exchange numbers and you head home, and it's only then that you wonder if he'll actually follow through. and a few days later, your phone buzzes with a text from him.

ramen guy: this is seungkwan, does friday evening work for dinner? let me know what time works for you.

you reply quickly and his response comes almost immediately.

ramen guy: perfect, i’ll take care of everything, looking forward to it.

when friday arrives, you find yourself standing in front of the address he sent—a restaurant that looks like it was plucked straight from a luxury travel magazine. the building is sleek and modern, its glass walls shimmering in the golden hour light. your nerves spike as you step through the grand entrance and suddenly you're thinking that this must be some kind of joke, that he must have sent you the wrong address by mistake because holy shit, you could barely afford this place. a host greets you with a warm smile when you walk inside. “you must be here for mr. boo seungkwan” they say, their tone polite but knowing. boo seungkwan?

the person guides you towards a private dining room and it's a beautifully set table near the window that overlooks the city skyline. you spot him waiting there and he stands up the moment he spots you, a smile lighting up his face.

he was wearing an all-black suit, and it was perfect for him, tailored to perfection, the fit making him incredibly handsome and attractive and the fit made him look effortlessly sophisticated, yet there was an ease to his posture that made him seem grounded. his dark hair was styled just enough to look intentionally tousled, a few stray strands falling over his forehead. there was something about the way he carried himself, confident but not cocky, poised but not stiff. his smile was the same: genuine and unpretentious, like he wasn’t trying to impress anyone, yet somehow, in that black suit, he couldn’t help but leave an impression.

“you made it,” he says, his tone warm as he steps forward to pull out your chair for you. "yeah", you say softly, still trying to take in the posh ambience around you.

as the evening unfolds, you’re surprised by how easy he is to talk to. he’s incredibly down-to-earth and he listens intently, laughs at your jokes, and is just so sweet, a complete gentleman. his genuine interest in you, paired with his relaxed nature, made the evening feel warm and comfortable and didn't make you feel intimidated anymore.

“so, what exactly do you do?”, you ask, looking at him.

he hesitates for a moment, then shrugs lightly. “family business,” he says, clearly trying to downplay it. “it’s not that exciting.”

"so what exactly is this family business?", you ask but seungkwan only chuckles softly in response. "it's not as cool as you think. let’s just say it's a lot of paperwork, meetings, and business stuff", he makes an exaggerated motion of his hands like he was emphasizing the mundanity of it all. the date ends on a good note and he even offers to drop you home, but you decline, not wanting to impose on him anymore.

it isn’t until days later, when you’re scrolling through your phone that you stumble across an article and you realize just who he is.

heir to the boo family conglomerate, boo seungkwan spotted at his newest restaurant with someone: who’s the mystery guest?

your jaw drops as your eyes scan the article, which details his family’s massive business empire—including restaurant chains, luxury hotels, and even media companies. the photo accompanying the article shows him stepping out of the very restaurant where you had dinner with him, wearing the same outfit he had that evening, looking effortlessly handsome and polished as always.

and just then your phone buzzes with a new message from him at that exact moment:

ramen guy: i hope you enjoyed the dinner last time. let me know when you’re free again, i owe you another one.

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